Darkblade Guardian

by Andy Peloquin

  He pushed aside his revulsion for the Elivasti, and his hatred of their actions. He poured cold logic over the emotions flaring through him. He needed to utilize the analytical thinking that had made him such an effective assassin what felt a lifetime ago.

  Hellsgate had been designed to keep the prisoners from getting out, not stop others getting in. Though there were a few hundred Elivasti within the fort, only twenty or thirty stood between him and that gate. Perhaps he could convince Taiana and the other Bucelarii to sneak in with him, throw open the gate, and let out the prisoners. It would be risky, but none of the guards had carried the Scorchslayers, only spikestaffs and wooden batons.

  Yes, he decided, it’s worth the risk. Once the Sage had been dealt with, he would do something about the poor wretches trapped in Khar’nath.

  The sight of the blue-glowing Southeastern Keep sent his thoughts to Taiana. Somewhere in the darkness of Enarium, she was using Soulhunger to open the Chambers of Sustenance in the hopes of finding their daughter and any Bucelarii that survived the centuries of imprisonment. With even a handful of his kin beside him, they could overwhelm the Elivasti and free the humans in the Pit.

  But Taiana had seemed hesitant to go near Khar’nath. She hadn’t been afraid of the Pit itself, so perhaps her fear had been for the Elivasti. No, she’d killed two blue-armored warriors without hesitation to save him. So why had she given him that strange look when he spoke of the Pit?

  Was she afraid for me?

  His memories of her had only returned in the last few months, yet her memories of him and the life they once shared had never been erased. She had lived the last five years knowing he was somewhere on Einan, yet her search for their daughter had kept her in Enarium. If the knowledge of what she’d done to him a lifetime ago had turned to guilt, could that guilt make her want to keep him close? He could understand that. Now that he’d found her, he wanted to stay with her. Perhaps they could pick up where they’d left off millennia ago. She was proof that he could truly have a life—not the life of an assassin, a killer-for-hire, but a life like any normal human on Einan. For the first time, he had a chance at love, a family, a home.

  Yet I cannot sit by and let everything crumble around me. Hailen needed him, the Sage needed killing, and the Destroyer could not be unleashed upon the world. Those things kept him from Taiana’s side and would keep them apart until he dealt with them.

  So be it. Deal with them, he would.

  The moment Garnos sent word, the Hunter would be ready to move against the Sage. He’d have Soulhunger at his side, but he’d arm himself with the Swordsman’s iron blades as well. Together, the twin daggers could kill the demon as surely as Soulhunger. Perhaps Taiana would help him, and they could take down the Abiarazi side by side, as they once had.

  First priority was keeping Hailen safe, but he had to eliminate the Sage. Only death would put an end to the demon’s plans. The Withering could come and go as it had before, and Einan’s existence would continue. Without the Sage to unleash Enarium’s power, the Devourer would remain trapped forever. Perhaps, if he had the time, he could even find a way to use the Serenii magick gathered in Enarium to seal Kharna in his tomb forever.

  And what of his daughter? With the threat of the Sage eliminated, he could help Taiana in her quest to find the Chamber of Sustenance where the Warmaster had locked her away. When they found her, they could be reunited as a family.

  Family. The word brought a lump to his throat. He’d never imagined he could have anything like it. He had no memories of a father or mother, brothers, sisters, even others of his kind. Until yesterday, he’d believed himself the last Bucelarii in existence.

  Now, he had a wife and a daughter—if only they could find her.

  He allowed himself the luxury of imagining what life would be like. He’d seen happy families walking through Divinity Square or playing among the Maiden’s Gardens in Upper Voramis. Would that be his future as well? It seemed so…unreal to picture himself living such a mundane life.

  Yet after everything he’d endured, a bit of placid mundanity would be a welcome change. Years of blood and death could be left behind for peace.

  Yes, I could definitely get used to that.

  Reality shattered his pleasant dream as his keen ears caught the sound of boots coming from ahead and around a corner. He ducked quickly behind a two-story stone building, pressing his body against the shadows, and watched the troop of Elivasti marching up the street toward him. They showed no sign of alarm or suspicion at his presence, but simply moved through the city at a steady pace. Likely they were meant more as a deterrent for Taiana and her comrades than a real hunting party. Any Elivasti tasked with finding the Bucelarii would move with far more caution and stealth than these.

  That thought pushed away the last of his musings. He had nothing but the wooden baton he’d taken from Setin, and he’d be hard-pressed to fight a full ten-man company of blue-armored Elivasti with their spikestaffs and Scorchslayers. Better to move with caution and be aware of his surroundings; daydreaming could lead to him winding up face to face with another patrol.

  He waited until the Elivasti disappeared up the street before moving on. The clanking of his armor and the tromp, tromp of his heavy boots sounded loud in the empty darkness of the night. His eyes searched the shadows of Enarium, as if expecting armed men to jump out at him from behind every corner.

  Anxiety tightened his shoulders into knots, but the sight of the west gate caused him to relax. He recalled Kiara’s instructions of where to find the pack she’d hidden beside it. Though he’d rather a steel sword or Soulhunger any day, the twin iron daggers would come in handy for taking down the Sage. And, if it came to all-out war between Taiana’s crew and the Elivasti, sharpened iron blades were far more effective than spikestaffs dulled by digging.

  His relief died as he rounded the corner of the final street and nearly ran into the blue-armored back of an Elivasti warrior.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Hunter leapt backward and ducked around the corner. His heart hammered against his ribs as he listened for any sign he’d been spotted. Silence met his ears; the Elivasti hadn’t noticed him.

  Now what?

  Once again, he found himself tensing against the voice of the demon in his mind, grimacing in expectation of its shriek as it insisted he kill the Elivasti. It took him a moment to remember that it had fallen silent since reaching Enarium. The absence of the demon’s voice felt strangely unnerving.

  He peered around the corner and studied the Elivasti before the gate. Ten blue-armored men and women stood between him and the gate where Kiara had stowed his pack. They were arrayed in a loose formation, with a handful of men clustered together and speaking in low voices. Nine of them carried the long steel spikestaffs—the Hunter felt a flash of relief that none of these bore iron-tipped weapons like their kin on Kara-ket, though he couldn’t help wondering why their weapons differed—and the tenth held a Scorchslayer in a relaxed two-handed grip.

  The massive wooden gate that hid his pack with the two iron blades was just thirty paces from where he crouched. There was no way he’d get past or around them unnoticed. He had to choose: abandon his pack and risk the Elivasti finding it, or fight.

  He glanced down at the wooden truncheon in his hand. It made a pitiful weapon against the Elivasti’s spikestaffs and Scorchslayer. If he’d had Soulhunger or even a sword handy, he wouldn’t hesitate. He’d taken down an entire troop of Steel Company mercenaries—he and Soulhunger could handle ten Elivasti armed with nothing more than sharp-tipped staves. But with nothing more than a pitiful club?

  Dare I risk it? If he left the daggers in his pack tucked in the shadow of the gate, there was a chance the Elivasti would find them. He could kill the Sage with Soulhunger, but that would leave Taiana without the means to find their daughter.

  No, he decided, I need those iron blades. With them, he could take down the Abiarazi while Taiana searched the Keeps.

  He dre
w in a deep breath and hefted the club.

  No time to think, he told himself. Just move.

  He slithered around the corner and up behind the first blue-armored Elivasti before he could reconsider. The man didn’t hear him, didn’t know he was there until he grasped the man’s chin and the side of his head and gave a sharp twist powered by all the strength in his arms. The Elivasti’s neck snapped with an audible crack and he collapsed, limp, dead before he hit the stone street.

  The Hunter was already moving as the body sagged. His hand snapped out for the spikestaff in the dying man’s nerveless grip and, snatching it up, he took two quick steps and drove the spiked end into the throat of the Elivasti holding the Scorchslayer. The tang of copper filled the air as he pulled the sharpened end free and whirled the staff above his head, spraying blood. He brought the steel-capped end crunching into the temple of a third Elivasti, who had half-turned toward him. The man sagged, the side of his face crushed by metal and wood.

  A shout of alarm echoed behind the Hunter, and he spun to face the man attacking from behind. The Elivasti held his spikestaff raised to drive the sharp tip into the Hunter’s back. The Hunter lashed out with desperate speed, and wood cracked against wood as his staff crashed against the Elivasti’s. The force of the blow threw the man off-balance. His weapon swung wide, and the Hunter drove the sharpened steel through his eyeball, pushing until he felt the tip strike bone. He ripped the staff free and spun toward the next man, just in time to deflect two thrusts aimed at his stomach. He leapt backward to avoid a third driving low at his leg, though the spike carved a line of fire into the Hunter’s thigh.

  “Setin?” one of the Elivasti asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you--?”

  The Hunter hurled his spikestaff, and it punched through the man’s throat. The Elivasti sagged, three feet of bloodstained wood and steel protruding from the back of his neck.

  “That’s not Setin!” shouted another Elivasti. “It’s one of the accursed Bucelarii!”

  Ignoring the pain in his leg, the Hunter paused only long enough to scoop up one of the dead men’s spikestaffs before he charged the next man. The Elivasti thrust the spikestaff at the Hunter’s head, and only the Hunter’s quick reflexes saved him from losing an eye—again. He twisted to the side so hard a twinge ran down his neck and the steel spike carved a deep furrow across his left cheek.

  He gritted his teeth against the sudden flare of pain in his face and threw himself backward to dodge a whirling spikestaff. His staff knocked aside a strike from a second opponent, then he rammed the spiked end of his staff into the first man’s groin. The man let out shrill cry of pain and collapsed, hands clasped to the gushing wound between his legs.

  Ducking a high whirling attack, the Hunter dropped his staff and rushed another Elivasti. His shoulder drove into the blue breastplate as he lifted the man from his feet, took two long steps, and slammed him hard into the street. The man’s neck gave a sickening crack and he lay still.

  A loud humming sounded behind the Hunter. He acted on instinct and hurled himself to one side. A moment later, a bolt of lightning sizzled through the air above his head and struck the side of a nearby building with enough force to shatter stone. The Hunter didn’t pause to see the destruction, but rolled to his feet and charged the next Elivasti bare-handed.

  The purple-eyed man’s jaw clenched and his body tensed as he prepared to meet the Hunter’s charge. The Hunter noted the way he crouched slightly, right foot shifted backward, and the muscles of his right arm coiled with the force of his thrust. Instead of trying to dart to one side to evade the thrust, the Hunter struck out, his hand a blur as he slapped the spiked tip away. Before the man could pull back the weapon for a follow-up, the Hunter’s right hand was around his throat. He squeezed with all the strength in his arms until he felt cartilage crumple beneath his grip. His left hand snatched the staff from the choking man, who collapsed to the street, wheezing pitiful breaths.

  Pain stabbed along the Hunter’s side as cold steel punched through the blue armor he’d taken from Setin. He threw himself forward and felt the spiked tip sliding from between his ribs. Warm blood slid down his side, soaking his pants. Growling in pain and anger, he whirled and brought his spiked staff whirling around in a one-handed clubbing blow. The steel tip slashed across the Elivasti’s face, tearing through his left eye, nose, then right eye. The man howled in agony and dropped his spikestaff, still stained with the Hunter’s blood, to claw at his ruined face.

  The Hunter whirled toward the remaining two Elivasti. One held the Scorchslayer in a firm two-handed grip, the hollowed end pointed straight at the Hunter’s chest. A loud humming filled the air and the runes along the stock glowed a bright blue.

  Time stood still as the Hunter spotted the tenth Elivasti sprinting up the street. He had a split second to dodge the attack or stop the fleeing guard. Without hesitation, he hurled the spikestaff in an underhanded cast as hard as he could. The spear hurtled through the darkness to punch through the back of the escaping Elivasti’s skull.

  Before the Hunter could move, light flared white from the end of the Scorchslayer and a bolt of lightning split the night with blinding brilliance. The energy arced toward the Hunter and slammed into him with enough force to shatter mountains. The impact lifted him from his feet and sent him flying twenty paces backward to crash to the street, striking his head.

  The world spun dizzily around him, and agony coursed through every fiber of the Hunter’s being. His chest felt like he’d been kicked by a horse the size of a Stone Guardian. He gasped and tried to draw breath.

  Yet he was alive. How is that possible? The bolt should have torn him apart like it had Neroth.

  He staggered upright in time to lurch out of the way of the next lightning bolt. His shoulder crashed into a stone wall, but he caught himself from falling. The weapon hummed again as the Elivasti prepared to fire. Ignoring the pain throbbing through his torso, the Hunter wound up and hurled the spikestaff. The weapon streaked toward the Elivasti, punched into blue armor, and drove a full arm’s length through flesh and bone beneath. The man let out a weak gasp and sagged to one knee, yet refused to release his grip on the Scorchslayer. He actually managed to raise it in the Hunter’s direction for one final blast. The lightning struck ten paces to the Hunter’s right and five paces in front of him. The Elivasti sagged, his blue-glowing weapon clattering on hard stone as he collapsed.

  The Hunter glanced down at his chest, half-expecting to see a gaping hole. Instead, he found only blackened, scorched, and smoking armor. The impact had put a fist-sized dent in the breastplate, which explained the pain in the Hunter’s chest. Yet somehow, impossibly, it had protected him from the lightning.

  Bloody hell! What is this stuff made out of?

  The armor looked and felt like simple steel, but lighter and with greater flexibility. Was it the handiwork of the Serenii, just like the Scorchslayers, the Keeps, and so many other things in Enarium? Why would the Serenii fashion human-sized armor?

  Right now, the mystery of the armor seemed far less important than getting away from the scene of carnage as quickly as possible. Though he’d stopped the man from escaping and summoning reinforcements, chances were high another patrol of Elivasti would stumble upon the bodies at any moment. Better for him to be nowhere in sight when that happened.

  His chest, neck, and the back of his head ached, but he couldn’t spare the concentration to speed up the healing process. He’d have to let his body recover on its own; he would get what he came for and disappear into the night.

  He found his pack precisely where Kiara had said, tucked between the open gate and the stone wall, as far back as she could reach. He tugged the straps open and breathed a sigh of relief as his searching hands found the solid shape of the daggers. The crawling sensation in his fingers and palms told him these were the Swordsman’s iron blades.

  A glimmer of hope surged within him as he slung the pack over his shoulder and turned away from
the gate. With the Swordsman’s blades, he could bring down the Sage while Taiana kept Soulhunger to search for Jaia.

  He felt tempted to leave the bodies where they’d fallen, but something stopped him. Taiana and the other Bucelarii could use the weapons, and that lightning-resistant armor would come in handy when it came time to confront the Sage. Thought it would cost him a few minutes, he decided to drag the bodies of the dead Elivasti outside the gates of Enarium. The shadows of the city walls would conceal them from view, and Taiana could send one of the other Bucelarii to fetch them later.

  He hesitated before stepping through the gate into the lands beyond Enarium. The Serenii had cast a spell over the Empty Mountains that would drive any demon mad. During his trek up the mountain, the demonic voice in his mind had nearly shattered his mind with its incessant, incoherent shrieking. After a day of peace from that terrible presence, he dreaded its return.

  Gritting his teeth, he gripped the Elivasti’s corpse and forced himself to move. To his surprise, he felt nothing as he hauled the body down the trail a short distance and tucked it behind a large stone. Yet the moment he made to return to Enarium, the voice struck him with full force. He nearly cried out from the intensity of its shrieking. With effort, he pushed past the screeching, wailing in his mind and staggered the few steps up toward Enarium.

  Again, the moment he stepped through the gates, the voice fell silent. He gasped as blessed silence echoed in his mind, and leaned against the wall until the hammering in his chest slowed.

  What in the fiery hell was that? The spell hadn’t tried to stop him leaving Enarium, only returning. Was that the Serenii’s plan, then? Force the demons out of the city and prevent them every coming back?

  That certainly explained how the Warmaster had been in Enarium to capture Taiana and lock her in the Chambers of Sustenance. If he’d remained hidden inside the city, he, like the Hunter, would have been unaffected by the spell—which seemed to start outside Enarium’s walls. Once he’d left, he had been unable to return.