Darkblade Guardian

by Andy Peloquin

  “What do you mean, a monster?”

  “Precisely that,” Garnos said in a hard voice. “The kind, honorable Ustus I had known was gone, and in his place remained a cruelly sadistic thing. He laughed as he spoke of the torments he and his fellows inflicted upon their prisoners. Pitiful men and women that had done nothing more than try to eke out a miserable existence, tortured and beaten for the entertainment of the man that had once been my friend. Worse, the other Elivasti in his unit didn’t simply permit it, they encouraged it. He was rewarded for his cruelty and given a position of command in the Pit. Since that day, he and all the others like him have gone out of their way to make the lives of the poor souls below far worse than the living hell it already is.”

  “But not you?” the Hunter asked. “Didn’t you say your place was in the Pit as well?”

  Garnos nodded. “When I saw what they were doing, I demanded that I be given a posting in the Pit. But not so I could join in their inhumanities. Instead, I requested it so I might try to ameliorate the atrocities.”

  “How’s that working out so far?” The Hunter didn’t bother to hide the anger in his voice.

  “I have done what I could.” Remorse echoed in Garnos’ words. “When my life ends and death comes to claim me, I will die knowing that I tried.” His voice took on a bitter edge. “That is more than could be said for most of my kind.”

  “You tried?” The Hunter’s fists clenched. “Trying is not enough. You must actually make a change.”

  Garnos met the Hunter’s eyes unflinchingly. “I am doing what I can to atone for the barbarism and evil of the rest of my kind. You may not consider it enough, and that is your right. I leave it to the Long Keeper to decide.”

  The Hunter could understand the sentiment—he’d spent the last months in pursuit of his own atonement. His mission to hunt down the Abiarazi on Einan had begun as a penance for killing Brother Securus, the Cambionari priest in Voramis. He’d continued killing demons when they murdered Bardin and threatened Hailen’s life. Ultimately, he’d accepted the task as his responsibility. His forefathers had nearly ruined the world, so he would do what he could to mitigate the suffering caused. Garnos was doing precisely as he was.

  “Perhaps I may have misjudged you,” the Hunter said. The grudging admission was the closest he’d come to offering an apology. “Your help is appreciated, especially if you can get me within striking distance of the Sage.”

  Garnos nodded. “As I told Taiana, I will see what I can find and send word the moment I have anything.”

  “Then that will have to be enough.” The Hunter motioned toward the mouth of the alleyway. “But first, take me to Khar’nath.”

  “This way,” Garnos said, continuing through the alley. “There are no gates leading out of the city, but there is another means of leaving.”

  The narrow lane connected to a larger street that ran alongside the city wall. A short distance to the south, a stone stairway climbed the ten paces to the top of the wall. They walked along the parapet for a few dozen paces before they reached a section of wall that had crumbled. The wall was damaged enough that even Garnos could climb down with relative ease.

  A few paces of flat ground surrounded the eastern walls of Enarium before the land rose to rugged, jagged mountains. The peaks to the east and south of the city rose higher than even the pointed tops of the blue-glowing Keeps. The city would only be visible from the west—the direction he’d come—but the Empty Mountains provided concealment from the three other directions.

  He followed Garnos along the outside of the walls, clinging to the shadows by instinct. Starlight alone barely gave them enough illumination to see, but Garnos seemed to know the way well enough. They traveled a few dozen paces to the north before the Elivasti turned up a small path that cut around a shorter mountain peak.

  “Only a few of my brethren know these paths exist,” Garnos said. “Ustus and I would sneak outside the walls to play in these mountains.”

  The path wound through the mountains and provided cover for them to get within a hundred paces of Hellsgate unnoticed. However, their steps led toward a broad expanse of flat, rocky ground easily fifty paces across, directly beneath the walls of Hellsgate.

  Tension thrummed within the Hunter as he scanned the walls for any sign of watchers. Though he could see none, his wariness didn’t diminish. A cold breeze wafted past his face as he loped along beside Garnos across the empty land and ducked into the shadows of the cliffs beyond. He felt the familiar thrill of sneaking through the night; it reminded him of his years spent as an assassin of Voramis before the Bloody Hand had come for him.

  Thoughts of the Bloody Hand brought his mind to Kiara. He’d been so worried about Hailen he had all but forgotten about her.

  “The woman that was with the boy,” he hissed at Garnos. “Is she with the Sage as well?”

  Garnos’ face twisted in contemplation. “No, our master only claimed the boy. I do not know what happened to the woman. If she still lives, you will find her in the Pit.”

  The words drove a dagger of ice into the Hunter’s gut. Kiara had tried to help him on the road to Enarium, had fought beside him and protected Hailen. Were it not for her, the Stone Guardians would have killed the boy. He couldn’t let her suffer whatever horrible fate awaited her in the Pit.

  I owe her better than that.

  His heart sank as he turned to Garnos. “I have to go into Khar’nath.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Are you mad?” Garnos hissed. “There is no way I can walk you through Hellsgate.”

  “Then we find another way into the Pit.” The Hunter refused to give up. “If I can’t go in the front, I’ll climb down the back.”

  Garnos shook his head. “There is a reason why this side of Khar’nath is unguarded. The walls of the Pit are all the deterrence required.”

  At that moment, they came around the last rocky outcropping, and the Hunter got his first proper view of Khar’nath. The rugged land ran for ten paces from where he stood, then dropped off steeply to disappear from his sight. But there was no mistaking the bright red glow emanating from the walls of the Pit. The brightness seared his eyes, painful after the darkness and shadows outside Enarium.

  The Hunter’s gut tightened at the sight. The last time he’d been in this place, he and the rest of his kind had faced extinction. He could almost feel the terrible heat of the flames from that night, smell the burning sulfur and the scent of charred Abiarazi flesh.

  But there were no flames, no blistering heat. Instead, the walls of Khar’nath were lined with crystals that filled the night with a bright crimson glow. What had looked like fire was actually the red brilliance emanating from the jagged shards that covered the wall like glittering daggers of bloodstained diamonds. The radiance let off a warmth that drove back the mountain chill and lent the air a near-overwhelming humidity, but it was nothing like the heat from his memories. The smell that hung thick on the air lacked the sulfur and brimstone he remembered.

  Instead, it reeked of human detritus.

  The Hunter estimated the Pit was at least a third of a league across and thirty paces deep, with the walls covered by crystals. Below, a sea of ragged shelters and crude shanties spread in a haphazard disarray as far as the eye could see. Wood, canvas, and cloth had been stitched together like some horrifying patchwork that offered pitiful protection against the mountain chill, sun, and rain.

  Moans, cries, and the occasional scream drifted up from the Pit, accompanied by a stench that twisted the Hunter’s stomach. He scarcely dared to breathe, so thick and putrid was the odor of rot, mud, filth, human offal, blood, and death. It was like some enormous pigsty, yet farmers treated their hogs with far more humanity than this.

  Rage flared in the Hunter’s chest at the sight of so much suffering. He whirled on Garnos. “What in the Keeper’s name is this?”

  “It is the Pit.” Shame burned in Garnos’ eyes as he spoke. “It is as it has always been. Since before my
time, and before my father’s time, and before his father.”

  “I don’t care how long it has been like this!” The Hunter’s voice rose to a furious shout. “Why are those people in there?”

  A long moment of silence passed before Garnos shook his head. “Because our master commanded it.”

  The quiet resignation in the Elivasti’s voice chilled the Hunter to the bone. He does not question why they locked humans in the Pit. He simply accepts it. As Garnos had said, this had existed for centuries, perhaps longer, and it had become a part of the life of an Elivasti in Enarium.

  “What in the bloody hell does the Sage want with all these people?” the Hunter snarled. “Why does he have them penned in here like Keeper-damned animals?”

  “I don’t know.” Remorse echoed in Garnos’ voice. “All I know is that our master has commanded it, and we must obey. Why he adds to his collection of miserable souls, I could not say. Until yesterday, no more than a few of his most trusted have ever left Enarium or set eyes on our masters. We received instructions and were expected to obey. It is the oath we swore to the Abiarazi.”

  Again, the oath of the Elivasti! Master Eldor had sacrificed his life rather than defy the Sage’s order to stop the Hunter or die trying. But that had been a noble decision. There is no nobility in this.

  “Trust me, I have not simply accepted my master’s orders without question.” Garnos almost sounded apologetic. “I have spoken with many of my brethren about our…duties. Most follow without question, preferring things continue as they always have. Our fathers passed down the knowledge of our service to the Abiarazi, and our fathers’ fathers. It is as much a part of our lives in Enarium as the rising sun and the stars at night.”

  “The misery and anguish you cause has become so commonplace you have accepted it.” The words left a bitter taste in the Hunter’s mouth. He’d brought more than his fair share of suffering to the world, yet he’d never come close to inflicting suffering on this scale.

  “What choice is there?” Garnos’ eyes hardened. “Death would be a far kinder fate than what awaits me and my family if it is discovered that I am working with my master’s enemies.”

  “Then go.” The Hunter raised a clenched fist. “Scurry back into the shadows and your life of comfort while others suffer at the hands of you and your kind. I, for one, will not stand silent and watch. I will enter the Pit alone.”

  Garnos shook his head. “There is one way into Khar’nath, and that is through Hellsgate.”

  “And climbing down the walls.” The Hunter shot a glance at the glowing crystals protruding from the walls of the Pit—they offered plenty of hand and footholds. He could make the descent in a matter of minutes.

  “Do you know how many of those imprisoned within have believed the walls of Khar’nath their path to freedom?” Garnos frowned. “Most gave up within the first minute, for those voracious shards shredded their flesh to ribbons. The stubborn few that persisted died of blood loss before they made it halfway up. Those crystals are sharper than spikes, and far crueler than mere steel.”

  The Hunter snorted. “Perhaps the humans could not escape, but I am no human. Razor-sharp crystals or no, that is my way in.” If Kiara was down there, he had to at least find her, let her know he hadn’t abandoned her. He owed her that much for what she’d done for Hailen.

  “Even if you do survive the climb down,” Garnos told him, resignation in his voice, “you will either have to risk the crystals again or break through an army of Elivasti to leave the Pit.”

  “I’ll find a way out,” the Hunter told Garnos, “or I’ll bloody make one.”

  “And here I thought Taiana was stubborn.” Garnos sighed and threw up his hands. “You are on your own. I can lend my aid to Taiana and help you find your boy, but I cannot break you out of the Pit. No human has escaped in my lifetime.”

  “Lucky me, then.” The Hunter bared his teeth in a snarl. “Find the boy, Garnos. He is the most important thing in the world right now. I will be waiting for your word.”

  “Fortune smile on you, Drayvin.” There was a note of finality in the Elivasti’s voice. Clearly, he expected he’d never see the Hunter again.

  With a nod, the Hunter strode toward the lip of the Pit. He cast a glance at the towers of Hellsgate in the distance. He could see no guards on watch, no eyes following him. The Elivasti likely believed no one would attempt to enter this way—why should any seek to enter the Pit? According to Garnos, any who did ended up imprisoned or dead.

  Anxiety thrummed within him as he willed himself to step up and stare down into the Pit. Instead of seeing a gaping hole into emptiness, there was solid, muddy ground thirty paces below. It seemed a far cry from the scenes of horror he’d seen in his memories, but in many ways it proved even more horrible. This wasn’t some celestial or divine being toying with reality—this was reality, a reality inflicted by flesh and blood upon people just like them. He’d always believed the gods were cruel, treating humans as their playthings. The sight before him proved that humans could match their cruelty.

  Taking a deep breath, he lowered himself over the edge. The moans and cries of the poor souls below greeted him as he began the descent. Glowing crystals crunched beneath his boots as he clambered down, forcing him to step on the larger shards protruding from the walls. He hissed as the glittering edge of a crystal carved a deep gash into his right hand. The curse died on his tongue a heartbeat later.

  The moment his blood dripped onto the glassy surface, the crystal flickered to life with an inner glow and filled the air with an even brighter crimson. The Hunter’s heart stopped as the gemstones seemed to consume the droplets of blood, until only clean stone remained and the brilliance dimmed to the usual luster.

  What in the fiery hell? The Hunter’s mind whirled as he stared at the now-clean crystal where he’d cut his hand. He’d seen only one other thing do that: Soulhunger. The gemstone set into its hilt flared bright crimson—the same hue as the stones before him—and sucked up the blood that soaked its steel. As the Warmaster had explained, the steel simply served as the conduit for the magick of the gemstone.

  The same magick that ran through the shards lining the walls of Khar’nath.

  Confusion roiled within the Hunter. According to The Numeniad, the gemstone in Soulhunger’s pommel had been forged from the soul of his Abiarazi father, through an ancient Serenii ritual known as the ‘Lament of the Fallen’. His gut churned as he followed the curving walls of the pit around him. How many souls were consumed to form these glittering stones? More than lived on all of Einan, that was certain.

  Or, and he found this more likely, had The Numeniad somehow gotten it wrong? The Lectern in the Vault of Stars had told him Eshendun, the author of what was supposed to be a “firsthand account of the War of Gods”, had in truth lived two hundred later. Like everything else the modern Einari believed to be divine doctrine was nothing more than fiction.

  Could the gemstone set in Soulhunger’s pommel be the same as the crystals here? If so, do they serve the same purpose? He shuddered as he watched the glassy shards soak up another drop of his blood. Do they all feed Kharna? Horror writhed through him at the thought. The people imprisoned here had to number in the hundreds of thousands. How many more had died over the centuries to feed the mad god?

  The Hunter’s revulsion turned to anger. Anger at the Serenii for creating such an abhorrent place. At Kharna, the Destroyer, Devourer of Worlds, for the misery he continued to wreak on Einan even thousands of years after his defeat in the War of Gods. At the Sage and the Warmaster for the pain they inflicted on the countless people imprisoned here and the Elivasti for their collusion with the demons.

  He didn’t suppress the anger, but instead stoked the flames until his fury burned bright. The fire drove him as he clambered down the glowing, razor-sharp walls, and it pushed back the pain as more of the crystals lacerated the flesh of his hands, face, arms, and legs. He willed his flesh to heal, but he could not keep up with the damag
e done by the shards. Every step downward left him bleeding from some new scratch, cut, or gash. If any Elivasti watched from the battlements of Hellsgate, they would see the walls flaring bright as they consumed his blood.

  No wonder none of the humans had survived an escape. The crystals shredded the soft soles of his boots, slashed the rough fabric of his tunic and breeches, and cut his flesh to ribbons. By the time he’d climbed halfway down the thirty paces, he was exhausted from the effort compounded by the loss of blood. It took all his fury-enhanced willpower to keep moving.

  Finally, he’d had enough. He dropped the last ten paces to the muddy ground below and landed with a wet, squelching splash. Instinctively, he rolled forward to absorb the impact of the landing and came up covered from head to toe in muck that smelled far fouler than anything he’d encountered in Lower Voramis. The stench of it assaulted his sensitive nostrils with such violence that he nearly retched. The acrid stench of vomit would have been an improvement over the countless vile odors mingled in the oozing sludge.

  Gagging, the Hunter stumbled away from the glowing crystal walls. He tried not to think of what was in the mire that seeped into his ruined boots or splashed onto his trouser legs.

  He slipped out of his dark cloak, rolled it into a bundle, and glanced down at his shredded clothing. Now I look like everyone else here.

  The people within the Pit truly were pathetic specimens of humanity. Soiled, tattered rags hung from their bony shoulders, barely concealing their gaunt ribs, hunger-distended bellies, and wasted hips and legs. Bites from a myriad of insects dotted their bodies, and pus oozed from dozens of festering wounds. The absence of fresh water and the abundance of filth would hasten disease and pestilence.