Darkblade Guardian

by Andy Peloquin

  Father Reverentus paused for a moment. "Tell me," the priest said, straightening, "does he bleed when you touch him?"

  The Hunter narrowed his eyes. "How could you know that?"

  "He does!" Father Reverentus breathed. Words poured from his mouth in a rush. "Where is he? Is he nearby? Can you bring him here now?"

  "Hold on, Father." The Hunter folded his arms. "First, tell me how you knew that he bled when I touched him. Then tell me what the bloody hell a Melechha is."

  The priest jaw muscles worked, but he managed not to unleash the retort forming on his lips.

  "Melechha is the name given to very special Elivasti," he said in a slow voice. "It is said that only the purest blood of the Serenii runs through their veins and gives them special…abilities."

  The Hunter had seen one such ability when Hailen unleashed whatever power was stored in the Dolmenrath, the obsidian standing stones built by the Serenii.

  "They are indistinguishable from the rest of their kind except in a few special circumstances." Father Reverentus thrust a gnarled finger at him. "When they come in contact with those of demon blood, their fingernails begin to bleed."

  The Hunter nodded. He'd wondered why none of the other Elivasti he'd encountered in Kara-ket had had the same reaction to his touch.

  "But, according to the Book of the Supplicant, handed down to us by the founders of the Order of the Cambionari, the Melechha’s blood is the only thing powerful enough to seal Kharna in his prison forever." His words rang with a note of awe. "If he truly is a Melechha, that boy is the weapon to defeat the Destroyer once and for all."

  The Hunter had a sickening feeling in his gut. He had tried to keep Hailen out of harm's way, yet one thing after another put the boy in danger. Now he found out Hailen was the secret to keeping Kharna locked away in his eternal prison. That power had to come at a terrible cost. There was no way he could protect Hailen from that.

  "You must bring him here, Hunter." Father Reverentus' voice grew solemn. "You must turn him over to me, so I can deliver him to the Cambionari here in Vothmot."

  The Hunter's gut tightened. "Cambionari? Here?"

  The priest's eyes went flat. "Yes," he said simply. "More of their order than you will find anywhere else on Einan."

  Ice ran down the Hunter's spine. He'd been so focused on getting into the Master's Temple he'd failed to realize that the nearby House of Need could house any of the secret order of Beggar Priests commanded by their god to eradicate the Bucelarii.

  "But if you deliver the boy to me," Father Reverentus said, "I can persuade them to let you leave in peace. It is a fair bargain, is it not? His life and the future of the world in exchange for yours?"

  "No," the Hunter replied without hesitation. "He must come with me."

  "You will drag him with you in your search for Enarium?" the priest asked.

  The question caught the Hunter off guard. "How did--?"

  "Why else do you think Vothmot is home to the largest contingent of Cambionari on Einan?" Father Reverentus pointed north, toward the Empty Mountains. "For as long as your kind has existed, they have sought to return to Enarium. Every one of them tries, in the end. And it is our duty to be waiting when they do."

  Acid burned in the back of the Hunter's throat. It had made so much sense for him to travel north, to find Her. Everything he'd uncovered—from the answers about his past to the mysteries of the Irrsinnon to the Sage's plans—had led him toward Enarium. And yet, Father Reverentus had said every one of the Bucelarii came here sooner or later. Almost as if the divine hand, fate, or destiny he'd tried too hard to deny drew him inexorably here.

  "The Empty Mountains are no place for the boy," the priest said in a quiet voice. "Let us care for him, train him in the ways of the Cambionari. When he is a man, he will be ready to do what must be done to save the world from Kharna once and for all. You can be free of the burden, and you will be permitted to leave Vothmot in peace." He placed his hand over his heart. "You have my word as Cambionari and priest of the Beggar God."

  The Hunter wanted to reject the priest's offer out of hand, but he forced himself to seriously consider it. Hailen would slow him down on the climb through the Empty Mountains, and Father Reverentus was right in that the Empty Mountains was no place for a child. The boy would be well cared-for by the Beggar Priests. Hailen could have a real life; not just the life of a Melechha raised for war, but a childhood as close to normal as he could ask for.

  But could he say goodbye to the boy? In Kara-ket, he had discovered that he had a child. He had no idea what fate had befallen that child, but he'd come to see Hailen through the eyes of a father. Just as he had Farida, in a way. His mind had unconsciously perceived them as a substitute for the son or daughter he'd been forced to leave. He had cared for them with all of his heart. Yes, Hailen had been put in harm's way, but the Hunter had been willing to die to protect him. Was that any less than the Beggar Priests could offer him?

  The matter of the Irrsinnon weighed heavily on him as well. Soulhunger kept the madness at bay, but the Hunter could see it claiming the boy's mind more and more each day. Only in Enarium would he find the opia to cure the madness and, hopefully, a way to do it without putting Hailen at risk. If he left Hailen behind, could he reach the Lost City and return before the boy descended fully into the grip of the Elivasti curse?

  It felt like lifting a mountain as he drew in a deep breath and spoke. "I cannot." A burden settled on his shoulders. "The boy stays with me."

  Father Reverentus' face hardened as he stood. He looked like he wanted to retort, but he seemed to think better of it and simply nodded. "So be it. You have made your choice."

  The Hunter heard a dangerous edge to the priest's words. He had no doubt Father Reverentus would try to take Hailen from him by force, if necessary. He could summon an army of Cambionari from the nearby House of Need. The moment the Hunter left the temple, he had to flee the city.

  "Farewell, Hunter." The priest turned toward the door.

  "Wait, Father,” the Hunter said, rising to his feet. “Before you go, I have a question."

  Father Reverentus glanced back at him with a curious expression.

  "What is the Withering?" the Hunter asked.

  The priest raised an eyebrow. "You do not know?"

  "If I did," the Hunter retorted, "would I ask?"

  "Fair enough." Father Reverentus inclined his head and turned back to face the Hunter. "The Withering is the name given to the blood sun, an astrological phenomenon that occurs once every five hundred years or so."

  "Is there any reason why it would be special?"

  The priest seemed to think about it for a moment, then shrugged. "No more so than a solar eclipse or the full moon." He stroked his long white beard. "Mystics of old believed it was a gathering of power, but there were never any manifestations of power beyond the sky growing dark and the sun turning crimson.”

  "Do you know when it is?"

  Father Reverentus' expression grew thoughtful. "Like I said, it occurs once every five centuries, but I could not give you the precise dates. That is the realm of the Lecterns or the Secret Keepers. There are enough of them around that you could simply ask one, though I doubt they'd prove helpful."

  The Hunter sighed. So much for that being helpful. The Sage's men had mentioned the demon’s hurry to reach Enarium before the Withering. If it truly was a gathering of power, it could have something to do with the ancient city of the Serenii. Given the Sage's timeline, he had just over a week before the Withering occurred.

  "If that is all," Father Reverentus said, "there are pressing matters that require my attention."

  "This Enclave really is the highlight of the decade isn't it?" the Hunter asked in a mocking tone.

  The priest looked surprised. "You know of the Enclave?"

  The Hunter shrugged. "It's the only explanation for all these priests, isn't it?" He had no more information than that, but perhaps he could trick Father Reverentus into revealing more. T
here had to be an important reason why so many of the highest-ranking clerics from around the continent had come to the same place at the same time.

  "It is necessary, much as it pains me." The priest's eyes filled with remorse. "It is the only way to keep the peace."

  The Hunter forced himself not to reveal his surprise. Was the man actually ashamed of what he was doing here?

  "Is that what you tell yourself?" It was a stab in the dark, targeting Father Reverentus' visible guilt. "Does that make it any easier to live with?"

  Father Reverentus drew in a deep breath, then sighed. "No, it doesn't." He shook his head. "But when we lost all the original texts from the War of Gods, we had no choice. We could not let the gods be forgotten, for without religion and belief, the world would have descended into chaos. The burden still weighs heavily on my shoulders, even after all these years, but we do what must be done."

  The Hunter tried to decipher the meaning of the priest's words. The Lectern in the Vault of Stars had mentioned the destruction of Prophet Mehmet's eyewitness account of the War of Gods. Eshendun had written the account based on stories passed down from the Prophet's followers and passed it off as established history.

  Did that mean the rest of the religious texts were also equally falsified? The thought sent horror writhing like worms in his gut. Priests and clerics preached from holy scriptures they claimed to have come straight from the gods themselves. Yet, if all the original texts were lost, where had these scriptures come from?

  "How much of it is true?" he asked, a vague question intended to keep the priest talking.

  Father Reverentus hung his head. "Does it matter? The truth is rarely sufficient to ensure true belief. And, in the end, is it not belief that matters most?" He sounded like he was trying to convince himself of the lie. "Even if it is not based on truth, all men need something to believe in. In the end, faith is what makes things true. Faith is what brings peace and acceptance that there is something worth living for, worth dying for."

  Disgust roiled within the Hunter as he stared at the priest. He'd believed Father Reverentus to be a good man, even if he disagreed with the fundamentals of his belief. But now it seemed the beliefs were all a lie. Worse, a lie perpetrated and encouraged by the priest himself. He, and all the other priests in Vothmot, sold the people of Einan falsehoods masquerading as the word of the gods.

  "When we first met, do you remember what you told me about the gods?" The Hunter spoke in a harsh voice. "You told me the gods were real, even if I do not believe in them."

  "I remember." The priest nodded. "And you were not far wrong when you said the gods were the creations of humans."

  "You truly did create the gods we know now," the Hunter snarled. "And you passed it off to the world as the truth."

  "For the world, the gods are real." Father Reverentus met his eyes without hesitation. "They are as real as the sun, the wind, and the night. They are intangibles, things that most people do not understand. It is enough that they exist."

  "But do they?" The Hunter raised an eyebrow. "If, as you said, it was all invented by the Enclave, can you offer proof of their existence?"

  "Just because the written records are lost to us, that doesn't mean the gods are not real," the priest retorted.

  The Hunter folded his arms. "Nor does it mean they are."

  "Even if the writings are gone, the truths inherent there remain." Father Reverentus narrowed his eyes. "That Ritual of Cleansing we carried out beneath the temple, do you doubt that it was real?"

  The Hunter shook his head. He'd felt the power manifesting in the bare stone room.

  "That ritual was passed down to us in the Book of the Supplicant, written by the founder of our order after the War of Gods. Even after the book was lost, the ritual was not. Everything, from the blood spilled on the altar to the words of the ritual, has been shared on the lips of the Cambionari from the first Enclave to this one." The priest fixed him with a hard gaze. "Belief, Hunter. Belief is what matters."

  The Hunter drew in a deep breath, but his desire to argue with the priest had fled. He simply shook his head and, without a word, strode from the small room, leaving the speechless Reverentus behind.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A lie. The thought ran through the Hunter's mind over and over as he strode through the streets of Vothmot. It was all a lie.

  He had ditched the Lectern's robes in the first abandoned alley he found after leaving the Master's Temple. Now, he looked like any of the thousands of people walking through the Prime Bazaar. Until someone looked into his eyes, he knew. His midnight black eyes would reflect the storm in his thoughts.

  For as long as he could remember, he hadn't bothered with religion. He cared little for belief and had no use for the gods. They had simply been a fixture in the background of Voramian culture, something he exploited when necessary and ignored otherwise.

  But finding out it was a fabrication still felt wrong. Not even the discovery of his half-demon heritage had affected him this deeply. He had always known he was different than the men and women around him in more ways than just the color of his eyes. Yet this revelation seemed too hard to digest.

  The entire culture of Voramis, the only home he'd known for forty-some years, revolved around the gods of Einan. From weekly visits to their temple of choice to donations to the House of Need to even swearing in the gods' names, Voramians had built their society upon the foundation of worshipping the Thirteen.

  The gods were also intrinsically bound up in everything he'd learned over the last months. He wielded iron daggers supposedly made from the Swordsman's own blade. The Beggar God had saved the Bucelarii from destruction. Kharna had summoned the demons, his forefathers, to the world of Einan. No matter how much he tried to ignore them, he could not escape the gods' hand in his lives.

  But it was all a lie. Or if not all, how much? How much of what he had learned to be “the truth” was the fabrication of men seeking to control Einan through religion and faith?

  Anger surged hot within him. All those months ago, Father Reverentus had told him the gods had chosen him to fight the demons. He hadn't taken up the crusade to destroy the Abiarazi in service to any deity, but the knowledge that he was doing “the right thing” carried a certain vindication.

  Now what did he have? Father Reverentus had deceived him with a story of gods and demons that could be as fictional as the Taivoro in his pocket. What remained for him to believe?

  He bumped into someone, and the man fell hard to the dusty street. The Hunter barely heard the indignant shouts behind him.

  He could believe in his own strength. He didn't need the gods to push him forward. He had the skill of his sword, the power in his muscles, and the will to succeed to drive him onward.

  The absence of the gods did not lessen the threat posed by the Sage. If the god Kharna truly didn't exist, that wouldn't prevent the Sage from carrying out his plans—plans that undoubtedly threatened all mankind. The fact that the Thirteen were a lie didn't mean Hailen was any safer from the Irrsinnon. If the Hunter didn't find a cure, no god—real or false—would prevent Hailen from descending into madness.

  And the lies told by long-dead priests didn't diminish his desire to find the woman from his dreams—his memories. If anything, this new revelation only strengthened that desire. In a world where he could believe nothing, he needed something to cling to. She was real. He could feel Her presence calling him northward, tugging at his heart. Even if he never had proof in any gods' existence, he knew for a fact that She was real.

  Satisfaction flooded him as he felt the heavy book in his cloak's inner pocket. He had succeeded in the first part of his mission. With the help of Darillon and the secrets hidden in Taivoro's book, he would find the way to Enarium.

  But first, he had to get out of Vothmot. Doubtless Father Reverentus had already summoned the Cambionari to the Master's Temple, and soon the streets would be flooded by demon-hunting Beggar Priests searching for him. They could not find
him, but their gift—supposedly from their Beggar God, but who knew where it had come from—would lead them to Soulhunger. They could sense the presence of the stone set in Soulhunger's hilt, the stone that gave the dagger sentience—the stone that held the soul of a demon.

  The Cambionari would find Soulhunger and Hailen with it. The Hunter had to retrieve the boy and get them both out of the city immediately. He wouldn't risk losing the boy to the Beggar Priests. Father Reverentus meant well, but he could not protect the boy from the Elivasti curse. Hailen's only hope lay in reaching Enarium.

  He quickened his pace as he reached the Ward of Bliss. Divinity House stood just three streets down. He could collect Hailen, saddle their horses, and be off within half an hour.

  Icy feet danced down his spine as he saw the mounted riders trotting down the road. They wore the shining splinted mail and bore the ornate facial tattoos marketing them as Warrior Priests of Derelana. Their path led them in the direction of Divinity House. He didn't need the voice in his head to tell him something was very wrong.

  He resisted the urge to run. No sense drawing attention to himself. The odds that they were looking for him were almost infinitesimally small. As far as he knew, he hadn't done anything to anger the Warrior Priests of Derelana. Unless someone had specifically contracted them to hunt him down, they wouldn't—

  His heart stopped as he rounded the corner and caught sight of the woman standing in front of the Divinity House.

  She was shorter than the average Voramian, but her heavy plate mail armor made her seem more imposing. The steel, once burnished to a bright finish, showed the dents, nicks, and scratches of hard wear. The burnished brass anvil in the center of her chest plate, her symbol of honor, no longer shone with the same brilliance. It had the look of cheap, tarnished metal.

  He’d recognize that insignia anywhere. It belonged to Sir Danna Esgrimon, Knight of the Order of Piety.

  Blood turned to ice in his veins. What in the frozen hell is she doing here?