A Sister's Steel: Tales in Salona, #2

By B.K. Westlake

One year after her brutal journey in the Mordan Kingdom, Blood Sister Shilda has rejoined her outlawed sisterhood in order to hunt down and enact revenge on those that betrayed them. Her mission brings her to the city of Rigark in the Rigo Empire where Shilda and her sisters have learned of their enemies gathering together for unknown purposes.

 

In Rigark, Maca lives the simple life of a medical monk under the Gordo Temple. Serving Lord Fradis, the monk works to heal the respected lords son from an illness, while also coming to light of sinister plots revolving around Fradis, his son and the Gordo Temple.

 

As Shilda and Maca become tied up in such plots, their journey will take them to the Mordan Kingdom, where King Petric has made it his lifes work to finally bring peace to his land and the Rigo Empire. But comes to learn that peace may not be easily obtained, as forces both human and myth begin to conspire against him.

 

To save herself and her friends, Shilda must come to realize her true potential in the sisterhood and accept those that fight by her side.

 

Or risk the destruction of the Blood Sisters.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mistfey Entertainment
• Release date: Jul 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201920524

B.K. Westlake

B.K. Westlake, also known as Brandon,was borin in Ontario Canada. Writing at ayoung age, Brandon has dedicated himself to writing unique stories for those to enjoy, and perhaps help those that need it.  At the meantime, the best way to reach Brandon for news and updates is Instagram @bk_westlake and Facebook at B.K. Westlake.

Book preview

Prologue

Atop the tall, cold mountains, a traitor stood alone, contemplating power.

Fog swallowed the land below the Lorgi mountains, growing higher and higher into the darkening sky, threatening to swallow the fortress of Redrock like a haunted village.

For most people within the region, these mountains dominated their lives, always in sight from their small villages. For some, those mountains were a thing of beauty, a natural work of art. For others, they carried tales of dark spirits, or Scrumps of old, torturing and enslaving humans that happened to stumble into their caves.

But for the most realistic, they knew these mountains were the home of the Blood Sisters, taking the fortress of Redrock as their shelter. Records never stated where Redrock came from, only folktales passed down from oral tradition, so watered down that none could truly know who built the fortress.

Millan had her theories; she probably had more knowledge than others. But the head of the Blood Sisters was too busy for theories.

She looked down from a cliff overlooking the large, rocky courtyard of the fortress. Blood Sisters trained there; the courtyard was never empty of training most of the day. Green masks and grey masks all trained with the same intensity as the others.

Fewer red masks these days.

Millan gazed past the stone walls of the fortress, looking down on the landscape before her. Mountains, hints of fog billowing below. It was always foggy in the mountains, even as the evening went on and night would soon be upon them. Far to the right, Millan saw hints of a village, Stonesthrow; a village that belonged to Redrock in a way, thanks to the puzzling divide that plagued Lorgi, a land full of independent barons and crime lords. Stonesthrow served the Blood Sisters for protection from roving bandits. In exchange, they supplied Redrock with supplies every few months.

Shadows from the taller mountains began to climb over the fortress as the sun set. Millan clicked her tongue, noting her contact was late for their meeting. Millan sighed, moving down the path to the courtyard.

Some of the training sisters stopped to bow heads to their Teacher, quickly resumed training. Millan almost expected to hear Teacher Lorss’s voice hollering at the sisters, but was sorely disappointed. Redrock was quieter since Lorss had died in Larta almost a year ago.

Quietly, Millan cursed her name. Lorss should have sent for Millan the first time two sisters were murdered by their rogue enemies, but the Blooder loved to get her hands dirty. The cost of such a gamble was a handful of more sisters, and Lorss herself.

Millan climbed ancient stone steps, leading to a bridge over a thin waterfall. She again thought of Lorss, shivered, but not from the cold. There were rumours from the Mordan Kingdom, ones that said Lorss and the score of other sisters hadn’t been killed by the entire host of rogues, but by a single enemy.

The head Teacher chuckled to herself. Impossible, no one fought that well.

She speculated that Watler was involved. She knew of his plans for the Mordan Kingdom, and sent Lorss to be the handler to the sisters whom Watler had hired for his schemes. He had failed, and was now missing or dead. This new king, Petric, was proving to be a wise one. His diplomacy was peaceful, and valuable, offering much wealth to those who worked with the kingdom.

She crossed the bridge, passing through an open door into the keep. Halls lined the foyer leading off to various bedchambers, a mess hall and the old library; but Millan continued on through the building, pushing past another doorway to the other side.

The sun had set behind the mountain by the time Millan reached the last building at the back of the fortress, protected by a stone wall over a sheer cliff. The council chamber, a place where all the red masks met to discuss needs of the sisterhood. A place that was emptier now, with only Millan and Teacher Flora there to fill its seats.

The cold of the mountains disappeared in a warm room with a blazing hearth in the centre. She was surrounded by murals of the sisterhood’s history carved on its walls.

Again, Millan sighed, strolled to the chamber’s doorway. It was getting dark; the only light was from the torches spread out throughout the fortress. But there was still no word from her contact.

They say a hard place creates a hard people.

Millan spun, hand grabbing an obsidian dagger on her hip. She clenched a fist, feeling a power within herself. Millan saw a figure standing with his back to the fire, dressed in a dark coat, hair black as night, skin a light tan, his face hidden from the glow of the fire behind him.

This place, the man continued, it’s a hard place. One could only wonder why the ones before you came and settled here. Perhaps to make hard warriors.

Millan relaxed, but kept her training in mind, always prepared to strike. And your people don’t know why?

The man grunted, moving to the side for the fire to reveal a hawk shaped face, with dark eyes. Apologies for my late arrival, the man said in a soft whisper, bowing his head. I am, Vlamar. Pleasure to meet you.

Millan moved closer to the fire, letting go of her dagger, but she kept her power close. I can assume why.

Vlamar smiled, said, You made a request to my mentors, they are intrigued. I would hear it from your lips.

His words passed by her like a low song, soft like a wind, making Millan feel faint. Luckily, she kept herself composed. The Blood Sisters have suffered losses with our infighting against the traitors, she said. We have lost a Teacher. The one named Watler told me of your whereabouts.

Vlamar nodded. I saw many more sisters in the courtyard; you yourself are also a red mask. Why can’t you take care of it?

How did he get past the scouts? There are other tasks that will need a great number of us, deep in the Rigo Empire. These tasks may attract the enemy. I need someone with skills like yours to deal with them.

Vlamar cocked his head, eyes reflecting the fire. And what makes you think I have such skills?

Millan felt her mask rub her face as she smirked, looked into the fire. You and your allies hide well, but not well enough. At least, not well enough for my resources.

She looked up from the fire, but Vlamar was gone. She stepped back, feeling for her dagger again. What you know, Vlamar said, standing inches beside her, is dangerous for you.

Millan froze, not daring to turn on the man. She wondered at her power, curious if something like that could affect what stood beside her now.

But I suppose, one of your status would have knowledge, Vlamar said, suddenly on her other side, passing by as if going for a walk. How many traitors are there?

I do not know, Millan said. Perhaps twenty.

Vlamar held his hands up to the fire. Oddly, it seemed fake to Millan, as if he didn’t need the heat. If I do this, my allies will require payment.

Whatever it is, I will provide.

Vlamar stepped away from the fire, approached the doorway. This fortress, such an old place. A place like this holds secrets, ones my allies would be interested in.

You seek to inspect Redrock? Millan glanced at the fire. Kill our enemies, and I’ll dust the place before you come back, if I must.

Vlamar was quiet for a time. It’s a deal then. You’ll hear from me soon.

Millan turned back to the doorway, but Vlamar was gone. She left the chamber, but found no sight of the man, or whatever he was. Millan pulled off her red mask, looking at the bright red Shine’s Drop in the night sky. Deep down, she felt cold.

Chapter 1

Every year, for an entire month, the cobbled streets of the Rigo Empire’s cities shook with the thunderous steps of various attendees of the annual festival. A festival used to celebrate their gods, each day representing another lesser god before the grand finale day celebrating Gordo. It was a holy time, full of drink, food and freedom to let out their inner animal.

A part of Shilda wondered if one day, creatures from beneath the earth would awaken from such racket; the rogue Blood Sister herself knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep in these sewers with all that noise.

That part of her was smothered by the assassin, the killer within, the one who screamed at her to focus on the obsidian blade flying at her head.

Shilda rolled under the blade, heard it crack against the wall. She drew a small handful of arrowheads from her pocket, tapping her Blood. Power surged within her like a storm, flowing out of her as Shilda threw the arrowheads, the metal pushed on by her powers. The sister further down raised a hand, stumbling back from the invisible force; but the arrowheads stopped, ricocheting to the sides into the walls, throwing up small clouds of dust.

The sister turned and ran down the sewer.

Stop using metal! Ash shouted beside Shilda, running past her towards their target.

Shilda cursed, followed her companion.

The sewer was dim, its only light for Ash was the sunlight through the storm drains, but Shilda could see just fine with her Blood. Their target had the same abilities as Shilda, so she could see just as well as her. Unfortunately, it was still too dim for Ash to see the sister twist in the air mid-jump over the filthy water in the centre of the sewer, flinging her arm towards them. Shilda acted quickly, pushing Ash behind a corner for the arrowheads to pelt the wall in a haze of brick dust.

Thanks, Ash grunted. She resumed running, Shilda close behind.

But their target was gone, the sewer lit with sunlight from the open manhole cover. She wouldn’t, Ash hissed, she’s a grey mask!

She can take it off, Shilda breathed, stopping at the ladder. With the festival, she can blend in perfectly. They climbed up the ladder, reaching a cramped, dirty alleyway. There was a single man, unconscious with drink, a near-empty bottle sitting under his arm. Outside the mouth of the alley, Shilda saw people marching by, dressed in various colourful costumes and masks. Almost all of them had confetti to throw into the sky, while others carried an assortment of food and drink.

Shilda looked to Ash, both nodding to each other. They pulled off their masks, though she saw Ash hesitate. Shilda tucked her grey mask under a tightly fitted shirt, straightened out her short hair. Together, she and Ash strolled from the alleyway into the street, each quickly grabbing a tie-dyed cloak from the side of a vendor to hide the weapons on their person.

Glancing right, Shilda tapped lightly on her Blood to quickly survey the crowd. She didn’t see anyone moving against the festival goers, or anyone moving suspiciously, so their target must have moved left. They moved down the crowd, avoiding mummers playing jokes and breathing fire, dodging drunken men and women nearly colliding with the killers. They moved with a dancer’s grace, like water flowing over stones.

She’s probably in a disguise, Ash said to her.

Shilda nodded, looking far ahead. She paid good attention to the soldiers stationed along the rooftops of the buildings lining the street. Technically, they were to keep the peace, though small riots and murders were incredibly common during the festival. But if Rigo soldiers spotted Blood Sisters, or Blood-users, they would summon an entire army to seize upon them.

Ash pulled Shilda away as a man was thrown from a tavern, colliding with a small crowd. Shilda narrowly avoided the toppling fools. Then she saw a figure glance back at them, most likely at the rabble. Dark red hair, cut short along the sides, wearing a large overcoat and a bright fool’s hat. She briefly locked eyes with Shilda before spinning away, disappeared around a corner to the right.

Got her, Shilda said as she quickened her pace.

She sped around the corner to a second street, this one crowded with fewer people. Shilda kept her sights on their target. The sister now threw back her hood, glancing back at Shilda. As Shilda and Ash neared, the woman abruptly crossed the street, pacing down a wide alley underneath an archway.

Shilda and Ash kept walking up the street to see the alleyway, noticed that it led to some kind of court, not a single person in sight. The assassins ran across the street, passing under the archway. They entered an open court, lined with stairways leading up to apartments, which would most likely be empty thanks to the festival.

Where is she? Ash asked.

Shilda glanced to the right, tapped her Blood to push at an axe flying through the air towards her friend. The weapon zipped to the side, burying itself in a nearby wall. Across the court, the fleeing sister stood on the second floor of a balcony, grey mask over her face, disguise thrown to the side.

Shilda and Ash threw away their own disguises, revealing their weapons, Ash with two obsidian daggers and Shilda with a single obsidian blade the length of her forearm. Both pulled on their masks. The grey mask cocked her head, leaped over the railing, landing with Blood powered legs.

Shilda heard feet stomping across the ground behind them. Watch it! she shouted, rolling away, Ash rolling to the other side. A figure passed by in a blur, wearing tight dark clothing like the other assassins, but sleeveless, wearing a green mask. The sister slowed near the Blooding, turned back to Shilda, muscles tense, eyes wide beneath her half mask.

Blooder, Ash confirmed.

I’ll take that one, Shilda said. She had plenty of experience fighting those.

The two sisters heard the rogues make their quick plan, swapped places for the Blooder to stand in front of Shilda. Not paying any mind to Ash or the Blooding, Shilda and the Blooder charged. Shilda feigned a jump, causing the Blooder to leap, reaching for the air. Instead, Shilda rolled across the ground, passing by the Blooder. Shilda spun while low to the ground, aiming her blade for the back of the knee. But the Blooder expected it, stepping away casually, spun a kick for Shilda’s head, who narrowly avoided the blow.

The Blooder pressed on, forcing Shilda to dance back from her enemy’s blows. A Blooders strength was better than the force of three men, even ten if one tapped their Blood to the extreme. They were also stronger than most Bloodings. To be struck by most Blooders would be the end of a fight.

Luckily, this one was young, and Shilda knew how impatient a young Blooder tended to be.

She lunged to the left, running up a nearby set of stairs. Shilda took a glance at Ash, who rolled behind a dried mud wall in front of an apartment to avoid a handful of arrowheads. Shilda reached the top of the stairs with Blood powered legs, but she felt her stores depleting. Shilda grabbed one vial of blood out of several, popping the cork. The Blooder charged up the stairs, then jumped several steps higher. Shilda jumped back for the Blooder to land a fist in the stone wall, dust flying.

Shilda poured the vial of blood onto her palm, which quickly absorbed into her skin. She felt a renewed surge of energy roil within her. Quickly, Shilda attacked the Blooder, whose fist was still in the wall. She kneed the sister hard in the ribs, thrust her blade for the gut. The sister grunted, ripping her hand from the wall, avoiding Shilda’s blade with only a slash to the side.

Shilda was struck in the chest by a back hand from the Blooder, sending her across the balcony, crashing through the thin wooden railings and falling to the court grounds.

Shilda groaned, rolling onto her back. Through the glare of the bright sun, the assassin saw the Blooder drop down for her.

The Blooding rolled away, ground shaking under the Blooders weight. Shilda rose, luckily still holding her blade to slash at the Blooder’s forearm, earning her a pathetic grunt. The Blooder charged, attempting to push Shilda, who ducked and slashed the woman’s gut. This time, the Blooder gasped, grabbed her belly, then kneed Shilda in the side. Thankfully, the blow was weak, forcing Shilda to merely stumble against a wooden stand.

Shilda attacked again, kicking the Blooder in the face, the wood of her mask making a loud thud. The Blooder lunged, Shilda danced away, letting the Blooder hit the stand, crashing through it.

Shilda took the time to check on Ash, who was locked in a grapple of blades with the Blooding, kneeing, elbowing, pushing and pulling; blood leaked down Ash’s arm from several small wounds.

Shilda stepped forward, shook her head, focusing on the Blooder. Don’t get distracted.

She watched the Blooder stir on the ground, taking something from her belt. Shilda waited until the Blooder’s back suddenly tensed, then pushed herself roughly from the ground. Shilda braced herself as the Blooder charged like a bull seeing red; then she lunged forward, tilted to the side just enough to avoid a powerful fist, slashed at the Blooders arm, cutting it clean off at the elbow. The Blooder kept charging, slammed into the wall in a cloud of dust and shattered brick.

Shilda didn’t give the woman time to straighten. She tapped her Blood, lunging forward, thrust her obsidian blade through the Blooders back, piercing through her chest. The Blooder gasped, twitched for a moment, then slumped.

With that finished, Shilda pulled her blade free, turned to check on Ash.

The Blooding was in the middle of kicking Ash away, glanced quickly at Shilda, ran across the court for an open alleyway. Shilda fumbled for a handful of arrowheads, throwing them at their target with a Blood powered push. The Blooding pushed back, some of the arrowheads wavered and fell, others continued on, pelting the sister in her ribs and leg. She was running out of Blood and didn’t have the proper chance to take any from her belt. The sister stumbled for a moment, straightened, continued running down the alley.

Shilda scrambled after her, reaching down to pick up two fallen arrowheads as she ran. Meeting the mouth of the alley, Shilda saw the sister running up stacks of crates and planks of wood from the walls. The Blooding took a breath, aimed, then threw the arrowheads. They successfully hit the sister in the back, sending her toppling.

Ash sped past Shilda, racing up the makeshift stairs for the fallen sister. Shilda expected the Blooding to rise from her prone state; indeed, she began to stir, but Ash was faster, cutting her throat with an obsidian dagger.

In quick succession, Ash pulled their target’s