Darkblade Guardian

by Andy Peloquin

  First, he had another role to play for the Warmaster. He had no desire to see the huge demon, much less speak with him. After discovering the demon's intentions to capture Hailen, the Hunter didn't know if he could maintain the pretense of cordiality.

  Not much I can do to get out of it.

  Below, a crowd of Elivasti had gathered in the enclosure, surrounding the Dolmenrath. The Hunter's stomach tightened at the sight of the four obsidian stones. They brought nothing but painful memories.

  A second horn blast interrupted his thoughts. At that moment, the mass of Elivasti parted, making way for the enormous figure that swaggered through the enclosure. The Warmaster had arrived.

  The Hunter hurried along the wall and descended the stairs, pushing his way through the mass of odorless Elivasti bodies and into the enclosure. The crush of people grew thicker as he approached the standing stones. Head and shoulders taller than the Elivasti, he could see a clear space with two great chairs and a third smaller chair. The Warmaster had settled his bulk into one, his enormous tankard in one hand and a lamb of leg in the other. A pair of scarlet-robed Masters of Agony hovered at his shoulders. The multitude of glares directed at them made perfectly clear that they were not welcome at this ceremony.

  The Masters' hands darted toward their sword hilts when the Hunter broke free of the crowd and strode toward the Warmaster. The huge demon waved them back. "He is our guest tonight."

  The Hunter bowed. "Warmaster."

  "Hunter." A curt nod, and the Abiarazi gestured to the smaller chair. "Join us."

  "Thank you." Taking a seat, the Hunter leaned to one side, pretending to busy himself adjusting his boot laces, and pitched his voice for the Warmaster's ears only. "All is proceeding as planned. Already the Sage has begun to take me into his confidences."

  "Good," the Warmaster rumbled from behind his enormous tankard. "You snuck out like a thief the other night. Were it not for the Sage's presence, I would have believed you departed with him."

  "I took advantage of your party to explore his chambers. Finding a way to kill him won't be easy, not with his Elivasti protectors."

  "When will it be done?"

  "Three days. Four at most." The day after he intended to kill the Warmaster.

  The huge demon bristled. "Why the delay? Surely you—"

  "I intend to survive this particular task." The Hunter's voice held steel. "I've found an escape route that will take me to safety, hidden from the Sage's guards. But he is never unaccompanied. I have to find a way to get him away from his protectors, which, as I'm certain you know, is no easy task."

  The Warmaster grunted. "I grow impatient, Hunter."

  "As do I. You think I enjoy chafing under his control, a virtual prisoner in his temple? If I had my way, the job would have been done long ago." Genuine anger seeped into his voice. Fury rippled in his chest, at both demons. Every day spent here meant further delays in his search for the woman. Now that he had found what answers Kara-ket had to offer, he ached to be on his way. "But I will not rush it. Not when it could mean my death." He folded his arms. "I did not live this long by being hasty."

  A scowl creased the Warmaster's face, but he said nothing, instead burying his face in his tankard.

  The Hunter straightened in his chair, settling back and forcing himself to appear relaxed. Inside, every muscle was coiled tight like an artificer's spring.

  The horn blared again, accompanied by the boom, boom, boom of a drum. A reverent silence fell over the crowd of Elivasti.

  The mass of bodies shifted and cleared a path to the Dolmenrath. The Sage strode toward them, head held high, wearing hooded robes of a black so impossibly deep they seemed to absorb the fading daylight. As one, the Elivasti knelt before their master.

  The Sage strode into the circle of standing stones and turned to face the Elivasti. "For too long, the Elivasti have suffered under the burden of their ancestors, the Irrsinnon, curse of the Elivasti. Tonight we celebrate the freedom offered by the Expurgation, the ritual of cleansing." He thrust a finger toward the rear of the crowd. "Behold your children!"

  The drums boomed, faint at first, then swelling to thunder, accompanied by a sonorous chanting. The mass of Elivasti turned.

  Through the enclosure gates strode six figures in the white and black masks of the Elivasti. Ropes bound their hands behind their backs, but they marched with spines straight and heads held high. The patterns of their cloaks seemed to swirl in the light of sunset, ever shifting and changing like the faces of the Abiarazi. The ringing drums filled the night with an ominous, oppressing atmosphere.

  The Sage's voice carried over the solemn tattoo. "For weeks, they have readied themselves for the ritual, steeling their hearts, minds, and bodies to face the judgement of the mighty Kharna himself."

  The figures strode into the circle of standing stones, forming a line before the Sage. With one final throbbing pulse, the drum fell silent. A deathly stillness hung over the crowd, as if every heart stopped beating in unison and the Elivasti held their breaths in expectation.

  The Sage drew back his hood. "For thousands of years, the Elivasti have honored the oaths sworn by their forefathers." His voice seemed to fill the enclosure, echoing with inhuman power. "Tonight, you are given the same opportunity offered to your ancestors the day they turned their backs on the Serenii and pledged loyalty to the Abiarazi. Are there any present who would so pledge?"

  The six Elivasti stepped forward without hesitation.

  "Let all coverings be removed. Tonight, these six bare their faces before the mighty Kharna."

  Six Elivasti men broke from the crowd and strode toward the Dolmenrath. They removed the white and black masks, the patterned robes, the simple tunics beneath, until the six Elivasti stood shirtless and barefoot, clad only in breeches. All male, they were little more than youths. From the Hunter's vantage point, he caught a hint of something unusual: a scent. Six different odors, unique to each figure, drifted on the breeze.

  As one, the youths turned their violet eyes and clean-shaven faces to the Sage.

  "For thirteen days, you have prepared your bodies, minds, and hearts for Expurgation. You have taken a vow of silence, and no food has passed your lips. Let the first words from your mouth declare your intentions for all to hear."

  As one, the six young men knelt, and their voices rang out with strength and conviction. "I swear to honor the oaths of my father, and his father before him, and his father before him. I vow to follow your commands without question, without hesitation. I pledge my life in service to the Abiarazi, from this moment until my last breath."

  An arrogant smile twisted the Sage's lips. He closed his eyes, drinking in the exaltation of the Elivasti. "You have given your oaths to the Abiarazi, but there is still one more to whom you must swear fealty."

  When the Elivasti spoke, it was in the guttural language of the Abiarazi. The words sounded harsh and unnatural coming from the throats of the young men.

  The words seemed to reverberate from the cliffs themselves, as if the stone amplified the inhuman sounds.

  A shudder ran down the Hunter's spine. The last time he'd heard the words spoken, Garanis, the demon in Malandria, had used them to conjure some unknown magick. What was the purpose of these words?

  The air around him thickened, pressing in around him. An unnatural heat rushed over him. A weight pressed in around the Hunter, and he couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Blood pounded in his ears with such intensity it felt his head would explode.

  The demon's voice filled his mind with cries of delight. Soulhunger added its voice to the chaos, its throbbing rising to a thunderous cadence that set every fiber in the Hunter's body vibrating in time with the chanting. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs.

  "What…are they…saying?" His words came out in a strangled gasp.

  The Warmaster's empty eyes seemed to look through him. His lips moved, the words coming out in a whisper. "My blood, my soul, my death, to you I swear, until the
Devourer of Worlds takes all."

  Daggers twisted in the Hunter's stomach. They're offering themselves to Kharna.

  The mention of "Devourer" brought to mind the image he'd seen carved into the stone walls. The way Kharna had laid peacefully seemed so at odds with the mad god of legend. And that odd fissure carved into the walls…something about it seemed off. But what?

  Pushing it to the back of his mind, he returned his attention to the ritual. Sage stepped toward the kneeling Elivasti. Reaching in his robe, he drew out six small objects. In the fading light, the deep purple opia fruit looked as black as the demon's empty eyes.

  The Abiarazi held up one of the fruits. "The gift of the gods." His gaze fell on the youth before him. "You have sworn yourself to the mighty Kharna, and to the Abiarazi, his right hand of destruction. Receive his blessing, and may he grant you the strength of the worthy."

  The Elivasti opened his mouth, and the Sage placed the opia fruit on his tongue. He moved down the line, repeating his solemn words. Once all six had received the opia, he returned to his place and stood facing them, arms folded.

  Silence hung like a thick shroud over the room, and the very walls seemed to tremble with the tension.

  The Sage turned his face upward and closed his eyes. "Oh invincible Kharna, Destroyer of Worlds, hear us and accept our offerings. Place your hand upon the unworthy, and pass over the deserving."

  Nothing happened.

  The Hunter leaned forward, eyes fixed on the kneeling figures. Is it working? The opia fruit was intended to cure the Irrsinnon, the madness that plagued the Elivasti. If it works for them, surely it will work for Hailen, too!

  One of the figures twitched. Slight at first, a movement of his shoulders, then the tremor spread to his arms. His hands, bound behind his back, trembled, the fingers opening and closing in spasms. The Elivasti's eyes widened and his mouth fell open, but no sound came forth. Veins stood out on the youth's neck, and his face reddened. He struggled against his bonds, but the ropes held him fast.

  Twisted hell!

  The young Elivasti fought to draw breath, but his face turned a sickly shade of greenish-purple. He doubled over as his stomach heaved. Nothing came out. He fell forward, his body shuddering and jerking violently.

  For a long, agonizing moment, the youth lay on the floor, every muscle in his body seizing up. Then, with a final spasm, he lay still.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Keeper's bloody stool! Shock coursed through the Hunter. The Sage had said the opia would cure the Elivasti, not kill them.

  He looked around, but no one seemed remotely surprised by the young man's death. The Sage's eyes remained closed. The Warmaster took another pull at his massive tankard. Pain showed on the faces of the Elivasti, but none voiced complaint or protest. The Masters of Agony flanking the Warmaster stared at the corpse with the dispassion of a butcher studying a slaughtered calf.

  His gaze darted back to the remaining five youths. They knelt in silence, with no sign of fear, hesitation, even sorrow. Their faces had grown dull, listless, and they stared up at the Sage with vacant eyes.

  Another realization hit him: they had no scent! His nostrils detected only the reek of Abiarazi and the unwashed odors of the Masters of Agony. The Expurgation hadn't only cleansed them of madness; it had taken away the smells that marked them as unique.

  The Sage opened his eyes and took in the corpse beside the kneeling Elivasti. "Mighty Kharna has spoken! He has chosen his worthy. Praise to the Great Destroyer!" His words thundered across the enclosure.

  The Elivasti took up the cry. "Praise to the Great Destroyer!" Hundreds of voices joined in the chorus, and the chanting swelled to a bone-jarring roar.

  At some unspoken signal, the five kneeling Elivasti climbed to their feet. Men and women surged toward them, embracing them, covering them with warm robes, pressing food into their hands. The youths reacted with stiff, jerky movements, like the mechanical toys of the Illusionist Clerics. Their glassy eyes and leaden expressions showed nothing as they were led away like docile cattle.

  Bloody, rotting hell! The Hunter sat back in his chair, his mind racing. Dread sat like a boulder in his gut.

  The Sage had promised the Expurgation would save Hailen from the madness of the Elivasti. But after what he'd just witnessed, doubt tore his plans to ragged pieces. His eyes locked on the corpse in the center of the Dolmenrath. Would Hailen suffer the same fate? If there was a chance, however small, could he let the boy go through with the ritual?

  If he didn’t, the Irrsinnon would overwhelm Hailen. During their journey from the Advanat, more times than he wanted to contemplate, the Hunter had caught the boy seemingly lost in thought, eyes staring vacant. His happy, friendly demeanor had developed an edge far too hard for one so young. He shuddered as the memory of Hailen's screaming, writhing figure flashed through his mind. He couldn't let the Irrsinnon take Hailen.

  The Sage's approach interrupted his thoughts. The Abiarazi strode toward the cleared space and sat in his chair.

  The Warmaster raised his goblet in salute. "A moving ceremony, as always." He made no attempt to hide his scorn.

  "Thank you, Warmaster." The Sage dipped his head. "The Elivasti deserve no less. After all, they have served us faithfully for so many years."

  The Warmaster's expression slipped, and the anger in his eyes could have melted steel. The Sage met his glare with a confidence as cold as the snow-capped peaks of Shana Laal.

  The Hunter studied the two. Demons they might both be, but they had about as much in common as snow and sand. The Warmaster was a creature of fire: passionate, quick to anger, a force of nature impossible to control. The Sage was a thing of ice: restrained, patient, perfectly calm but under the surface an inexorable monolith that would crush anything in its path.

  If they ever put aside their differences and joined forces, Keeper have mercy on Einan.

  But, as he'd seen before, their predatory nature proved their undoing. They were never content with their existence, but always sought more power, more control. They believed themselves the rightful rulers of Einan and would stop at nothing to claim it. Their alliances—little more than fractious ceasefires—rarely lasted long. They wouldn't hesitate to stab each other in the back if it gained them a modicum of dominance. The Abiarazi may wear the flesh of humans, but they had more in common with the sharks he'd encountered in the Frozen Sea. Lone predators, at the top of their food chain, but vulnerable when facing an enemy unafraid of their superior might.

  The Sage and Warmaster feared each other, and were ever suspicious of the threat posed by the other. That fear prevented them from truly trusting anyone. No creature of land, sea, or sky survived long without companions.

  He'd learned that on his journey from Voramis to Malandria. Though it had cost him dearly, he'd come to understand the value of having others in his life. Bardin had saved him from starvation and given him shelter to recuperate. Graden, Kellen, Bristan, and the others of Sirkar Jeroen's caravan had shown him what it meant to have people to rely on. Even naïve, helpless Hailen had been the only thing to keep him from death in the Advanat.

  He had given up much for Hailen's sake. He had put aside his desires to find his woman in the north to rescue the boy from Il Seytani. He was trapped in Kara-ket because he needed to free Hailen from the Serenii curse. But the boy was worth it all. The way his face brightened at the sight of the Hunter, the sound of his high, piping laughter—these things were worth more than all the power in the world.

  So how the hell am I going to help the boy? Give him the opia and risk death, or deny him the fruit and let the Irrsinnon claim him?

  The staring match between the two demons ended abruptly as the Sage stood with a dramatic yawn. "With the ceremonies done, I see no reason to remain here." His eyes turned to the Hunter. "If you are prepared to depart…"

  The Hunter opened his mouth, but the Warmaster spoke first. "You call him like a dog, expecting him to heel?" An edge of barely-repressed fury
made his words tight, sharp. "He is not your lackey, and does not require your permission."

  "Of course." The Sage's face took on a mask of icy calm. "Your pardon, Hunter. I did not mean to—"

  "He does not care what you meant to do, Sage." The Warmaster spat the last word as he stood, looming over the smaller Abiarazi, anger burning in his eyes. He dropped his voice to a harsh whisper. "You strut around this place like you are its ruler, but you forget yourself." He swayed under the effects of the opia.

  The Sage met the Warmaster's fury with a self-possessed smile. "Of course. How…presumptuous of me." The chill in his slow, measured words could have frozen steam.

  The Warmaster's lip curled into a sneer, and he dismissed the Sage with an imperious wave. "Don't let me keep you from leaving."

  The Sage bowed to the Warmaster and turned to the Hunter. "Will you accompany me, Hunter?"

  Once again, the Sage had trapped the Hunter in an untenable situation. The two demons were locked in a battle of wills, and he had become the unwitting pawn. Anything he said would make it appear as if he chose one over the other. He had to convince both he was on their side.

  The Hunter, keenly aware of the Warmaster's eyes boring into him, shook his head. "Allow me a few moments and I will follow."

  The Sage's expression remained inscrutable, but he bowed. "So be it." Without a backward glance, he swept through the near-empty enclosure toward the gate.

  The Hunter turned to the Warmaster. "I, too, will be taking my leave." He stood with a theatrical grimace. "A day of training takes its toll upon even the mightiest of warriors."

  A hint of annoyance flickered in the Warmaster's empty eyes.