Darkblade Guardian

by Andy Peloquin

  Gritting his teeth, he directed his thoughts inward. You want death? You will have it, and in abundance, but only if we work together.

  The pounding faded to a manageable ache, a throbbing behind his eyes. Jaw muscles working, he followed the Elivasti through the corridors of the Warmaster's temple.

  Blood stained the images of war and chaos etched into the walls. The bodies depicted in the elegant Serenii carvings stared with marble eyes on the flesh and blood corpses littering the halls. Chaos and death screamed through the corridors as men shrieked, shouted, and cried out. The clash of steel on steel echoed in time with the Hunter's thundering heart. The thrill of the hunt, of blood, of death coursed through him, setting every nerve aflame. The tremor of excitement in his hands quietened the moment his fingers touched dagger and sword hilt.

  Cries of rage tore from dozens of throats as a band of red-robed Masters of Agony charged them, long steel swords held high. The Elivasti's tight formation shattered their cohesion, just as their shorter blades proved ineffective against the metal-tipped quarterstaves. The Hunter didn't slow as his comrades brought down the Masters with viciously effective strikes.

  He knelt over one of the fallen torturers and pressed a dagger against the man's throat. "Where is he?"

  The man stared up at him with dull eyes, blood trickling from a gaping wound in his forehead. With a snarl, the Hunter plunged the blade into his groin. The man's screams echoed off the walls, but he did not fall silent for long moments. When the Hunter stooped over the next fallen torturer, the man spoke without hesitation.

  "Where is who?"

  A vicious grin spread the Hunter's face. "The Warmaster. He and I have unfinished business."

  The man pointed upward. "In his chambers."

  The Hunter pressed the dagger into the soft flesh his neck. "How many men does he have with him?"

  The Master of Agony's eyes widened, and he gave a frantic shake of his head. "I…I don't know. His Elivasti are…" His words cut off in a cry as the Hunter drove the blade into his chest.

  Dropping the body, the Hunter turned to the nearest Elivasti. "How many of your brothers still serve the Warmaster?"

  The violet eyes met his without hesitation. "A few dozen, perhaps. But most of those are engaged on the lower levels of the temple, commanding the Masters of Agony." Sorrow cast a shadow over his eyes—an Elivasti mourning the loss of comrades duped into serving the wrong master.

  The Hunter examined the men the Sage had sent with him. Close to three dozen masked Elivasti, each carrying the metal-tipped staves they favored. With a force this size, he had a chance of bringing down the Warmaster.

  "Let's go."

  A trio of Elivasti charged ahead, and the sounds of a scuffle reached the Hunter. His sword slid from its sheath with a whisper of steel as a score of Masters raced down the hall toward them, a shout of "For the Warmaster" on their lips.

  He leapt forward, closing the distance before the nearest two could react. A vicious swipe of his sword laid open their throats. Blood splattered his robes as the torturers slumped. Three more Masters charged him, and he ducked beneath their clumsy swipes. His sword bit into one's knee while his dagger took a second in the groin. He swung his sword and took the third in the throat. The three fell, their screams silenced a moment later by the Elivasti following on the Hunter's heels.

  The three advance scouts retreated from a wall of steel swords. Before the Hunter could leap to attack, Elivasti pushed past him and joined their companions.

  The Hunter paused to watch the fight and gauge his foe. Say what you will about the Warmaster, but he trained his men well. The Adepts-turned-torturers wielded their blades with the brutal proficiency of a veteran army.

  “And you think you can kill such a mighty warrior?” The voice of his inner demon filled his head with scorn.

  What choice do I have? After what he'd done to the Hunter, and what he'd tried to do to Hailen, the demon had to die.

  The width of the corridor allowed for six staff-wielding Elivasti to fight side by side. The ranks of the Masters of Agony with their shorter clubs and swords stretched eight men wide. Yet the masked warriors waded into the fray without hesitation. Their reach and the ruthless efficiency Master Eldor had drilled into them gave them the edge. Wounded men stepped back for another fresh Elivasti to take his place. They fought with the cohesion and coordination of a military unit, every strike accurate, every action deliberate.

  As if on some unspoken cue, the outer edge of the Elivasti's line retreated a single step. Caught off guard, the Masters of Agony staggered forward, the center of their line shifting toward the walls. The Elivasti quickly rushed to fill the momentary gap, and red-robed men fell beneath the whirling staves.

  "Go!" One of the Elivasti charged the line, motioning for the Hunter to follow. The violet-eyed warrior thrust his staff like a spear, catching a Master in the gut and doubling him over. He stepped on the man's back and vaulted the line of torturers.

  The Hunter chose a more direct approach. He poured all his strength into a sword swing that sheared through an arm and neck. Lowering his shoulder, he drove into the three men standing between him and the empty hallway behind. He hurled them to the ground and leapt over their fallen bodies. His Elivasti poured through the opening, rounding on the rear of the Masters of Agony caught against the wall. The shouts and cries of pain echoed behind him as the Hunter rushed toward the nearby stairs.

  A squad of men in black and white robes charged up the staircase but stopped at the sight of the bloodstained Hunter. Fists clenching, the Hunter prepared for a grim battle against the Warmaster's loyal Elivasti. Before he reached them, however, the leader held up a hand to his men. His eyes fell on the cloth binding the Hunter's arm, and he lowered his weapon.

  The Hunter slowed to a stop. The Sage's men. He let out a relieved breath. After the skirmish with the Masters of Agony, the voice in his mind set his head pounding with a lust for death. But he was about to face the Warmaster in what promised to be a near-impossible fight. He couldn't risk even the slightest injury. His chances of survival were already slim enough.

  "How fares the battle?"

  "Badly." The Elivasti's voice had a grim edge. "The Masters of Agony outnumber us four to one, and they hold the high ground."

  "So what are you doing here?" a man beside the Hunter snapped.

  "We were commanded to cut our way through to join up with you. We are to open the way for you. But it is your hand that must wield the blade."

  The oath of the Elivasti forbade them from raising a hand against the Warmaster directly.

  I will free them of their oaths to the Warmaster, and then the Sage. After tonight, they will be free.

  Well, not truly free. They would still owe loyalty to any Abiarazi left on Einan. But once he had eliminated the last demons—no more than a dozen or so, if the Sage's map was to be trusted—they would be able to make their own choices.

  If only there was such a future for me.

  In the back of his mind, he felt the call of Soulhunger. The dagger was somewhere above and before him. He would find it with the Warmaster. More than once since fleeing Voramis, he'd wanted to give up the blade, to be free of the voice that begged for death. But Soulhunger was as much a part of him as the fingers that held it. Without the dagger, he felt empty, incomplete. He needed it just as it needed him. That meant he was a slave to its desires, and those of the demon in his mind. No matter how many Abiarazi he killed, he would never be free.

  He turned to the Elivasti. "Come, let us find the Warmaster and put an end to his insanity once and for all."

  * * *

  The Hunter grunted with the effort of pulling his sword free of the Master of Agony's skull. The corpse twitched and lay still. Behind him, a pair of Elivasti finished off the last of the group of torturers they'd encountered in their search for the Warmaster.

  That'd better be the end of them! The Hunter cleaned his sword on his fallen opponent's robe and studie
d what remained of his squad. Too many more of these encounters, and I'll find myself fighting alone.

  He jogged down the corridor, trusting the Elivasti to follow his lead. The violet-eyed warriors impressed him with their military precision and skill. With their flashing staves and grim determination, they met every new wave of torturers unflinchingly. One by one they fell before the superior numbers of the Masters of Agony, always taking a toll on their enemy.

  But they wouldn't last much longer. They'd encountered three more clusters of torturers before they reached the staircase to the topmost floor. The Masters had whittled their number from three dozen to fewer than ten. Every one of the Elivasti around him bore wounds, some mortal.

  If we don't reach the Warmaster soon, we'll be in real trouble.

  A bestial roar echoed through the halls.

  An instinctive shiver crept down the Hunter's spine. Our prey, at last. Try as he might to tell himself otherwise, the thought of facing the Warmaster terrified him. Who wouldn't be afraid to challenge such a mighty warrior?

  The Elivasti beside him faltered a single step before resuming their relentless march forward. They knew what they faced, yet they would not retreat.

  The Hunter tensed as the stench of rot and decay reached him. A moment later, the Warmaster himself barreled around a corner. Blood soaked his pants, stained his arms and face, and matted his thick beard and chest hair. A wild light filled his eyes, twisting his face into a savage snarl. The massive greatsword in his hand flung crimson droplets from the bright steel blade with every movement. The Hunter's heart leapt at the sight of Soulhunger tucked into this belt.

  "Warmaster!" The Hunter's voice reverberated down the hallway.

  The Warmaster spat. "Traitorous dogs!" His gaze fell on the Elivasti. "You betray me to serve a weak master?"

  The Elivasti said nothing, but tension rolled off them in waves as they backed away from the huge Abiarazi, their staves gripped in white-knuckled fingers. Their wooden weapons seemed such paltry things when faced with the enormous, sword-wielding giant before them.

  But they had done their job. They had cleared the way for the Hunter to fight. He stepped forward, fire burning in his chest. "Your time has come, Demon."

  "Deceitful half-breed cur!" The Warmaster turned his baleful glare on the Hunter. "I offer you a chance for greatness, but you choose the Sage's poison instead. You refuse me, and for that, you die."

  The Hunter sneered. "I've survived the worst you and your pet torturers have to offer. Do your worst."

  "You think that was the worst?" Blood sprayed from his chest, beard, and hair as a roar of laughter burst from throat. "Foolish, foolish Bucelarii. You have no idea the delights we could offer you."

  "We?" The Hunter motioned around. "You stand alone. Your Masters of Agony are dead, or soon will be."

  "You think a few hundred Elivasti could defeat my army?" He laughed again. "The Elivasti's usefulness ran out centuries ago, the moment they grew dependent on the opia for survival. Any race so weak that it cannot survive on its own deserves to die."

  The masked warriors beside him tensed.

  "I only care for servants I can rely on, men who will carry out my orders and no one else's!" He jabbed an accusatory finger at the Hunter's companions. "You cowards inherited the spineless nature of your forefathers. You serve a golden-tongued trickster and turn your back on true strength. You believe yourselves above the pitiful humans, but you break just as easily." He sucked on a bloodstained finger, leering at the Elivasti. "Delicious!"

  "Oathbreaker!" one violet-eyed man shouted.

  "Faithless!" another echoed

  A third stepped up beside the Hunter. "He has broken the blood trust and raised a hand against us." He raised his quarterstaff. "We will have vengeance!"

  As one, the Elivasti surged forward.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  The Warmaster bellowed and met their charge with a wide sweep of his greatsword. The Hunter watched, slack-jawed, as the enormous Abiarazi battled the twelve Elivasti. The narrow corridor prevented the violet-eyed warriors from closing on the Warmaster all at once, but the giant demon fought no fewer than five opponents at a time. A handful slipped around behind him, but the great sweeps of his sword held them back. In the space of half a dozen heartbeats, three of the masked warriors lay dead or dying.

  The Warmaster laughed and shouted in the sepulchral language of the demons. The Elivasti said nothing, but faced him with grim determination in their eyes. With breathtaking strength, the Warmaster hacked into flesh and blood.

  The Hunter sought in vain for an opening, a way to take advantage of the Warmaster's preoccupation with the Elivasti. If he could get within striking range, he could grab Soulhunger and put an end to the demon once and for all. But the whirling Elivasti staves kept him at bay. He couldn't risk even a glancing blow from the iron tips. He could only watch, helpless to intervene, as the Warmaster carved through the Elivasti like a glowing blade through ice.

  One by one, the Elivasti fell. The demon fought with a manic barbarity, his skill enhancing his brute force and inhuman speed. Bright steel severed throats, splashing the walls with gore as he crushed skulls. The huge greatsword sheared through limbs and removed heads with the relentless efficiency of a scythe cutting wheat. A pool of crimson spread outward as the bodies piled high.

  The Elivasti fought like dogs trying to take down a bear, darting in to strike and dancing out of range of the Warmaster's sword. The Abiarazi's skin sizzled where the iron-tipped staves struck. His bellows of fury and pain set the Hunter's teeth rattling. One Elivasti managed to slip a powerful strike over the demon's enormous sword. The tip of the metal staff crunched into the Warmaster's throat.

  Before the man could dart out of reach, the Warmaster's boot crashed into his leg. Bone shattered with an audible snap. The Elivasti sagged, shrieking. With almost casual disdain, the Warmaster drew Soulhunger and drove it home into the man's chest.

  Crimson light flared in the corridor, and even the Hunter had to shield his eyes. A thread of power coursed through him, but he could only watch, horrified, as the Warmaster's crushed throat healed. The Hunter drank in the gruesome sight of Soulhunger devouring the dying man's life force. A part of him found the sight odd—chillingly so. He'd never witnessed it from this perspective. His had always been the hand that wielded the blade.

  And then he stood alone. A dozen paces away, the Warmaster hurled the last Elivasti corpse from his sword and turned to regard him. The wild look in his eyes had devolved to madness, and bloodlust contorted his features.

  "Fools! You think you can challenge me? Me?" He kicked one of the corpses, sending it splashing through a puddle of blood. "Before the night is over, I will wipe every Kharna-damned one of you from the face of Shana Laal!"

  Locking gazes with the Hunter, he slowly licked the gore from his fingers. "Tastes like home."

  The Hunter steeled his expression. He couldn't let the demon sense the fear permeating every fiber of his being. The Warmaster had hacked through a dozen of the finest warriors from the Elivasti ranks; what chance did he have of surviving the encounter, much less killing the demon?

  "Well?" The Warmaster spread his arms. "You want to kill me? Do as your master commands!"

  The Hunter growled. "I have no master."

  "You serve the Sage, traitor!" The Warmaster's eyes narrow. "You are here to do his bidding."

  "I am the Hunter of Voramis. I serve no man or demon!"

  The Warmaster raised an eyebrow. "Then why are you here?"

  "To kill you, of course. But not because the Sage has commanded it." The Hunter spat into a puddle of blood. "He is my enemy as much as yours, and he will share your fate."

  The Warmaster's face twisted. "You'll find me harder to kill than that hrz-urgh-bat!" The curse grated on the Hunter's ears. The Abiarazi pounded his barrel chest with a massive, blood-soaked fist. "I am the greatest warrior ever to stride the blood-soaked world of Irzienn, the mightiest of the Grea
t Destroyer's host. In the days when the gods waged war in the heavens, I stood atop mountains of corpses and bathed in the blood of thousands. No pitiful half-breed will stop me from claiming this world as my own."

  His voice thundered through the corridors. "I have no desire to bow—to any god, and certainly not to a sniveling coward. I am the only one fit to rule!" He raised his greatsword. "Clearly the Sage has outlived his usefulness. He will join you in death. Once he is out of the way, I will have my way with this world. The weakling humans will be brought to heel, and enslaved to carry out my bidding."

  "You will rule all of Einan."

  "With an iron fist! This world will be mine, even if I must wade through the blood of every man, woman, and child here." The Warmaster pounded his chest. "I am Abiarazi, the master race. All others fall before us. As it was on my world, so it shall be here."

  The Hunter snorted. "It will be difficult to conquer without an army, won't it? I'd expect a mighty warrior to understand that killing his own men is a foolish plan."

  The Warmaster sneered. "There are servants to be found outside the halls of Kara-ket. Even now, an army gathers to my banner. And the Elivasti in Enarium will heed my call."

  The Hunter's mind raced. Elivasti in Enarium?

  "Any last words, Hunter?" The Warmaster stalked toward him, greatsword singing through the air. "Any final message you want to pass on to your master before I hurl him from the cliff?"

  The Hunter hefted his sword. "Kiss my arse, Demon!" He leapt forward, blade flashing out with the speed of a striking serpent. Steel impaled flesh and grated against the bones of the Abiarazi's arm.

  The Warmaster's laughter echoed off the walls. "Pathetic!"

  The Hunter ducked beneath the demon's left-handed swipe and reached for Soulhunger. His fingers had just closed around the dagger's hilt when the demon's fist crashed into him. He fell backward, dazed, and collided with the wall. Soulhunger clattered from his grip.

  The Warmaster loomed over him, sword held high. The Hunter waited until the last moment before rolling out of the way of the blow and leapt to his feet. He reached beneath his cloak and gripped one of the twin iron blades hanging in their sheaths. Tendrils of cold snaked up his arm the moment his fingers touched the simple, leather-wrapped hilts of the unadorned daggers. The Swordsman's blades.