Darkblade Guardian

by Andy Peloquin

  "Watcher's beard!" Rassek breathed. He shot an excited glance at Darillon. "What did I tell ye?"

  For once, Darillon had nothing contradictory to say.

  "And ye’re sure these are bein’ Serenii?" Rassek asked.

  The Hunter nodded. "I've seen them before in Voramis and other places."

  "’Tis marvelous!" Rassek's eyes went to the plant in his hand, then back to the wall. "So what do we need to do?"

  The question shattered the Hunter's momentary elation. If the Serenii had left it to serve as an instruction on how to find Enarium, he’d never know. He couldn’t understand the meaning of the runes any more than he could sprout wings and fly over the cliff.

  He stepped closer and pressed a hand against one of the glowing symbols. A gasp burst from his lips as he felt a quiet hum coming from the stone itself. It felt…alive!

  But nothing happened. He could feel the thrumming within the cliff, but had no idea what it was or how to activate whatever power lay within in the stone.

  His mind flashed back to the desert, when Hailen's blood had activated the Dolmenrath and unleashed the power in those stones. The cliff wasn't made of the same midnight black stone, but perhaps Hailen's blood would work here again.

  "Here." He handed the phosphorescent blue flower to Evren, who had come up behind him to stare wide-eyed at the glowing symbol. "Hold this near the stone so we can see the runes."

  Evren took the plant gingerly. He seemed to shy away from the stone, as if afraid of whatever power it held. With good reason. Legends held that the Serenii wielded magicks capable of shattering Einan itself, with power said to rival that of the gods.

  The Hunter raced toward Hailen, who sat in silence, leaning against a boulder. The boy didn't move, didn't even look up as the Hunter picked him up. The vacant, lost look filled his eyes.

  The Hunter forced the anxiety from his mind as he rushed back to the stone wall. He shielded Hailen from the others' view as he gripped the boy's hand. He didn't want them to see the blood trickling from Hailen's fingernails. If it worked, they wouldn't bother asking questions how. If it didn't, he'd rather avoid raising their suspicions about why the boy was bleeding.

  He pressed Hailen's bloody hand the glowing rune and tensed in anticipation of the surge of power. In the Advanat Desert and again in the tunnels beneath Kara-ket, he and everyone around him had been knocked from their feet by a wave of concussive force triggered by Hailen's contact with the stone.

  Nothing.

  He growled and tried again, pressing Hailen's hand harder against the stone. Nothing happened. There was no rush of power, no energy blasts. Simply…nothing.

  "What are ye doin’?" Rassek asked, his expression bewildered. His eyes went from Hailen to the cliff and back again.

  "Not a Keeper-damned lot!" the Hunter snapped. Anger surged within his chest as he stalked back toward their camp and returned Hailen to his seat. His fists clenched so tight his nails dug into his palms. He wanted to lash out, to destroy something in his frustration. All his hopes, dashed.

  He turned to Rassek. "Can you keep an eye on the boy for a while?" His voice came out barely above a growl.

  Rassek's eyebrows rose. "Where are ye goin’?"

  The Hunter bit back an angry snarl. "I need to think, to clear my head, see if I can figure this out."

  Darillon's eyes narrowed. "I wouldn't, if I was you. These mountain trails can be treacherous at night. One misstep and you're plummeting off a cliff." His gaze darted to Rassek, and the younger man scowled. "Poor choice of words, I know, but he needs to understand the—"

  "I'll be fine," the Hunter said as he reached for his heavy cloak and slung it over his shoulders. "I won't go far."

  The two men were too stunned to stop him as he strode from the ring of firelight toward the trail back down the mountain.

  He welcomed the cool darkness of night, though it felt like the stars high above mocked him with their twinkling light. The chill breeze did little to diminish the flames of frustration. His worry mounted with every angry beat of his heart. Sir Danna was getting closer. The Irrsinnon claimed Hailen more and more. The Withering drew near, and the Sage's plan to free Kharna would be complete soon. If he couldn't find his way to Enarium, the world faced certain doom. Hailen would go insane. He would never find his wife and child.

  That thought felt too strange to contemplate. For as long as he could remember, he'd been alone. He'd had the dream of Her for company, but only in the last few months had She become more than just a figment of his imagination. She was as real as he. Long ago—he had no idea how long—She had carried his child.

  A child he would never meet if he couldn't reach Enarium. It all came back to the same frustrating problem.

  He walked for half an hour, his mind a storm of chaos as he tried to think of what to do. Finally, the protest of his leg muscles penetrated his whirling thoughts. He realized he was soaked with sweat, his legs aching from the steep downward slope. Drawing in a deep breath, he forced himself to think.

  In the past, he’d used the physical exertion of his sword forms to focus his thoughts on a difficult problem, but a sleepless night and a day of hard climbing had taken a toll on him. Instead, he lowered himself into a seat against a boulder, closed his eyes, and drew in a deep breath.

  For long moments, he remained there, content to bask in the scents around him. The cool smell of the night wind mingled with the slightly dusty odor of the granite cliffs, with the barest hint of green life from the scrub grass growing in sparse patches around him. He concentrated on slowing the beating of his heart and stilling the racing of his mind. Slowly, his fury retreated, replaced by a cold focus.

  How would he solve this problem? He could try climbing the cliffs, but that seemed a foolish choice. Everything he'd learned about the Serenii made it clear the ancient race wouldn't waste time on climbing. They would craft a way through the mountain and conceal it from the world. They had hidden it too well.

  He'd found the runes but had no one to translate them. He could feel the power humming within the stones but couldn't access it, not even with Hailen's blood. He had a book that supposedly revealed the way in but had no way to crack the cipher. It felt like he had the pieces of an unfamiliar game, and the fate of the world hung on his ability to win against an opponent he could not hope to defeat.

  So consumed was he with the problem that he almost missed the stink of steel, sweat, and iron wafting on the chill night breeze. He froze in place, his eyes scanning the dark.

  There, not three paces away from him, a dark figure snuck up the trail.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Time slowed as the Hunter’s senses went on full alert. The man wore a dark cloak and clothes to match, but none of the armor that tainted his scent. He moved with little more sound than the occasional scuff of his boots on the rocky trail. The unmistakable stench of iron emanated from the dagger gripped in his hand.

  The Hunter reached for his sword hilt as he studied the slinking shadow. He couldn't be from another party of travelers; only someone with ill-intent moved with such stealth. And that dagger. Only one explanation made sense.

  The man was one of Sir Danna’s.

  But how had the Cambionari and her Warrior Priests scaled the cliff? It had been a difficult climb even for him and Darillon, an experienced mountaineer. It seemed impossible that the heavily-armored knight and the priests of Derelana made it. Yet he could think of no other answer.

  He knew the man couldn't see him; his dark cloak concealed him in shadow. He watched in silence as the stealthy figure slipped up the trail toward his campsite. It didn't matter how Sir Danna and her entourage had made the climb. She had, and she was coming for him. He'd lost his lead. Time had run out.

  He slithered out of the shadows and pursued the figure creeping up the rocky trail. Was this man a scout sent to assess the Hunter's position or an assassin sent to strike him down while he slept? Or, worse still, was he simply the first of the many warr
iors that would soon be flooding up the path toward his camp? Toward Hailen.

  The Cambionari couldn't sense him, but they tracked the presence of Soulhunger. The gemstone in the dagger caused a buzzing in their heads that grew in intensity according to their proximity. If this man was a Cambionari, he would be seeking the presence of the dagger. He moved with stealthy caution, but his gaze remained fixed on the trail ahead. The man's senses had to be telling him Soulhunger—and the Hunter with it—waited ahead and above.

  The Hunter's lip curled upward into a furious snarl as he slipped up behind the sneaking Cambionari, his eyes fixed on the hand that held the iron dagger. But instead of a rush attack, he crouched, picked up one of the many stones that littered the trail, and hurled it toward the trail ahead of the man. The Cambionari tensed at the clatter of rock, pausing in his advance.

  The Hunter charged then.

  He closed the distance to the Cambionari in four long strides. His left arm snaked around the man's throat and his right hand gripped the man's sword arm. Muscles corded as he tightened the chokehold, cutting off the man's airway. The Cambionari gave a strangled gasp and tried to lash out with the dagger, but the Hunter's grip on his wrist held the hand immobile. The man bucked and tried in vain to slip free of the arm encircling his throat. His left elbow drove backward, aimed for the Hunter's ribs, but the blow glanced off his leather armor.

  The Hunter shifted his stance to avoid a stamping attack that would have shattered the little bones of his foot. He drove his knee into the back of the man's kneecap, throwing his opponent off-balance. His right hand squeezed hard until he felt the man's wrist bones crunch beneath his grip. The man let out a choking cry of pain, and the dagger clattered to the rocky trail.

  The Cambionari's left hand came up to the arm around his throat and slid upward, an attempt to snap the Hunter's fingers and break the chokehold. The iron blade no longer a threat, the Hunter released his grip on the man's right arm and drove a vicious punch into the man's side. Bone cracked beneath the impact and the Cambionari let out another cry of pain.

  The Hunter's right hand flashed toward the Cambionari's chin. With a vicious yank, he wrenched the man's head hard to the side. A loud snap echoed in the darkness and the Cambionari sagged in his arms.

  The Hunter released his grip on the man, and the body crumpled to the ground in a limp heap. He kicked the iron dagger into the ravine then crouched and fumbled through the man's clothing. He wore no armor, bore no insignia to indicate where he was from or who had sent him. But the iron dagger was all the marking the Hunter needed.

  His mind whirled. Sir Danna's company had been nearly half a day's ride behind him when he caught sight of them by the lake. She had to have pushed the horses hard to reach the cliff. Somehow, she'd gotten her men up the cliffs—or at least one man—and followed him up the trail. Perhaps this fellow had removed his Cambionari armor so he could cover ground faster to make up the distance.

  Shit!

  Indecision warred within him. He knew he should head down the trail and scout Sir Danna's position. Perhaps she hadn't yet brought all of her Warrior Priests up the cliff face—it had taken him and Darillon close to an hour to haul up five horses and three people. If he destroyed the pulley-crane as he'd originally intended, he might be able to eliminate those of Sir Danna's company at the top of the cliff.

  But that would cost him precious time. He'd have to hurry to reach his camp, and it would still take close to an hour of uphill climbing. Descending toward the hoist would add at least two hours each way. His gaze went back to the corpse on the rocky ground.

  Another impossible situation, another gamble against terrible odds.

  With a growl of frustration, he seized the body by the wrists, lifted it to his shoulders, and hurled it into the ravine after the iron dagger. Scavengers would dispose of the dead Cambionari sooner or later. One enemy fewer to deal with when the time came.

  He hesitated a long moment before turning and scrambling up the steep incline. He'd take the risk that Sir Danna hadn't managed to get all of her men up the cliff before dark, or that they'd made camp somewhere below. Thankfully, the climb to the hollow where he was camped would take a toll on the heavily-armored knight and her Warrior Priests. They couldn't ride, so they'd have to haul all the weight of their heavy plate and splinted mail on foot. That should slow them down enough and give him a bit of time.

  But time for what? He had no way out of that little bowl. If his desperate hope proved unfounded and they couldn't find a way through those cliffs, they'd have to flee along one of the paths that intersected with the trail. Perhaps they could skirt the high cliffs until they found another way in.

  Is there another entrance? If so, where? The Serenii runes had to point the way. He had to be on the right track. But if so, why couldn't he find it?

  He ignored the burning in his legs and spine and forced himself to climb faster. Right now, his only hope lay in deciphering whatever message Taivoro had hidden in his book. If the Sage had found it, surely he could, too.

  It took him the better part of an hour to reach the top of the trail. Relief flooded him as he caught the faint glow of the campfire within the rocky hollow. He hurried toward the place where Rassek and Darillon had pitched the tents. Only a single figure was visible in the dim light. Evren sat beside the guttering campfire, his brow furrowed in concentration as he squinted down at the book in his hands.

  The Hunter's stolen Taivoro volume.

  Anger flared hot within the Hunter. His hand went to his sword as he strode toward the thief.

  Evren's face went white as he glanced up and caught sight of the Hunter. "Wait, wait!" He slammed the book shut and held it up like a shield before him. "I can exp—"

  The Hunter snatched the book from the thief.

  Evren scrambled backward, fear filling his eyes. "Don't kill me!"

  The Hunter clenched his fists. "Give me one good reason why not," he growled. "You stole from—"

  Evren's eyes flashed. "I didn't steal it! I just…" His cheeks went red, and he dropped his gaze. "…borrowed it."

  "Well, that makes it so much better, doesn't it?" The Hunter half-drew his sword.

  "Wait!" Evren cried. "Let me explain."

  The Hunter fixed him with a hard stare. After a long moment, he slid his blade back into its sheath, but didn't release his grip on the hilt. "You have one minute to convince me."

  Evren swallowed, and his eyes went to the book in the Hunter's hand. "Th-that book," he stammered, "when I saw you readin’ it last night, I knew that was why you gone into the Master's Temple. All day today, I couldn't understand why you'd risk so much to get it. It ain’t even one of his good stories."

  The Hunter's eyes narrowed. "You've read it?"

  Evren froze, his mouth hanging open. "I-I…"

  The Hunter gripped the young thief by the collar and hoisted him off the ground to stare in his eyes. "How?" He'd known a few thieves that could read, but not the ones that picked pockets on the streets. Yet how could a thief have access to a book only available in the Vault of Stars? "Speak, now. Your minute's running out."

  Evren's face went white as he stared into the Hunter's eyes. "I was a Lectern-in-trainin’!"

  The thief's answer caught the Hunter by surprise. It was the last thing he'd expected, yet it made complete sense. How else would he know his way around the interior of the Master’s Temple?

  Words seemed to tumble from his mouth beyond his control. "The older apprentice Lecterns told us about his stories, said some of the books even had illustrations. We used to sneak into the Vault of Stars and get into the Taivoro section for a bit of fun. You know, some of his stories, the good ones at least, can be entertainin’. And the pictures are very…" He trailed off, his cheeks flaring bright red. "Most of us avoided this one. Ain’t got no pictures, you see. But some of the descriptions are creative. One of older boys said some women like what he does with Princess Saria on page…"

  The Hunter grimaced
. "I get the point." He'd rather not picture what the young men did to enjoy the erotic works of the mad playwright. He shook the book in front of Evren's face. "That doesn't explain why you borrowed this."

  Evren swallowed. "Like I said, I didn't know why you wanted that book, but when I saw them glowin’ symbols earlier, it set me thinkin’. There's a scene in that book that always stuck out as strange to me. I read over it a few times before but ain’t never understood it. I thought…" He hesitated. "I thought maybe it’s got somethin’ to do with this."

  The Hunter's eyebrows rose. He set Evren on the ground and thrust out the book. "Show me."

  The boy flinched, as if in expectation of being struck. When he realized what the Hunter wanted, he hesitantly took the book and opened it. "There's this odd bit with the bard and his muse." He flipped through the pages as he spoke. "Right here." He held out the book.

  Excitement gripped the Hunter as he took the tome from Evren's hands and read the passage the thief indicated.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Her regal eyes of radiant azure

  Like floating stars below

  Thus revealed

  The muse

  My heart’s deepest ambition

  Within her soul concealed.”

  The Hunter narrowed his eyes. Something about the words used and the choice of phrase truly did seem off to him.

  “Floating stars below,” he mused aloud.

  "Ain’t like the rest of his stuff, right?” Evren asked. “It’s what stood out to me when I was thinking about it.”

  The Hunter nodded and pointed toward the sky. "Wrong direction."

  "But what if Taivoro ain’t actually talkin’ about no stars?" The fear in the thief's eyes had faded, replaced by excitement. The Hunter recognized the look—he'd seen one much like it in Graeme's eyes as his fat alchemist friend worked on a particularly complex riddle or chemical formula. "What if he's talkin’ about—"

  Realization dawned on the Hunter. "The plants in Sapphire Lake!"