Darkblade Guardian

by Andy Peloquin

  Crouching, he pondered his next move. If he made no sound, he could retreat without alerting the bear to his presence. He dreaded a night huddled at the mouth of the cave, but at least he'd be out of the wind. A fight in the dark would be terribly one-sided, and not in his favor.

  He shuffled away from the slumbering creature as quietly as he could, but his heel struck a rock. He toppled backward and the crash of steel on stone reverberated through the cave. He scrambled to his feet in a heartbeat, slipping the pack from his shoulders, but the damage was done.

  The rumble turned to a low, dangerous growl, accompanied by the sound of massive paws thudding toward him. Acting on instinct, the Hunter threw himself to the side. His head slammed into the cave wall and the world whirled.

  Enormous claws slashed his face, carving deep furrows. The Hunter screamed in agony. Hot blood gushed from the wound. He staggered beneath the impact of the blow, waving Soulhunger blindly before him. A huge paw struck his hand, knocking the dagger from his grip and snapping his wrist. Another scream burst from the Hunter's lips.

  With his left hand, he fumbled for the long sword on his back. Before he could draw, a massive furry body slammed into him, hurling him from his feet. He crashed into stone and slumped to his hands and knees. A roar thundered through the cave, and the scent of the predator filled his world. Something struck the side of his head with the force of a charging horse, knocking him to the ground. An immense weight pressed on his chest, and his ribs creaked. Agony raced through every muscle in his body. His uninjured left hand was trapped beneath him; only his right hand was free. Pain flared through his shattered wrist as the bone healed, but not fast enough. He had seconds before the bear ripped him to shreds.

  A terrifying memory slammed into him. A rust-colored bear emerged from its den, transformed into a slavering, snarling thing of nightmare. Dark eyes locked on to the man, the creature's paw slapped the ground. Mouth open, fangs bared, its pink mouth contrasted with blood-red fur.

  The bear's scent mixed lust and rage, overpowering the man. Claws and fangs backed by prodigious strength sought his flesh. He gripped a makeshift weapon in trembling fingers. Human eyes locked on to beast's. Intelligence no longer burned in the bear's eyes; only maddening need remained.

  He was trapped in the Chasm of the Lost once more. Sensations washed over him: the reek of blood and lust, the brilliant shine of crimson rocks, the overwhelming dread.

  Fear flashed through his mind. The bloodbear towered over him and weighed four times as much, with strength enough to tear limb from limb. He fled the death hunting him.

  Now, pinned to the ground by the enormous beast, escape was impossible. Death had found him.

  Chapter Two

  The reek of blood and rotting meat permeated the Hunter's nostrils. Warm saliva dripped onto his face. Ice coursing through his veins, he gathered his legs beneath him and, with strength borne of terror and desperation, poured every shred of his inhuman might into his muscles. The bear's bulk shifted. The pressure lifted from his chest, and he sucked in a shuddering wheeze.

  Twisting his torso, he wrenched free his trapped left arm in the heartbeat before the bear's weight crashed back down atop him. His breath whooshed from his lungs, and he fought for air. His ribs creaked and buckled beneath the pressure. Agony flared along his sides as bone snapped. He cried out, and the bear answered with an ear-shattering roar.

  His left hand scrabbled in the darkness, searching for anything he could use as a weapon. Panic welled up within him. The demon's terrified, incoherent shrieking echoed in his head. Soulhunger throbbed in the back of his mind.

  Soulhunger! The bear had knocked it from his grasp, but it had to be somewhere nearby.

  His fingers closed around something hard and round. He lashed out, and stone cracked again the bear's skull. Sharp teeth ripped into his shoulder, tearing flesh and crunching bone. The Hunter's cries echoed from the cavern walls, growing louder as the bear mauled his face and torso. Blood spurted from a deep gash in his neck, staining his clothes and turning the dust beneath him to mud.

  His questing left hand found the familiar leather grip. He closed his grip around the hilt and slashed Soulhunger across the furry limb pinning him to the ground. He gasped as the weight lifted from his chest and drew in a wheezing, coughing breath. A heavy paw slammed into his head. Pinpricks of light swam in the darkness; he couldn't focus, couldn't think.

  He acted on reflex. The dagger in his left hand carved wicked gashes into the bear's flank and leg. When the creature retreated, the Hunter waved Soulhunger before him, a pitiful shield against his massive foe.

  The darkness pressed in around him, the air thick with dust and the tang of copper. Terror turned his blood to ice.

  The enormous furry bulk slammed him into the stone wall, sending waves of agony shooting through his torso. But the animal instinct that had kept him alive for so many years kicked in. He slammed Soulhunger point-first into the back of the bear's head. He felt the moment the tip pierced the thick skull bone and sliced through the soft, squishy mass of brain.

  The bear's roar choked off into a groan. The Hunter drove the dagger deeper and twisted, and warm wetness trickled down his arm. With a shudder, the massive creature slumped against the wall. The crushing weight snapped the Hunter's legs like dry twigs. He screamed as shards of bone sliced through his calves and ground against the stone wall behind him. Acid surged in the back of his throat and burst from his lips. He wrestled with the immense bulk, his breath coming in shallow pants. Strength drained from his muscles as his blood leaked onto the dusty stone floor. And still he wrestled, desperation driving him.

  This can't be how it ends! He'd come too far, endured too much to die in the darkness.

  Red hot pokers burned in his legs. He screamed with the effort, every sinew straining. He channeled his pain and rage into one final desperate heave. With agonizing slowness, the bear's massive form rolled to the side.

  The Hunter collapsed atop shattered legs. He clung to the cool stone beneath him, fighting to stay awake.

  Lips pressed tight, he wriggled his torso around and grasped his right foot. An animal howl burst from his throat as he pulled the leg back into position. The reek of his vomit filled the cave, tainted with the scent of blood—Bucelarii and bear alike. He slumped, sobbing with the torment.

  Just…one…more! He had to set the bones before losing consciousness. If not, they would heal crooked.

  He gripped his left foot and, with a roar, twisted it into place. A thousand daggers stabbed into his leg, shadows swirled around him like a fog. He welcomed it, and the pain faded away with his consciousness.

  * * *

  He awoke to the stench of vomit, blood, and death. The darkness pressed in on him, and a fist squeezed his chest.

  Need…light!

  For one terrible moment, he was back in the Serenii tunnels beneath Voramis. The mountain had collapsed atop him, its inexorable weight squeezing the life from him. His breath came in short, sharp gasps as panic overwhelmed him.

  He crawled toward the mouth of the cave, dragging his throbbing legs, grunting at the ache in his ribs, his wrist, his chest. A gentle breeze drifted down the tunnel, bringing the scent of fresh snow. Biting cold filled the cavern, but the Hunter didn't care. His mind screamed at him to escape the oppressive gloom.

  He all but threw himself onto the narrow ledge beyond, groaning his relief into the icy night air that bit like daggers in his lungs. The pale moon hung low in the sky, and the first glimpse of daylight glinted over the horizon. For what seemed an eternity, he lay there, listening to the soft whispering currents of air that had replaced the shrieking wind.

  He drew in a shuddering breath, then another, and pushed himself upright to recline against the snow-covered rocks. Had he really been unconscious the entire night? Closing his eyes, he basked in the sensations: cold, pain, hunger. All reminders he still lived.

  Barely.

  A shiver ran down his spine, and it h
ad little to do with the chill wind. The creature's blood—and his own—still covered his hands, his chest, and face. Much as he wanted to leave this place, he couldn't resume his climb. Not until he'd recovered. His ribs and shoulders burned as the lacerated flesh re-knit. His legs wouldn't support his weight yet, and his neck ached every time he moved his head. He flexed his right hand, found the fingers slow to respond.

  His mind raced. But how was that possible? Soulhunger should have restored him, yet the dagger had failed.

  His heart sank. It wasn't human. Only human blood would sate Soulhunger's thirst.

  An immense weight settled on his shoulders. He was trapped. He'd tried to fight the voices—the dagger and the demon in his mind—to resist their demands for death. In the end, no matter how hard he struggled, they always won. His fingers traced the scars etched into his chest. They reminded him of his failures: one scar for every soul consumed. He'd stopped counting long ago.

  Yet he couldn't bring himself to cast Soulhunger away. As much as hated the dagger, he needed it—almost as much as it needed him. He felt naked without it. It had saved him from death more times than he could count. More than that; to survive, to rid the world of the Abiarazi, he needed the terrible power it offered. He would bear the burden of its terrible cost. The blade was part of him, the only link to his forgotten past.

  Not his only link, not any more. Imperius, the insane Illusionist Cleric in Al Hani, had done something to his mind. In attempting—and failing—to erase his memories, the madman had unlocked a door deep in the Hunter's subconscious. Fragmented images and scenes had returned in a trickle, tantalizing him with the barest hints of truth. Most frustrating of all were the rare glimpses at the mysterious woman who had haunted him for decades.

  Her. He drew in a deep breath, as if hoping to catch a hint of the smell that brought mixed sorrow and joy. It always comes back to Her.

  For as long as he could remember, he'd dreamed of Her. Vague hints that disappeared like dust on the breeze. Then, in Voramis, he'd actually seen Her, clear as if She stood before him. He'd clung to that image as he rode north, escaped the Chasm of the Lost, and crossed the Advanat. Since leaving Voramis, his primary thought had been to find Her.

  Since Al Hani, She had plagued his dreams. He saw Her as he slept, and awoke to a wrenching pain in his heart. He relived the happy moments they'd spent together, the sorrow in Her eyes as She bid him farewell, and the agony of Her betrayal. She'd delivered him to the Illusionist Clerics, and they'd stolen his memories. Memories of Her and of his past. He'd journeyed to find Her; She would have answers for him.

  His desire to find Her outweighed everything. Well, almost everything. He'd put aside his desire to find Her in order to rescue Hailen from the bandits. He could do so again to put an end to the Sage. But once he had eliminated the greatest threat to Einan—a threat no one but he knew existed—nothing would keep him from traveling north to find Her.

  He leaned over the ledge. Pinpricks of light dotted the landscape and faint sounds drifted up from Kharan-cui, the settlement built in the shadow of Shana Laal.

  Try as he might, he couldn't help worrying about Hailen. In every way, the boy was…unique, unlike any other the Hunter had met. He lacked coordination and strength, and fatigued more quickly than ordinary children. The differences went beyond the physical, too. His innocence bordered on a dangerous extreme, as if he couldn't understand that people meant him any harm. Upon their first encounter, what seemed a lifetime ago, the boy had walked up to him, dauntless and friendly amidst the abattoir of what had been his home. The Hunter had killed the Beggar Priests that protected him, yet Hailen showed no sign of fear. That was what had sparked the Hunter's desire to protect him. In the ruthless, unforgiving world of Einan, the boy had no chance of survival.

  Hailen's captivity at the hands of Il Seytani, the brutal bandit leader of the Sah'raa, had changed him. He jumped at shadows, cried out in his sleep. He'd grown withdrawn and sullen. Weeks of travel from Al Hani had taken a toll on the lad. He'd spent a week in Kharan-cui, letting Hailen rest and recuperate while he searched for someone he could leave the lad with.

  The Hunter no longer deluded himself by believing he was best-suited to protect Hailen. Il Seytani and the Advanat had taught him the truth. His presence only placed the boy in greater danger. Because of him, Hailen had been captured by bandits, locked in a cage, and come within a hair's breadth of dying. His fault. He wouldn't put the boy through that again. He had to leave Hailen in Kharan-cui, out of harm's way. The Hunter couldn't drag the boy into his war against the Sage.

  The Sage. Thought of going to war against a man powerful enough to command demons made even him hesitate. Yet the Sage wasn't the only thing that drew him to Kara-ket. In the twin temples atop the mountain he hoped to find answers about Hailen's eyes.

  Fleeing from bloodthirsty bandits, the Hunter had been forced to make a stand amidst a ring of cursed standing stones. The "place of demons", as the bandits called it, had somehow reacted to Hailen's presence. At the boy's touch, the obsidian obelisks had unleashed a blast of power strong enough to hurl the Hunter from his feet.

  Yet in that same moment, the boy's eyes had changed—from an icy blue to a purple nearly as dark as his own. He'd seen that color before.

  The memory played in his mind. A face hovered above him. Violet eyes stared down at him impassively. Another face appeared, then more. They said nothing, only lifted him and carried him gently. Darkness.

  Men with purple eyes had saved him from death in the Chasm of the Lost and nursed him back to health. But that wasn't the only place he'd encountered the anomaly. In the Advanat Desert, he'd regained a fragment of his lost memories. A middle-aged man with sun-darkened skin and violet eyes had trained him, taught him the Way of the Hunt.

  Master Eldor, I called him.

  The words came unbidden to his mind. "You are one of the best to ever pass through the halls of Kara-ket. When you first came, you had no memory of who you were or why you carried that weapon. Thanks to the volumes in the Vault of Stars, you have learned more of your past."

  The Hunter hoped to find some trace of the man in the twin temples. He had no idea how much time had elapsed since the day he'd seen in his memory, but perhaps someone else with the same purple eyes could offer him answers about his past. A slim hope, at best, but he had to risk it. He needed to learn what the change meant for Hailen. He had to learn more about who he had been before he became the Hunter of Voramis.

  But first, I have to deal with whatever awaits me in Kara-ket. He would do whatever it took to eliminate the man, or monster, who threatened all of Einan. He'd prefer the quick and easy approach—Soulhunger would make short work of the Abiarazi. But he'd paid the proprietor of the inn more than enough to look after Hailen for weeks.

  He had come to Kara-ket to kill the Sage, and, if possible, to learn of his plans for Einan. His encounters with the demons in Voramis, Malandria, and Al Hani made one thing clear: the Abiarazi and their minions hid in every city around Einan. Surely the Sage would have information or written records that could give the Hunter insight into his organization. The more the Hunter could discover about the locations of the demons, the easier his efforts to track them down and pick them off would prove.

  He had no illusions finding the information he sought would be that simple. He couldn't outright kill the Sage, not until he had what he needed. If, as he suspected, the Sage truly was an Abiarazi, the Hunter's heritage as Bucelarii, offspring of demons, would work in his favor. In the past, the Abiarazi had accepted him with open arms, even offered him positions of power. He would play the willing vassal and worm his way into the Sage's favor. When the time came, Soulhunger would drink Abiarazi blood.

  He snorted. As if it's ever that easy with demons! He'd narrowly survived his encounters with the Abiarazi in Voramis, Malandria, and Aghzaret. His fingers crept from the jagged scars on his chest to the silver pendant around his neck. He'd taken it from the body of his friend, k
illed by Toramin, demon of Malandria. The smooth piece of metal served as a reminder of what would happen to the innocent and helpless of Einan if he failed.

  “So the clever Bucelarii decides to confront the viper in his nest.” The demon's mocking laughter echoed in his head. “You really do have a death wish.”

  The Hunter ignored the voice. At least it had ceased its shrieking long enough to form coherent words, even insulting ones. The demon's descent into madness had accelerated since Al Hani. Most days, he struggled to fight off its unintelligible screaming and demands for death. His only peace came when he killed to satiate its bloodlust, or when he stayed close to Hailen. Now, here on the mountain, he was at the mercy of its insanity.

  The sun peered over the distant hills, driving back the night and splashing glorious color across the sky. The Hunter reclined against the rock face and closed his eyes. Sunrise did little to push back the chill, but he welcomed the light.

  The lands of the Hrandari—or Mori Khun, as they called themselves—stretched in an endless sea of tall grass and gentle, rolling hills. The Mori Khun claimed everything from the eastern edge of the Advanat to the towering Yathi Mountains. On the six-week journey from Aghzaret to Kharan-cui, they'd encountered just two small settlements. The Hunter hadn't understood the true meaning of "in the middle of nowhere" until he spent a week in the middle of the Hrandari steppes.

  But there is no denying the raw beauty of it. If only I had time to enjoy it.

  He climbed to his feet, ignoring the twinge in his legs. He flexed his right hand and found the wrist moved easily. The ache in his neck had gone, and his ribs no longer protested with every breath.

  Time to get climbing.

  He turned to the mouth of the cave, and a lump rose in his throat. His pack—with his food, fortune, and equipment—lay beside the enormous carcass. He clenched his fists and forced his feet to carry him into the darkness, where the reek of blood and death hung thick in the air. He gave the bear's corpse a wide berth, no easy task given that it occupied half the small cavern. The Hunter fought back instinctive panic as he fumbled in the darkness for his pack and fur-lined cloak.