Unseen (First of the Blade Book 2) Read online

  Unseen

  First of the Blade Book 2

  D.K. Holmberg

  Copyright © 2021 by D.K. Holmberg

  Cover by Damonza.com

  All rights reserved.

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Author’s Note

  Series by D.K. Holmberg

  Chapter One

  Interlude

  Imogen stood at the edge of the snow-filled mountain pass, the cold whipping around her disciple cloak. The sky was a steel gray, though it rarely ever changed from that. There was an energy to it, and she could feel something else about the sky, as if some sort of power radiated from the clouds.

  At least, that was what she believed.

  Other disciples were lined up along the pass, waiting for the new recruits. How many would survive the journey? Few had when Imogen made the trip before. What if this was nothing more than a waste of time?

  It was probably a waste for the new recruits, though she couldn’t say that. She had been feeling that way since coming to the sacred temple. This was a place where she was supposed to learn, to master the sacred patterns, but she had only uncovered the depths of her own ignorance. How could she learn anything when she could not even move past the first sacred pattern Master Liu wanted her to perfect?

  There was excited chatter ahead of her, but she ignored it.

  After a while, though, she found it too difficult to tune out completely.

  She looked over to one of the other students, an older woman named Tabitha. Imogen had sparred with her often and soundly defeated her almost every single time, though she did so with the traditional patterns and not the sacred ones. Tabitha might be talented enough to have been invited to the sacred temple, but she certainly was not Imogen’s rival when it came to technical skill.

  Not many in the temple were. Even those with notches on their blades did not rival her—and her own lack of knowledge annoyed her.

  “What is it?” Imogen asked Tabitha, keeping her voice low.

  Annoyance flashed in the woman’s eyes. “Didn’t you hear?”

  “What was I supposed to hear?”

  There was something smug about the way the Tabitha said it, and it irritated Imogen more than it probably should. She had to keep her composure. Wasn’t that what Master Liu and the other instructors at the temple were trying to teach her? To keep her composure, be ready for change, and not to fear it, only embrace it.

  “The new disciples are coming with General Derashen.”

  Imogen’s heart started to hammer. General Derashen was the Leier general who led the troops from all the villages, but he was more than just that. He was the highest-ranking swordsman in their entire land. He had multiple notches on his blade, a marker that he had mastered that many sacred patterns, and he had supposedly studied at more than one sacred temple—the only person Imogen had ever heard of doing that.

  “Apparently, General Derashen is seeking new officers,” Tabitha continued.

  Imogen hadn’t heard that either, though if she had known that the general was coming here looking for officers, how would she feel?

  When she was younger, her desire had been straightforward: master the sword and progress to First of the Blade. From there, she wanted an invitation to one of the sacred temples, thinking she could use that to protect the homeland. Now that she had accomplished all that, she wasn’t sure what else she wanted. She had thought that it was all about trying to learn as much as she could about the sword, but her time in the sacred temple had left her with more questions than answers.

  She opened her mouth to ask Tabitha something else, but the other woman had moved away, leaving Imogen alone.

  The mountain pass began to open, and a line of soldiers marched forward, with General Derashen at the head of it. He was a massive man with a shaved head and eyes that glittered with a vibrant intensity. Imogen found herself staring at him and then his sword, marveling at the blade that was said to have more notches than all but one of the sacred sword masters.

  As his troops marched past the onlookers, the general glanced around, and his eyes locked onto hers. She forced herself to meet his gaze, but she couldn’t hold it indefinitely. Eventually, she had no choice but to look down. She couldn’t keep staring at the general, could she?

  Once the soldiers passed their group, the new disciples were ushered into the sacred temple, Imogen returning just behind them.

  She spent the next day in quiet solitude. The new disciples settled into their new home, and the general and his troops spent time within the sacred temple. But by the end of the second day, Imogen was far more restless than she had been before. She made her way to the courtyard and found a group of three students in a synchronized sparring exercise. She didn’t ask permission but simply inserted herself among them with a quick movement.

  At the temple, the students fought only with practice staves, never with steel. It was a strange change for her, especially given that when she had been elevated to First of the Blade, she had done so using a real weapon, as that was tradition. Now that she was of the highest rank, she expected to work only with her sword. She was skilled enough not to accidentally harm, maim, or—the gods knew—even kill one of the other disciples.

  As she moved, she focused on the traditional patterns. Though she knew she should switch to the sacred ones, she also knew she wasn’t going to be able to defeat all three of her opponents with those. And that was what she wanted to do.

  This was her outlet, her way of relieving some of the pressure she’d been feeling ever since seeing General Derashen. She wasn’t sure why that pressure filled her, only that the sight of him had left her with questions she did not have answers to. Questions that made her start to doubt her reason for being here. Ones that had her wondering whether she might ever learn enough to earn a notch on her blade.

  She moved easily through the patterns, knocking down two of the students. Imogen turned to face the last one—a dark-haired man with a serious expression. Disciple Jorend had been here for the better part of several years, at least as far as she knew. He was skilled and supposedly had already mastered several sacred patterns, though she doubted that anyone still within the temple had really mastered them. It was something that Master Liu liked to claim to the students.

  But it was more than just that feeling that came to her. Jorend might have been told that he had skill with the sacred patterns, but did he have any with the traditional ones? She had seen how he threw himself into his training, devoting himself to it in a way that should make any of the masters proud. Whenever Imogen we
nt head-to-head with him, he always focused on her.

  She faced him with a grin.

  His practice staff was a blur of movement—fluid, powerful, and precise—and he had every bit of the technique she knew he should have. Every bit that she once had—and what she still didn’t.

  He was even more precise than she was. Even more powerful.

  She threw herself into the fight with Jorend, using a series of combinations that were as quick and fluid and powerful as she could make them, but he deflected each one. If she only had steel, she might be able to do something more. She continued to fight, blasting him with attack after attack, but as she did, frustration surged within her.

  He twisted and Imogen dropped, sweeping her leg to hook it behind his and tripping him. She brought her staff down, stopping it right above his face. She flashed a smile at him, and he shoved her off.

  “That is not how we spar,” he snapped.

  She bounded to her feet, looking at the other two disciples who were seated on stone benches lining the flower-filled clearing. She glanced at them, expecting one of them to comment, but neither of them did.

  “We spar to win, don’t we?” Imogen said to Jorend.

  “Do we cheat?”

  She shrugged. “It wasn’t cheating.”

  He huffed at her, then slipped his practice staff back into the bucket. He turned and left without saying a word more.

  Imogen looked to the other two onlookers, but still neither of them acknowledged her. They walked out of the courtyard, leaving her alone.

  She put her practice staff away, and she noticed that another observer had been watching them. Only then did she realize why Jorend had been as upset as he was.

  She tipped her head politely to General Derashen. His eyes were narrowed, almost appraising, as if he were looking for something from her. But she had the feeling that he did not find it.

  She thought the general might approve of her techniques, but it seemed as if he felt the same way as Jorend. If she couldn’t master any of the sacred patterns and if she couldn’t impress the general, what would become of her?

  She had believed that she would thrive once she came to the sacred temple, but instead she felt as if she continually disappointed not only herself but those working with her.

  Imogen waited until the general headed back into the temple, then she took a seat on the bench. As she breathed in the smells of the flowers, she glanced up at the steel-gray sky and the mountains looming around her, feeling as if there may not be any place for her.

  And if there was not, where was she to go? What was she to do?

  Chapter Two

  The snarl split the forest.

  Imogen unsheathed her sword, moving steadily toward the sound. It wasn’t the first time she had tracked something dangerous through the trees, and she doubted it would be the last. Ever since leaving her brother, she and Benji had found dozens of these strange, twisted, dark creatures. She didn’t understand them, though Benji claimed they were created out of pain and violence, which was what twisted them and turned them into these creatures of darkness.

  She didn’t know what she was tracking. She thought maybe it was an adlet—creatures created by Sul’toral magic that were like a man mixed with a wolf—but they had only encountered those a few times. She had enough experience with them now that they were easy to cut down, though it wasn’t the kind of experience that she necessarily wanted to have. Still, each time she took one down, Imogen couldn’t help but feel as if she were doing what was needed. The adlet were created from dangerous magic, but more than that, they were violent.

  She couldn’t see Benji the Elder, though she knew he was behind her somewhere. He was probably following her, letting her take the lead as they hunted this creature and she tried to figure out where her brother had disappeared to.

  The skin on her arm tightened at a new sensation.

  Magic.

  Imogen slowed and began to move carefully through the trees. She knew better than to approach too quickly when she had no idea what was around them. She glided, flowing in one of the sacred patterns called Petals on the Wind. It guided her forward and allowed her to move quickly, but also with a certain power.

  Another snarl was the only warning she had.

  She spun, and the thing that came at her was not an adlet or even a manalak. Both of those creatures were massive and terrifying, but whatever this was seemed to be made out of earth and stone, covered by grass and branches. This monster wasn’t alive but was something built out of naturally occurring items, enchanted and powered with magic. That didn’t mean it couldn’t be deadly, though.

  The thing rumbled at her, moving unnaturally fast. Imogen blocked the creature’s earth-covered arm from clawing at her, then danced away, spinning and slicing at the creature’s head. She then backed away, and instinct honed over the years warned her to spin. Imogen turned sharply, and she realized that there was another one moving toward her. She jumped back and almost ran into a third. They were converging, trying to trap her.

  She took a moment, little more than a heartbeat, to focus. She had to prepare and get her mind ready.

  Stopping these enchantments was not beyond her. This was the kind of power she was supposed to be able to handle. She had trained to deal with sorcerers, their magic, and the violence they often used.

  Imogen readied herself, then she darted forward. Her people learned traditional patterns, numbered into the triple digits, and Imogen had trained to fight with them from the time she was old enough to walk.

  She was quick. Precise. Powerful.

  But her sword clattered off the stone of one of the creatures.

  The traditional patterns should work. They were designed to protect against magic and specifically sorcery, but were not designed to handle dark, magical creations.

  She spun, blocking a branch that swung toward her—the arm of one of the creatures—and she immediately flowed into Petals on the Wind again. As soon as she did, her blade carved through one of the creatures, cleaving it in half.

  She shifted, darting forward using Lightning Strikes in a Storm. She thrust her sword into the creature, which exploded, throwing shards of stone and dirt everywhere. Imogen rolled to the side to avoid the worst of it.

  Scrambling to her feet, she barely reacted in time as the next stone-and-earth golem swung toward her. She braced herself, trying to block, just as the earth trembled and pulled on the creature, causing its strike to miss her. Imogen swung her blade, cleaving through it.

  She looked around, but there was nothing else nearby—just the balding Porapeth leaning casually on a tree as if there was nothing to be concerned about. His tattered clothing seemed perpetually dirty, and Benji didn’t care one bit about it.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “For what?” Benji asked, his eyes flashing with amusement.

  “For stopping the last one.”

  “I’m sure you would have managed just fine.”

  Imogen didn’t know. She probably would have, and there probably wouldn’t have been an issue had she used the sacred patterns from the beginning, rather than trying to fight with her traditional patterns. That was something Benji kept reminding her about. But she was stubborn and continued to use the ones she was comfortable with, especially when dealing with sorcery, which they were designed to handle.

  “These golems suggest there is a sorcerer somewhere nearby,” she said.

  Benji frowned. “Possibly. Especially as we have not seen any like that recently.”

  The last time had been in the Shadows of the Dead, when she had cut down the Sul’toral—and realized the truth about her brother. They’d been traveling east since then, following Timo’s trail as it meandered through forests and valleys. They were making their way toward the mountains that loomed in the distance. Toward her homeland.

  “Do you think it could be him?” she asked.

  “I thought I would’ve known,” Benji said with a shrug. “But I would
not have thought that your brother was capable of any of this. It was my mistake.”

  Timo had become the very thing they had sworn to defend against: a user of dark magic. Now that he was a Toral, he had power beyond what he should possess, and wanted even more.

  “It was my mistake too,” she said.

  He looked over to her, the silver flashing in his eyes, seeming deeper somehow. “We will find him.”

  Benji was more confident than Imogen was, especially these days. She no longer knew if they really would find Timo, and even if they did, did it matter? Her brother was gone. At least, the man she had known. What was left was someone she didn’t even recognize, a man who had decided to chase power and go against everything their people believed in, becoming something worse than she could ever have imagined when first learning the blade.

  “He shouldn’t be this skilled, should he?” she asked.

  Benji traced his hand over one of the fallen golems. “He shouldn’t be. Unless he’s been studying for longer than we know.”

  “He left the homeland shortly before I did.”

  After she had gone to the sacred temple, Timo had trained diligently and risen nearly as fast as Imogen had to become a First of the Blade. He had also wanted to go to the sacred temple but had not been invited, so he had taken a bond quest. An impossible one.

  That was what she had been led to believe. Instead, he had chased something else.

  “How long does it take to learn that kind of magic?” she asked.

  “It can take a lifetime to master, but to learn something like this…” Benji stood, wiping his hands on his pants as if what he just touched was foul. “If he focuses only on this use of power, then I suppose it wouldn’t take as long to master it. The better question is what reason he had for placing these creatures here.” He frowned. “There must be something he thought to hide. We should move quickly.”