Darkblade Guardian

by Andy Peloquin

  Errik nodded. “That’s the one that says Ilanna didn’t get what she wanted.”

  Ilanna glared at the two of them, but accepted the goblet from Ria. She drained the chilled, fruit-forward icewine and stalked around her desk. “He swears he didn’t harm Chantelle. She was still alive when she left his place.

  “Damn!” Errik shook his head.

  Ria let loose a string of curses in her native Ghandian.

  Ilanna sat in her chair with a sigh. “And he insists he doesn’t have the coin to hire the Hunter.” She fixed Errik with a stern gaze. “You’re certain it’s him?”

  “Without a shadow of doubt.” Errik’s face hardened into an expressionless mask. “I spoke with Tassat.”

  “What?” Ilanna bolted upright in her armchair. “You spoke with him? He’s alive, after facing the Hunter?”

  Errik nodded. “All of them are. Halleck of the Foxes, both Hounds, even Journeyman Moraban of House Bloodbear. He took them down, but left them alive.”

  Ilanna’s eyes narrowed. What in the bloody hell? That makes no sense!

  If the Hunter had been hired to carve the Night Guild to pieces, why wouldn’t he kill Tassat or any of the others as he had Kindan?

  “What did he say?” Ilanna demanded. “Tell me everything Tassat told you.”

  “They found the Hunter in the sewers, over by the old brewsters’ access tunnels.”

  Ilanna arched a curious eyebrow. “What was he doing there?” Those passages—once used by the Night Guild to smuggle beer into Praamis during an era where all liquor had been outlawed by King Ohilmos’ great-grandfather—hadn’t been used in at least a decade. Not by the Night Guild, at least, and she knew of few others in the city that would risk incurring the Guild’s wrath by using their tunnels.

  “Not sure,” Errik said, “but when Tassat and the others confronted him, he seemed enraged by the accusations that he’d killed children. Indeed, he actually blamed us for the murders.”

  Both of Ilanna’s eyebrows shot up. “He thinks we killed our own apprentice?”

  Errik shrugged. “He didn’t seem to know about all the murders. He just spoke of children being killed, and that seemed to put him in a mood to kill.”

  “So why did he leave them alive?” Ria asked.

  “I don’t know.” Errik sipped from his goblet before continuing. “He told Tassat he wanted to speak with you, the Guild Master, and that if you answered his questions, no one in the Night Guild needed to die.”

  “He asked to speak to me?” Ilanna’s mouth pursed into a pensive frown. “He’s not exactly famous for his witty conversation. He’s more of the ‘stab first, ask questions when you’re dead’ type.”

  “I’m simply relaying what Tassat told me.” Errik drained the last of his wine, placed it on the table, and stood. “I’ve dug up every scrap of fact and fiction I could find about the Hunter—which isn’t much, mind you. If he wanted to kill us, he’d have carved through Tassat and the others to get at us. Bloody hell, Tassat said he took a guayoc-laced dagger to the kidneys and it barely slowed him.”

  Icy fingers of fear clutched at Ilanna’s heart. Impossible! No one should be able to survive guayoc—a poison derived from a particularly venomous frog that subsisted on an exclusive diet of poison strangler vines—much less a knife to the kidneys. Even if the dagger hadn’t severed the renal veins, the poison should have seeped into the Hunter’s bloodstream and killed him well enough. Yet Errik showed no sign of doubting Tassat’s words.

  How can we fight a man—no, not a man, a creature—like that?

  “But he didn’t want us dead, not after speaking to Tassat, at least.” Errik shrugged. “Might be he’s not the one we’re looking for.” A wry smile played at his lips. “Maybe we’re better off not pissing him off, says I.”

  Ilanna snorted. “If only someone had shared such wisdom earlier.”

  Errik nodded. “Good night, Ilanna. Ria.”

  “Be well, my friend,” Ria called after the Serpent’s retreating back. When the door closed behind Errik, Ria turned to Ilanna. “The Hunter of Voramis, eh? Errik’s never sounded afraid like that. Ever.”

  “Me either.” Ilanna shook her head. “What do you think about the rest? About the Hunter being the murderer?”

  “He’s a killer, no doubt about it,” Ria said. “But do I think he’s murdering children for the fun of it? No, that doesn’t sound like what I’ve heard about him.”

  Ilanna sighed. “I know.”

  The Hunter’s legend had spread from Voramis to all of southern Einan, and it had only grown since his brutal dismantling of the Bloody Hand. He was brutal, ruthless, and a force of death and destruction, but never a wanton murderer. He killed those he’d been hired to, only dropping additional bodies when necessary. If Baronet Wyvern hadn’t paid him to kill Kindan or the Fox apprentice, she couldn’t be certain he was behind the murders.

  But if not him, then who? Ilanna sipped at her wine and found it turning to vinegar in her belly. Another dead end, another frustrating setback. All she had to go on right now was the strange plaster masks and the symbols carved into the corpses’ chests.

  She slammed her goblet on the table and stood.

  “Where are you going?” Ria asked.

  “To find out about that damned symbol.” Ilanna stalked toward the door and tore it open. “Darreth!”

  Her aide leapt to his feet, at once fully alert and at her service. “Guild Master?”

  “Get to House Scorpion and see what you can find out about those strange symbols we found on the victims.”

  “This symbol?” Darreth held up a parchment depicting the rune-looking symbol she’d found carved into the dead victims’ chests.

  Ilanna nodded. “Yes.”

  “I’ve already got a few leads, though nothing concrete yet.” Darreth’s mouth drew into a frown. “It’s definitely ancient Serenii, but that’s as much as I’ve uncovered.”

  “Keep digging,” Ilanna said. “Once we know what that symbol means, it’ll give us a better idea who’s leaving them.”

  Darreth bowed. “Of course, Master Gold.”

  Ilanna stepped back into her office, worry roiling within her. The burden on her shoulders grew heavier with every new death.

  She pulled the door closed and turned—only to gasp, thoughts dashed. Ria was waiting, just visible through the door to their room, waiting with a smile on her face. No armor, tunic, or breeches. Clothed only in a tight wrap around her breasts and her panties, her athletic, toned body was on full display.

  “Even the Guild Master needs to rest,” Ria said in a husky voice. “I know you won’t listen to rational arguments to join me in bed, so I decided it was time to use less conventional means of getting you to heed.”

  Before Ilanna could protest, Ria crossed the room with the predatory grace that made her such a dangerous fighter. Ria’s fingers locked in her hair, her hips pressing against Ilanna’s. Pressed back against the door, Ilanna's thoughts drowned beneath a rising wave of desire.

  “I like these less conventional means,” Ilanna whispered when she came up for air. Lust burned within her, a need so raw that it still shook her, even after a decade together.

  Ria's kisses were confident, possessive, claiming Ilanna with her tongue, one hand on her hip, fingers of the other sliding into her hair. Ilanna moaned, but just as her arms slid up to embrace Ria’s strong shoulders, the woman stepped back, breaking the kiss with a roguish smile.

  Despite herself, Ilanna laughed. "You don't get to pick when to start and stop. I’m your Guild Master!"

  “Not in here you’re not.” Ria moved deeper into the bedroom. “In here, you’re just the woman I fell in love with all those years ago.”

  She held out a hand, and Ilanna came to her, heat burning through her body like a wildfire sparked by Ria’s beauty and the passion sparkling in her almond-colored eyes.

  Ria scooped her up with ease, Ilanna's legs wrapping around her waist.

  "Take me
to bed," said Ilanna, voice thick with desire.

  "As you command," said Ria, still smiling that insufferable smile. By the gods, her strength was amazing. Ilanna could drink in the definition of her arms alone forever.

  Her arms encircled Ria’s neck and pulled the woman down for another passionate kiss. All of Ilanna’s worries faded away in that moment, and she lost herself in the warmth of Ria’s embrace, the softness of the woman’s lips. The worries and cares of being Guild Master would wait outside the closed door—here, now, she was simply a woman in the embrace of one who loved her more than anything else in the world.

  Ria finally set her down, and Ilanna’s fingers made short work of the cloths encircling Ria’s body. She smiled in delight as her eyes roamed Ria’s well-muscled frame, her rounded shoulders, her firm breasts, and the soft swell of her hips. A warm flush seeped through Ilanna’s chest, down to her stomach, and still further downward at the sight of the beautiful, naked woman before her.

  “Don’t keep me waiting,” Ria commanded.

  Ilanna nearly tore off her simple tunic, trousers, and boots in her haste. Ria peeled off her underclothes slowly, tracing Ilanna’s body with gentle kisses, until the two of them stood naked and exposed to each other. With anyone else, Ilanna would have tried to dominate, to take control for fear of being vulnerable, but with Ria, it felt right. She trusted the woman with her life, her son, and her heart.

  Ilanna melted into the woman’s embrace and, for a few passionate, heart-pounding minutes, she could forget everything and simply be in the moment—more delicious, ecstatic moments than she’d ever believed possible.

  * * *

  Ilanna lay in Ria’s arms, enjoying the delicate scent of Ria’s hair—gardenias, her favorite perfume. She felt safe, warm, protected in the woman’s embrace. Here, nothing could harm her. The world could crumble outside her door, but Ria’s presence beside her made their little bastion of peace utterly impregnable.

  Yet, inevitably, her mind returned to the events of the day. Her efforts felt fruitless, but she couldn’t get too frustrated yet. Less than a day had elapsed since she started the hunt for the murderer. Duke Phonnis would be sharpening his knives and tying his hangman’s knots even now.

  Most disturbing of all was the discovery that the Hunter of Voramis had come to her city. Why, she didn’t know, but she worried what would happen when she found out. How many bodies would he leave? Doubtless Duke Phonnis would blame her for the inevitable deaths.

  But if she tried to stop the Hunter, how many of her people would die? Could she risk letting the Hunter run amok in Praamis if it saved the lives of the Serpents, Hounds, and Bloodbears she’d be forced to send after him?

  It felt like hours, but finally she came to a conclusion. As long as he isn’t the one killing the children, we leave him alone. No more of mine will die facing him if we don’t have to. She would weather Duke Phonnis’ displeasure for the sake of her people.

  The decision brought a bit of peace to her mind and, coupled with the warmth and strength of Ria’s presence, she managed to drift off into sleep.

  Yet it felt like seconds had passed before a hand shook her shoulder.

  She leapt to her feet, drawn dagger in hand. “What is it?” she demanded.

  Her eyes, bleary from lack of sleep, took long moments to focus on Darreth’s face. But she didn’t need to see his face to know that something terrible had happened—his tone and words said it all.

  “They’ve found another body, Master Gold. Another child.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The Hunter smiled as he caught sight of the carriage rattling up the long driveway of Baronet Wyvern’s mansion. Well, he’s home early. Perhaps the nobleman had overindulged himself, or found a companion interested in spending the night with one of Praamis’ nobility. Either way, he’s in for a pleasant surprise.

  One huge advantage to lush gardens was that they provided plenty of places for assassins and clever thieves to hide—a realization that no nobleman in Voramis or Praamis seemed to understand, given how much coin and effort they invested into marvelous hedges, ornamental trees, and thick shrubs. Beautiful to look at, certainly, but not ideal for security. The Hunter had made his living evading guards and using costly landscape features to get him in and out of his targets’ homes unseen.

  It had been a simple matter—almost insultingly so—to scale the wall surrounding Baronet Wyvern’s mansions, slip through the gardens, and scale the rough stone wall to the third-floor balcony. He hadn’t even needed to break a window or open a latch; few people thought to lock the windows on the third and fourth floors of a house, especially when they had walls to keep unwelcome guests out of their estate.

  Baronet Wyvern’s private offices and bedchamber exceeded the level of needless luxury the Hunter had expected. The four-posted bed seemed large enough for ten Baronets, and the stuffed goose down pillows were far too plush to make for a comfortable night of rest. In the ten minutes the Hunter had spent waiting, he’d enjoyed lounging in one of Baronet Wyvern’s stuffed armchairs accompanied by a drink of the rare and valuable Nyslian brandy he kept beside his bed. But now, with his target nearby, the Hunter stood from the chair and ducked behind the door. His dark grey cloak rendered him all but invisible in the shadows of the room. To Baronet Wyvern, it would appear as if he’d simply stepped out of thin air.

  He’d spent decades practicing the delicate art of terrifying the bloody hell out of targets and clients alike. The skill had come in handy far too many times to count. Besides, he couldn’t help enjoying the fear it instilled. The more terrified a target, the more vulnerable they proved, and thus easier for him to hunt down and pick off.

  The sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway and a moment later, Baronet Wyvern himself hurried into the room. The light of the lantern in his hand illuminated the nobleman’s pale, sweating face. He muttered to himself, well-intoxicated and visibly terrified.

  And I haven’t even introduced myself yet.

  “Good evening, Baronet Wyvern.” He spoke in a deep voice heavy with gravel and menace.

  The nobleman gave a little squeak and whirled around, holding his lantern high. The door hid the Hunter, but when Baronet Wyvern turned to scan the rest of the room, the Hunter shut the door and stepped out into the middle of the room. His timing was perfect. The Baronet swung back and found himself face to face with the Hunter.

  He gasped and dropped the lantern, but the Hunter caught it in a smooth motion. “Careful, my lord. I’d hate to think you were willing to burn this house to the ground to evade my questions.”

  “W-Who are you?” Baronet Wyvern’s voice shook and he swallowed hard. “I-I already spoke to—”

  The Hunter seized the man’s collar and hauled him forward. Off-balanced, the nobleman could only let out a terrified squawk, but the Hunter made no move to assault him. Instead, he pulled Baronet Wyvern until their faces were a finger’s breadth apart.

  “You speak to me, now.” His nostrils filled with the man’s unique scent: honey-enriched beeswax, talc, and ginger. “And I will have answers from you!”

  The Baronet’s eyes were wide, tinged with panic. The Hunter knew the effect his face would have—he’d chosen this particular disguise with care. It was a hard face, cheeks twisted by burns and knife scars, with a strong jaw, thin lips, and deep-set eyes. He’d used these features on many occasions during his years as the Hunter of Voramis.

  “W-What do you want from me?” The nobleman’s voice rose an octave higher. “Please!” He cried out and flinched as the Hunter reached into his cloak, but the Hunter drew no weapon. Instead, he pulled out the small scrap of paper he’d found clutched in the child’s hand.

  “This note is addressed to you. Who sent it?”

  Baronet Wyvern stared wide-eyed at the parchment, at the Hunter’s scarred face, then back at the paper. “N-Note?”

  The Hunter released his grip on the man’s collar and thrust the parchment into his chest hard enough to send
him staggering backward. The back of his knees struck the stuffed armchair and he collapsed into its plush embrace.

  Again, Baronet Wyvern gave a little whimper as the Hunter stalked after him. The Hunter lifted his boot and placed it onto the armchair, just between the nobleman’s legs.

  “Tell me who this came from,” he growled.

  The Baronet swallowed and reached out a shaking hand to take the note. His fingers trembled as he unfolded the parchment. After a moment of reading, he looked up at the Hunter. “Y-You sent this.”

  The Hunter shook his head. “I sent nothing.”

  “No, you. The Night Guild!” Baronet Wyvern’s eyes narrowed. “Are you not—?” His voice trailed off in confusion.

  The Hunter scowled. “The Night Guild is blackmailing you?”

  The nobleman nodded vigorously. “Y-Yes!” Confusion twisted his features. “But if you’re not the Night Guild, who are you?”

  “I ask the questions here.” He leaned forward to loom over the seated man. “Answer me this, Baronet Wyvern, why would a child be carrying this note?”

  “A-A child?” Again, the puzzled expression that bordered on sheer idiocy. “What child?”

  “A Bluejacket. One of Lady Chasteyn’s children.”

  “Oh.” Realization dawned on the man’s face. “Bluejackets. Child couriers and messengers, are they not?”

  The Hunter remained silent, simply fixed the nobleman with the hard-edged glare.

  “Er, right.” Baronet Wyvern swallowed, swallowed again, and wiped sweat from his forehead. “I don’t know why he would be carrying this note. The first time I received a threat from the Night Guild, it was accompanied by...” He made to reach for something, but stopped when the Hunter didn’t move. “In there.” His finger indicated a small wooden drawer in the cabinet beside his bed.

  The Hunter held up a warning finger. “Do anything stupid, and the pieces I carve from your body will never be found.”

  The nobleman blanched and bobbed his head vigorously. “O-Of course!”