Darkblade Guardian

by Andy Peloquin

  He scanned the crowds for Warrior Priests or Sir Danna. He saw no sign of splinted mail, tattooed faces, or the flowing white Militant cloaks, but his gut clenched as a troop of six heavily-armed men rode past. He doubted all demon-hunters wore plate mail like Sir Danna. Any one of the men clad in chain mail, scale mail, or leather armor could be Cambionari hunting for him on Father Reverentus' orders. He'd never know until they came for him.

  The tightness in his chest eased and hope surged within him as he spotted two familiar horses. Ash and Elivast walked placidly behind the young, dark-haired groom holding their reins. They had been fed, groomed, and treated well.

  The Hunter's eyes never stopped moving as he slipped through the crowd toward the young man. He saw no sign of pursuit, but that could change at any moment. Sir Danna had to be close behind. He couldn't get out of Vothmot fast enough.

  The youth whirled as the Hunter tapped him on a shoulder, his hand dropping to a dagger. He relaxed as he saw the silver half-drake in the Hunter's fingers.

  "You the guy?" the young man asked in a sleepy drawl.

  The Hunter nodded. "Madame Aioni sent you?"

  "That she did." The youth held the reins out to the Hunter and grinned down at Hailen. "The madame threw in a bit of extra food for the little guy."

  "Thank her for us," the Hunter said as he flipped the coin to the youth.

  The young man caught it deftly and tucked it into a pocket. "Will do." He gave a little bow, then strode off into the night.

  The Hunter gave everything a cursory once-over. His packs were tied down, the saddles cinched tightly, the bit and bridle securely in place. Ash seemed eager to run, but Elivast looked less than pleased at being disturbed from peaceful slumber.

  "You ready to ride?" he asked Hailen.

  The boy nodded eagerly and reached his arms up with a grin. The Hunter lifted him off the ground and swung him up onto the horse's back. The stirrup strap needed a quick adjustment for the boy's short legs. He vaulted into Elivast's saddle, collected Hailen's reins, and kicked the horses into a trot.

  He cast a glance backward as he rode through the city gates. Relief filled him as he saw no sign of shining plate mail. No one ambushed him with shouts of "Demonspawn!"

  Yet he couldn't help the sorrowful sinking in his gut. Voramis. Malandria. Al Hani. Kara-ket. Now Vothmot. Another city he had to flee, with death left in his wake. Another place he could never return.

  He was running out of places to run away from.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Even though he'd left the city of Vothmot behind, the Hunter couldn't stop glancing over his shoulder toward the north gate. He expected to see a column of mounted men charging out into the darkness in pursuit, to catch the glint of torchlight shining off shining splinted mail breastplates and white cloaks.

  His fears proved unfounded. Sir Danna and the Warrior Priests hadn't appeared by the time he reached the spot where he'd agreed to meet Darillon. His gut clenched at the sight of the two figures beside the mountaineer. The tension drained slightly when he recognized one: the lean, short form of Evren the thief, sitting on a horse that looked two heartbeats away from being sent to a tanner’s to be turned into glue.

  Darillon introduced the second man as Rassek, his partner in enterprise.

  "Got close to a hundred years of experience between us, we do," Rassek said with a grin. “Most of it belongin’ to the old man here.”

  He was slightly shorter than Darillon, with a lithe, lean build that spoke of years climbing the mountains. His hair had none of the grey in Darillon’s beard, though he had to be fast closing on his fourth decade. There was no mistaking his Praamian heritage; the Hunter could see it in his light blonde hair and pale skin and hear it in the harsh accent common to those living in the makeshift slums outside the Praamian Wall. His scent resembled to Darillon’s--leather oil and horses, but edged with musky cedarwood.

  Darillon shot a glare at Rassek, but the younger mountaineer’s grin just widened. Darillon glanced at Evren, then at Hailen, and his brow furrowed. "You said it was just the two of you. By my count, you two plus him makes three." He jerked a thumb at Evren.

  The Hunter nodded. "He'll be joining us, though he'll pay his own way."

  "His coin's not bein' the matter at issue, see." Rassek stroked his angular, clean-shaven chin. "We've stocked up on enough gear and supplies fer two of ye and the two of us. Climbin’ harnesses and rope, tents, sleepin’ rolls, food, water, and everythin’ else we'll be needin' in the mountains. But addin’ a fifth is wee bit of a problem. We stretch the supplies too far, we're like as not to be runnin' out of food or water in the middle of bloody nowhere, see."

  "The only thing to do is to cut the trip short," Darillon said, shrugging. "Instead of two weeks, we'll do a ten-day. That'll be enough to get you deep into the Empty Mountains and perhaps all the way to the Lost City itself." He spoke as if he'd given this same speech a thousand times before. "But coming back sooner means our supplies last as long as necessary."

  "Trust us, friend." Rassek added with a nod. "The trek through the Empty Mountains is bein' hard enough, mark me. Last thing we need's to be runnin' out of the essentials. That's a recipe fer death right there, says I."

  The Hunter considered their words. He'd paid for a two- week trip knowing full well he didn't have anywhere near that much time. He hadn't known the Sage's precise timeline, but the Elivasti in the tunnels beneath Kara-ket had told him he had more than a month until the Withering. Accounting for the days he'd spent traveling to reach Vothmot, the Withering would be occurring within the next ten days. He'd have to catch up to the Sage or reach Enarium well before then if he wanted to put an end to the demon's plan to restore Kharna.

  "So be it." He nodded. "Ten days."

  "Excellent!" Rassek clapped his hands. "Then let's be gettin’ mounted up and on our way before the sun's up. We’ll want to be coverin' as much ground as we can afore all those blasted sight-seers clutter up th’ trail."

  "Sight-seers?" The Hunter's forehead creased at the unfamiliar word.

  Darillon snorted. "Poncy, fat-arsed, air-headed noblemen and women from around Einan coming for the thrill of the Empty Mountains. They want the excitement with none of the difficulty."

  "Alls they come fer is to be seein' the sights, see," Rassek added with a mocking grin. "Hlareth and his ilk in the Prime Bazaar make a pretty penny showin’ them around a few days."

  "Idiots don't even know they're being led in circles." Darillon gave a disdainful grunt. "They're just happy to pay their coins so they can bring a story home to tell the rest of their useless lot."

  The two men gave their equipment one final examination before mounting up. The Hunter gave his own gear the once-over as well, tightening straps, adjusting cinches on the horse's tack, and checking on Hailen. The boy dozed in his saddle, his eyelids drooping. He didn't protest as the Hunter lifted him from Ash's back and placed him atop Elivast. By the time the Hunter swung up into his saddle and gathered the horse's reins, Hailen had returned to the quiet, dozy state. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm as they set off into motion.

  The Hunter noticed that Evren hadn't said two words since his arrival. The youth’s eyes kept darting back toward the north gate.

  Perhaps he’s running from something, too, the Hunter thought. Though aren’t we all in our own way?

  Too many had died—not only by his hand, but because of him. Farida, the little Voramian girl slain by the Bloody Hand. Bardin, murdered on the sacrificial altar of the demon Toramin. Master Eldor, who had chosen to give his own life so the Hunter could rescue Hailen.

  The Hunter felt the familiar burden of loss settle on his shoulders. No matter how far he ran, he could never escape it. Perhaps it was what drove him onward, pushed him to take up arms against his own kind to protect humanity. Guilt, and a desire to leave behind something more than his legend as an assassin.

  A snort from the sleeping boy in his arms brought him back to reality, and
a smile touched his lips. I'll make a difference for at least this one, he thought. Yes, it would be enough.

  The first rays of daylight soon peeked over the eastern horizon, filling the sky with color and warming the air. The faint illumination painted the rugged flatlands around Vothmot a soft golden hue. Half a league in the distance, the countless peaks of the Empty Mountains thrust into the night like the spines of an enormous beast. The ridges of grey, white, green, and red had a rugged beauty, a timeless majesty. These mountains had existed on Einan before mankind—and possibly even the Serenii—set foot on its soil. They had seen kingdoms rise and crumble away to dust. Their craggy heights concealed the greatest secrets in the world, yet they held their silence with the same stoicism as they stood eternal vigil on the land below.

  Darillon took the lead, with Rassek riding a few paces behind him, and then the Hunter’s party. Both men rode hardy-looking horses with wide, deep chests, small heads, short necks, and flat, clean bones. Neither of the mounts was over fifteen hands in height, but they moved with sure-footed ease over the rocky terrain.

  Evren grew more relaxed with every passing minute. He still cast occasional glances at the city behind him, but with Vothmot disappearing into the distance, his expression grew less worried. Indeed, by the time the sun had fully risen, a sparkle of excitement shone in the youth's eyes.

  The Hunter rode in the rear, but it proved easy to keep up with the steady pace set by the mountaineers. Even with Hailen sitting in front of him, it took minimal effort to maintain his seat in the saddle and match his movements to Elivast's rolling gait.

  He smiled as he realized how natural it had become to ride. Once, not long ago, he'd been a mediocre rider at best. He'd rarely traveled on horseback—he had little need to do so in Voramis, and on his rare trips outside his city, he’d simply rented a coach or carriage. But since leaving Voramis, he'd actually become a competent rider. It felt almost like second nature to lift himself off the saddle with the rise and fall of Elivast's shoulders.

  Look at what I've become. So different from who I was before.

  The sun had fully risen by the time they reached the inclined trail into the Empty Mountains. The trail ran straight for at least half a league, then cut sharply through one of the valleys between two tall grey peaks.

  The Hunter cast a look back at Vothmot before the mountain hid the city from view. From this vantage point, a few hundred paces above the flatlands below, Vothmot sparkled with a new beauty. The gleaming white Master’s Temple occupied a place of prominence to the east, but the rest of the city—the stately temples, brightly-colored tents and stalls of the Prime Bazaar, the solid red brick buildings of the Ward of Bliss, even the shanties and slums—lent their own unique features to the façade that was Vothmot. From up here, the Hunter could almost forget the horrors practiced in the Master’s Temple, the poverty of the muddy streets behind the Ward of Bliss, and the chaos of the Prime Bazaar. The wind drowned out all but the faintest hum of the hundreds of thousands of lives that lived within those grey walls.

  He saw only one company of riders below, but they wore the bright crimson, green, and orange robes popular to Voramian noblemen rather than the shining steel armor and white cloaks of Warrior Priests. Just a company of sight-seers off to a late start exploring the Empty Mountains behind him.

  Hailen stirred in the saddle in front of him, yawning and stretching. “Hardwell, where are we?”

  “In the mountains,” the Hunter said. He pointed to the city below. “Look there.”

  “It’s beautiful!” Hailen gasped.

  They paused only long enough for the Hunter to transfer Hailen to Ash’s saddle, then continued riding up the trail that led deeper into the mountains. The trail before they wended through steep cliffs, scrub-covered slopes, and along one particularly vicious-looking ravine. The incline remained gentle, leading them ever upwards into the heights of the Empty Mountains.

  Darillon halted for a rest and a quick meal at noon. He chafed with impatience to resume their trek, but his partner took his time with the food and drink.

  "Everyone knows a good meal is to be savored, they do," Rassek told Darillon. “Ye ought to know that well. You Malandrians have a way of lingerin’ at feasts." He shook his head with grin. "Little wonder half yer city is too fat to be puttin' in a full day's work, says I."

  "At least we know the meaning of work," Darillon retorted. "Unlike you Praamians, who’d rather spend your days counting coins or striking a bargain." A wicked smile played on his lips. "Or stealing someone else's coins."

  "Now tha’s just not fair!" Rassek protested. "We Praamians never bargain."

  The two men laughed, and the Hunter found himself smiling. Despite Darillon's stoic, no-nonsense manner, he had a wry sense of humor that seemed amplified by Rassek's presence. The two men had an easy familiarity about them, their movements synchronized by decades of sharing the mountain trails.

  Even Evren's spirits seemed to lift as he ate and drank. He'd lost his guarded, apprehensive look, and smiled as the two men shared lighthearted conversation. He even exchanged a few words with Hailen when the cheery boy trotted over to him with a particularly enthralling stone he'd found. Hailen seemed content to expend his energy exploring the small, stone-covered clearing.

  "Either of ye hear about the ruckus in the Ward of Bliss last night?" Rassek asked.

  The Hunter tensed, and worry roiled in his gut. It had sounded like such an innocent question, and no trace of suspicion showed in the man's eyes, only the passing interest of a man with juicy gossip to share.

  "What of it?" he asked.

  Rassek grinned. "Quite the brouhaha, from what I hear." He rubbed his angular chin with a strong, stubby finger. "A whole group of Warrior Priests of Derelana, led by no less than a knight. Heard they were huntin’ some sort of renegade, I did."

  "Is that so?" The tension drained from the Hunter's muscles. Gossip had a way of distorting with every retelling.

  "That's not what I heard," Darillon said with a shake of his head. "Rumor has it they're hunting a killer. A right nasty one, as it were."

  The Hunter's brow furrowed, and the nagging sensation in his gut returned.

  Darillon nodded sagely. "Only a proper blackguard would warrant an entire score of Warrior Priests."

  "Is it true the bastard killed one of 'em?" Rassek asked.

  "I heard four Warrior Priests got dead." Darillon ran a hand over his bald head. "Crazy place, this world, when a man can send four of Derelana's priests to the Long Keeper. I saw one of those Militants fight once. A sight to behold, it was."

  The Hunter remained silent, feigning interest in the conversation. They had been no reason to suspect him, but he couldn't shake the worried feeling. He'd killed the Warrior Priests in self-defense and to protect Hailen. Yet he feared it had been a mistake. The men served Derelana, goddess of vengeance. They would hunt him to the ends of Einan to deliver retribution.

  Chapter Sixteen

  "What's yer story, kid?" Rassek asked, turning to Evren.

  The question caught the young thief off-guard, and he froze with a piece of bread halfway to his mouth. "W-What's that?"

  "Yer story," Rassek pressed. "What brings ye out into the Empty Mountains?" He looked the young thief up and down. "Ye don’t look like the sight-seein’ type, but even less like a thrill-seeker climbin’ the mountains fer the joy of it. So are ye searchin’ fer somethin’ or runnin’ from somethin’?"

  "Searchin’," Evren responded, just a tad too quickly. His voice held a note of nervous tension. "My pop and I always said we’d seek out the Lost City when I got old enough. Spent years plannin’ a trip, savin’ every penny we could scrounge up to hire a guide to take us. Only…" He dropped his eyes, and his expression grew sorrowful. "The Long Keeper took him last winter. My ma as well."

  "Condolences, laddie," Rassek said. "Sorry fer bringin’ it up."

  "I-It's okay." Evren swallowed and gave a weak shrug. "Just have to do it. For hi
m, you know?"

  The Hunter stifled a grin. An admirable attempt. He'd spent the last fifty years deceiving people with disguises and false stories, and he recognized the lie for what it was. There might be a grain of truth in it—all the best lies contained some fact—but the boy was not in it for some promise he made to a father, fictional or real. There's only one reason for someone like him to get out of town, and that's—

  "You're the one the Wardens are looking for, aren't you?" Darillon's eyes narrowed.

  "What?" Evren managed to pull off a convincing expression of innocent shock. "You’re mista—"

  "Yeah, you are the one." Darillon made no move to rise, but his hand dropped to the dagger at his hip. "The Wardens say you're wanted for questioning in the death of a Lectern, with petty theft and vagrancy thrown in for added flavor."

  Evren's face grew as hard and cold as the stone mountains around him. "You're mistaken," he said in a toneless voice. His hands remained unmoving in front of him, but tension lined his shoulders. His eyes flashed once toward his mount, which stood ten paces away placidly chewing a stalk of mountain scrub grass.

  "No, I'm pretty sure I’m not." Darillon reached into a pack and produced a piece of parchment bearing the likeness of a young man that had the same small nose, slim cheeks, and close-set eyes as Evren. "Looks to me like you're running away from the Wardens."

  Evren said nothing, but his hand crept toward his belt, where he no doubt carried a dagger.

  "Maybe he is," Rassek said in a slow voice, "and maybe he isn't. Either way, it don’t matter much right now." He rested a hand on Darillon's forearm, and a meaningful look flashed in his eyes. "At the moment, he's just bein' another client enjoyin' a stroll of the Empty Mountains, isn’t he? The Wardens don’t control who is doin' what or goin' where out here, says I."

  Darillon's face hardened. "A murderer is—"

  "Very dangerous, if they happened to be findin' themselves facin’ enemies with nowhere to run, says I." Rassek's voice had a cautionary edge. His grip on Darillon's arm tightened. "But there's bein' no need fer that, not ‘til we get back to Vothmot ten days from now. Fer today, we've got the beautiful mountains and open skies to be enjoyin', we do.”