Darkblade Guardian

by Andy Peloquin

  At this intersection, the stink of sewage grew strong enough to drown out the milder scents that marked the humans; only the smell of ancient rot and decay stood out above the foul aromas drifting up from the waste matter slithering past his feet. The sight of the sewage surging through the perpendicular tunnels made the decision for him: he’d follow the dry passage straight ahead.

  The scent of demon grew stronger as he left the sewage behind, though the thick reek desensitized his nostrils to the point that he couldn’t pick up the smells of the humans he hunted. But his heart leapt as he found more footprints in the dust ahead.

  The hooded men had discarded the child’s body, then returned to the sewers. The only explanation that made any sense was that the tunnels beneath Praamis provided them a way to travel around the city unseen, camouflaging their movements. If that was the case, he’d find only empty corridors ahead.

  A new smell filtered through the stink of sewage. Incense. The thick, heavy odor was too sweet to be pleasant, marking it the sort of incense burned in the temples—the Hall of the Cruori, home to the Bloody Minstrel, or The Sanctuary, where the healers of the Bright Lady plied their arts—to mask the reek of rotting flesh, disease, and death.

  Priests? The thought twisted the Hunter’s stomach. He’d encountered horrible things done in the name of the gods during his years as an assassin. Men, women, even children beaten, abused, and killed in all manner of rituals.

  Five paces ahead, the Hunter saw the tunnel widen into a larger space. The smell of incense was thick enough to drown out the demon’s stink, and the too-sweet stench made him gag. The moment he stepped into the chamber, he knew he’d found his killers.

  Or, more accurately, his killers’ lair.

  A human hand had scrawled that strange Serenii symbol onto all four walls of the wide-open space—scrawled it in blood. As he approached, his nostrils filled with the metallic tang of dried blood. Somehow, the incense served not to cover the stink, but to enhance it. The two smells joined together in a malodorous bouquet that revolted him but to a demon, it would be pure delight.

  No doubt about it. The demon is leading these killers.

  He held the lamp high to get a better look at the room. The dust had been disturbed by dozens of booted feet, mixed with rust-colored droplets of dried blood and gobs of what looked like brown candle wax. Four perfectly round clear spots in the dust spoke of table legs—doubtless the surface where they’d laid their victims for whatever foul ritual they carried out.

  A pile of clothing discarded on one side of the room caught the Hunter’s eye. He crouched over the clothes, his stomach twisting as he found a pair of Bluejacket pants mingled with robes belonging to at least five different men, women, and children. Hideous patches of blood, vomit, and ordure stained the fabric.

  Yet, aside from those few details, the chamber stood empty. The killers had to have abandoned their lair. Why, he didn’t know, but from the footprints that tracked through the dust in the room, they went through the chamber and into the tunnel beyond.

  If this was where they killed the boy, they won’t be coming back.

  He growled in frustration and drove a fist into the stone wall, shattering stone. So close to finding the demon and the murderers—working together, it seemed—only to come away empty-handed.

  Shoving down his anger, the Hunter forced himself to think. What now?

  The Night Guild could be coming for him, ignoring his warning and following him down the tunnel to have their vengeance for the death of their assassin. He needed to leave this place before they caught up to him.

  But what of the murderers? His only hope lay in continuing along the tunnel. If luck was with him, he’d find another clue to their whereabouts. He didn’t want to think about what he’d do if his search came up empty.

  He followed the footsteps into the tunnel beyond, passing another intersection and finally reaching a second metal door. He lifted the latch and, finding it unlocked, shouldered it open.

  Just as he stepped into the sludge-filled sewer, the glass globe in his hand began to flicker, the illumination slowing fading away until he stood alone in the darkness.

  Keeper take it! The scent of demon had dried up, and his nostrils found nothing but the stink of sewage. The filthy water running along the tunnel floor had washed away any footprints, any signs of passage. Even if it hadn’t, he had no light to see and no idea which way to go to find the murderers.

  Bloody hell, or which way to go to get out of here.

  His gut clenched. The last thing he wanted to do was spend hours roaming around these sewer tunnels searching for a way out.

  Closing his eyes, he pulled open the metal door and stood in the aperture. He remained still for a long moment, until he felt a thread of air caress his face.

  Yes! His heart leapt. That wisp of a breeze had to come from outside, so he had only to follow it to find the way out. With renewed determination, he focused on the sensation of the air washing over his skin.

  It came from off to his left, so that was the direction he went. He reached an intersection a few hundred paces down the tunnel. After a moment of patience, he felt the current of air pulling him to the right.

  Five gut-wrenching minutes later, he caught sight of a single faint beam of light ahead. Relief surged within him as he reached the sliver of moonlight leaking through a sewer grate. He wrenched the grate aside and scrambled out of the tunnel.

  He sucked in a deep breath of sewage-free air and found he’d had never tasted anything so fresh and clean. The stink followed him as he hurried down the alley, wafting up from the muck coating his boots and trouser legs. But he didn’t mind, simply basked in the feel of the cool night wind on his face and the freedom of being above ground.

  He almost clambered up to the rooftops, but instinct warned him to avoid it. Doubtless the Night Guild ruled the heights, and they’d be searching for him there. He had no more time to waste crossing blades with assassins, thugs, and thieves. He had murderers to find.

  Again, how the bloody hell do I do that?

  The hooded men had left the sewers this way, he guessed, but there had to be dozens, even hundreds, of ways to access the underground network of tunnels. He could lay in wait for them on the off-chance that they’d return this way, but chances were slimmer than a starving man crossing the Advanat Desert.

  He paused in the shadow of an alleyway and leaned against a wall as he pondered his next step.

  He’d gotten lucky finding the hooded men, but he couldn’t count on that good fortune twice. His encounter with the two assassins made him rethink the Night Guild’s complicity. He still hadn’t written them off as innocent, but until he found evidence to prove otherwise, the Night Guild had no reason to want either child dead. If they had been the source of the blackmail message, the child’s death would only raise suspicion about their dealings with Baronet Wyvern.

  It seems all roads lead in the same direction.

  Baronet Wyvern might be the victim of blackmail, but he’d certainly have a suspicion who’d want to use the leverage against him. Right now, that was the best clue the Hunter had.

  Perhaps it’s time to pay another visit to Baronet Wyvern.

  The Hunter knew he’d find the man at Lord and Lady Chasteyn’s soiree, but right now, he was in no mood to endure the primping and preening required to don the Lord Anglion disguise. He always felt more comfortable in his dark work clothes than the stuffy, garish garments of the nobleman.

  He will talk to me, one way or another. He grinned and patted Soulhunger’s hilt. His dagger loosened tongues far better than even the strongest drink.

  One whiff of the smell drifting up from the sewage clinging to his boots made his gut clench. He glanced up at the stars. Definitely time enough for a quick bath.

  Midnight wasn’t far off, but if Baronet Wyvern was at the Chasteyns’ soiree, he wouldn’t head home until the early hours of the morning.

  And when he returns, he will find his
worst nightmare waiting for him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Baronet Wyvern’s brain took a long moment to register the threat. When it finally sank in, his face contorted into a mask of rage. “Why, you little bi—”

  Ilanna didn’t let him finish his insult. She drove her knee into the man’s groin and slammed the edge of her hand into his throat. Not hard enough to kill him—he wouldn’t get off that easily—but enough to shut him up and drop him to his knees.

  “Manners never were your strong suit, Baronet.” Ilanna looked down at the choking, moaning man before her. “Young Lady Riandra’s blood is on your hands, Baronet Wyvern!”

  The baronet’s eyes went wide. “L-Lady Riandra?” Now, his face turned a shade paler. “You…you’re…Night Guild!”

  “We are.” Ilanna bent to place her face close to his. “And my master is not pleased with you.”

  “I swear, I fully intended to make the payments,” Baronet Wyvern protested.

  “Were it only about keeping your secrets, perhaps the Guild Master might see clear to overlooking your transgressions.” Ilanna dropped her voice to a low, cold whisper. “But thanks to you, Chantelle is dead.”

  “Dead?” The word burst from Baronet Wyvern’s lips in a gasp. “I thought she’d fled the city or been moved to another brothel. But dead? How?”

  Ilanna narrowed her eyes. The nobleman’s surprise appeared genuine. He’s not smart enough to pull off any serious deception.

  “Her body was discovered in an alleyway, discarded like soiled clothing.” Ilanna’s jaw muscles worked. “But what the Guild Master found most curious was that she was found outside The Gilded Chateau in the first place. Curious, indeed.” The tone of her voice left no doubt that she knew precisely what drew Chantelle away.

  Baronet Wyvern caught her meaning, and his face paled. “Y-You know about Chantelle and me?”

  Ilanna nodded. “Nothing remains secret in Praamis. But you should know that better than anyone.”

  A hint of color tinged the Baronet’s cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “Then the fault lies not with me. If you knew she was coming here on the sly and you did not stop it, her death is on your head.”

  Ilanna slapped him, hard, a resounding blow with all the strength of her shoulder and arm. The impact knocked the Baronet backward to his knees. Before he could recover, Ilanna pounced atop him, the force of her weight driving him flat onto his back.

  “If you value your tongue,” Ilanna snarled, “you will learn to control it.” She drove her knee harder into his chest, and the Baronet coughed from the pressure on his solar plexus. “Chantelle’s blood is on your hands.”

  “She was…alive when she…left me…that night!” Baronet Wyvern gasped.

  Ilanna growled and leaned all her weight onto the knee. “And you expect me to believe you had nothing to do with her death? To send a message to the Night Guild that you would not give in to our demands?”

  “What?” Confusion twisted the Baronet’s face. “No…I swear! “Apprentice’s truth, you can check my coat and find a withdrawal slip to pull a sizeable sum from my account at the Coin Counter’s Temple. More than enough to make this go away! I would never harm Chantelle.” Something akin to genuine sorrow filled his eyes. “I…loved her.”

  “And what of the Hunter?” Ilanna demanded. “How much did you pay him to bring down the Night Guild?”

  “The Hunter?” The Baronet’s confusion turned to genuine bewilderment. “Of Voramis?”

  “He killed one of my men less than five hours ago.” Ilanna pushed the dagger’s edge into his thick-muscled neck hard enough to draw blood. “You expect me to believe that did not happen because you hired him to come after us?”

  “The Hunter?” Again, the dumbfounded amazement, mingled with shame. “I…could not…afford his services!”

  Ilanna pondered the nobleman’s words, then let up the tension on her dagger and climbed to her feet. Baronet Wyvern let out a gasp, drawing in a deep breath, and moaned as he rubbed the cut on his neck and the bruise forming on his chest.

  “The Night Guild will be watching you, Baronet Wyvern.” She fixed him with a hard gaze. “Even the slightest hint that you played a role in Chantelle’s death or the Hunter’s presence in Praamis, and you can expect a less friendly visit from us.”

  Baronet Wyvern gulped but nodded.

  Ilanna turned to go, but paused in the doorway and cast a glance over her shoulder. “And the price of our silence on the matter of Lady Riandra just doubled.”

  “Doubled?” Baronet Wyvern’s voice rose in a panicked shout. “But that will ruin me!”

  “Then perhaps it’s time you stop wasting so much coin on drink and drugs and find a way to put your inherited wealth to profitable use.” Ilanna gave him a syrupy sweet smile. “After all, your continued prosperity is of the utmost importance to the Night Guild. We will be coming to collect, Baronet. Until then.”

  She swept him a mocking curtsy, then turned and strode from the room.

  A moment later, Aisha slipped out from the shadows of an adjoining corridor. “You believe him?”

  “I do.” Ilanna nodded. “About Chantelle, I can’t be certain, but what he said about the Hunter being too pricey, that had the ring of truth.”

  She’d spent a small fortune contracting the Hunter to eliminate Lord Damuria, the Voramian nobleman responsible for coordinating the Bloody Hand’s trafficking operations in Praamis. It had been coin well-spent, but a far larger sum than even she had expected.

  Darreth had used his bookkeeping magic to dive into the Baronet’s wealth—something the Night Guild did with every nobleman they intended to blackmail—and had returned less than impressed. The Hunter had charged an exorbitant rate to kill Lord Damuria, so she could only imagine how much he’d demand to eliminate the Night Guild.

  Yet another dead end. Her frustration grew with every step.

  “Aisha, get a couple of Hounds to trace every route Chantelle would have taken to return to The Gilded Chateau.”

  “You want them searching for anything out of the ordinary?” Aisha asked. “Anything that could hint at Chantelle’s killer.”

  Ilanna nodded. As clever as Ria says, it seems.

  “It’s been nearly a week since she went missing, but maybe they’ll find a hint of something that would explain why Chantelle was killed.”

  “Yes, Master Gold.”

  Despite her acquiescence, Aisha made no move to leave. Ilanna felt the girl’s hesitation. “What is it?”

  “Ria entrusted me with your protection.” Aisha’s voice was stubborn, determined. “She told me I was not to leave your side under any circumstances.”

  Ilanna ground her teeth. “Remember who you’re talking to, Aisha. She may be your House Master, but I am Master of the Night Guild.”

  “You are, but I have my orders.” Aisha’s voice held a note of humor. “And you know how displeased Master Phoenix will be if I disobey and something should happen to you.”

  “Nothing will—”

  “I’m certain Chantelle thought the same.” Aisha’s quiet tone spoke volumes. She respected Ilanna as much as everyone else in the Night Guild—perhaps even feared her a little, given her attraction to Kodyn—but that wouldn’t stop her from following Ria’s orders. She’d weather Ilanna’s anger rather than fail to do her job.

  Interesting. Ilanna’s lip twitched upward into a smile. I can see why Ria likes her.

  That didn’t stop Ilanna from feeling a hint of frustration at the girl’s stubbornness. She needed the Hounds to get on Chantelle’s trail as soon as possible, but if Aisha wouldn’t leave her…

  “Then we return to the Night Guild together,” Ilanna said as they entered the ballroom where the party was in full swing. “Let me say farewell to our hosts and Lord Beritane, and we’ll be on our way.”

  “Of course, Master Gold.” Aisha nodded. She hung back just far enough to stay within protective range without appearing to intrude on Ilanna’s c
onversation with the nobleman.

  Lord Gileon Beritane seemed all-too relieved to see her go, though he put up an admirable showing of appearing disappointed at her departure.

  She cast one last glance over her shoulder before leaving. She hated these events, more for the people than the ambience. Here, people hid daggers in their words and concealed hatred behind polite smiles. At least on the streets, she knew where the threat was coming from.

  Good riddance to the lot of them. If she had her way, she’d never return to one of these events again.

  * * *

  Ilanna sighed in relief as she strode through the Guild tunnels. She’d ordered Lord Beritane’s carriage to drop her off at The Grey Stallion, a Guild-subsidized inn and tavern, and had gleefully abandoned that monstrous dress for the comfort of her dark grey Hawk’s clothing and soft-soled boots. An open upper-floor window provided easy access to a hidden rope ladder, which led onto the Hawk’s Highway.

  Her trip across Praamis had taken less than twenty minutes, and Aisha had surprised her by keeping pace as they raced over the rooftops and clambered down the Perch. The moment they left House Hawk, Aisha peeled off down a side tunnel in the direction of House Hound to carry out Ilanna’s orders.

  Ilanna had spent the return trip puzzling over Baronet Wyvern’s words—the latest in a string of apparently useless clues. She still had no idea who was behind the murders in the city, or why anyone would want Chantelle, Arashi, or the other child from Old Town Market dead.

  Darreth—who seemed to live behind his desk these days—stood at her approach. “You have visitors. Master Serpent.”

  With a nod for her aide, Ilanna hurried into her office. Errik, Master Serpent, lounged on one of her chairs, sharing a friendly drink with Ria. Both of them looked up as she entered, but neither bothered to stand.

  “Uh oh.” Ria’s smile turned into a frown. “I know that face.” She held out her goblet to Ilanna.