"Perhaps." The Hunter inclined his head. "You say you kill because you must—you would not be the first soldier, warrior, mercenary, or priest to say the same." His jaw clenched. "But you made the mistake of choosing the wrong person to kill. The wrong people."
Captain Dradel sneered. "You are a killer like me, I can see it in your face." He shuddered, as if seeing the midnight color of the Hunter's eyes for the first time. "Yes, what they say about you is true. You really are a demon."
The Hunter had been called many names, demon among them; they rarely bothered him. "And yet, which of us murders innocent children?"
The mercenary captain shrugged. "Children, men, women: what difference is there? In the end, a life is a life, is it not? Surely you agree."
The wild light in Dradel's eyes sent a shiver of revulsion down the Hunter's spine. This was a man who killed not for money, for honor, or for love of country. He killed for the sheer pleasure of it. He sought the rush of death, the thrill of exerting one's will over another.
The Hunter had been accused of that—he'd wrestled with it every time Soulhunger took a life. He'd come to understand the truth of himself: he killed out of necessity. He relished the chase, the challenge of stealing into his target's homes, the exhilaration of battle. But in the end, he killed to silence the voices, to find peace from Soulhunger's incessant demands for blood and death. He had killed all manner of men and women in his attempts to escape his curse. Yet even in his desperate desire for freedom, he had lines he would not cross.
Captain Dradel had no such limits. One look in his eyes—a grey so chilly they could have belonged to a corpse—spoke volumes: he reveled in the death. He killed because he loved it. The profession of mercenary simply gave him an excuse to indulge his desires.
The image came to his mind unbidden: Captain Dradel stood in the darkened room, the dagger of the Bloody Minstrel bare in his hand. Beside him hung the silent corpse of Farida, her eyes open and unseeing. Blood trickled down her pale flesh to drip into the bucket. No more would die at his hands.
"As you say, death comes to all in Voramis. Yet you are not the Watcher to judge and condemn the living." With slow, precise movements, the Hunter drew his long sword. "By your actions, you have been condemned."
A trickle of sweat ran down Captain Dradel's forehead and disappeared behind the cheek guards of his helmet. His eyes followed the Hunter's left hand as it closed around Soulhunger's hilt and pulled the dagger free of its sheath. He tightened his grip on his own sword and three-bladed dagger, shoulders tightening as he waited for the attack.
The Hunter obliged. He closed the distance and brought his long sword crashing down onto Captain Dradel's upraised blade. The force staggered the mercenary. He stepped back, caught himself, and returned with an upward slash. The Hunter twisted his head, and the steel edge whistled past his chin. Soulhunger turned aside the vicious thrust of Captain Dradel's three-bladed dagger. The Hunter brought his right elbow up and across. Steel rang, and the mercenary stumbled again, dazed.
With a snarl, the Hunter pursued his prey. Sunlight glinted off his whirling sword, and the steel whistled with the speed of his strikes. The heavy Steel Company armor protected the captain's chest and throat, but the Hunter pounded at Captain Dradel's upraised sword again and again. He could simply overwhelm the mercenary's defense with his superior strength—he'd batter at Captain Dradel until the man tired. The strategy lacked his usual finesse; in his fury, he wanted to make the man suffer.
Captain Dradel managed to duck beneath one of the Hunter's blows and get off a quick strike of his own. His sword carved a long gash in the side of the Hunter's neck. Only the Hunter's reflexes and years of training stopped the blow from cutting him to the spine. He retreated, pressing a hand to the gash. He couldn't afford to lose consciousness from blood loss in the few moments required for his body to heal itself.
Grinning in triumph, Captain Dradel pursued. The Hunter fought one-handed, his other occupied pinching the lacerated flesh together. Every movement tugged at his neck, pulling the wound open. Try as he might, he couldn't stanch the flow of blood. He could feel his heartbeat growing frantic, struggling to keep pumping. It took every shred of his skill and speed to keep the mercenary's whirling blade at bay.
He grunted as Captain Dradel's sword opened a line of fire along his sword arm. The wound added to the strain of his healing body, slowing him further. He took a step back, and another, his sword arm dropping. Vicious glee brightened the mercenary's expression; he saw his victory, and pursued it with a smile as cold and cruel as his eyes. His sword descended in a blurring arc toward the Hunter's knee.
But the crippling blow never landed. The Hunter's ruse had worked, and he was already moving—his leg swung around behind him in a spinning kick. His boot crashed into the side of Captain Dradel's head. Though the helmet protected the mercenary from direct impact, the Hunter's kick had enough force to snap his head to the side. He staggered back, blinking, his eyes wide and unseeing.
The Hunter wasn't finished. His sword flicked out, slicing into Captain Dradel's left forearm, just above his gauntlet. The wound wasn't deep enough to kill, but his grip on the three-bladed dagger weakened. The Hunter's next strike knocked the blade free of his grasp.
Captain Dradel recovered enough to lash out with his sword. The Hunter interposed Soulhunger, and steel screamed and sparked as the two blades met. With a quick twist of his wrist, the Hunter rolled the dagger's shorter blade over the captain's sword and drew it across his right forearm. Captain Dradel screamed at this—the Hunter could almost feel Soulhunger tug at the cords holding his soul bound to his flesh—and gave ground. Somehow, he managed to retain his grip on his sword.
The Hunter pursued, his face hard, his jaw clenched. Captain Dradel's suffering hadn't ended.
The mercenary's next strike lacked power and speed—his wounded forearm had severed some of the connective tissue locking his fingers around his sword hilt. The Hunter turned the desperate attacks aside with contemptuous ease. He punched out with his left hand, and Soulhunger's transparent gemstone crunched against the captain's nose. Captain Dradel blinked back the reflexive tears, his nose gushing blood. For the first time, a desperate, terrified light glimmered in his eyes.
With a cruel grin, the Hunter sheathed Soulhunger and bent to retrieve the captain's fallen dagger. He stalked Captain Dradel around the clearing. He struck hard and fast, the force knocking the captain's blade aside. His sword battered at the man's guard until Captain Dradel fell, his weapon falling free of his weakening grip.
"We are both men of violence, men of death." The Hunter crouched and lifted Captain Dradel's sword. "Perhaps one day I will face death at the hands of another killer greater than I." He glared down at the choking man. "But this is not that day."
The Hunter drove a boot into the man's chest and shoved hard. Captain Dradel's head struck the root of an exposed tree, knocking his helm free. Seizing the collar of the mercenary's breastplate, the Hunter lifted him and slammed him back into the root once, twice, three times.
The mercenary lay at his feet, dazed, exhausted by the fight and loss of blood. But the Hunter hadn't finished with him.
"Perhaps one day I will face death at the hands of another killer greater than I." He glared down at Captain Dradel. "But this is not that day."
Sheathing his sword, he dragged the captain across the clearing toward a large oak tree. He hurled him into the trunk hard enough to jolt him unconscious. Lifting the man bodily from the forest floor, he inverted him and hung his legs over a thick branch. With all the prodigious force of his muscles, he drove the three-bladed dagger into Captain Dradel's right leg and into the branch.
Captain Dradel awoke with a scream that cut off in a wet cough. He gagged, spitting blood, and gurgled wetly.
The Hunter spoke in a soft growl. "This is how your victims died, Captain."
The mercenary swallowed and tried to speak, but the crimson streaming from his broken nose filled his
mouth and throat. Left like this, he'd drown in his own blood before his wounds spilled lifeblood onto the forest floor.
The Hunter crouched and spoke in a low voice. "Before you die, you should know his name was Pete.”
With a quick slash, he opened the captain's throat. Bright red spurted from the gaping wound, turning the rich earth beneath him to ochre mud. Captain Dradel jerked, his body twitching, his hands going to the rent in his neck. He could not stop the gush.
The Hunter watched without a word as the mercenary's struggles grew fainter, then stopped altogether. His arms flopped over his head. He crouched and stared into the cold, grey eyes until the life dimmed.
Silence echoed loud in the forest around him. The sound of Lord Damuria's desperate flight had faded, but he had little fear the man would escape him. The fight with Captain Dradel had taken mere minutes—no man could outrun him on foot.
He stared at the scene of carnage. Three bodies littered the forest floor, and Captain Dradel's corpse swung gently in the breeze. The metallic tang of blood drowned out the scent of fresh earth, the green aromas of living, growing plants, the sweet smell of wildflowers.
Without a word, he turned and stalked after Lord Damuria.
The Hunter moved at a fast trot, his long legs eating up the ground. The forest flashed by in a mottled brown and green blur, but he kept his eyes firmly focused ahead. He had no need of woodcraft to spot the tracks left by Lord Damuria. He simply had to follow the boot prints in the mud, the blazed trail of snapped branches, and the torn fragments of the nobleman's costly clothing. Within minutes, he caught sight of Lord Damuria.
The nobleman's robes were the envy of Voramis, cut in the latest fashion and tailored to fit his body like a glove. The costly silk was little more than a hindrance in the thick forest. Somewhere, Lord Damuria had cast aside his heavy cloak, no doubt in favor of greater freedom of movement. He cried out as tree branches whipped at his face, but he raced on.
Brightly colored fabrics worth a worker’s yearly wages ripped on branches. The garish purple and orange of his coat stood out in the forest, making him visible from fully forty paces away. Soot from the burning carriage streaked his face and clothes, and mud caked both knees. His white-blond hair, once so coiffed and controlled, flew in the wind, sticks and leaves tangling in his locks with every step.
The Hunter doubted the nobleman had ever run so far so fast, and he could almost smell the desperation pumping through the man's veins. He had left his guards behind in his hurry to flee. He'd bought and paid for their lives, and he was happy to spend them in his escape. Though exhaustion slowed his steps, terror spurred him on.
"You will not escape," the Hunter called.
Lord Damuria glanced over his shoulder, and it almost cost him his head. Sheer luck allowed him to avoid a low-hanging branch, but he nearly lost his footing as he ducked.
“You’ve not caught me yet, Hunter!” the nobleman panted aloud.
Just ahead of Lord Damuria, the craggy face of Dead Man's Cliff rose high above the tops of the forest. Though the nobleman cried out as he realized he was trapped, he didn't slow in his run.
The Hunter gave a grim smile and drew his handheld crossbow. The weapon's steel arms snapped out, the string pulled taut, and the remaining argam-tipped bolt clicked into place. Sighting for a moment, the Hunter pulled the trigger.
The missile blurred through the forest and slammed into Lord Damuria's back. The impact knocked the man forward, sending him stumbling. He fell to one knee, wailing, but pushed himself to his feet and struggled on.
The Hunter contemplated the fleeing man. The single bolt should have brought Lord Damuria down. The head was coated with argam, a highly toxic substance thick and dark as tar, which turned the blood a sickly green. The poison would kill Lord Damuria in a matter of minutes.
Yet the nobleman refused to give in. He sprinted on, despite the dark stain spreading down the back of his purple jacket. A maniacal, desperate laugh bellowed from his lungs—it echoed with the knowledge of futility yet a refusal to cede defeat. He actually picked up speed as he ran toward the cliff face and threw himself high into the air. He slammed into the rock wall with enough force to knock the breath from him. For a moment, he hung there, as if his mind's commands to move overwhelmed his body's desire to lay down and die. To the Hunter's surprise, he began to climb.
If only he'd been this tenacious in life, he might have had a chance of survival, the Hunter thought. With slow, precise movements, he sheathed the first crossbow and drew the second.
He spared a moment of pity for the man. In his desperation, Lord Damuria had made decent progress up the cliff face. No doubt the nobleman could imagine himself struggling over the lip of the cliff onto the plains around Voramis and safety. Terror could sap a man's sanity, delude him into impossible hopes.
Raising the crossbow, he fired the first bolt. It sped upward and slammed into Lord Damuria's back again, just beside the base of his spine. Still the man refused to fall. He clung to the cliff face like a butterfly pinned on a display. He could not move, but would not yield to the inevitable.
The Hunter actually found himself nodding his approval as he aimed the second bolt. However he lived, at least Lord Damuria died well.
He pulled the trigger, and Lord Damuria plummeted to the forest floor.
Want to know what happens next?
* * *
Prepare for Darkblade Assassin (Hero of Darkness Book 1):
The best assassin in the world doesn’t come cheap. Crossing him costs even more.
The Hunter: a name feared and revered by all in Voramis. He is an outcast, driven by a cursed dagger that feeds him power with every kill, yet he struggles against its unquenchable demands for blood and death.
He follows one simple code: he only kills those he believes deserve to die.
Until today.
Deceived by his shadowy employer, the Hunter has killed an innocent man. A good man.
His enemies, the most powerful criminal organization in the city, will not stop until he is dead. When they make the mistake of harming the people under his protection, not even an army of thieves, thugs, and killers will thwart his vengeance.
Coming May 2018!
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Afterword
This story came into being because I was thinking of Ria, the character from the Queen of Thieves series, and what she would do once she recovered from her ordeal in Queen of the Night Guild. Given that Ilanna, as Master Gold, would want to do whatever she could to keep the Bloody Hand out of her city of Praamis, it made sense that Ria would somehow factor into that crusade.
The idea struck me as I was writing Thief of the Night Guild: Ria said that she had been brought to Praamis via Voramis after being taken from her home. Who else would control such cruel enterprise but the Bloody Hand?
Like a lighting strike, the idea formed. It seemed so perfect that Ilanna would go on a crusade to take down the trafficking rings that had harmed so many girls like Ria, and I loved the thought that somehow she would ultimately be the cause of everything that occurs in Darkblade Assassin and the rest of the Hero of Darkness series.
Thus, the concept of Traitors' Fate (formerly known as The Death of Lord Damuria) was born.
As I did research on modern sex trafficking (also known as "sexual exploitation"), I came across some pretty terrifying statistics:
Since 2007, the National Human Trafficking Hotline, operated by Polaris, has received reports of 22,191 sex trafficking cases inside the United States.
In 2016, the National Center for Missing & Exploited Children estimated that 1 in 6 endangered runaways reported to them were likely sex trafficking victims.
Globally, the Inter
national Labor Organization estimates that there are 4.5 million people trapped in forced sexual exploitation globally.
In a 2014 report, the Urban Institute estimated that the underground sex economy ranged from $39.9 million in Denver, Colorado, to $290 million in Atlanta, Georgia.
(Information obtained via the Polaris Project)
The United Nations defines trafficking as, "the recruitment, transportation, transfer, harbouring or receipt of persons, by means of the threat or use of force or other forms of coercion, of abduction, of fraud, of deception, of the abuse of power or of a position of vulnerability or of the giving or receiving of payments or benefits to achieve the consent of a person having control over another person, for the purpose of exploitation. Exploitation shall include, at a minimum, the exploitation of the prostitution of others or other forms of sexual exploitation, forced labour or services, slavery or practices similar to slavery, servitude or the removal of organs"
The Act (What is done): Recruitment, transportation, transfer, harbouring or receipt of persons
The Means (How it is done): Threat or use of force, coercion, abduction, fraud, deception, abuse of power or vulnerability, or giving payments or benefits to a person in control of the victim
The Purpose (Why it is done): For the purpose of exploitation, which includes exploiting the prostitution of others, sexual exploitation, forced labour, slavery or similar practices and the removal of organs.
(Information courtesy of the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime)
The Polaris Project, a non-profit, non-govermental organization that strives to combat and prevent modern-day slavery and human trafficking provides a list of information on how to identify victims of trafficking:
Traitors' Fate Page 27