‘It’s said to be how the Dark King commanded the battlefield,’ said Leda. ‘His minions bore his brand and that gave him mastery.’
It was somehow even more frightening than turning people into shadows, the idea that once they were branded, his armies belonged to him fully, that he could inhabit their bodies, individually or many at once. She imagined looking into the eyes of hundreds of soldiers, and they were all the Dark King—
‘Second are the Remnants,’ said Leda. ‘The men with pale faces that we drove back on the marsh. Each wears a piece of armour once worn by a member of the Dark King’s inner guard. Or – should I say that the armour wears them. We believe it changes them. Their fighting style … it is eerily similar to ours, as if the armour knows the ancient skill of its old wearer. We have never faced them in open battle, but on the marsh it took twelve ward stones to drive them back.’
The three blank-eyed men in strange pieces of black armour galloping across the marsh, their hounds streaming out ahead of them. Violet’s stomach churned at the idea of fighting not the men but the ancient armour itself, still animated on its quest to protect the Dark King.
‘They can be fought, but not easily,’ said Justice. ‘It takes spears, or long-range weapons. You cannot get close. A single touch is deadly. That may be how Simon knew where to dig for the buried armour: anything it touches withers, never to regrow. Above the ground where it was buried no tree took root nor bird would fly.’ His eyes were serious as he spoke the warning: ‘As you approach the estate and its parklands, beware the dead grass.’
Beware the dead grass. Violet shivered and kept that in mind.
And then there was a silence. Violet looked around at the gathered Stewards, all of whom had gone quiet, almost as if there was something they did not want to face.
‘And the last—’ Leda broke off.
‘The last?’ said Violet.
Leda didn’t answer, as if she found the subject too disturbing. Violet saw Jannick and Justice exchange looks. The silence stretched out. In the end, it was the Elder Steward who spoke.
‘The last is Simon himself,’ said the Elder Steward.
‘Simon!’ said Will.
Violet knew Simon as a distant figure, the man her family had worked for over many years. There had always been rumours about him, communicated in hints and sidelong looks. That his rivals met misfortune, that it was dangerous to take him on. When she’d imagined fighting him, she’d imagined fighting the forces of his trade empire, not the man himself.
‘Do not forget who he is. Simon is the Dark King’s descendant, the heir to his throne,’ said the Elder Steward. ‘Simon may have no magic of his own, but his blood allows him to use the Dark King’s objects and weapons, just as we use objects of the Light.’
‘His weapons?’ said Violet.
‘The sword you saw on the ship,’ said the Elder Steward. ‘Ekthalion, the Black Flame.’
The moment she said it, it felt inevitable. That sickening, terrible black fire from the ship, sailors on their knees vomiting up black blood. But—
‘How can he use it? He’d die. Everyone would die.’ Violet could almost taste the river water in her throat. She had never wanted to see that thing again.
‘There are a lot of legends about the sword,’ said the Elder Steward. ‘It is called the Corrupted Blade, but it was once the Sword of the Champion, forged to kill the Dark King. The Sword of the Champion bestows the power of the Champion … Those words are cast into its length. But it was utterly defiled, corrupted by a single drop of the Dark King’s blood. Now it shares the destructive instincts of its master.’
Violet remembered the way it had torn through the hull of the ship and the feeling she had had that it was trying to get out. The men closest to it had seemed to rot from the inside out.
‘Its sheath was forged to hold its power back,’ said the Elder Steward. ‘But when it is drawn … That single drop of the Dark King’s blood is more destructive than anything in our world. And you’re right. Once it is fully unleashed, everyone and everything around it dies … except Simon himself, who cannot be harmed by the Dark King’s blood, because that selfsame blood runs in his veins.’
The Sword of the Champion bestows the power of the Champion. Those words stuck in Violet’s mind.
‘If it was once the Sword of the Champion—’ said Violet.
‘No. Do not attempt to take up the Blade yourself. Many have tried, chasing the old tale, believing they could cleanse the Blade and restore the sword to its glory. All are dead. If Simon has Ekthalion, our only chance is to prevent him from pulling it from its sheath.’