Darkblade Guardian

by Andy Peloquin

  Had the Hunter wielded Soulhunger and a long sword, he could have made short work of the jumbled mass of bodies beneath him. The spikestaffs, however, were too long and unwieldy for this sort of work. Even gripping his staff as near one metal-shod end as possible, he only had time to lash out with the spike twice before the Elivasti recovered enough to fight back. He drove his elbow into the face of one man as he rolled off the fallen guards.

  Horror surged in his chest as he saw a lone Elivasti standing behind Garnos, spikestaff poised to drive into his back.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The Hunter’s blood turned to ice. The Elivasti must have evaded his desperate attack and gotten around him. The Hunter had a single instant to act. Without hesitation, he hurled his spikestaff at the blue-armored man standing over Garnos.

  Too late. He knew it the moment his arm whipped forward and his hand released the staff. The world seemed to slow as he watched the spiked tip of the Elivasti’s weapon descending toward Garnos’ back.

  Sharp metal punched through the blue armor, and Garnos let out a cry of pain. An instant later, the Hunter’s spikestaff drove through the side of the Elivasti’s head. The man crumpled to one side, his head bounding off the stone wall beside Garnos. His lifeless hand, still clutching his weapon, tore the spiked end free of Garnos’ back.

  The Hunter had no time to see the severity of Garnos’ wound, for in that moment, cold steel punched through his side. He felt skin, muscle, and organs tear, and pain raced up his spine as the spiked tip struck bone. His legs sagged for a moment, but he caught the shaft of the spikestaff and used it to hold himself upright. The Elivasti tore the weapon from his grasp with a yank, and the Hunter grunted at the pain of it pulling free. Even as blood gushed from his side, the Hunter willed his body to heal faster, at least the vital organs.

  Another spikestaff punctured his shoulder, and the Hunter barely managed to evade a thrust at his head. He threw himself backward, fists closed around the wooden shaft of the weapon buried in his shoulder, and ripped it from his enemy’s grip. Though the movement sent agony flaring through his still-bleeding side and shoulder, he tugged the spike from his muscle and brought the weapon whipping across in a one-handed blow to knock aside two quick attacks.

  He held his ground, whirling his staff with all the speed he could muster. He pushed back against the pain, refused to let it slow him. His body obeyed his commands and flesh re-knit as he imposed his will on his wounds.

  Only eight Elivasti faced him, and they could only come at him three or four at a time. They wielded their spikestaffs like spears, but he kept his moving like a quarterstaff—like the Elivasti on Kara-ket. He just had to hold them off a few moments longer. Garnos almost had the gate open, and Kiara’s horde would be here at any moment. He just had to hold—

  And then they were there—Kiara and Ryat in the blue armor they’d taken from the Elivasti he’d killed, men, women, even youths and children in ragged, muck-stained clothing that hung from gaunt shoulders. Once, the emaciated forms that had seemed so weak, so lifeless now resembled a starving lion on the prowl. The angry mob roared in a voice that screamed their hatred and fury as they surged toward the Elivasti that stood between them and freedom. The Hunter fell back toward Garnos and the windlass as the Elivasti were beaten, stabbed, and trampled to death.

  Garnos sat slumped against the windlass, his body locking it in position, holding the gate open. Blood pooled around his legs and feet in such a vast quantity the Hunter knew his wound was fatal.

  “We did it.” Garnos gave him a weak smile. Pain and loss of blood turned his face pale.

  “You did it,” the Hunter said, crouching beside the man. “You opened the gate. You made the choice to save your people.”

  “My people.” Garnos gave a bitter laugh. “How many of my people do you think will survive this? There is no putting this beast back in its cage.”

  “That is true.” The Hunter nodded. “But there is hope. Hope that some will outlive the bloodshed. Rothia and the others in the garden.”

  Mention of his wife brought a worried look to Garnos’ violet eyes. “She’ll be angry, Rothia will.” He shook his head and chuckled wryly. “At me, but you won’t…walk away unscathed. You’ve no idea what she can do…with that trowel of hers.” He seemed to be struggling with the words now.

  “I’ll be sure to keep my distance, then.” The Hunter smiled through the lump rising in his throat. “She’d be proud, though. You’ve given your children a chance for a better life. A life free of this horror, the stain on your people.”

  “That’s all…a father...could want.” Garnos’ voice grew weaker as his lifeblood poured onto the ground around him. He reached a bloodstained hand toward the Hunter. “Do you…have children?”

  The question surprised the Hunter, but he nodded. “Yes.” He gripped the man’s bloodstained hand. “I do.”

  Garnos smiled. “May their…future…be as bright,” he said in a weak voice. “And may…you…be...free…” The last word came out in a long, slow breath—his last.

  For a moment, the world faded around the Hunter—the sounds of death, the roaring of the mob behind him, the screams of fear ringing through Hellsgate. He knelt beside the age-worn Elivasti and gripped the man’s bloodstained hand as Garnos’ head leaned back against the wooden gate and the light faded from his violet eyes.

  The Hunter bowed his head. “May the Long Keeper watch over you. Be at peace, Garnos of the Elivasti.”

  In life, Garnos had had a hand in the suffering of hundreds of thousands of people trapped in Khar’nath. In death, perhaps his final actions would earn him redemption. It was all any man could hope for.

  A hand gripped the Hunter’s shoulder. “Hunter!” Kiara’s voice snapped the Hunter back to reality. “Hunter, leave him. We need to go!”

  The Hunter looked up into her dark, worry-lined eyes.

  “Ryat has already gone ahead.” Kiara had to shout to be heard above the din of the roaring mob. “But we need to get out of here as well before someone mistakes us for an enemy.”

  The Hunter glanced down at his armor, then up at Kiara’s. Doubtless those following Ryat would recognize him and Kiara, but the others—those that had joined as the revolt grew larger and larger, like a snowball rolling down a mountain—wouldn’t know him on sight, wouldn’t have heard of the blue-armored figures fighting on their side.

  With a nod, he climbed to his feet. The pain of his still-healing wounds barely bothered him, but the burden of sorrow weighed heavy on his shoulders. He cast a final glance at Garnos’ silent form and empty eyes, bidding farewell to the man he’d known for two short days, then hurried after Kiara.

  All around him, thousands of emaciated, muck-covered figures in ragged clothing charged down the causeway and through the doorways into Hellsgate. The beast had been let loose of its cage—no stopping this now.

  As he and Kiara ran through the press of people, the Hunter caught glimpses of blue-armored bodies littering the floor. Some had skulls, limbs, and torsos crushed by crude clubs, while others bled from wounds inflicted by Kiara’s crude spears. Many had simply been trampled by the relentless wave of flesh and fury. Dozens of filthy, rawboned men and women in worn and threadbare clothing had joined them in death. Yet the Hunter knew, no matter how many the Elivasti brought down, they could not stop the death marching toward them.

  Angry shouts followed the Hunter and Kiara, and a few hands reached out in an attempt to slow or stop them. Kiara had been right to fear the power of the mob—they had to break free of the throng before things got ugly.

  He caught a glimpse of a tall, blue-armored figure at the head of the mob, and he pushed toward Ryat. Something struck him on the shoulder as he shoved through the bodies, but he shrugged off the pain.

  “Ryat!” he shouted. “Ryat!”

  The tall man didn’t hear him—he was too busy bludgeoning an Elivasti to death with a wooden truncheon. All around him, people swarmed over the few purple
-eyed warriors that had been caught unaware on the open street in front of Hellsgate. To the north, a group of two or three hundred people battered at the fortress’ front gate. The wooden doors shuddered and bent beneath the impact of so many bodies. No matter how many died trampled in the press, enough would survive to break through.

  “Let’s go!” Kiara shouted. She thrust a finger toward the empty streets to the south. “This way.” The tide of vengeful humans was so consumed by their desire to crush the Elivasti in their immediate path and break into Hellsgate they hadn’t yet flooded the city.

  The Hunter shoved his way through the throng after her as fast as he could. He knew the city would soon be filled with angry men and women looking for blood. He had to get Kiara someplace safe, ditch the blue armor, and deal with the Sage. He had to trust that Taiana could look out for herself.

  The Sage. Anger flared bright in the Hunter’s gut. Everything that had happened here in Enarium—from Taiana’s desperate hunt for Jaia to the humans locked in the Pit—was because of the demons. He had already eliminated the Warmaster, and the time had come to rid Einan of the Sage once and for all.

  The Elivasti in Hellsgate had said the Sage was headed toward the Keeps, no doubt to activate their power in anticipation of the Withering. He would have to hurry to visit the remaining twenty-one if he was to—

  The Hunter froze in place, dread turning his limbs to lead.

  His eyes traveled across Enarium, and everywhere he looked, the Keeps glowed a bright blue. Not just the three activated the previous day. Not just the eight on the Base Echelon. All twenty-four Keeps on all three Echelons of the city emanated sapphire brilliance that lit up the pre-dawn sky.

  No! Horror roiled within the Hunter’s gut. Jaia!

  Power hummed through the city, setting the ground trembling with the force of its vibrations. The Hunter could almost feel it crackling through the air. A sharp tang, like the smell after the Scorchslayer fired but magnified a hundredfold, filled his nostrils. The glowing Keeps pushed back the pre-dawn darkness, and it was as bright as noon on a cloudy day.

  The Sage had harnessed the power of Enarium and, in doing so, could have killed his daughter.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Fear thrummed in the back of his mind as he stared at the now-energized Keeps. How many had Taiana managed to search? Had the Sage and his Blood Sentinels caught her, or had she managed to get to safety? Had she found their daughter?

  A wave of horror washed over him, and an image flashed through his mind: his child’s body turning to ash as her Chamber of Sustenance consumed her life.

  Please. He didn’t know who he spoke to—the gods of Einan were a fabrication of the priests, and he’d never believed in them anyway—but at that moment, it didn’t matter. He just needed someone, something, to hear him. Please let my daughter be alive! The thought that he’d never meet his child would crush him.

  He pushed against the image of death with every shred of his willpower. He had to worry about the Sage first. And about Hailen, the child he knew and had sworn to protect.

  Is Hailen still alive? The question pounded against his skull with enough force to set his head aching. A few drops of the boy’s blood would activate each Keep, but to power up all remaining twenty-one? The Sage could simply have killed the boy and drained him to use his blood. Everything he knew about the Sage told him the Abiarazi wouldn’t hesitate to kill Hailen if necessary, but something about this wasn’t right.

  He forced himself to focus on the problem, to think logically. The Sage had left Hellsgate an hour or two after sundown, well before midnight. He’d activated one Keep every half an hour the previous day. Even factoring in the demon’s urgency, he couldn’t have visited all of the Keeps in the few hours that had passed. The distances between each Keep was simply too great for him to have turned on all twenty-one remaining Keeps.

  So how had the demon done it? Only one answer explained it. The Blood Sentinels.

  A shudder of revulsion ran down the Hunter’s spine. Garnos had told him the Blood Sentinels lived with the knowledge that they would sacrifice themselves when the Blood Sun, the Withering, arrived. While only a few drops of Hailen’s pure Melechha blood was required to activate the Keeps, all of the Blood Sentinels’ watered-down Elivasti blood would be needed. The Sage could have shared the knowledge of activating the Keeps, and they could have done it without him needing to be present. Twenty-one Blood Sentinels had died in service to their master’s schemes and taken the secret of Enarium with them to their graves.

  But if the Blood Sentinels took care of the Keeps, where is the Sage? With the threat of the Hunter, Taiana, and the other Bucelarii, the demon would have fortified himself in the place where he would put his final plan into action. The fact that he’d abandoned Hellsgate meant the fortress wasn’t his final destination.

  There’s only one place he’d go now.

  The Hunter’s eyes went toward the Illumina, the massive tower at the heart of Enarium. It alone remained dark, its stone inert. Twenty-four shining towers sloped toward that single structure, their tips like spotlights pointing him in the direction he needed to go.

  The Hunter glanced at Kiara. “I’ve got to go there.” He pointed to the Illumina. “That’s where I’ll find the Sage, and Hailen.”

  “Then quit talking and let’s get going.” Kiara made to stride past him, but the Hunter stepped in her way.

  He shook his head. “I can’t let you do this.”

  “You’re not letting me do anything,” she snapped and batted his hand aside. “Haven’t you learned that by now?”

  The Hunter threw up his hands. “You know what I mean, Kiara. I’m going to be walking into the belly of the beast, right into the middle of a pack of Elivasti to confront a demon face to face. I can’t take you with me.”

  “Why not?” Anger flashed in her eyes, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “You think because I’m a w—”

  “Because I can blend in with the enemy, get through their lines unseen, but you can’t.” The Hunter gestured to his features—the features of Ryken, the fallen Blood Sentinel. “One look in your eyes and they’ll know you’re not one of them. They’ll cut you down without a second thought.”

  She scowled, but had no reply. The look in her eyes told the Hunter she knew he spoke the truth.

  “I’ve got to do this without you,” the Hunter said. “You are one of the most capable women I have ever met, Kiara, but this is one thing you can’t do.”

  “You know we don’t like being told ‘can’t’, right?” Kiara growled. “Just makes us all the more determined to prove you egotistical, phallocentric jackasses wrong.”

  The Hunter couldn’t help a smile. “Knowing you, that’s not even a little surprising. But this isn’t about you or me, man or woman. This is about saving Hailen and stopping the Sage from destroying the world.”

  “So what do I do while you’re off playing hero?” Kiara’s eyes darkened. “Sit around twiddling my thumbs like a simpering noblewoman?” She sneered and imitated the snobbish mannerisms of a Voramian lady at tea, extended pinky finger and all.

  “No.” The Hunter shook his head. “If you want to do something, keep Ryat’s angry horde from murdering the Elivasti trapped on Hellsgate’s rooftop garden.”

  Kiara’s eyebrows rose.

  The Hunter quickly recounted his conversation with Garnos and Rothia, and what the gardener had said about trying to save as many people as possible.

  “You want me to protect those purple-eyed bastards?” Kiara snarled. “The ones that locked me and all those other people up in that gods-forsaken Pit?”

  “And the opia,” he told her. “You can’t let the mob destroy it.

  “The what?” Kiara’s brow wrinkled.

  “The opia. Grape-sized purple berries growing in a huge glass dome in the heart of the garden. Hailen needs it, as do all the Elivasti here.” He fixed her with a hard stare. “If it’s destroyed, Hailen dies, and any Elivasti
that survive today are doomed.”

  “Good!” Kiara snapped. “Einan would be far better off without them.”

  The Hunter shook his head. “They’re people, just like you and me. People who chose the wrong master to serve, and made the wrong choices—choices that hurt people.” He shot her a meaningful look. “Sound familiar?”

  Kiara’s scowl deepened.

  The Hunter pressed on before she could retort. “We’ve both done things we regret, Kiara. Things that will haunt us for the rest of our lives. Perhaps we deserve death for what we’ve done. Yet someone gave us a chance to live again. Call it the gods, call it luck, call it whatever the bloody hell you want—we had a second chance, a hope of redemption.”

  He thrust a finger toward Hellsgate. “The man that died back there, the one you found me kneeling beside, he was an Elivasti, one of the ‘purple-eyed bastards’ that locked you and all those others in the Pit. For eighty years, he worked as a Pit guard alongside all the cruel men like Setin. But in the end, he gave his life to set you free. He proved there was something within him worth saving.”

  Her expression softened.

  “If there is even a shred of decency among the Elivasti, isn’t that something you’d want to protect?” the Hunter asked. “Children like Hailen or Farida who never hurt anyone, but who were simply born into this life. Men and women who have spent their entire lives simply trying to survive in a world where they don’t belong.”

  He searched her gaze. “Saving them does more than give them a second chance; it proves that we are better than we were before. Me, an assassin, and you, the Fourth of the Bloody Hand. For the sake of our own humanity, Kiara, we have to hope there is a bit of good in people. Because if there is good in them, there may be a shred of good in us as well, no matter what we’ve done.”