The Darkest Sword Samantha Kroese (easy books to read in english .TXT) 📖

He wanted to hate Rhadamanthus with every fiber of his being until he found the strength to destroy his master. With a deep breath, he steeled himself and mumbled an apology to Sark, then pushed the door open.

The scene before him was worse than he could even have imagined. A sob escaped his throat despite his efforts to control it. He caught his breath to stop any more. Annalysa lay in a pool of her own blood on the bed, shredded to ribbons. She had clearly fought like a beast as Rhadamanthus ravaged her. Pale and lifeless, she looked so broken and frail now. Her hand hung over the side of the bed, still dripping blood. He had been just moments too late.

He stumbled into the room and sank to his knees next to her. He stayed there, for what seemed like an eternity, numb from the shock. Then he reached over to gently close her unseeing eyes. “I hope they were there in the afterlife waiting for you,” he mumbled to her. “Please take care of our son. I will never see him now.” At least Annalysa had hung onto the belief that her family waited for her in the afterlife. If there was an afterlife, he would never see it. He was immortal, bound to this world for eternity. Ashiyn sat there until his rage boiled over. Until nothing but wrath remained. He would grieve later. Vengeance would be his.

Kill. The blade whispered through his mind.

Ashiyn stood up and drew the blade from his back. Turning his back on Annalysa, he stalked back to the doorway where Sark hung. He would not take Annalysa from her family now. But Ashiyn would not allow Rhadamanthus to take everything.

Ashiyn narrowed his eyes and drew on the well of magic within him, as he held out a hand to Sark. “Come, Sark. Serve me in death as you served me in life. Rise and be reborn as my Nthir, my hand of vengeance. Know no more pain, no more weakness. Only power.”

Sark’s body jerked like a macabre puppet as the magic tore into it. Then little wisps of what had been the lizardman’s essence slowly coalesced. First like smoke, then turning into solidified shadow. Every tiny piece made another creature until Ashiyn was surrounded by them. Horrifying lizard-like shadows with razor teeth and claws. Once Ashiyn lowered his hand and withdrew his magic the creatures all screamed as one at him, enraged.

Kill. Kill. Kill.

 

Ashiyn could not tell if it was his own rage demanding blood or the blade in his hands, but either way he would feed it. Ashiyn turned and started down the hall. He hefted the blade in his hand, shifting its weight until he found the perfect balance for it. He brutally killed all who had the misfortune of crossing his path on the way to the throne room where he knew Rhadamanthus waited. Soldiers, servants, even a few dignitaries died in the most gruesome bloody ways he could manage. Blood bathed him and christened his blade, waking its power. He could feel the magic in the sword grow with every death. His wrath grew with every step. Screams followed in his wake and echoed down the halls before him. He wanted Rhadamanthus to know he was coming.

Rhadamanthus sat sprawled across his throne, looking quite bored as he spun his blade around in his hand. He was still covered with blood and gore. Their blood. “Having a bit of a tantrum, are you?”

Ashiyn stopped in the doorway, trembling from the magic flowing through him and the wrath that drove all thoughts from his mind. He wanted more blood, even though he could feel it dripping down to splatter on the floor beneath him. He was covered, head to toe, his blood-soaked hair sticking to his face.

Rhadamanthus stood up and whirled his blade around to an attack position. “I will allow you bedslaves, boy. I will not allow you to breed an immortal army of offspring. Be grateful your wretched spawn had not inherited your immortality yet due to the frailty of its mother.”

Ashiyn saw red. He roared and charged across the room to attack, his new blade a dervish in his hands, blinding in its speed.

Rhadamanthus grunted but parried the attack with ease. “Your rage makes you weak, boy. Caring makes you weak. She was a slave, and you would risk all for her? You could have a thousand women better than she was.” Rhadamanthus locked blades with Ashiyn and yanked him close, his black eyes full of anger as well and his hot foul breath in Ashiyn’s face. “Do you understand now, boy? I will take anything you care for until I burn that weakness from you. Then you will be untouchable. Then you might have the strength to defeat me. But now, you are still weak.”

Ashiyn growled and ripped his sword away to start another attack. The sword’s magic flowed through him, strengthening him, enhancing him. But, he knew it was not enough yet. Rhadamanthus still fought him off easily. Every time Rhadamanthus broke the attack and threw Ashiyn, Ashiyn stubbornly rose and attacked again. He hit a pillar hard enough to shatter it, feeling his bones snap under the impact.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

 

Ashiyn gasped for breath on the floor, confused by the sword’s voice trying to break through his pain. No. He would not stop. Not until Rhadamanthus killed him.

Do not be a fool. Wait. We are not strong enough yet. Die now and he will take me from you. Wait and I will help you destroy him.

 

“Are you finished, boy?” Rhadamanthus taunted. “Or will you not be satisfied until you are destroyed as well? You are angry. Good. That is what I want. Hate me. Rage. It fuels your violence.”

Ashiyn trembled as he rose to his feet. He glared at Rhadamanthus as he