Darkblade Guardian

by Andy Peloquin

  "Sorry, kid, but you don't have the gear, the horse, supplies, anything."

  "And if I could get it?" Evren asked. His voice had taken on a desperate edge. "If I got my hands on everythin’ I need, you'd take me with you?"

  The Hunter shook his head, but Evren cut him off before he could speak.

  "Please." The boy's expression turned pleading. "I need to get out of Vothmot for a while, but there ain’t nowhere else I can go. If I don't leave…" He trailed off. "I'll work hard, earn my way, I swear."

  The Hunter didn't need a vivid imagination to understand the boy's desperation. Even the best thieves could find themselves hunted by the law, a rival thieving crew, or someone they'd pissed off. He knew how dangerous things could get; hells, he'd had the entire Bloody Hand after him not long ago. Evren either had to flee or hide, else he'd end up on the wrong side of a dagger or dangling from a hangman's noose.

  With a sigh, the Hunter tucked the coin away and nodded. "So be it. Meet me outside the gate an hour before dawn."

  "Got it!" Relief shone in the young man's eyes, and the tension in his posture faded. "I'll be there. You ain’t gonna regret it." With a jaunty salute, he dashed down the alley and disappeared around a corner.

  "You should have killed him," the demon snarled in his mind. "He'll slow down your search."

  Maybe, the Hunter replied silently. Or maybe he'll actually prove useful.

  "He'll prove your death!" Fury radiated from the presence within. "What if he turns you over to the Wardens or tells the priests—"

  Shut up! The Hunter had no desire to hear the demon's nonsense. You said the same thing about Hailen, but it’s only because of him that we're still alive. Hailen had saved his life first in the Advanat Desert, and again in the tunnels beneath Kara-ket.

  The inner presence grew sullen but went thankfully silent, though its irritation set his head pounding and made his head ache. He gritted his teeth against the throbbing ache. The demon’s voice had become harder to ignore. It alternated between demanding death and filling his head with incessant, chaotic shrieking. If he didn't reach Enarium soon, he feared the voice would drive him mad.

  He clambered up the rope and gripped the lip of the wall with one hand, using the other to tug the grappling hook free. Tucking one of the hooks into his belt, he pulled himself up to peer over the edge. The chaos within the Master's Temple had only increased as more priests arrived. There had to be nearly three hundred people filling the open space. Add to that the wagons, carts, draft animals, servants, slaves, and apprentices, and he had a good chance of slipping in unnoticed.

  He drew in a deep breath. Here goes.

  His powerful muscles flexed as he hauled himself up and over the wall in one smooth motion, then dropped to the ground on the other side.

  Chapter Eight

  The Hunter hit the grassy lawn hard, but his legs absorbed the impact with only a slight twinge in his knees. The rope fell into a pile beside him, and he quickly coiled it around his waist before ducking into the shadow of the hedges. The thick foliage concealed him from those on the opposite side without blocking his line of sight. Heart pounding in excitement, he watched the confusion filling the Master's Temple and waited for his opportunity.

  His gut clenched as he saw a familiar dark grey robe, and caught the glint of sunlight from the silver pendant hanging around the Illusionist Cleric's neck. The Hunter's hand went to the pendant he'd taken from Bardin's body. The memory of what the Illusionist Clerics had tried to do to him in Al Hani left him wary of encountering them again. He'd have to stay well away from the man and his entourage of laughing, babbling madmen.

  One Reckoner, a heavy-set, red-cheeked priest of the Apprentice, stumbled toward the hedge. His hands fumbled with the thick cord belt holding his elegant grey robes in place, and he moved with a spring in his step that could only come from a terribly urgent call of nature.

  The Hunter grinned. Such a small body part, but it truly is the cause of most men’s problems, isn’t it?

  The Reckoner had just dropped his trousers and straightened with a sigh when the Hunter reached through the hedges and snagged his collar. He clapped a hand to the priest's mouth as he hauled him through the thick branches and leaves. Before the priest could cry out, the Hunter hurled him to the ground and drove the hard toe of his boot against his temple. The man went limp, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

  The Hunter quickly stripped off the Reckoner’s bulky outer robes. All priests of the Apprentice wore the same elegant grey finery, but these were cut in the style popular among the Praamians: a long overcoat worn over a vest, with a sash to tie the outfit together. Not the most practical or comfortable outfit, but it would serve his purposes today.

  He got the priest’s clothes off not a moment too soon. Before he could remove the priest's pants, the man's over-full bladder lost its internal war for control. The Hunter leapt back as the ground around the man's crotch darkened and the acrid stench of urine filled the air.

  The Hunter grunted in disgust. He had the man's overcoat, vest, and the priestly cloak of office that completed the outfit. He'd just have to hope no one noticed his pants were the wrong color.

  He shrugged into the robes, grateful his victim had been a heavy-set man. The overcoat fit over his leather armor, and the priestly cape concealed his sword and daggers. It would be bloody difficult to get at his weapons in the stuffy garments, but he doubted he'd have call to use them within the temple.

  Just one thing left to complete the disguise. He crouched beside the man's head, well away from the spreading puddle between his legs, and studied the man’s features.

  The Reckoner had a face that could only be described as corpulent, with a thick nose, a broad forehead, puffy cheeks, and a ruddy complexion that bespoke a life of comfort. The Hunter memorized every detail of his face, even the red, thread-like veins on his nose that marked him as a connoisseur of wine.

  Closing his eyes, he drew his focus inward and concentrated on the sensations running through his body as the Sage had taught him. He felt the blood pulsing through his veins, the energy flowing to and from his muscles, the way his stomach gnawed at the food he’d eaten earlier. The tiny hairs on his skin tingled from the cool breeze across his hands or the sweat rolling down his spine. A thousand sensations, each one magnified a thousandfold by his consciousness.

  He exerted his will on the flesh, bone, muscles, and nerves of his face, commanding them to shift to match the face of the man at his feet. Lightning arced through his nose, his cheeks, his eyes, his chin as he forced his features to change. He held the image of the unconscious Reckoner’s face in his mind until he could feel the shape of his face match it.

  He opened his eyes and felt his new features gingerly. Even the slightest touch sent tiny spikes of lightning shooting through his head and his face throbbed with the pain of holding the shape, but he had grown accustomed to it. He'd practiced shifting his features every night on the journey from Kara-ket. It was getting easier, though he doubted he'd ever get used to the utter strangeness of feeling another man's face in place of his.

  He straightened his robes one final time, checked his weapons, and strode toward the gap in the hedges twenty paces to the north. No one paid him any heed as he rejoined the chaotic mass of priests filling the open space. Indeed, it seemed he—or the man whose face he wore—counted among the lowest-ranking clergypeople here. He recognized the costly robes of High Lecterns, Grand Reckoners, Exalted Militants, and high priests of every other clerical order.

  His gut tightened as he passed the gaggle of Illusionist Clerics. One of them actually turned toward him with a curious expression, but he simply nodded and kept moving. After a moment of contemplation, the priest lost interest and resumed his insane babbling.

  The Hunter forced himself to walk like he imagined the priest would. Instead of a confident stride, he gave his steps a bit of a rolling waddle, like a man weighed down by too much body fat. It felt odd to walk like th
is, but he actually found it enjoyable. Far too much time had passed since he’d last adopted a disguise so thoroughly. A part of him missed the days of masquerading as Gladrin Silvertongue, Lord Anglion of Praamis, and Danther the tailor.

  He pushed aside the memories and quickened his waddling steps toward the entrance to the Master's Temple, just ten paces away. The entrance opened into a high-ceilinged tunnel that matched the elegance of the decorative exterior. Plush Al Hani rugs in myriad bright colors and patterns covered the floors, and ornately woven tapestries hung from the walls.

  "Brother Makrel!" a voice rang out behind him. He kept walking, but the call came again. "Brother Makrel!"

  The Hunter glanced over his shoulder and found a young man wearing the robes of a Lectern apprentice hurrying up the tunnel toward him. The priest's eyes fixed on him, his hand outstretched to stop him.

  "Yes?" the Hunter asked. He spoke in a nasal voice and added a tone of mixed hauteur and impatience.

  "Forgive me, Reckoner, but your rooms are not yet prepared." The young Lectern looked embarrassed, and his face flushed. "If you would just—"

  "Young man, what is your name?" the Hunter demanded.

  The youth's blush deepened. "Sisket," he said in a quiet voice. "Under-Lectern in the Grey Tower."

  "Under-Lectern Sisket, do you have any idea how many hours I've spent sitting a saddle over the last month?" The Hunter's double chins wobbled as he shook his head. "I have not come this far to simply stand around like a common man waiting for your High Lectern to complete arrangements that should have been made days ago." He loomed over the young man. "If there are no objections, I will content myself with exploring the grand chapel until such a time as my quarters are prepared."

  "O-Of course, Brother Makrel," Sisket stammered.

  "Thank you," the Hunter snapped. "We shall see if your grand chapel truly is as spectacular as the rumors say." He turned on his heel and strode away before the youth could respond.

  Over the course of his journey, the Hunter had heard tales of the enormous stained glass windows in the Master's Temple. The priest whose face he wore, Reckoner Makrel, might not have the authority to enter the Vault of Stars, so using the story of wanting to visit the breathtaking spectacle made as good a cover story as anything.

  The marble-walled, carpeted tunnel continued for another twenty paces before opening onto a huge basilica. Daylight streamed in through the enormous dome in the ceiling of the central nave, and broad aisles flanked by interior colonnades ran the length of the grand chamber. On a raised dais in the heart of the expansive interior, a white marble statue of Kiro, the Master, held court over smaller statues of the other twelve gods of Einan.

  But the Hunter’s steps led away from the main basilica chamber. To the right, behind a thick marble colonnade, he saw the small staircase Evren had indicated. Instead of heading up toward the grand chapel, he descended into the bowels of the temple. His heart raced as his mind replayed memories of the last time he'd done something like this. He'd gone in search of Soulhunger, locked in the Beggar Priests' vaults, and barely gotten out of there alive.

  Let's just hope things work out a bit better this time.

  He descended three floors, finding only empty hallways. No doubt most of the Lecterns were busy either in study or consumed by the duties of greeting the arriving priests. The Hunter welcomed the confusion, as it had given him a way in. Now he had to find a way to gain access to the Vault of Stars.

  Instead of going farther down, he exited on the third floor and strode through the silent halls. He chose a door at random and opened it, finding a small, simply furnished chamber. The room had only a single bed, a table and chair, and a wooden cupboard against the far wall. The Hunter grinned as he saw the green-and-silver velvet Lectern robes folded in a neat pile at the foot of the bed.

  Moments later, he emerged from the room in the disguise of a priest. He no longer needed the face of the heavy-set Reckoner Makrel, but instead settled for his own face with a few minor alterations: a thicker brow, longer nose, and a rounded chin. And, of course, eyes of a deep brown instead of their true midnight black

  He had just resumed his descent into the bowels of the temple when he met two priests climbing the stairs toward him. His shoulders tightened in nervous anticipation, and he reached inside his Lectern's robes for the hilt of a dagger. He had no desire to kill them, but he wouldn’t give them a chance to raise an alarm. His mission here was too important.

  The first priest, an older man with greying hair shaved in the Lectern's tonsure and fringe, barely gave him a nod as he passed. The second priest, a younger man in the garb of an apprentice, was too busy balancing a massive pile of books to pay attention to the Hunter.

  The Hunter let out a long breath as the priests disappeared above him. Good to know the disguise works.

  The staircase ended three floors farther down, where it turned into a short hallway that ran for five paces before opening into a small, bare room. No tapestries hung on the unadorned wood-paneled walls, and the marble floor was scuffed from heavy traffic. Yet there was no furniture, no doors in or out, nothing at all to indicate the chamber’s purpose.

  The Hunter narrowed his eyes. Had Evren steered him in the wrong direction? The youth had known a lot more about the Master's Temple than a common thief ought to, so he'd assumed the young man was right. But had he sent him off on a wild hunt? Worse, had Evren led him into a trap? He had only one way of escape, and there could be scores of armed Wardens waiting for him above.

  The Hunter started as an entire section of the wood-paneled wall slid aside to reveal the head, chest, and shoulders of a man standing behind a marble counter. Through the opening, the Hunter could see a small room, and beyond it a massive, high-vaulted stone chamber that could only be the Vault of Stars.

  "How may I help you, Brother?" the man asked. He wore Lectern's robes, which hung slack from his hunched shoulders. His pale skin and squinting eyes gave him the look of someone that spent far too much time indoors. He adjusted his spectacles and stared at the Hunter in expectation.

  After a moment of hesitation, the Hunter strode toward the man. "I'm here on the Arch-Lectern's business."

  The man's white-blonde eyebrows pressed together. "Which Arch-Lectern, precisely?"

  The Hunter's gut clenched. "I, uh…"

  "White Tower? Black Tower? Crystal Tower?"

  "Grey Tower," the Hunter said as Under-Lectern Sisket's stammering flashed through his mind.

  "Ahh, of course." The man folded his hands on the countertop and gave the Hunter an unctuous smile. "And how might I be of service of Arch-Lectern Uriman today?"

  "I've come for a number of books," the Hunter said, trying to ignore the furious beating of his heart. "Special volumes only available here."

  "Of course," the man repeated. "If you will simply give me the titles, I will be happy to hunt them down for you. And, of course, I will need to see the Arch-Lectern's written request for the volumes."

  Shit. The Hunter thought quickly. He could try to bluff his way into the Vault of Stars, or take the more direct route. One look at the Lectern told him what manner of man he was dealing with: a functionary who would adhere to the rules without any deviation. There was only one way to cut through this bureaucracy.

  The Hunter crossed the space to the counter in a single leap and seized the man's collar. Before the Lectern could let out more than a surprised squawk, the Hunter pressed a dagger to his throat.

  "You have a choice," he growled. "Let me in or die."

  Chapter Nine

  The Lectern's pale face went a ghostly shade of white, and his eyes flew wide. Fear tainted his scent of parchment, ink, and centuries-old dust. He seemed frozen by shock and surprise, as if his brain couldn't comprehend how someone had gotten this far into the Master's Temple, past all the guards and priests.

  The Hunter shook the priest’s collar to snap him out of his dumbfounded stupor. "This can go one of two ways," the Hunter growled.
"You let me in and tell me what I want to know, and you live to read another day." He pulled the man close and dropped his voice to a harsh whisper. "Fuck with me or try to raise an alarm, and your fellow Lecterns will find your corpse lying in a pool of blood."

  The Lectern gasped, and his face managed to somehow go even whiter. Words poured from his mouth in an unintelligible jumble.

  The Hunter pricked the underside of his chin with the dagger, and the pain seemed to clear the priest's chaotic thoughts. He snapped his mouth shut and swallowed hard.

  "Resist the urge to set off any alarms you have hidden around the Vault, Lectern." The Hunter fixed the man with a stern gaze. "I've no need to hurt you, but I won't hesitate to remove a hand or something else important if you do anything foolish. Is that clear?"

  "A-Abundantly," the Lectern managed to stammer.

  "Excellent." The Hunter gave him a harsh smile. "Why don't we start with something easy? Open the door."

  Fear filled the Lectern's eyes. "I…er…"

  "The next word out of your mouth had better not be either can't or won't," the Hunter snarled.

  The priest swallowed. "I…er…am unable to?" He cringed and stammered out the words as fast as he could. "The vault door only opens twice each day when the Lecterns on duty change shifts. I could not open it, even if I had the correct resonator stone."

  The Hunter's brow furrowed. He had no idea what a resonator stone was, but it seemed it didn't matter anyway. There was only one way into the Vault of Stars.

  He moved too fast for the priest to react, pressing the man's arm against the wooden countertop and slamming the dagger into his robes. The Lectern squawked and let out a fearful cry, but the blade only pinned the sleeve of his long frock in place.

  "Take that as a warning," the Hunter said in a low growl. "Next one hits something painful, then something vital, then something fatal."

  The man gave a frantic nod of his head. "Understood!" he gasped.