Darkblade Guardian

by Andy Peloquin

  "What do you think, boy?" the Sage asked. "Do you like my statues?"

  Hailen smiled up at the demon. "Oh, I love them! They're just like in the stories Ayden used to read us."

  A grin touched the Sage's face. "I'm glad."

  The Hunter suppressed the urge to seize Hailen and flee. Something about the Sage's expression set him on edge. Perhaps it was the way his smile failed to reach his eyes. He was keenly aware of the Elivasti behind him, keeping a wary eye on him. With Hailen here, he had to be careful of his words.

  "Hailen, why don't you take a look around? See how many you recognize."

  The boy grinned and sprinted off into the garden of statues. His piping voice echoed in the darkness as he called out the names of the figures.

  The Sage watched him go. "A happy one, isn't he?"

  The Hunter nodded. Hailen's presence in the garden set his senses on full alert. His eyes darted around, scanning every shadow for a hint of threat. The Sage's explanation for bringing Hailen here made sense, but could that be the real reason?

  He turned to the demon. "What is this place?"

  The Sage's brow furrowed. "In every city, there is a monument to the Swordsman, hero of the War of Gods, yes?" His lips curled up in a sneer of distaste. "When Kara-ket was first built, it was intended to be the greatest temple to the Swordsman. After his death, it served as his final resting place."

  The Hunter raised an eyebrow. "I was under the impression that the Temple of Heroes in Voramis held his bones."

  The Sage snorted. "Of course the Adepts would have you believe that. Every city, the priests of the Swordsman claim theirs is the final resting place of the fallen hero. But tell me, Hunter, can a god truly die? Even the Destroyer remains alive, as you well know. What are the chances the cowardly Swordsman is actually dead? Can you honestly believe that the bones of a deity molder in some priestly vault?"

  The Abiarazi shook his head. "The Swordsman's body was slain by the Destroyer, but his essence lives on. The Serenii built Kara-ket to harness the raw power from the earth and sun. They claimed it was to gather enough power to return the Swordsman to life, but in all truth, they intended to use the power for themselves. Indeed, the chief architect himself laughed as he described how they had 'deceived the gods', as he said."

  "If that is true, then where is the power? And why have you not figured out a way to harness it?"

  A scowl twisted the Sage's face. "The accursed mold."

  The Hunter's jaw dropped, and he burst out laughing. "What? You're telling me mold defeated the greatest minds on Einan?"

  The Sage nodded. "When the mold grew across the face of the temple, it blocked the Serenii magick somehow. What was intended to be the greatest source of power on Einan is nothing more than twin lumps of stone. Beautiful, but as inert as a lump of clay."

  The Hunter pondered his words. "And that is why you cannot use Kara-ket in your efforts to bring back the Great Destroyer. Without that power, it is useless."

  "Indeed." The Sage's scowl deepened. "I came to Kara-ket with the intentions of using the power of the twin temples to restore the mighty Kharna to life. Imagine my frustration at discovering that the temples were not only useless, but they housed the devotees of the god that had killed my master."

  "The Swordsman's priests. The Adepts."

  "The very same." His sneer turned into a gloating grin. "I derived a great deal of pleasure watching the Warmaster twist them to his own purposes. The coward's own believers, serving us. Delicious!"

  The Hunter's mind raced. Swordsman Adepts, serving the Warmaster? What is he talking about? Realization dawned. "The Masters of Agony."

  The Sage nodded. "Even the strongest of them succumbed to the Warmaster's torments after a few weeks. He broke them, warped their minds, and made them his tools. The Masters of Agony have continued the tradition for centuries. They capture Adepts and bring them to their Master to be turned into his creatures."

  The Hunter's stomach twisted. Just like he intended to do with me. The Masters of Agony treated the Warmaster with a reverence borne of fear. He shuddered at the image of himself carrying out the demon's orders with mindless devotion.

  The Sage stared up at a towering marble figure. "The Swordsman was never truly equal to the Destroyer, you know. He was the weaker of the two, lacking in skill. Only once Kharna threatened the other gods did the Master grant the Swordsman power to face Kharna in battle. He would never have succeeded otherwise!"

  "You have the Illusionist and Watcher to thank for that."

  The Sage's expression turned stony. "I need no reminders, Hunter. When this world belongs to the Abiarazi, I will take special delight in tormenting the Illusionist Clerics and the devotees of the Watcher."

  The Hunter's gut lurched as the Sage's features swam in a grisly wave of flesh and bone. Only a supreme effort of will kept the disgust from his face. To hide his revulsion, he turned his gaze upward, studying the massive twin buildings towering into the night sky.

  A thought struck him. "The temples, they're not the same, are they? Something about them…"

  "You are correct." He pointed to his temple. "Those who enter here find peace and calm, while those who enter the temple of the Warmaster find only chaos and confusion." His lip curled. "The minds of humans, dull as they are, do not suffer the effects as visibly. The Elivasti report hearing an incessant ringing in their ears, which only dulls once they leave the temple. As for the effects on our kind…"

  The Hunter nodded. "Chaos."

  "Precisely." The Sage stroked his chin. "From what I can decipher of the Serenii texts, that was the first temple erected atop the mountain. It was intended to draw power from Einan itself, but perhaps it drew too much." He pointed to his own temple. "The Serenii built this to provide balance. Where the one gathers power to it, the other siphons it off and returns it to the world. Thus, harmony is achieved, as was ever the way of the Serenii."

  "But how?" The Hunter studied the enormous spires. "How does it work?"

  "The ways of the Serenii are difficult to understand." The Sage spoke in a patronizing voice. "But suffice it to say, there is a conduit that draws the power from one tower to the other."

  The Hunter followed his pointing finger. "The bridge."

  "The very same." He sighed. "But alas, I am forced to abandon Kara-ket in search of another way." His gaze followed Hailen scampering around the garden. "You are fortunate, Hunter. You have your family right here." He met the Hunter's eyes. "Me, I have spent millennia working to be rejoined with mine. The day is not far off."

  Once again, the sorrow in the Sage's eyes caught him by surprise. He'd grown so accustomed to the cruelty and ruthlessness of the Abiarazi, it seemed so odd to picture them as so…human.

  "How long will it take you to reach Enarium?"

  "The journey to Vothmot is not an easy one. The Whispering Waste is cruel and unforgiving. It has been known to drive men insane." A sly smile spread the Sage's lips, and he tapped his forehead. "Thankfully, my mind is much clearer than a human's. I will survive the crossing, which will take two weeks. Three, at most."

  Hope sprang to life within the Hunter. While strapped to the Warmaster's torture table, he'd caught another glimpse into his forgotten past.

  "Hush, Az'nii," he had told the woman from his dreams. "There is nothing to fear. We are safe within Enarium."

  Safe within Enarium. The words had played over and over in the back of his mind, but the Sage's talk of the lost city brought them to the fore.

  If he wanted to find Her, he had to start there. His memory of Master Eldor had brought him to Kara-ket—that, and his need to eliminate the Sage. He had found answers of who had been when he lived among the Elivasti so many years ago. If he went to Enarium, would he find similar answers? Better still, would he find Her?

  A gentle whisper sounded in the back of his mind. For a moment, he thought it only the wind. Yet deep within he knew what it was.

  Her.

  She called to him
from across Einan, beckoning him northward like steel to a lodestone. He had to go there, even if his chances of finding Her—and the child She'd carried—were beyond slim. He had delayed his journey to find Her for Hailen's sake, and to rid Einan of the Abiarazi blight. But once he had dealt with the Sage and the Warmaster, he would be free to resume his search.

  She wasn't the only thing drawing him to Enarium. The Sage had called it the greatest city of the Serenii. What if, like Kara-ket, it held the secrets of the ancient people? Secrets that included a cure for the madness that plagued Hailen and all Elivasti? Could it offer the same protection from the Irrsinnon extended by the twin temples? He had to take Hailen away from Kara-ket—he couldn't risk the boy coming to harm in the inevitable violence to follow the demons' deaths. Without Soulhunger, he couldn't test the theory that the gemstones would keep Hailen's madness at bay. But once he recovered his blade, he'd have the chance. Soulhunger might protect the boy's mind long enough to get him to Enarium. Even if no cure presented itself, surely the “shadow of the Serenii” could provide a safe haven.

  It was Hailen's only hope.

  His efforts to find information on the city had yielded little. He had pored over maps of Einan as he searched for the best way north, toward Enarium. The Hidden Circle alchemist in Al Hani had spoken of Vothmot. It was rumored that he could find a guide to lead him into the Empty Mountains to hunt for the lost city. But if the demon could reveal its location…

  The Sage continued. "Once I reach Vothmot, I must prepare to enter the Empty Mountains in search of Enarium."

  "Prepare? Search?" Confusion flooded the Hunter. "I thought you knew the way to Enarium."

  The Sage eyed him askance. "I will be forced to give up the last vestiges of my power, so I will become fully human. Hunger, thirst, and fatigue will travel with me as surely as with any man." Distaste etched itself on his face. "And, truth be told, a good many years have passed since last I laid eyes on the great city of the Serenii. My recollection of the path is…unclear."

  The Hunter's momentary hope shattered. He wanted to scream, to lash out in frustration. Every time he thought he drew a step closer to finding answers into his past, something pulled him two steps backward.

  "How do you intend to find it?" he pressed, heart sinking. "Surely you aren't planning to wander the Empty Mountains until you stumble upon it?"

  "Nothing so crude, I assure you." The Sage gave a dismissive wave. "In my research, I stumbled upon an ancient work of the playwright Taivoro, a picaresque narrative following the exploits of a Journeyman bard. At first glance, it appeared to be nothing more than drivel, but upon further delving, I discovered—"

  "Hardwell." Hailen's voice cut into the Sage's words, and the Hunter felt a tug on his cloak.

  "What?" The Hunter winced. His words had come out too strong, causing Hailen to flinch. He lowered his voice to a gentler pitch. "What is it, Hailen?"

  Eyes downcast, the boy spoke with a tremor. "I-I'm hungry."

  Irritation flared in the Hunter's chest—not at Hailen, but at himself. The boy had no idea what he'd interrupted; he didn't deserve the Hunter's anger. He took a deep breath. "Of course, Hailen. Let's get you something to eat."

  With a grin, Hailen raced toward the entrance to the gardens.

  "Hardwell?" The Hunter turned to the Sage, who stood with a quirked eyebrow. "Why does the boy call you Hardwell? Is that your true name, or is it the Hunter?"

  The Hunter shrugged. "It is the name I gave him, and it will suffice."

  The Sage tried it out a few times, then shook his head. "No, I much prefer the Hunter."

  "So do I, truth be told."

  An unformed thought nagged at the back of the Hunter's mind. Something in the garden seemed…off. But what?

  The Sage spoke beside him, seemingly unaware of anything wrong. The Hunter ignored the demon and studied the statues around him. They looked as solid and silent as ever. His eyes fell on the two Elivasti guarding the entrance. Nothing stood out as odd, but…

  Wait! Two? Four guards had surrounded Hailen. Where are the others?

  One of the white and black-clad figures reaching into his robes, drew a dagger, and plunged it into his companion's chest. The dying man's cry rang out in the gardens as he slumped to the ground.

  Then the assassin's cloth-masked face turned toward the pair of them. With a cry of "For the Warmaster!" he charged.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  The assassin charged—right toward Hailen.

  Time stood still. The Hunter sensed everything around him: the warmth of the evening breeze, the rustle of the assassin's black and white clothing, the metallic tang of fresh blood, the stink of the iron-tipped staff, and the reek of the Sage. Hailen's clean, innocent smell drifted toward him as the boy stared wide-eyed at the statues of the heroes of Einan, unaware of the death coming for him.

  Heart sinking, the Hunter watched as, almost in slow motion, the assassin's eyes fell on the boy. The cloth mask hid any expression, but the Hunter knew exactly what was going through the man's mind. He'd battled the same thoughts before. Collateral damage was a part of the job.

  In desperation, he drew his sword and hurled it at the onrushing guard. A ridiculous attack, but he didn't care. Only one thing mattered: get Hailen out of the way.

  The white and black-clad assassin cried out as the sword collided with his wrist. The blade carved a shallow line into his forearm before spinning away into the grass. Without hesitation, the Hunter sprinted toward Hailen.

  The Elivasti swung his iron-tipped staff at the Hunter's head. Ducking, the Hunter threw his arms around Hailen's waist and hurled them both to one side. His skin crawled as the metal passed a finger's breadth from his head. He hit the ground with jarring force, knocking the wind from his lungs. Gasping for breath, he rolled with the impact, out of reach of the staff. He all but threw Hailen into the shadow of a marble statue and whirled to face the assassin.

  Off to one side, the Sage stood as still as the statues around him, eyes wide in shock and surprise. The Hunter didn't spare the demon a second thought. One iron-tipped staff would do little more than hurt the demon. Against him, without Soulhunger to heal him, it was a serious threat.

  The assassin spoke in a harsh voice. "Stay where you are, Sage. I have come here for him. Move, and you join him."

  The Hunter darted forward, but not toward the Elivasti. Instead, he leapt for the fallen guard's staff. His fingers closed around hard wood and he whirled, raising the stick to block a descending blow. His kick caught the assassin in the chin with the force of his twisting body. The man staggered to one side, away from Hailen.

  The Hunter hurled the metal-shod staff at his assailant and scooped up his sword.

  "Hunter!" The Sage's voice rang out behind him.

  The Hunter threw himself to the ground, and an iron-shod staff whirled over his head. He swung his foot around in a powerful kick that connected with the back of the Elivasti's knee. The Hunter pulled, and the man toppled backward.

  Leaping to his feet, the Hunter brought his long sword down in a vicious chop, but the Elivasti somersaulted backward and out of reach, somehow managing to keep a grip on his staff. When he rolled upright, he held the length of wood in a guard position.

  "Traitor!" Rage filled the assassin's voice. "You choose the weaker master, turning your back on the one who offers you power in place of servitude. For your betrayal, you die!"

  The Hunter's mind raced as he circled the assassin. An Elivasti sent by the Warmaster to kill him. The larger Abiarazi meant to eliminate the Sage and establish himself as sole commander of the combined armies of the Elivasti and Masters of Agony. The Hunter's presence gave the Sage an edge. The Warmaster had made it clear: serve him or die. This man had come to finish what the demon began on his torture tables.

  He'll find I'm harder to kill than he expected. The voice of his inner demon shrieked, pled for death. The Hunter would give it what it craved.

  Snarling wordless curses, he
hacked and slashed at the iron-tipped staff, favoring power over precision. One blow to the Elivasti's unguarded hands would render the weapon useless. A few powerful strikes, and his sword could weaken the staff enough to crack it.

  The assassin held his ground. He deflected rather than blocked, turning aside the Hunter's attacks. The staff's longer reach kept the Hunter moving and on the defensive. He sought an opening in the Elivasti's guard, but the man had trained under the Warmaster.

  Damn it! He retreated, frustration mounting.

  He backpedaled as the Elivasti charged, staff whirling. The iron-tipped ends struck sparks on his sword. He grunted beneath the impact of multiple blows; the man was stronger than he looked. His long sword—a gift from Master Eldor—held up under the assault, but without Soulhunger, he was at a disadvantage. He couldn't let the iron touch him. Even the slightest contact would slow him, making him vulnerable. Only his inhuman speed and reflexes had kept him alive. A warrior trained to fight with a quarterstaff could defeat all but the most skilled swordsmen.

  Time to change tactics.

  Ducking beneath a swing that would have split his head, he lashed out at the Elivasti with a low kick. A sharp intake of breath sounded from behind the white and black mask as the Hunter's heel slammed into the Elivasti's knee. The assassin staggered to one knee, and the Hunter plowed his fist into the underside of the man's chin. Pain lanced the Hunter's hand; flesh cracked and bone fractured on contact with chain mail. But the blow set the Elivasti reeling.

  The Hunter seized the moment. His sword whistled through the air like a woodsman chopping a mighty oak. The Elivasti leapt backward, but the tip of the Hunter's blade laid open a long gash along his chest. In the dim moonlight, the blood trickling from the wound looked a sickly black. Crimson garments showed beneath the black and white robes of the Elivasti.

  A Master of Agony?

  The eyes behind the mask went wide as the assassin retreated beneath the Hunter's renewed onslaught. Steel bit into wood and flesh. The Hunter forced the man backward, away from the Sage and Hailen's hiding place.