Darkblade Guardian

by Andy Peloquin

  Not without giving up Soulhunger. The demon had called the gemstone in Soulhunger's hilt "the handiwork of the Serenii". They would repel the Irrsinnon, but for how long? And could he bear to give up the dagger? Soulhunger was as much a part of him as his hands and feet. Though he hated what the blade drove him to do, he had come to accept the fact that he needed it.

  But he needed Hailen, too. The boy's presence drove back the demon's shrieks and Soulhunger's incessant demands for blood. Without Hailen, he would have descended into madness long ago. Hailen had saved his life in the Advanat, and he'd done so again in the tunnels. Whatever Serenii magick the boy's blood activated, it had given him a fighting chance against the Elivasti. His need to protect Hailen had kept him alive, even through an impossible predicament.

  With the continued return of his memories, he had come to understand why he felt so protective over the boy. In his visions of the past, he'd felt that way about his mystery woman—my wife! She'd carried his child, and though She’d betrayed him before the child was born, the instinct to care for and shelter both of them had been strong.

  He looked down. Hailen stirred in his arms, whimpering. The boy needed his sleep, even if it meant the Hunter had to carry him. The fire in his arms and back was nothing compared to the joy of knowing he'd saved the boy.

  But the Sage had escaped. That sat like a bitter melon in his stomach. He'd saved Hailen, but the Sage planned to unleash the Great Destroyer on Einan. How many would suffer and die because he'd chosen to rescue the boy instead of killing the demon?

  He hasn't escaped yet! He turned his attention inward, focusing on Soulhunger. A quiet pounding echoed in the back of his mind. The Sage's heartbeat. I can still track him down.

  The demon could flee across the Frozen Sea or delve into the deepest reaches of the Mines of Ishat: Soulhunger would track him down. The dagger had the demon's scent, and it would follow him to the ends of the world.

  But the Hunter knew where the Sage intended to go. The Abiarazi had shared details of his plan as a means of gaining the Hunter's trust, never expecting him to live through his encounters with the Warmaster and Master Eldor. In that, he'd made a mistake. He'd told the Hunter his destination.

  Enarium.

  Everything the Hunter discovered pointed him in the direction of the fabled Serenii city. He'd encountered the name first in Malandria, but his meeting with the demon in Al Hani had confirmed the importance of the lost city.

  He had to find his wife and child.

  A child. Such an odd thing to ponder. He had had a child. Him! An assassin, descendant of demons. A father. Was it a boy or a girl? Jaia or Rivan.

  The name brought back memories of the time spent in Master Eldor's camp. He swallowed the lump in his throat and pushed away the sorrow at the old Elivasti's passing. He'd called himself Rivan then. But it hadn't been his true name. It belonged to his child.

  So how had he come up with it—that name, from among countless others? For that matter, how had he come up with the name Elivast for his horse before ever meeting the Elivasti? They had to be threads of memories that hadn't been completely erased by the Illusionist Clerics. After all, images of Her had slipped into his mind, along with Her scent. Perhaps the ritual of the Illusionists hadn't stolen his memories—simply locked them away.

  Whatever the case, he had to reach Enarium. If his memories were to be trusted, he'd seen Her last in Enarium. Perhaps She hadn't left. Even if She had, surely he could find clues of Her whereabouts.

  But Hailen needed to get to Enarium as well. The Serenii had built the city as a conduit for their power—the power that held the Irrsinnon at bay. Bringing Hailen to the lost city would be a short-term solution for the madness. But if Enarium truly was their greatest achievement, surely some of the Serenii knowledge remained. Perhaps he could find a proper cure.

  Hailen stirred in his arms. "Hardwell?"

  "Yes, Hailen?"

  "I can walk, you know. I'm not a little kid."

  "Of course." Grinning, the Hunter set the boy on his feet and pointed to the light, now much closer. "We're almost there."

  "Oh, good! Then we'll see Ash and Elivast. And get something to eat, right? I'm hungry."

  "We'll definitely find you some food. But we have to get there first."

  "Race you!" Hailen took off down the tunnel, running as fast as his short legs could carry him.

  A lump rose in the Hunter's throat. He had had to do something to stop the Irrsinnon from stealing Hailen's mind. He couldn't lose this happy, friendly boy to the Elivasti curse.

  In his memory of his time among the Elivasti, Master Eldor's son, Aerden, had fallen victim to the madness. It had sapped his mind and worn away at the young man who was like a brother to him. In the end, it had driven him to the Expurgation—and his death.

  I won't let that happen to Hailen! He didn't know how the madness would manifest, but didn’t care. Hailen deserved better.

  An odd thought struck him. But what if it won't? The Sage had called Hailen a "Melechha". Whatever the bloody hell that means. The Elivasti had spat the name with hatred and revulsion. Perhaps Hailen was not Elivasti. Perhaps he had nothing to fear from the Irrsinnon.

  No, he knew he hoped in vain. Already, he had noticed the first signs. Since that day in the Advanat, what seemed a lifetime ago, a change had begun in the boy. Through his actions, Hailen had taken his first steps down the path that led to madness.

  I have to try to stop it. And the only place I can think of to find answers on this ancient Serenii curse is in Enarium.

  The journey would be difficult. He had to cross the Whispering Waste, travel to Vothmot, and find a guide to lead him into the Empty Mountains. As it was, he had no idea how to reach the lost city. The Sage had mentioned a work of Taivoro, a story following the works of a Journeyman bard. Given what he knew about Karannos Taivoro—mad playwright, first Illusionist Cleric—the truth would be well-hidden.

  Then there was the matter of the Withering. He'd overheard the Sage's Elivasti talking about the demon's urgent desire to reach Enarium before the Withering, whatever that was. The Elivasti had said it was still a month off. He'd have to find out about it on his way to Enarium. He had to know more if he was to thwart the Sage's plans to restore Kharna to life.

  After he killed the Sage, he would hunt down the rest of the demons spread across Einan. He had a clear image of the Sage's map, complete with the details of his agents and spies. He had to hope the Sage wouldn't have the time or manpower to waste on communicating with his underlings, at least not until he reached Enarium.

  Pity you won't reach that city alive, you bastard! He reached for Bardin's silver pendant and felt the smooth surface with his thumb.

  Soulhunger would lead him to the demon. He would have justice for the countless people that had died on the Sage's orders. He would avenge Master Eldor's death. Einan would be cleansed of the Abiarazi scourge once and for all.

  “But what does that mean for you?” the demon whispered in his mind. “You are of their blood, are you not?”

  The Hunter squeezed the pendant and fought back the voice. He had no desire to contemplate what came after; he could only focus on what came next. He'd have plenty of time to think about the future once he found Her and put an end to the Sage.

  His fingers felt for the scars on his chest. Too many had died because of the demons. He would—

  What? Something was wrong. He sprinted toward the mouth of the tunnel and burst into the light. Staring down at his blood and dust-caked chest, his jaw dropped.

  The scars. Th-They're…gone!

  The day he'd left Voramis, a bolt of lightning had struck him atop the Palace of Justice. Somehow, it had erased the scars. But since then, he'd etched scores of new scars into his chest with every life Soulhunger consumed. Yet only a handful remained.

  His fingers traced each familiar scar. The over-large knot of flesh over his heart belonged to the First and Third of the Bloody Hand. The jagged, angry-looking
scar was all that remained of Toramin, the demon hiding among the Order of Midas. Two near-identical blemishes marked the passing of Garanis, Illusionist Cleric of Malandria, and Asalah, Queen of Al Hani. A broad band of raised red tissue could only belong to the Warmaster. The five remaining marks had been left by the death of the Sage's Elivasti.

  But what about all the others? Dozens, perhaps hundreds, had died at his hands since leaving Voramis. But no scars remained in memory of their deaths. What made those scars unimportant? More importantly, how had they disappeared?

  Too many questions, and not enough answers. But he knew where to find answers.

  With a grin, he followed Hailen down the mountainside toward the village of Kharan-cui. There, he would find his horses, and provisions for the long trip. Below him lay the first step toward finding answers. Answers about Hailen. Answers about the Sage and the Abiarazi. Answers about the Serenii. Answers about his past.

  Once again, all roads led in the same direction. His past, present, and future would come together in the lost city of the Serenii.

  So be it. To Enarium we will go. And may the Watcher have mercy on anyone who gets in my way!

  ----

  The Hunter's journey continues in:

  Darkblade Slayer

  Hero of Darkness (Book 5)

  To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering. -- Sigmund Freud

  Chapter One

  The Hunter could not outrun the storm.

  Lightning flashed all around him, so bright it pained his eyes. The very air seemed to sizzle and come alive with the force of the tempest. The storm clouds billowed high above him like an enormous beast of darkness and fury, filling the sky with an endless cacophony of bellowing thunder. It had earned the name the locals whispered in fear: the Shattering Tempest.

  The Hunter's eyes fixed on the solitary "island" of stone in the middle of the Whispering Waste. It stood at least half a league away; the black clouds loomed closer with every thundering heartbeat. But he had to reach the shelter of stone before the lightning struck them.

  Not for his sake, but for the sake of the small figure clutched in his arms.

  Hailen rode in the saddle behind him, head buried in the Hunter's back. The sound of his whimpering was faint, drowned out by the pounding of the horses' hooves.

  The Hunter cast a glance over his shoulder. The massive wall of clouds reached dark, smoky fingers toward him, as if seeking to drown him in their boiling, windswept embrace. The Whispering Waste belied its name; the thunder rolling across the vast expanse of emptiness could shatter mountains. Bolts of lightning struck the ground all around, sending shards of the salt-covered earth spraying like a hail of arrows. A piercing, shrieking wind set his cloak flapping and tugged at him, as if seeking to drag him from the saddle.

  Yet no rain poured from the clouds. The boiling, seething frenzy of the storm seemed hell-bent on punishing travelers that dared to brave the torturous crossing.

  The Hunter bent lower in the saddle and urged Elivast to greater speed. The horse stumbled for a moment before taking off into a full gallop. Elivast was tiring, but the Hunter couldn't slow. If those blazing spears of lightning and hurricane winds caught them in the open, they wouldn't survive. The horses could rest in the shelter of the stones.

  The sharp, pungent tang of lightning hung on the air, and the Hunter's heart lurched as a massive crack shattered the ground twenty paces to his right. The echoing thunderclap nearly deafened him. His head rang and the brightness stung his eyes.

  The small island of stone drew nearer one heart-rending pace at a time. Elivast's flashing hooves ate up the ground at a gallop, but the Hunter recognized the signs that the horse was tiring. Ash, Hailen's stocky desert horse, pounded alongside them, on the verge of panicking. The Hunter couldn't change horses now; he needed Elivast to carry the extra weight of Hailen's little body.

  Come on! He gritted his teeth. Just a little farther.

  An ear-splitting BOOM echoed from behind him a heartbeat after blinding light split the roiling sky. Shards of salt showered across the Hunter's back with stinging force. The Shattering Tempest had caught up.

  The air crackled and sizzled as spears of lightning slammed into the ground all around him. A deafening symphony of thunder roared past him, swallowing him in its ear-splitting fury. Howling winds whipped shards of salt through the air with enough force to shred skin.

  Elivast screamed, and terror drove him faster. The Hunter could do little more than cling to the saddle and hope Hailen held on as the horse raced to the outcropping of stone in the middle of the sea of white.

  Lightning split the air in front of them, barely ten paces away. The concussive blast washed over the Hunter, nearly hurling him from the saddle. His head spun with such force it drowned out the voice shrieking in his mind. Elivast staggered, shocked by the lightning.

  "Elivast!" The Hunter's shout sounded so faint through the ringing in his ears. "We're almost there!" He dug his heels into the horse's ribs. Slowly, Elivast tottered forward, stumbling into a full gallop to cross the last forty paces to the small island of stone.

  The Hunter, blinking away tears and fighting to see, turned Elivast's head toward the only place that would offer them any shelter from the storm. Four obsidian stones stood in the heart of the island of land that rose from the endless sea of white salt-covered ground of the Whispering Waste. Ten paces tall and three wide, the midnight monoliths leaned inward, providing a pitiful windbreak.

  Elivast shied from the stones, but the Hunter pushed him onward. The stench of rot and decay twisted the Hunter's stomach. These were Dolmenrath, the creations of the Serenii, whispered to have been used to summon demons during the War of Gods thousands of years earlier. The stones emanated an almost tangible pall of malevolence.

  But he had no choice. These stones offered the only shelter from the lightning, the buffeting winds, and the stinging spray of salt.

  He leapt from the saddle, whirled to scoop Hailen up, and dashed the last five paces to the circle of standing stones. Stepping into the circle felt like stepping into mire—no earthly mud, but a thick, suffocating mass of evil.

  The Hunter fought the dread writhing within him and ducked into the shadow of an obelisk. The massive stone blocked the worst of the wind, and the Hunter drew his long, dark cloak across his face to protect himself and Hailen.

  The monoliths hummed around him as lightning struck at them with sizzling fingers. An eerie wailing pierced the ring of obsidian stones, stabbing into his ears and setting his head ringing. Hailen’s presence pushed back the voices in his mind, but he could not escape the wailing of the wind. It seemed voices whirled all around him, screeching, shrieking, begging, pleading. He could make out no words but could not escape the chaos.

  The Hunter gritted his teeth against the pain. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to take slow, deep breaths.

  "Hardwell?" Hailen's whimper, so close to his ear, pierced the raging maelstrom.

  "We're alive, Hailen." The Hunter gripped the boy tighter—as much for his own comfort as for Hailen's. "We're alive," he repeated.

  "I-I'm scared." Hailen snuffled in his arms. "I don't like the wind. The voices…they're…telling me…"

  "Don't listen to them. Just listen to me. The voices aren't real. They're just a trick of the wind."

  He spoke the words to comfort Hailen, but he knew the truth. He had heard voices for years—the voice of Soulhunger, the dagger he'd inherited from his demonic father; the voice of the demon living in his mind; the voices of the dead in Malandria. The more he tried to ignore them, the louder and more insistent they grew.

  Hailen had inherited his own curse: the Irrsinnon, the madness that gripped all Elivasti. The purple-eyed descendants of the Serenii were fated to insanity unless they took the opia, a fruit that grew in two places on Einan. They had left Shana Laal behind; they had to reach Enarium, the Lost City of the Serenii, to find the cure for the boy before the madness over
took him.

  The Hunter pulled the cloak tighter about them. The wind whipped at the cloth, trying to rip it from his grasp. Though his forearms and hands ached, he fought to retain his grip. They had to weather the storm.

  Hailen whimpered in his arms, terrified.

  "Hailen, did you ever hear the story of Agarre the Giantslayer?"

  The boy's sobbing fell silent. After a moment, he replied, "No. Will you tell it to me?"

  The Hunter smiled. "Of course. Once upon a time, there was a young girl who lived in a small village. Agarre was her name…"

  For what seemed an eternity they sat, boy and man huddling together in the man’s cloak, a pathetic shelter from the storm. The Hunter spoke in a soft, soothing voice, telling the boy the story of Agarre, the heroine that killed the giants in the Empty Mountains. He did it to calm Hailen but found it calmed him as well. So long as he remained fixed on the boy in his arms, he did not think about the storm raging around him.

  Gradually, Hailen relaxed, and soon his chest rose and fell in the rhythm of sleep. The Hunter marveled; how could the boy sleep at a time like this? Yet, with his arms wrapped firmly around the boy, he felt an odd sense of peace. Chaos and destruction whirled all about, but, like the island of stone amidst the endless expanse of the Whispering Waste, he had a refuge from his tempestuous life with this little boy.

  * * *

  The Hunter awoke to absolute silence. The wind had ceased its wailing, and the crack of lightning retreated. The sound of Hailen's breathing filled the little cocoon of his thick cloak. But when he peered out at the world around him, a cloak of stillness had descended.

  The Whispering Waste was truly a barren expanse, as silent as it was empty. The Hunter could hear the gentle pounding of his own heartbeat in the absolute stillness. Sunlight gleamed off the ocean of white all around him, so dazzling he had to shield his eyes from its brilliance. The black stone of the Dolmenrath was the only spot of color in an endless expanse of emptiness. For leagues in every direction, the Hunter saw…nothing.