The Waltz of Blades: Deluxe Edition

By Richard Kevis

Unpredictably, animals would become encased in beautiful gemstone cocoons, and the soul that slept inside would be bathed in abstract horror. Once that nightmarish form finalized its shape, the envelope would shatter, and an aberration was born. As the people prayed for a miracle, a new kind of human had awoken. The age of the Sorcerers had begun.

This tale follows Captain Siora Fengeros, the leader of the Blue Roses. An ambitious team of imperial knights tasked with protecting the new nation from both monsters and magic alike. Inside the Squad is the Sorcerer Ailuin Aragwyn. He is an illegal asset that Siora plans to exploit for her climb to the top of the Empire... Is their friendship worth dying for?

The remastered edition features a new cover done by Richard Kevis. Featuring a new bonus chapter zero, along with character profiles of the Blue Roses. Additionally, a sneak peek from book two, The Minuet of Sorcery, is also included.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781716553356

Book preview

Dedication

To anyone trapped inside, I offer this story as an escape. 

Acknowledgments

To my friends Alysia and Mariana, I thank you both for your tireless hours’ editing.

To my only brother Jeremy, I thank you for keeping me alive during this process.

To my Mother, thank you for being my first fan.

To my loving Cassie, thank you for always believing in me.

And to the Man in the Hat, they know what they did.

Thank you to all my readers for the endless support.

Sincerely,

Richard Arthur John Kevis.

Contents

Prelude

♔

Ciel Zatasa

The world is but a single creature lost in an endless slumber. As the great beast slept, the days and nights were peaceful. The dream known as humanity flourished. Alas, those quiet days, like all things, were ethereal in nature. Ever so rarely, about as often as a blue moon, the nightmares would begin to stir. A single animal would become encased in a beautiful gemstone cocoon.

Souls sleeping inside those cocoons were bathed in abstract horror. Corrupted. Once the nightmarish form finalized its shape, the envelope would shatter, and an aberration awoke. Not all at once did the creatures of this world change. Still, those crystal beasts that did awaken ravaged the lands. Civilization pushed closer and closer to extinction. The dream of humanity was at its end.

Dropping to our knees in reverence, we shouted our prayers deep into the earth. Our salvation lay in calming our world for but a moment from its nightmare. Luring the beast back into its peaceful slumber. 

As the people prayed for a miracle, a new kind of human had awoken. Gifted with a fragment of the divine dream, they brought light to humanity’s era once more. The ones born in tune with the dancing spirits of the world around them had arrived. The age of the Sorcerers had begun. 

The crystal beasts were pushed back, slain, and finally driven from the lands of humanity. Tragically humanities newfound unity fractured as the sorcerers became vain, proud and cruel. Soon many saw those with the power of sorcery as a monster hidden within human skin.

The dream of humankind falls into a nightmare of our own making. Creatures lurking within the subconscious of the world have begun to stir.

Obsidian Origin

♚

Siora Von Fengeiros

Smoke and flame had defined Siora. All the memories that came before the day of the fire were drowned in a hazy plume. Whenever she tried to reflect upon her youth, she could only go as far back as that day. Her simple childhood joys were all suffocated by the endless black. The ash falling like snow, a paradox juxtaposed to the sweltering heat. As the building burned around her, she laid hidden among the coals. 

Siora was exceptional, she was special, or so she had been told her entire life. However, the flames swelled around her, indifferent to the young prodigy. Rivers of blood did soak deep into the floors’ mahogany as screams echoed across the manner—a mighty orchestra of violence. The sounds of a futile battle reached a crescendo of silence. The only song more frightening than a waltz of blades clashing is the suffocating void after the music.

The young girl, no more than twelve years of age, hid among the ashes. She prayed to whoever would listen. She needed to become one with that darkness. Biting down on her own hand, she stifled her tears. She was trained to be brave, to be ready for today. But as is the case with all children and all adults, primal fear is not something you can truly prepare for. 

The fear seeped into the fireplace across the room, into the ash of where the youngest Knight did hide. A blackened silhouette stood among the flames, the sparks dancing around their form. The fire reflected deep within their crimson eyes. 

Perhaps the fire, the hatred within those eyes had caused the burning on their own. With the dark magic of their kind, this monster’s will became the flames. 

Their hatred made the world burn. 

Please… 

In those shadows, Siora gazes upon the tiny frame of her younger sister. Those accursed flames chose to part, to let her know without fail. Her pure blue eyes were a small gem of light in the chaos. 

If it was only the voice, Siora could have lied. She could have convinced herself that Saira was out of her control. Fate, however, had other plans. Death had wrapped her chains around Siora’s heart that day.

Those large ash-blackened hands grasped around the young girl’s neck. Each sound was years of her life begging and pleading for salvation. Siora wanted so deeply, with every fibre of her being, with each tiny mote of light within her soul, to step out. To speak up from her hiding place deep within the fire pit. To direct this monster’s wrath towards herself, to be the soldier she always dreamed of. To die with valour. 

Siora was the prodigy, the expert in all things. Saira was the soul of the duo. Caring, warm, smiling, and full of joy. Saira’s eyes met the girl hiding deep in the ashes. A smile was sent from the one who was lost, a message to live on.  Siora would never truly understand the meaning behind that final act. The flames blazed forth from the cruel hands of the shadowed monster, taking Siora’s sister away.

 Searing an image forever within her retinas.

Ailuin Aragwyn was a child born without luck. As the firstborn of his clan, he was destined to rule his city-state with his divine might. However, Ailuin was mediocre in all things. His younger sister could turn brass into gold with her divine gifts, but the young boy’s magic had yet to surface in any meaningful way. 

The plan was simple enough. During the attack on the city of Zarhara, all he had to do was wear the emblem of the Empire and hide.

The records were already in place, planted by his superior siblings. 

The knights would find this mediocre child, bring him home and train him like all the other orphans. Maybe this would pay off, or perhaps he would die. Either outcome was satisfactory with his family. Minutes turned into hours, hours into days before he was finally rescued.

The monster’s child had spent the week in an old house, scrounging food and water. When he had heard the sound of footsteps, Ailuin would use his arcane gifts to make a wooden beam slightly lighter and hide beneath it. Once safely trapped, he would call out for help. Often in vain. Eventually, after days of this act, the young boy felt the weight of another failure building upon his shoulders. 

He couldn’t return home. The Alliance forces had already left. The roads were full of vicious monsters, and he was just a kid. As the reality of his abandonment began to set in, the dam holding back the tears collapsed. The fake cries for help turned genuine. He was never cut out to be a spy. Ailuin could barely manage to steal a cookie without being overrun with guilt. 

Either he would die alone in this house, be eaten by monsters, or be killed by the Empire. As the unwilling child soldier cried, a tiny voice echoed through the door.

Hey, there is someone in here!

As the door was kicked open, the shock wave rippled into Ailuin’s heart. He would either be killed or taken in to live out his life as a sleeping agent—two awful outcomes in the young boy’s mind. 

Behind the knights stood a tiny girl no older than him, from her slim frame leaped out orders. Like a small puppy barking in vain, this image brought a smile to Ailuin’s weary face. She commanded the knights with venom and rage, or so she believed. 

The child prodigy hid within her role and was hard at work looking for anyone that could have survived. She was the last of her lineage and would carry on with pride. 

Honestly, her efforts hardly affected the Knight’s search. Still, this kid demanded to help. With all that she had lost, even the hardened veterans of the border wars could empathize. 

Unsure of what to do with the young successor of the Fengeiros family, the knights entrusted this found child to her care. As her two guards stood ready, ever vigilant. Looking for both threats outside and within. The guards walked a few paces back for both the girl’s pride and in the hopes that the boy could answer some puzzles.

Once she had gotten a safe distance away from her protection, the girl proclaimed to the rescued boy, Why is everyone here so weak? 

As the young Siora spoke these words to the young Ailuin, the boy was puzzled by this strange girl and her rage-filled eyes.

Children, pausing before continuing on. Each of her words is laced with indignance. I am surrounded by naïve kids who have not yet been forced into the world of adults like I have found myself. 

The young boy couldn’t help but laugh. This tiny girl was deep into her monologue, unable to see that she was just another kid. Lost in the charade of a one-person show.

The girl snipped at the tiny sleeper agent, Only morons are always laughing. I hate that sound! 

Trying not to offend his tiny guardian, Ailuin put on the most neutral face he could muster. As her tone grew more sombre, Ailuin noticed that the small knight was shaking. Her hands were softly trembling. She hid it well, but she was just as afraid as he was, maybe more so.

I told them it was odd. There was a lack of monster attacks by the walls. Those old fools just laughed at me. They said it was just the imagination of a kid.

Siora felt a jolt as Ailuin’s hand was placed upon her shoulder. It was an act of empathy to try and calm her nerves. At that moment, the primal fear, the unprocessed emotions, surfaced. 

The shadow was behind her, so she screamed.

With all the power that her tiny frame could muster, she spins around her body to stab her foe. Holding a pen tight in her hand, her reaction is already in motion. She barely manages to stop the attack before the inky blade pierces the neck of her perceived attacker. 

With a combination of both panic and relief, her words echo out, What is that matter with you! I nearly killed you! You stupid git! With a stunned look on his face, the young boy’s words came out unfiltered, With a pen?

Flustered, Siora tried to hide her panic with a badass one-liner, The pen is mightier than the sword in my hands!

The two kids couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity as their guards watched on.

As the group continued walking towards the central barracks, a deep guttural roar permeated the troupe.

Okay, that was a good trick, but you are not scaring me, Ailuin said to his new friend before slowly turning around to the horror behind him.

Like a sculpture bathed in blood, the cracked visage of a beast stood. Its arms were covered in countless eyes that all stared towards the children. As the two kids slowly turned around, the knights crafted their blades of golden light. 

As the valiant warriors of the Empire charged the creature, both only managed glancing blows. One was kicked far away into a cart of hay. He was the lucky one. 

The claws of this abomination tore deep into the other knight and bisected the man. Ripping the poor soul directly in half.  As the blood rained across them, the bravado was gone. Siora, in an instant, returned to that kid hiding in the shadows. Her shaking returned. 

The beast’s ocular arm slashed through the air towards Siora. She froze. She couldn’t breathe. As her eyes closed, maybe she would see Saria again. Perhaps this was the smoke finally catching up to her. 

As Siora felt a mighty shove, her eyes opened. 

The cowardly, snivelling, teary-eyed kid had managed to catch the claw of this beast.

The surviving Knight, battered and bruised, has regained his stance and stands between the creature and Siora. Suspicious of the kid they found alone in that house, one of those rare few survivors, the man stood unmoving. 

A week ago, the attack lacked purpose. But this child, this brave, stupid child, just did something impossible. The Knight needed to know. Tragically to the recently orphaned little girl, this knight seems content to watch as a monster attacks a stupid little kid.

Siora, having lost her composure, screams with all her might, Save him! As she desperately focused on her escape.

With no remorse in his voice, the Knight did what he was trained to do. Sorry.

Ailuin grabs a stick from the ground and forces his power of Enhancement into the dark wood. With a deep breath and a powerful strike, the beast is impacted in the side of its face. The mighty blow shatters the wooden stick. The magically enhanced wood breaks into shards like glass.

The bear with a thousand eyes is slain. 

The child is struck by fatigue as the drain of using his powers ravages the boy’s stamina. He collapses into the snow.

With his theory confirmed and Ailuin too exhausted to move, the Knight spoke with murderous clarity, To think one of those Alliance bastards got this far into our Empire.

Drawing his blade, the Knight sets down his torch into the hay-filled cart as he approaches that kid.

 That beast of a man is holding the kid by the throat in a matter of seconds. The torch catches the hay below. Siora sees it, the outline of the burning man again. After all that laughing and crying, that brave kid is about to die.

Siora screams again in vain, the words she was afraid to speak before. Please stop. He’s just a kid!

With the darkest of laughter, the silhouette of a man responds like all the others did, You’re just a kid you don’t understand. One day, this thing will grow up to be a monster, like the one that burned this city to the ground. I should kill it now. Don’t you want me to avenge your sister? To rid the world of its kind?

With a tone reminiscent of ice in her veins, Siora walks up beside the man, Let me do it.

The light in Siora’s eyes fades away as she realizes what needs to be done. What has to be done. With a sudden strike, the prodigy takes her first kill on the field of battle. With that attack, her soul loses a shard of her humanity forever. 

Siora doesn’t remember what happened next through the haze, but that Knight is dead at her feet as she drops her blood-soaked pen.

As the ash-filled clouds slowly parted and the moonlight shines upon the two. The story can begin—the tale of the monster child and the child who wished to become a monster.

Forcing herself to smile, she locks eyes with this child no older than twelve, no older than herself, You belong to me now.

Hematite Confessions

♙

Keriym Ravalamin

My day begins with a peppy knock outside my door. The force of my yawning parts the hair from my face as the nemesis of the night breaks through. Feeling the morning light on my lids before I open my eyes for the day. 

Having acquired as much extra bedding as possible, I have built myself a comfortable nest. I love my blankets. You would never betray me. I love you, my pillow, please don’t leave me. 

The knocking continues, and I know my bliss will soon come to an end. Sensing the pain that will be coming my way, I use my years of combat training to gracelessly roll onto the floor. That voice pierces through the door, echoing deep into my room.

Keriym, I have coffee! Wakey, wakey.

Damn that Fist-Wizard, does he not understand that humans need sleep to live. Goodbye, bed. My one true love. I will miss you when I return to the road. 

Opening a single eye, I manage to see through the blinding haze. My roommate is already ready for the day.

 Ignoring my troublesome teammate in the hallway, I stand up and shamble down towards the wash area. Under the running water, I close my eyes again. If those busybodies think I am showering, I might be able to reclaim fifteen minutes of sweet, beautiful sleep.

Early in our career as a squad, I received the code name of Pawn. Since that day, I have embraced the Pawn life fully. Pawns are clearly the best piece to a person of culture. I have never seen a game of chess played where the players wipe out all the pawns. One or two of these beautiful unambitious pieces are always left until the end. I genuinely believe that being alive is a great thing.

 I may like sleep, but if I am indefinitely sleeping, you know, by being dead, that takes all the fun out of it. Breaking through my self-meditation is the beautiful melody of the Captain’s voice.

Keriym, if you don’t want to come along and help, I can always find another job for you.

Another job was always a code for a more arduous task. I should get to work now before the Captain picks something worse for me to do today. The key to being lazy is knowing the path of least resistance. 

As I exit the shower, a travel mug on a plate has my name engraved on it. A small chuckle effortlessly escapes.

 Well, the squad may be hyperactive idiots, but they’re my idiots. If I had the energy, I would smile.

As we enter the guardhouse across the street, we are greeted by the police chief for the city Major Rathal. Holding a coffee in one hand and a scone in the other, he greets us with gusto in his voice.

Good morning Blue Roses. Whatever your man did to those thugs last night has them quite spooked. As the Lieutenant requested, we held off on a proper interrogation until today. Have fun with them.

This bastard is more than thrilled to pawn off some work onto the newcomers, i.e. Us.

I.e. Me.

After a brief pause, the Major continues on with his speech. During this interaction, I hand off my now empty cup to one of the uniformed guards. We have all four in separate holding cells. As requested, no one has entered to question them yet.

Professional. Confident in a reassuring way, the Captain puts on her beautiful smile, Okay, let us split up and each talk to one of them. Remember, they are still citizens, so treat them with dignity and respect. 

How many stimulants does this level of pep require, and can I get some? 

Medium-length natural scarlet hair is fashioned into a tight braid curving along the side of Siora’s head. It is a pretty look, but I am confident that her hairpin is a poisonous knife.

Her bright blue eyes are balanced with the perfect amount of makeup to appear effortless. What kind of lunatic keeps makeup applied during a tour of duty. I would be shocked if that lipstick wasn’t a knockout drug. That woman is five feet of rage wrapped up in a weaponized bow.

With the mouth force of a screaming banshee, I am injured by the base. Sure enough, our mighty Fist-Wizard basically yells, Yes! Sir!

Taking my time to saunter over, I head to the first door. Laters.

As I enter the cold metal box of a room, I softly ask the guard at the door for a small request.

Can my friend here and I get a latte each? Please?

The younger blond guard looks down and realizes that he is already holding my mug.

Um, sure, that shouldn’t be a problem.

Since you’re up, maybe a plate of scones as well, k thanks!

As the guard leaves the chamber, his face shows that he is a little annoyed at my antics. With my deep apathy to authority, I adjust in my chair to be as relaxed as possible and let out a sigh, You just won the lottery.

He stares at me, bewildered. His eyes lack focus, with raccoon markings quite visible from sleep deprivation. Once upon a time, I faced a raccoon-style crystal beast in combat. It was horrifying, a feeling reflected in this one’s eyes. These are the eyes of a man who clearly needs a spa day. Bandages form a lattice across his face, covering a deep forehead wound.

Soon the guard returns and softly sets down my request. That was fast, good hustle friend, here is some cash for your troubles. If you didn’t grab yourself something, please do and keep the change.

Taking out a few extra coins, I place the money in one of his hands, forming a handshake with the man. Tossing out a wink and a smile, my work is done with the fewest calories burned. A potential enemy turned friend. I turn my focus back to the goon.

We should start with introductions. I need to fill out this form so I can say I did my job. As a fun bonus, if all goes well, I can return to my nap. My name is Keriym Ravalamin. You can call me Keri; what is your name?

I am not talking!

Good, I am already over having to talk today.

Pausing the conversation for a long sweet moment, I start gradually adding some sugar to my latte. Sugar?

In response, he raises his currently cuffed hands from the table to show off the heavy manacles.

Gesturing to my friend the Door Guy, I signal for him to unlock the cuffs.

Sir, is this a good idea? I repeat the unlocking gesture as he uncuffs the man.

I slide the tin of sugar over to Mr. Not-Talking. After taking a long sip of my drink, he begins to get visibly annoyed. All of this work pulls out a yawn from deep in my weary soul. I stretch out my arms and crack my back slightly in a vain attempt to wake up.

I understand if you are restless to leave, but I promise you that you got the best member of my squad for this.

As I take a moment to think about the next cell over, my frequent roommate Mr. Murderface has most likely begun his efforts.

In the cell next to us, your friend gets the pleasure of meeting sir Castien Yelfina. Codenamed the Bishop, he has over one hundred confirmed kills. That man is a genuine psycho if I have ever met one. I once saw him eat an entire apple, only using a combat knife. If that doesn’t rattle you, he ate the core! He didn’t even blink.

Stabbing my butter knife into my poor scone to punctuate my sentence.

I have to assume torture is going on in the next room. If your friend is lucky, maybe he is in for some light waterboarding. Bishop would not hesitate to do that thing where you let water drip on some poor bastard’s forehead for days.

I pause for a moment before I offer him a pastry off my plate. Scone?

He pauses, and I hear him nervously swallow a bit. Um, no, thank you.

Sliding him a scone anyway, I continue on.

 Castien is the stealthiest bastard you will ever meet, anytime you look into a crowd and don’t recognize anyone that is exactly where he is. One time I went into a local pub for a nightcap. It took three drinks before I realized he had managed to replace the bartender.

Stifling this next yawn to the best of my ability, I let the caffeine slowly work its magic. I set down the cup in my hand and form a bridge between my fingers. Gently setting down my elbows on the table, I build a hammock for my chin.

With a little bit of fear in his eyes, he staunchly replies, Don’t threaten me!

Leaning forward, I look this scared fellow right in the eyes. Well, I try to make eye contact, but that wound on Not-Talking’s head is bleeding through the bandage a bit. I have to look away. That is seriously nasty. 

I don’t do threats, way too much effort.

Thinking for a moment, I imagine my Captain. I think about the warm red of her hair and her even more benevolent smile.

Her emerald eyes have the magic power of drawing the guilt out of anyone. I have always admired her, but something about her just seems a little bit off lately.

Your buddy across the hall? He gets the honour of meeting our sweetheart captain, Siora Fengeiros. Butter for your scone?

 Without waiting, I set down a plate, a butter knife, and a cute little ramekin for him, Are you from the Capital by chance?

He slowly nods as he takes a bite of his scone.

Do you remember the Hidden Crumble Bistro?

He nods and replies, Vaguely, why?

I sweat a bit as my heart begins to race. I check on our guard. Seemingly bored with my methods, he is outside the door. Perfect! Now is my chance to confirm a theory.

I shouldn’t doubt Siora, but I need to know. The evidence just doesn’t add up, and this moron may be the key. I pull my head back as I align my folded hands to cover my face. I can never be too careful in case she is on the other side of this glass. If I am correct in my theory, I cannot let my lips be read here. 

With a shaking voice, I continue on.

Between you and I, my Captain used to get her morning latte from that bistro every day - first thing in the morning like clockwork. Every day, she ordered a large black coffee, an obvious red flag. Good people like you and me add sugar, or at least cream? He takes a sip of his drink, clearly in solidarity with my point.

On this fateful day, I was accompanying her to the morning briefing. She ordered a large black coffee, but they gave her two creams and two sugar by mistake. She went to politely request that they fix the issue.

I do my best Captain voice for this part; it is vital to the story. I start with how an angel would sound and add about five hundred percent more sugar, Sir um, excuse me, I think you gave me the um wrong drink. Resuming my normal voice, I continue on, That’s when the poor owner made the greatest mistake of her life!

Pausing to unfold my hands, I slowly finish my drink for a dramatic effect. Preparing my best manager voice, I continue, The manager boldly proclaimed, that’s what you ordered! No refunds!

Using my napkin to dab some sweat off my forehead before I lean in real close to the thug and whisper softly.

That night, the store was the target of an arson incident. Here is where it gets completely insane! The lead investigator’s report said that it was a freak lighting bolt that caused the fire. They say it struck the building, and all the loose flour caused a large-scale dust explosion. That sounds fishy as all hell. Right? First responders found evidence of the place being used as a front for the mafia.

At this point, my new bandage-faced friend interjects, What does this have to do with us?

I ask the guard outside the door for a couple more scones and a refill.

I am getting there my man, chill. After the fire, a dumb friend of mine and I thought it was suspicious, so we went to the records hall to investigate. It was gone. All the papers about the incident vanished.

I take a moment to calm myself down, centring my soul before I dare to press on.

We took our search to the city hall to sort out this mystery. No leads. Ownership deeds, sales tax reports, all gone. Next, we tried to track down the owner or any of the employees. Nothing! They all vanished without a trace. It never existed. The staff never existed! Nothing can prove that this cafe was even real.

The reality of my implications hangs in the air, suffocating us with the very concept.

My boss, Siora Von Fengeiros, codenamed the King, is not a person to be trifled with. She is the Goddess of the Purge. She may seem to be so sweet and pure, but she will erase your entire existence over a coffee!

With my excellent retelling of this story, the man is lost in thought. He starts slowly using his fingers to count as his brain is fact-checking my tale. He stops around finger three and breaks into a cold sweat. He leans in a slight bit closer to me and whispers a reply.

Oh, my Goddess... The last time I was in Aetherhelm, the Hidden Crumble was gone. I asked around, and all I got were people saying I was mistaken! I was told by the business next door that I was crazy!

The guard returns with refills. What a champ. This time he