Darkblade Guardian

by Andy Peloquin

  The moment he stepped onto the bridge, he knew something had gone wrong. Shouts and cries rose up from the base of the Warmaster's temple, underscored by the clash of arms. The Hunter coughed at thick, stinging smoke that blotted out the stars.

  The city of the Elivasti burned.

  Bright tongues of flame licked through the precisely organized streets, engulfing half of the city. From his vantage point high overhead, he could see tiny figures locked in combat far below. With every heartbeat, the flames and chaos drew closer to the enormous wall of the enclosure. Closer to Hailen.

  The Hunter's blood ran cold.

  The Warmaster had said he would eliminate every Elivasti in Kara-ket. His army of torturers wasn’t just tied up in the lower levels of the temple; they had descended to the Elivasti city for the purpose of wiping out the descendants of the Serenii.

  Including Hailen. Master Belros, Master Eldor, and three old men couldn't hold the gate for long. The Masters of Agony would flood the enclosure and kill every Elivasti child there. And the Hunter had put Hailen in there, directly in their path.

  Without hesitation, he turned and sprinted across the bridge. Fear for Hailen's safety lent wings to his feet. He leapt over yawning holes and skidded around crumbling sections. He had to get down there before the torturers. His only hope lay in using the secret passage to descend.

  Two dark figures stepped from the shadows of the Sage's temple. Cloth masks hid their faces, and monochrome cloaks fluttered in the night breeze. They thrust iron-tipped staves toward him. "Halt!"

  The Hunter didn't slow his confident stride. "Do you know who I am?" He pointed to the band on his arm. "The Sage gave me—"

  One swung a metal-shod staff toward his head, forcing him to leap backward.

  "We know who you are, assassin. We're here on the Sage's orders." The violet eyes darted toward the Hunter's sword. "You are commanded to hand over your weapons. Once disarmed, you will follow us to meet him."

  The Hunter's eyes narrowed. He didn't recognize either of the Elivasti. This is all wrong.

  "Let me through," he growled. "Now!"

  The speaker shook his head. "If you do not disarm, we are ordered to take the weapons by force."

  The Hunter snarled. "Lay a hand on me, and I'll chop it off." His hand dropped to his belt, hovering over Soulhunger's hilt. "You have two choices. Move aside and let me pass, or die where you stand." To punctuate, he drew his sword and dagger.

  "Fancy talk. Our orders are to kill you if you resist." The first sneered and gripped his staff tighter. "Thank you for resisting."

  The Elivasti attacked in tandem. One thrust the iron tip of his staff toward the Hunter's head, and the other went for his legs. The Hunter leapt backward and to the side. The two Elivasti gave chase, their staves whirling. The Hunter's sword never wavered, and he moved with sure-footed grace. The power from the Warmaster's death still coursed through his veins, enhancing his strength and speed. Fear thrummed in the back of his mind, and a sense of urgency drove him. He had to get past these two and reach Hailen without delay. He dove forward, between the blows, and rolled to his feet. He lashed out with a vicious backhand stroke. His sword bit deep into an opponent's thigh. The wound wept crimson, causing the man to stagger.

  The Hunter darted around the stumbling Elivasti, using the wounded man as a shield. Ducking beneath a wild sweep, he lashed out with Soulhunger. The razor tip carved a long line into the man's forearm. The Elivasti cried out, and his weapon fell from his fingers.

  The second man all but shoved his wounded companion aside and lashed out with a powerful overhead strike. The Hunter deflected the blow, sending the metal-shod staff crashing into the second Elivasti's back. Before the first man could follow up, the Hunter drove his boot between his legs. The violet-eyed warrior grunted and doubled over. The Hunter's sword opened the artery along the side of his neck.

  With a roar of rage, the remaining man swung a wild punch at him. The Hunter didn't bother to dodge. The blow glanced off his shoulder, and the Elivasti's follow-up strikes flew wide. Ducking beneath a vicious hook, the Hunter planted his boot on the man's chest and shoved him back. The man—weakened from exertion and loss of blood—staggered, struck the stone railing, and collapsed over the side of the bridge.

  The Hunter moved before the Elivasti's feet disappeared from view. I have to get to Hailen!

  Lamplight flickered within the Sage's rooms, but no sounds came from within. A weight of dread settled on his shoulders. He raced the remaining distance to the Sage's chambers and burst through the entrance, sword held high.

  What the twisted hell?

  Silence and emptiness met him. The stone walls emanated a soft glow, revealing rooms utterly devoid of activity. The Sage and his Elivasti had disappeared.

  Damn it! He hesitated only a moment. He wanted to hunt down the Sage, but right now only Hailen mattered. The demon's death could wait.

  Heart thundering, he raced through the halls, down the staircase, and toward his rooms. Seizing his pack, he hurried to the jade statue and hurled himself through the secret opening before it had rumbled fully to one side. He didn't bother to close it behind him.

  The power from the Warmaster's death thrummed within him, fueling his muscles as he barreled down the steps. Soulhunger and the voice of his inner demon had fallen silent, but worry pounded in the back of his mind. He had to reach the enclosure before the Masters of Agony.

  He didn't hesitate at the third landing down—the one that led to the Sage's War Room. A part of him wondered if the Sage was hiding in there. No one but his loyal Elivasti would know of its existence. It didn't matter. He could come back and check once Hailen was safe.

  Though he leapt down three or four stairs at once, the descent seemed to take forever. Come on, come on! He gritted his teeth. Please, don't let me be too late.

  He hurtled down the final flight of stairs, dashed onto the landing, and threw open the wooden door. His long legs ate up the ground as he sprinted down the corridor and triggered the hidden exit to the Elivasti city.

  Peering from the door set into the cliff face, he scanned the night for any signs of danger. Though smoke hung thick and acrid in the air, the Masters of Agony hadn't yet reached this section of the city. He was off through the streets even as the door rumbled closed behind him.

  His legs burned from the descent, but he refused to slow. Sword gripped in one hand and Soulhunger in the other, he dashed up the streets directly toward the enclosure. With every step, the smoke grew heavier, the sounds of chaos, battle, and death increasing in volume.

  His heart stopped as he caught site of the entrance. The gates were flung wide, corpses piled high in the opening. The light of the burning city shone on the scarlet robes of the Warmaster's torturers.

  No!

  Blood turned to ice in his veins. He hurdled the pile of lifeless bodies at a dead run, skidded on a patch of crimson mud, and rushed down the street toward the house where he'd left Hailen.

  More bodies littered the ground of the enclosure. One of the white-haired Elivasti lay in the muck outside the simple hut, his eyes wide and sightless, black and white robes spattered crimson. Four Masters of Agony joined him in death.

  The door to the hovel hung from a single hinge, the wood gouged by sharp blades. Terror springing to his throat, the Hunter burst into the hut. The reek of blood and bile assaulted him.

  The enormous frame of Master Belros lay before the door. A deep gash in his gut oozed a foul odor. His massive chest rose and fell in weak breaths.

  But the Hunter could see only the empty bed. Hailen's blankets lay in a messy heap, but no sign of the boy.

  His strength fled. His legs felt suddenly weak, and he slumped to the bed. Hailen was gone.

  A hint of relief mixed with the horror roiling in his gut. The Masters of Agony hadn't killed him. Not here, at least. They had taken him. But where? And why? What would the torturers want with an Elivasti child? He shuddered at the thought of the cruelties
they would inflict upon Hailen and the other children.

  The children!

  He darted into the house where Master Eldor had gathered the other Elivasti children. Empty. At least he saw no visible sign of a struggle.

  Rushing back to Master Belros' side, he gripped the smith's shoulders and shook him. "The children, Master Belros! Where are they?"

  The Elivasti's eyelids fluttered open weakly. He stared up at the Hunter, confusion in his violet eyes.

  "What happened to the children, Master Belros? Hailen and the others? And Master Eldor?"

  The smith's mouth gaped, but no words passed his lips. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

  With effort, the Hunter lifted the dying man onto the bed. He pressed Hailen's blanket into the gaping gut wound. The smith was beyond his help, but he had to find out what had happened.

  "Chil…dren…" Master Belros gasped. "Gone…"

  "Where did they go?" The Hunter squeezed his arms. "Did the Masters of Agony take them? What did they want?"

  Master Belros gave a weak shake of his head. He tried to speak, but a bloody cough cut him off.

  "Tell me, damn you!" The Hunter's voice rose to a shout. "Tell me what happened to them!"

  Master Belros' eyes rolled up, and his body sagged. His final breath came out in a whispered word. "Gone."

  The Hunter stared down at the Elivasti, frustration, anger, and helplessness warring within him. "No!" He slapped the smith's face. "Wake up!"

  Master Belros did not stir.

  "Keeper take it!" Dropping the Elivasti's head to the pillow, he drove a fist into the wall. Wooden beams and planks splintered beneath the force of his rage.

  Hands trembling, panic pushing at the back of his mind, he stalked out of the hut. Think, Hunter, think!

  He had no way of knowing which way the Masters of Agony had taken the boy. He didn't dare risk making a mistake, not with Hailen's life on the line.

  A gust of wind brought a wall of smoke. The Hunter retreated, coughing, covering his nose to keep out the acrid stink of burning flesh, wood, and metal.

  Of course! He rushed back into the hovel and drew in a deep breath through his nostrils. Beneath the reek of blood and ordure, he caught a hint of the clean, innocent smell he knew so well. If he could follow that scent, it would lead him straight to Hailen.

  The thick smoke would make it difficult to follow the boy through the city, but at least there were no other scents to…

  His brow furrowed. That can't be right. He filled his lungs again. Aside from Hailen's scent and the stench of death and destruction around him, he found no other odors. The Elivasti had no smell, but the Masters of Agony had been a fragrant group, each with their own mixture of unique scents.

  So why in the twisted hell don't I smell anyone?

  To his senses, Hailen had fled the enclosure alone. Had the boy somehow escaped the carnage?

  Following the scent, he rushed through the gate of the enclosure and away from the battle raging within the city of the Elivasti. With every step, the dread within him grew.

  Three scarlet-clad men dashed into the street ahead. Their faces were twisted in the maddened lust of battle, their blades stained with blood. They paused when they caught sight of him, a lone man wearing neither Elivasti nor torturer robes. A glance passed between them. With a shout, they charged.

  The Hunter's sword—a masterpiece of steelcraft, given to him by Master Eldor—sheared through the neck of one man and bit into the sword arm of another. Ducking beneath a high swipe, the Hunter drove Soulhunger deep into the final torturer's throat. The man gasped and coughed. Blood spurted from his mouth. He fell without a scream. Soulhunger's gemstone remained dark and transparent—without the scream to activate it, the blade was nothing more than a piece of steel.

  The torturer whose arm he'd nearly severed staggered backward, eyes going wide in horror. The Hunter laid open his throat with a blow so powerful it severed the gristle in his neck. His body sagged to the ground, his head flopping backward. The Hunter didn't slow.

  Hailen's scent led him toward the cliff face and into the hidden door. The familiar smell grew stronger in the enclosed space. When he reached the staircase, another scent joined it: the reek of rot and decay. The stench of the Abiarazi.

  The Warmaster's words pierced his thoughts. “He's played you.”

  No. Horror twisted the Hunter's stomach in knots. It can't be.

  No other explanation made sense.

  The Sage had taken Hailen.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Anger burned in the Hunter's gut. He was a fool. All the time he thought he'd been so clever—manipulating the demons, deceiving the Sage, promising his loyalty while searching for a way to stab the Abiarazi in the back—the Sage had been toying with him.

  His heart sank. How much of what he told me was truth, and how much a falsehood?

  Everything from the Sage's friendly welcome, his offer of alliance, perhaps even the revelation of his plans for Einan; it had all been a trick, a ruse to allay the Hunter's suspicions.

  And, like the fool I am, I fell for it! He used the boy to get to me.

  The confusion on the Warmaster's face at the mention of Hailen had looked genuine. The huge demon had an inflated sense of self-worth—he wouldn't hesitate to take credit for a clever plan. He couldn't have known. But the Sage's mind worked in a more convoluted manner. He'd proven his intelligence, forethought, and cunning over the games of Nizaa they'd shared. With dread-filled certainty, the Hunter knew the Sage had played him with the skill of a Nizaa grand master. He had brought Hailen to Kara-ket and used the boy to turn him against the Warmaster.

  Then, once he had convinced the Hunter to eliminate his enemy, he had fled. The Sage knew of the same secret passages the Hunter had used to descend from the temple. He could have left the moment the Hunter went after the Warmaster. And, by taking Hailen, he had leverage against the Hunter.

  “Only if you survived the Warmaster,” the voice within whispered.

  The Sage would have prepared a contingency for either outcome: the Warmaster's death or the Hunter's. He'd no doubt taken his company of loyal Elivasti with him wherever he'd gone. The Hunter had no desire to fight his way through the staff-wielding warriors, but what choice did he have? Hailen would be at the demon's side.

  The scents drew him down the passage toward the staircase that descended deeper into the mountain.

  He descended as quickly as he dared, his soft-soled boots silent on the stone steps. The spiraling stairway twisted out of sight; if the Sage had left guards, the Elivasti could easily hide just out of view. He carried his pack in his left hand, ready to hurl.

  His fears materialized at the next landing. Two violet-eyed warriors stood waiting, iron-tipped staves held at the ready. From their belts hung swords identical to the ones he'd seen on racks in Master Belros' cellar. They attacked without a word.

  The Hunter hurled his heavy satchel at the nearest man. The Elivasti's staff knocked it aside, but it threw off his approach long enough for the Hunter to draw Soulhunger and meet the charge with both weapons. He blocked a whirling staff, ducked beneath a thrust aimed at his head, and grunted as a boot drove into his gut. Stumbling backward, he nearly lost his footing. His back struck solid stone. He shoved off the wall, throwing himself into an awkward forward roll that carried him between the two Elivasti. Metal cracked off the floor a hand's breadth from his face.

  Rolling to his feet, he whirled and brought his long sword around in a vicious backhanded swipe. The blade tore through a cloth face mask, flesh, and bone beneath. The Elivasti dropped with a strangled cry.

  But the powerful blow left him overextended. The iron-shod butt of his other opponent's weapon slammed into his wrist. A numbing tingle shot up his arm, and the sword fell from his nerveless fingers. Even through the fabric of his shirt, his skin tingled from the proximity to the iron.

  He retreated from the whirling staff, ducking and twisting out of the path of p
owerful strikes. Soulhunger alone could do little to defend against the longer weapon. In desperation, the Hunter hurled the dagger at the Elivasti.

  Even as the man's staff spun out, sending the blade spinning away, the Hunter leapt upon his opponent. Though he and the Elivasti were the same size, his strength far surpassed the violet-eyed man. His shoulder drove into the man's throat as he shoved him against the wall. The Elivasti gagged, fighting for breath. Wrapping his arms around the man's neck, he twisted hard. An audible "crack" echoed in the stairway. The Elivasti collapsed.

  Panting, the Hunter rushed over to collect Soulhunger and his sword. He didn't bother repairing the bruised flesh and bone of his sword arm. The ache would fade in minutes as his body healed itself. He needed all his strength for what came next.

  He stared down at the two corpses. If the Sage had left these two men as rear guards, there would be more. He'd waste a great deal of time fighting his way through.

  An idea tugged at his mind. They'll have to recognize me first.

  The second of the two Elivasti was about his height and size. He stripped the man's uniform and donned it over his clothing. Though the monochromatic robes tugged and pinched in a few places, they would suffice. The cloth mask came next. He hated the way it interfered with his field of sight, but it hid his features from view. Just one more layer in his disguise.

  He studied the man's features, committing the slight rounding of his nose, the close set of his eyes, and the slope of his forehead to memory. He'd seen this Elivasti before—Hanarra, the Warmaster called him. The man had been one of the warriors to spar with the huge Abiarazi on the training field.

  Standing, he adjusted the face mask as best he could. Without a mirror, he had no idea how closely he resembled the Elivasti, but he had no more time for delays.

  Retrieving his pack—and, as an afterthought, one of the iron-tipped staves—he continued his hurried descent. Disguised as an Elivasti, he could move more quickly. The violet-eyed warriors wouldn't immediately recognize him. If it came to a fight, he'd have the upper hand.