Darkblade Guardian

by Andy Peloquin

  "You shall have it." The Warmaster nodded. "In this, as in everything else, you will find I am an Abiarazi of my word." The demon's cold, dead expression sent a chill down the Hunter's spine.

  He forced a nod. "A week, then."

  "So you will leave the Sage's accursed temple and join me?" The Warmaster fixed him with that eerie, piercing gaze.

  "Would it not be wiser for me to remain close to the Sage?" The Hunter dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "All the easier to put a dagger in him when the time is right."

  The Warmaster struggled to keep the glee from his face. "Perhaps you are right." He gripped the arm of his throne. "And, perhaps the time to make our move will come sooner than you expect."

  The Hunter inclined his head. "I will be ready." He stood. "But at the moment, I hear the undeniable call of nature." He grinned. "It turns out a Bucelarii can drink more wine than his bladder can handle."

  The Warmaster chuckled and gave a dismissive wave. "That is a command even I cannot ignore."

  With a nod, the Hunter strode down the stairs and toward the double doors into the main chamber. As he went, he sought out the Sage. The smaller Abiarazi stood at the far end of the room, wine goblet in his hand, eyes fixed on him. The Hunter gave him a small nod and a wink. The tension in the Sage's posture relaxed and he turned his attention to the roaring, shouting Masters of Agony.

  The Hunter pushed through the crowd of scarlet-clad men, doing his best to ignore the reek of wine, blood, sweat, urine, vomit, and a hundred other scents assaulting him from all sides. He was only too glad to burst free of the mass of people and exit the double doors into the temple corridors.

  Two masked Elivasti stood at attention outside the grand chamber, but they paid him little attention as he strode down a side corridor. He ducked out of sight around the first corner. The sounds of revelry echoed through the halls, growing fainter as he hurried away from the main room.

  As he suspected, the layout of the Warmaster's temple mirrored that of the Sage's temple. He simply had to follow the path in reverse—turning left instead of right—and he would reach a staircase leading to the upper floors.

  Rounding a bend in the passages, the Hunter came face to face with an enormous statue. Made of solid onyx instead of jade, the creature bore a striking resemblance to the Abiarazi in the Sage's temple. Biarticulate arms hung down to the creature's knees. Long, lean ropes of muscle gave the creature a predatory appearance.

  Yet for its similarities, the silent figure seemed almost…human. Save for the too-many-jointed appendages and over-large canines, it had more in common with men than demons. The unnaturally elongated fingers lacked the razor claws of the Abiarazi.

  A chill ran down the Hunter's spine. What in the fiery hell is this thing? Another type of Abiarazi?

  It couldn't be. It had a high, sloping forehead and its dark, glittering eyes seemed to turn toward him. Instead of the primal, bestial appearance of the demon statue, this bore a fierce intelligence that belied its monstrous figure.

  Though he turned away from the statue to climb the stairs to the upper floors of the temple, the statue's features haunted him. He couldn't shake the image from his mind. Something about the alien figure seemed oddly familiar. It didn't bring the same dread he felt when he saw the demons. Instead, it evoked a feeling approaching awe.

  He reached the top floor and hurried down the corridor toward the place where the Warmaster's chambers should be. The ornate bloodwood door at the end of the hall told him he'd found the right place.

  He tested the door. Unlocked. Pushing it open, he peered into the darkness beyond. The overpowering reek of the Warmaster twisted his stomach. Taking a deep breath, he slithered into the room and shut the door behind him.

  Moonlight leaked through a massive skylight, and the stone walls brightened as he entered. The faint illumination revealed a chamber the size of the main hall below. Where the Sage's rooms were divided into sections, the Warmaster's room was one vast open space. An enormous bed occupied one wall, and a rack of swords, spears, shields, and other weapons—most too large for the Hunter to wield—decorated another. At the far end stood a throne lined with velvet and covered in furs.

  But the Hunter only had eyes for the table beside the throne. A map of Einan had been spread atop the table, and pieces representing armies sat arrayed in military formations. The Hunter had no idea how many men the Warmaster was planning with, but it had to be in the thousands. It would take an army at least twenty to thirty thousand strong to invade the cities of the Twelve Kingdoms, the Hrandari Plains, and as far south as Drash.

  Bloody hell! He had found the Warmaster's plans for the conquest of Einan.

  He hovered over the table, struggling to comprehend the strategy. The Warmaster was no tactician—his methods of conquest relied on overwhelming odds. The Hunter guessed he would take command from the front. He was a one-demon army, after all.

  So why hasn't he made his move? From what he'd seen, the Warmaster had the patience of a charging bull.

  The only thing he could think of was that his army was incomplete. The Elivasti numbered fewer than a thousand, and he would only gain total control of them once he'd eliminated the Sage. That left the Masters of Agony. At least five hundred men stood clustered in the grand chamber below. Given the size of the temple, it could hold easily ten or twenty times that number. The Warmaster had to be turning his torturers into an army loyal only to him.

  The demon's words sprang into his mind. The Warmaster had promised he'd have opia within the next seven to ten days. Someone was bringing him the fruit—and with it, more men to add to his ranks?

  The thought of the huge Abiarazi leading an army sent fear rippling through him. The demon would be unstoppable, bringing bloodshed, chaos, and destruction to the world such as had not been seen since the War of Gods. None of the divided, isolated kingdoms could stand before him. Cities would fall before him or surrender to prevent annihilation. Every new conquest would add to his legions. Within a decade, the Warmaster would hold Einan in his demonic grip. Hundreds of thousands would die, and Kharna would be restored.

  A shudder ran down the Hunter's spine. Against such might, what hope is there for our world?

  There was only one way to save Einan: the Warmaster had die before he marshalled his army.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Keeper's teeth! The Hunter clenched his fists. Can't anything just be easy?

  No matter where he went, he found himself drawn into conflicts he had no part of. From the Bloody Hand in Voramis to the Order of Midas in Malandria to Il Seytani's desire to destabilize Al Hani, he always ended up embroiled in something. He'd come to Kara-ket to kill one demon; now, he not only had to deal with two, but he had less than a week before the Warmaster unleashed a reign of terror on the world.

  A knot forming in his stomach, the Hunter slipped through the dimly lit room toward the door. He couldn't risk the Warmaster finding him in here, and he had to get to the other temple before the Sage decided he'd endured the Warmaster's company long enough.

  He had just reached for the handle when it clicked open. He had an instant to react; he leapt behind the inward-swinging door and pressed himself into the shadows. Heart thundering, Soulhunger gripped tight, he held his breath.

  A stooped figure in the dull garb of a servant shuffled into the room. Metal and wooden dinnerware rattled as the old man set down his heavy tray and went to work bringing order to the chaos of the Warmaster's quarters.

  The Hunter quickly ran over his options. He knew what the voice in his head wanted him to do, and though he had no desire to kill the servant, he couldn't risk discovery. The Warmaster must never learn he had come. If it came down to it…

  He froze at the clatter of metal on stone. Peering from behind the door, he saw the servant kneeling to fumble for a plate that had fallen and rolled under the bed. Here was his chance! Without a sound, he slithered around the door and out into the corridor.

  T
he long, straight hall provided him with few places to hide. Anyone passing would spot him leaving the Warmaster's rooms. He'd be faced with questions he didn't know how to answer. But he had to hope the topmost level would be deserted as long as the Warmaster remained below. If he could just reach the staircase unnoticed, he'd have a chance to slip out.

  His heart leapt at the sight of the staircase. He all but dashed down three flights of stairs, only slowing when he reached the landing upon which stood the odd-looking statue. He pretended to be absorbed in studying the figure until he could catch his breath and regain his composure. Then, with the calm confidence of a nobleman in the comfort of his own mansion, he strode down the corridors that led back to the main chamber.

  The festivities continued unabated—of anything, the revelry had only grown more raucous in his absence. The sounds of a bawdy drinking song had joined the din of the cheering, shouting Masters of Agony.

  The Hunter peered into the room. Men and women swirled in a chaotic mass of bodies. He had no desire to enter that maelstrom. His eyes went to the dais, where the Warmaster remained seated on his throne, massive tankard in hand. The demon seemed blissfully unconcerned by the Hunter's absence.

  That's one sorted.

  His heart leapt as he saw the Sage hovering beside a table laden with roast meats and wildfowl. The smaller Abiarazi ate sparingly, his movements precise and elegant. His eyes roved the crowd, never stopping.

  Is he searching for me?

  The Hunter had read displeasure and suspicion in the Sage's midnight eyes and cool demeanor. The Sage distrusted the Warmaster, and the sight of the Hunter in the larger demon's company had no doubt triggered misgivings.

  Thankfully, the Hunter had expected this. The next time he saw the Sage, he had a simple reasoning the demon ought to appreciate.

  But he could worry about the Sage's delicate sensibilities later. Right now, he had to return to the Sage's temple and get into his office. The Elivasti guards would never let him in unaccompanied. Thankfully, he didn't need the guards' permission.

  * * *

  With an exaggerated yawn, the Hunter saluted the trio of white and black-masked men guarding the entrance to the Sage's temple. He affected a limp, wincing every other step. After the pounding he'd taken on the training field earlier, the Elivasti should have no trouble buying his act of retiring early.

  The moment he was out of the guards' sight, he dashed up the stairs two at a time. He doubted the Sage would remain entertained much longer. He had very little time to get into the demon's rooms.

  No time for dawdling.

  Gallidus' death had done more than buy him a short reprieve from the demon's shrieking, pleading, demanding voice. As Soulhunger siphoned the man's life force—sending it to feed Kharna, the Destroyer—it flooded the Hunter with power, washing away fatigue, aches, pains, hunger, and thirst. The Hunter hadn't felt this invigorated since the Advanat, when he killed dozens of Il Seytani's bandit raiders.

  He slowed as he reached his floor, once more adopting his shambling pretense of an exhausted, beaten man desperate for a few hours of rest. Thankfully, the corridors were empty, and no guards stood outside his room. With one final theatrical, ear-splitting yawn for any hidden watchers or listeners, he slouched into his room and pressed the door shut behind him.

  That ought to fool them.

  He had no doubt the guards below would tell the Sage of his return. He doubted the demon would check on him—certainly not in person—but he might decide to send a servant. Using the guise of "taking his clothes to wash" or "bringing food and drink for the morning", of course. He just had to be certain he had finished his search of the Sage's chambers and the towertop before that happened.

  Slipping out of the formal outfit—"stupid, stuffy clothes," he muttered, accompanied by a few other choice curses—he shrugged into a dark grey tunic and breeches. His sword remained beside his bed, but he kept Soulhunger in its sheath at his back. With a heavy cloak to complete the ensemble, he opened the door and strode onto the balcony.

  He took a deep breath of the bracing wind and forced himself not to look down. He couldn't help his concern for Hailen, somewhere in the Elivasti city below. His mission tonight would require focus.

  The climb to the Sage's rooms a single floor above took him less than five minutes. He dropped onto the balcony and tested the door. Latched. Drawing a slim-bladed throwing dagger from a hidden sheath in his cloak, he slid it between the window frame and casement and lifted the latch. The door swung open on silent hinges.

  The walls in the Sage's room brightened as he entered the plush bedroom. He stole over to the demon's bed—doing his best to ignore the reek of incense and cloying perfume that hung like a cloud—and gave the scrolls on the bedside table a quick examination. The poetry proved spectacularly uninteresting.

  Whoever wrote this ought to be drawn and quartered. He was no wordsmith, but he'd encountered better-composed verses from the mouths of drunken minstrels in the dockside bars in Voramis.

  Gliding around the enormous bed, the Hunter moved toward the door to the sitting room. Pushing the door open a crack, he peered out, half-expecting to see one of the Sage's servants awaiting the demon's return.

  Empty.

  Relieved, he padded into the room and studied the books sitting on the shelves. The tomes were in pristine condition, but the titles declared them to be works of fiction rather than volumes of value. No, the Sage wouldn't keep anything important out in public.

  That left just one place: the door that had remained closed both times he'd visited the Sage. Testing the handle, he found it unlocked. Hope surged in his chest. What would he find beyond that door?

  The glowing walls illuminated a lounge chair in the middle of the room, a pipe stand sitting on the low table beside it, and shelves lining the walls from floor to ceiling. No drawers, chests, or anywhere the Sage could hide anything larger than a book.

  The Hunter eyed the shelves. There has to be more than a thousand books in here! He hadn't seen so many volumes in one place since the House of Need in Malandria. Not a raindrop's chance in the Advanat I'll get lucky enough to find what I'm looking for.

  Truth be told, he had no idea what he was looking for. He only knew time was running out before the Sage returned and he'd learned nothing of value. Still, he'd come this far. He wouldn't leave just yet. He walked along the rows of books, studying the titles etched in golden filament into the cloth and leather spines. Works on alchemical lore sat nestled between medical reference books, collections of children's tales, and political and philosophical treatises. If nothing else, the Sage had an eclectic reading palate.

  Opposite the door, upon the shelf sat a game of Nizaa that had to be as old as Shana Laal itself. The pieces were little more than carved stones, the board made of black and white marble. It should have been out of place in the Sage's room, an ancient trophy amidst a sea of wealth and modern luxuries. Yet, knowing the demon's fondness for the game, it seemed somehow fitting. Perhaps it had been the Sage's first Nizaa set. What it lacked in monetary worth—unlike the jeweled, gem-encrusted bloodwood set he played with now—it made up for in sentimental value.

  Shrugging at the oddity, he continued his search of the bookshelves. Nothing seemed out of place. The Sage's chaotic organizational system made it impossible for the Hunter to find a disruption in the pattern. Every moment he spent searching the room increased his chances of getting caught. Short of the Mistress' luck dropping something into his lap, he had little hope of finding anything of value.

  Finally he'd had enough. He'd spent close to half an hour searching the little library in vain. He had to get out of the Sage's rooms before the demon returned. With a frustrated grunt and a final hopeless glance at the bookshelves, he pulled the door shut and slipped toward the Sage's bedroom and the balcony.

  Damn! He cursed. With his fortuitous discovery of the Warmaster's plans, he'd almost dared to hope the Mistress' luck would smile on him. Now, he had to flee the
Sage's rooms empty-handed and none the wiser. Worse, he'd actually have to work to get the Sage to trust him enough to reveal his plans. That would take time—longer than a week, certainly.

  But at least there was one problem he could solve tonight. He knew where to find the opia he needed to cure Hailen. A short climb would bring him to the domed top of the tower. All he had to do was find a way in, locate the opia, and…

  Keeper's teeth! He'd forgotten to ask Master Eldor what the opia looked like. Clenching his fists, he considered what to do next. Once again, even if he gained access, he had no idea how to find what he sought. Yet another frustrating waste of time.

  No, not a total waste, he told himself. Decades as an assassin had taught him to learn as much about his targets as possible before going in for the kill. Meticulous preparation had saved his life more times than he could count.

  Biting back an irritated growl, he swung out onto the temple wall and began the ascent. The weather-worn stones provided him with ample hand and footholds. With the power of his latest kill still coursing in his veins, not even the chill wind or the thin air could slow him down.

  He reached the top of the tower and clambered onto the narrow ledge that ran around the dome. The faint light of the moon and stars shone on the opaque glass of the gently curving roof of the temple. Heart sinking, he moved along the circumference, searching for any break in the dome. His calves soon ached from the exertion of maneuvering on his toes, so precautious was his perch.

  As he feared, the roof was, impossibly, a single unbroken piece of glass. It had no iron, steel, or wooden frame to support it, no beams to strengthen what should have been a delicate material. Just one enormous, impenetrable bubble.

  Cursing, he leaned on the dome and contemplated his next move. The sun would rise in three hours, and Master Eldor would be expecting him at the smithy to commence his training. If he returned to his rooms now, he could bathe and change before heading down to the Elivasti city.