The words sounded so foreign coming from his mouth, yet he found himself actually believing them.
“Please, Kiara,” the Hunter said in a quiet voice. “Protect those people. Not for their sakes, but for yours. For ours. Let us be better.”
For a long moment, Kiara said nothing but simply held his gaze. Finally, she shook her head and threw up her hands. “Damn, Hunter, you’re getting good at these rousing speeches. Who knew you’d be as good with your words as you are with a blade?”
Laughter bubbled from the Hunter’s chest. It felt good to laugh, after everything he’d been through in the last few days.
“I’ll do it,” Kiara said with a sigh. “I’ll try my best to keep the mob at bay. For Hailen’s sake, if nothing else.”
“Thank you!” The Hunter took her hands in his and squeezed them hard.
She returned the grip, meeting his eyes. “You stay alive, you hear? You wind up dead, I’ll kick your ass all the way back to Voramis.”
He nodded. “Deal.” With a little smile, he turned and hurried down the street. When he glanced back, she was watching him go.
He let out a long breath as he turned to climb the hill to the Second Echelon. She’d still be in danger—possibly more, facing that violent mob—but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about her getting killed as he fought his way through the Elivasti guarding the Sage.
The first rays of golden sunlight appeared over the eastern horizon. Day dawned bright, filling the sky with deep browns and golds shot through with lines of fiery orange. The Hunter’s eyes went to the billowing red cloud. It nearly filled the entire northern half of the sky. He had only a few hours until noon—until the Blood Sun and the end of the world.
Urgency lent speed to his steps. His armor clanked as he ran and the pounding of his boots on the white stone streets echoed from the surrounding buildings. The city was empty, not a single patrol in sight. His gut tightened as he realized why that was: any Elivasti not in Hellsgate would be protecting the Sage.
His eyes fixed on the Illumina. He would find the demon in the heart of Enarium, and Hailen with him, so that was where he needed to go.
Ice froze in his veins as he reached the Prime Echelon. The uppermost level of Enarium was devoid of all stone buildings, all constructions save for the eight Keeps and the massive tower at its heart. On the broad stone square surrounding the Illumina, an army of Elivasti, easily two or three hundred strong, blocked his path to the Sage.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The Hunter ducked back down the slope toward the Medial Echelon and out of sight of the army. The rising hill had revealed them when only the top of his head had poked above the street level. He crept upward and peered over the hill to study the forces arrayed between him and his target.
The Illumina was easily fifty paces in diameter, with massive open archways set into each of its eight mirrored gemstone sides. It was a poorly defensible position, which likely explained why the Sage had brought more than half his Elivasti to hold it. They ringed the building in ranks five deep. The foremost ranks held long spikestaffs, and the Blood Sentinels brought up the rear with their Scorchslayers. The Elivasti scanned the streets with wariness written in their tense postures, the white-knuckled grips on their weapons, and their ever-roving eyes. They couldn’t know what was happening within Hellsgate, but likely the Sage had warned them to be ready for anything. The Abiarazi knew the Hunter was in Enarium, which only added to the ranks of enemies working against him. He wouldn’t take any precautions this close to his endgame.
The Hunter glanced up at the sky. The sun hung barely above the tops of the eastern mountains, so it couldn’t be later than the seventh or eighth hour of the day. If the Withering took place at noon, he had at least four hours to get into the Illumina, find the Sage, and put an end to the Abiarazi before he could enact his plans. Easier said than done, of course. He had to get through that army alone, then deal with whatever Blood Sentinels the Sage had kept to guard his body.
Worse, the disguise of Detrarch Ryken might not work. A handful of Blood Sentinels had survived his attempt on the Sage, and Elivasti reinforcements had been present when Ryken fell. Explaining his resurrection would prove no easy task. Even the slightest suspicion could turn the Elivasti against him—unlikely he’d be able to fight his way out any more than he could fight in.
Good thing I don’t need to fight.
Over the years that he’d worn the alchemical disguises, he’d discovered that people rarely paid attention to less important details. A nobleman was far less likely to notice a hidden dagger when gold coins sparkled before his eyes. A wary guard tended to find a beautiful woman in scant clothing far more interesting than a ragged beggar. Soldiers fearing for their lives would look at a man’s armor and weapons before they examined his face too closely.
The Hunter didn’t need to cut his way through—he just needed to take the focus off of him.
Without hesitation, he slipped back down the hill toward Hellsgate. The ascent had taken him fifteen minutes, but he didn’t need to go far to find what he sought. The mob flooding out of the underground causeway from Khar’nath hadn’t only stormed Hellsgate. Lean, ragged, hard-eyed men and women surged through Enarium by the hundreds, perhaps thousands. They moved with single-minded purpose: vengeance on their captors, the purple-eyed warriors that had imprisoned and tormented them.
The Hunter gave them just what they sought.
He shifted his face to Setin’s—few in the Pit had known of the Elivasti’s death, but many would recognize the thick, rounded cheeks and fleshy lips of their jailor. The universally-hated Setin would be just the Elivasti to rouse the ire of the freed prisoners. The sight of him would turn them from an aimless, wandering pack of men and women into an angry mob out for vengeance.
“Oi!” He waved his arms to get the attention of the mob climbing the hill to the Medial Echelon. “Get back in your prison right now or, by the Sage, I’ll come down there and beat every one of you senseless!”
Faces turned up toward him, expressions darkened, and hatred flashed in dozens of eyes, then scores, then hundreds. Men and women that had suffered a lifetime of abuse at Setin’s hands saw him standing alone in the street, weaponless. They looked at each other, at him, then back at each other. With a roar of rage, they raised crude spears, makeshift clubs, and spikestaffs wrenched from fallen Elivasti and charged.
The Hunter waited for them to close the distance—they needed to see the object of their hatred. The horde reached the Medial Echelon, crossed the broad avenue, and swarmed up the hill toward him. The Hunter retreated slowly, walking backward to keep an eye on the approaching mass of men and women. He needed to be certain the throng had the numbers to survive the inevitable clash with the Elivasti. He needed them whipped into a frenzy, for only a mindless, bloodthirsty mob would survive what came next.
The stream of shouting, raging humans didn’t slow. They seemed like an army of dragonfire ants marching toward a threat, with the fury and numbers to match. He estimated their number to exceed two thousand, then three, then five. And still they came on.
When they were within fifty paces of him, the Hunter turned and jogged up the hill. The exhausted, starved humans couldn’t match his full speed. Though the hill was steep, the fire of their fury goaded them on. Like a starving greatcat stalking a lone stallion in the vast expanse of the Advanat Desert, they hunted him. Just as he needed them to.
Just before he crested the hill to the Prime Echelon, the Hunter shifted his features to Detrarch Ryken’s thick nose, sloping forehead, and a square jaw. Enough of the Elivasti would recognize the Blood Sentinel that they wouldn’t immediately be wary of him. The raging horde behind them would push any questions from their minds.
Once he was certain he had the features right, he poured more speed into his run. He pounded up the hill and across the broad avenue that spanned the Prime Echelon, straight toward the army surrounding the base of the Illumina.
“Wh
ere is he?” the Hunter shouted in the rough, brutish voice he’d settled on for the Ryken disguise. “Where is our master?”
Eyes flew wide all along the Elivasti line as they saw him—armor stained with blood, holes in his side and shoulder where the spikestaffs had punched through the blue breastplate and pauldrons, his hands empty of weapons.
“Detrarch Ryken?” someone in the ranks called out. “What’s going on?” The speaker was a sergeant in the second row of the Elivasti line. The men before the officer parted as the Hunter pounded toward them.
“The Sage! Where do I find him?” The Hunter didn’t slow until he reached the sergeant. He grabbed the man’s gorget and shook him, plastering a look of panic on his face. “The prisoners…he has to know!”
“What about the prisoners?” the Elivasti demanded. “What’s happened?”
The Hunter fairly screamed in the man’s face. “Where is he?”
At that moment, the first of the mob crested the hill and spilled onto the First Echelon. All around the Hunter, Elivasti gasped as more and more of the ragged, filthy men and women rushed onto Enarium’s upper level. When the horde caught sight of the ranks of Elivasti, they let out a howl of mingled rage and delight. They had found their enemy.
“By the gods!” Blood drained from the sergeant’s face.
“The Sage!” the Hunter shouted, shaking the man again. “Where is he?”
The Elivasti couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the charging mob. “He is…above.” He thrust a distracted finger toward the top of the Illumina behind him.
The Hunter released the man and pushed through the ranks of Elivasti that stood between him and the nearest archway into the Illumina. For what seemed an eternity, the only sound he heard was the roaring of the freed prisoners. It took the Elivasti officers long seconds to find their voices and begin issuing orders to prepare to meet the charge. None of their training could have prepared them for this.
The Hunter cast a glance backward before entering the Illumina. The front ranks of blue-armored warriors knelt, their spikestaffs held like spears to meet a cavalry charge. Behind them, thirty Blood Sentinels raised Scorchslayers and a loud humming filled the air as glowing blue runes sprang to life along the stocks. A moment later, thirty bolts of lightning sizzled over the heads of the kneeling Elivasti.
The Hunter’s stomach clenched as the lightning cracked into the heads, chest, and limbs of the charging men and women. The ragged front of the line simply disintegrated in a mist of blood, bone, and guts. People fell screaming and bleeding, only to be trampled to death by those charging behind them. Others sagged without a sound, gaping holes where their chests had been, nothing remaining of their heads.
Five seconds after the first lightning bolts struck the crowd, the second wave struck. Scores more men and women fell, the arcing energy simply punching through them to drive through those following on their heels.
The Hunter’s gut churned, and acid burned the back of his throat. Years spent killing people couldn’t prepare him for carnage on such an immense scale. The pile of emaciated, rag-covered bodies mounted as the Scorchslayers laid waste to flesh and bone. Casualties among the horde numbered in the scores, then quickly mounted to hundreds.
But hundreds of deaths could not slow the thousands of furious humans hell-bent on vengeance. The blue-armored warriors standing before them had been the cause of their suffering for years, decades. For every one that fell, fifty more pounded toward the ranks of the Elivasti.
The Hunter turned away without a backward glance. The outcome was inevitable.
The interior of the Illumina was like nothing the Hunter had ever seen. At its core was a massive pillar of blue gemstone that disappeared into the floor and ceiling—almost as if the tower had been built around it. The ground level was empty of any furnishings or adornments, but simply bare stone floors and ceiling, with walls of the mirrored gemstone that gave the Hunter full view of the carnage outside. Within the tower, the humming that permeated Enarium rose to an almost tangible crescendo, setting the Hunter’s bones vibrating.
The moment he stepped foot within, something snapped deep within his consciousness. He felt a presence invade his mind in a way the voice of his demon or Soulhunger had never been able to. Before he could throw up a mental wall to block it out, the presence drove through his defenses like a hurricane through a haystack. It was powerful beyond belief, and it seemed to take control of his body.
His eyes flashed toward the stairway leading to the second floor—he knew he had to go up to find the Sage and Hailen—but his feet led him away, jerking like a marionette dancing on strings. In vain, he fought to wrest control of his body from that presence. His efforts had as much effect as trying to drown a fish.
Instead, the immense force pulled him toward a staircase that led downward. Down, down, down, deep into the bowels of Enarium beneath the Illumina. Five floors, six, more. All the while the Hunter fought in vain to break free.
The stairs ended in a room made entirely of the black stone of the Dolmenrath. Only two spots of color broke the obsidian gloom of the chamber: the gemstone pillar at its heart, and a familiar bas-relief etching on the wall in front of him.
A figure lay atop a stone altar, held in place by strong bonds, arms folded over his chest. Eleven radiant figures surrounded it, reaching out their arms to send threads of power into the man atop the altar. The same carving he’d seen in Kara-ket and again in the Vault of Stars in Vothmot.
Tendrils of ice crept down his spine. He fought with every shred of strength, yet in that moment, he knew he could not triumph. He fought the will of a god.
His arms rose of their own accord, his hands stretching out to touch the hands of the figure trapped upon the altar, where a single large gemstone was set into one upturned palm. The instant his fingers touched the stone, a voice echoed in his mind—a voice with enough power to shatter worlds.
GREETINGS, LITTLE ONE. IT HAS BEEN A WHILE SINCE LAST WE SPOKE.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The world around the Hunter went black—not the blackness of an enclosed room plunged into darkness, but the absolute emptiness of a void in which no light had ever existed. In this place, there was no sight, no sound, no smell. Simply…nothing.
He floated in the null. He couldn’t feel his arms, his legs, even the pounding of his heart against his ribs. In this place, only his mind existed.
His mind, and the voice of a god.
IT HAS BEEN AN EON SINCE LAST WE SPOKE. A HUNDRED GENERATIONS OF HUMANS HAVE COME AND GONE. CIVILIZATIONS RISEN AND CRUMBLED TO DUST. YET HERE YOU STAND, JUST AS YOU AGREED.
The Hunter found he could feel shocked surprise in this place. “As I…agreed?” Confusion surged within him. “We have…spoken before?”
A moment of silence passed, then the voice returned.
AHH, I SEE THE FOLLOWERS OF MY BROTHER IRROTH HAVE TAKEN FROM YOUR MIND.
“Irroth, your…brother?” Chaos whirled in the Hunter’s thoughts. “Wait, do you mean the Illusionist?”
THE PEOPLE OF THIS WORLD NAMED HIM SUCH, YES. A hint of amusement echoed in the god’s voice. TO THOSE OF US WHO KNEW HIM, WE FOUND HIM FAR LESS CLEVER THAN YOU MORTALS BELIEVE.
Those words struck him as so much more human than he’d expected from a god.
SHALL I FREE YOUR MEMORIES? SHALL I RETURN ALL THAT WAS LOCKED AWAY?
The Hunter hesitated. All his life, he’d wanted to know what had been taken from him. In Al Hani, he’d learned the Illusionist Clerics erased his memory every hundred years, as a means of giving him a fresh start. He’d hated them for that, yet now he wasn’t sure how he felt. He wanted a glimpse into his past, wanted to see all the important things that had happened to him, yet he had no desire to end up like Arudan. Perhaps the combination of a long life and intact memories could prove a greater curse than not knowing.
A WISE CHOICE. Was that a hint of approval in the god’s voice? YOUR MIND, THOUGH IT SHARES MANY THINGS IN COMMON WITH OURS, IS
NOT SUITED FOR IMMORTALITY. CALL IT THE EFFECTS OF HUMANITY, IF YOU WILL.
“Things in common…with yours?” The Hunter struggled to digest that. “How is that possible?”
THE ANSWERS YOU SEEK MAY BEAR LITTLE RESEMBLENCE TO THE TRUTH YOU DESIRE. DO YOU WISH TO SEE?
“See what?”
SEE WHAT WAS, WHAT IS, AND WHAT WILL BE.
“How can I know that anything you’re telling me is the truth?” the Hunter asked. “You’re nothing more than a voice in my mind, but how do I know you’re real? You could be just my imagination, or an Abiarazi trick.” It was a feeble resistance, he knew, in the face of a god.
I AM AS REAL AS YOU ARE. AS REAL AS THE GROUND BENEATH YOUR FEET.
With those words, sensation returned to the Hunter’s limbs. The empty void hid any ground from view, but he could feel his feet resting on solid stone.
AS REAL AS THE BLOOD THAT PUMPS IN YOUR VEINS.
The thump, thump of his heartbeat echoed in the Hunter’s ears.
AS REAL AS WHAT YOU FEEL FOR YOUR WIFE AND CHILD.
“Get out of my head!” the Hunter snarled. “If you want to tell me something, do it properly, face to face, man to man.”
Thunder rumbled in the Hunter’s mind with enough force to set his head pounding. He cried out in pain, but he realized the god wasn’t angry, but laughing.
EVEN AFTER ALL THESE YEARS, the voice said, YOU HAVE NOT CHANGED.
Suddenly, light flared around the Hunter, and the world filled with color and life. He gasped as he took in his surroundings. Somehow, impossibly, he hovered high in the sky, with the clouds beneath his feet and solid ground far, so terribly far below.
A figure appeared beside him. Tall, stately, the creature had pale grey skin, a sloped forehead, oddly long skull, and a near-flat nose. Sharp canines protruded from its mouth, but it had a far less bestial appearance than the Stone Guardians outside Enarium. Indeed, it bore a strong resemblance to a human, though with two joints in its elbows, knees, and fingers. Intelligence glittered in the violet eyes it fixed on him.
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