Diamond Stained (Secret of the Jewels #1 ) - J.M.D. Reid Page 0,3

knee-high leather boots. He ducked a branch, its leaves ruffling his straight-black hair. His gloved hand gripped the emerald pommel of his tulwar.

Why am I doing this?

It was a question he’d asked himself a thousand times. The path of his life had always been clear, the goal in sight. He had marched towards it with confidence since his tenth spring. He’d lost it two years ago, his harmony dissonant now. Not trumpeting with the Seven Tones, but screeching with the Black.

The strongarm Handsome Baill had mentioned stepped out of the tent, his skin darker than Ōbhin’s. A rich ebony, his bare chest steaming. It was early spring, winter’s bite lingering in the air. Not that the Lothonians knew real winter.

Ōbhin frowned at the bare-chested warrior marching forward, a sword hanging from a red sash. The strongarm’s boots stomped across the torn grass of the clearing, kicking up loose clods of disturbed dirt. He snorted a massive cloud of vapor.

“Cut down that bugger!” Ust roared as the highwaymen broke into a charge.

Ōbhin jogged faster, trailing behind them. The ebony man stood between the bandits and the tent where a young woman’s head peeked out, light-brown hair pulled back from her pale face. The sight of the guard lacking any fear unnerved Ōbhin. His skin marked him as a Shattered Islander or hailing from one of the southern nations like Relasi or Ki’mana. That itched a warning at Ōbhin. His mind felt dulled, rusty. Something was off about this entire moment, but the bandits hurtled towards the brute like the floodwaters pouring from the glaciers during the spring melt. Frothy destruction that no force could stop.

Certainly not one man, no matter his skill.

The weight in Ōbhin’s stomach increased.

Jimet reached the warrior first, the slender man outpacing the others. He raised his own backsword and swung the tarnished weapon at the ebony hulk. The steam seemed to burst from the man.

Why is he steaming? screamed through Ōbhin’s mind as his legs stretched out before him. He ate up the distance now.

In a blur of motion, the hulk whipped his sword from its sash. Ōbhin, despite his practice on the training sands of the Satrap’s palace, could barely follow the motion. The blurring attack struck Jimet on the shoulder and cut deep into his collarbone. The blade split through his back, severing ribs. His strike faltered, the blow becoming clumsy, blocked with ease by the brute’s free hand.

“Bugger my mother!” Carstin cried out.

“Black-cursed bastard!” Ōbhin growled in his native tongue.

The brute wrenched his blade free in a spray of scarlet. Jimet’s corpse collapsed. The woman peeking out of the tent screamed out in shock, her face going paler. The sudden carnage shook Ōbhin like a violet earthquake.

Then he noticed the shape of the strongarm’s sword. It was a thick slab of metal that didn’t narrow to a chiseled point but instead flared into two hooks thrusting from each side of the blade. Spikes of metal that could drive deep into bodies.

“Bloodfire!” screamed Ōbhin as he stared at the famed hooked sword of Bue’csa’i.

At the end of the blistering desert, at the tip of the Ki’mana’s peninsula, warriors swore themselves to the Tone of Fire. Somehow, they had the essence of a ruby gem embedded into their bodies, their blood burning hotter than a foundry furnace.

The hulk brought the blade to his own chest. He cut himself deliberately, drawing the sword’s edge across his torso. It wasn’t scarlet that flooded out, but fire. It burst from him and engulfed his blade. The air rippled from the strength of the flame, a dancing mirage that distorted the placid face of the hulk.

“Elohm’s Colours!” Ust grunted, stumbling to a halt as the hulk’s flaming blade swung at Whiner Creg.

The skinny complainer brought his backsword up in a flashing parry. Sparks flared. Ōbhin ran faster. He charged across the distance. His tulwar hissed as he drew it from his sheath. He stared at that blazing sword.

A worthy weapon to face. A bloodfire of Bue’csa’i. The weight squeezing his heart relaxed. The tone of his actions felt harmonic now. He slid his thumb up to the small point on the crossguard of his curved blade.

He activated the jewelchine.

The bloodfire’s flaming blade drove back Whiner Creg. Backsword flashed in a desperate attempt to keep from meeting Jimet’s fate. The other members of the band already faltered, save for Carstin, who spat out his cigar and whipped out his weapon.

“No!” Ōbhin shouted as his sword hummed. Emerald light flared from the