Darkblade Guardian

by Andy Peloquin

  Not a very brave man, our Baronet. Then again, anyone who’d give into blackmail wouldn’t exactly be a stalwart.

  The Hunter stepped toward the cabinet and pulled open the drawer. Within lay a dagger, plain and practical except for the ornate pommel: a silver skull with two rubies set into the eye sockets.

  “This?” He lifted the dagger and turned to Baronet Wyvern.

  The nobleman recoiled at the sight of bared steel. “Yes!”

  The Hunter strode back to stand in front of the man, his long fingers toying with the dagger. “And what does it mean?”

  “A warning from the Night Guild,” Baronet Wyvern said, terror in his voice. “It marks me for death unless I do what they ask.”

  The Hunter cocked his head. “And what exactly do they ask?”

  “Gold, primarily.” Baronet Wyvern wiped sweat from the side of his face and touched two fingers to a small nick beneath his jawbone. “Information. Anything they want. And I have no choice but to give it to them, or else.”

  The Hunter bared his teeth in a snarl. “Your actions with Lady Riandra got you into this mess.” He had no idea what the Baronet had done, but his words had the desired effect.

  Baronet Wyvern had the good sense to look ashamed. “And I’ve regretted her death—accidental, mind you—every day since. But that was through no fault of my own! She chose to overdose; I was simply the one unfortunate enough to supply her.” Panic welled in his eyes. “But I would never kill a child!”

  The Hunter remained silent for a long moment, his gaze locked on the Baronet’s face. Yes, the man was too much of a coward to be the one murdering Bluejackets or any other children. That sort of cruelty took a far harder-stomached man than the craven before him.

  “So be it.” He nodded. “Consider yourself fortunate to see another sunrise, Baronet.”

  “Y-You’re not going to kill me?” The man’s eyes flew wide. “But I thought…” He trailed off, as if worried he might somehow change the Hunter’s mind. “Who are you?”

  The Hunter flashed him a cruel grin. “Pray to whatever god you worship that you never need to find out.”

  Before the nobleman could react, he drove his fist into Baronet Wyvern’s face. The man sagged in his chair, unconscious.

  Sleep well, my lord. He’d awake with a vicious headache, but he had gotten off easier than most of those that found themselves facing the Hunter in a darkened room.

  The Hunter stalked from the Baronet’s chamber, down the hall, and out onto the third-story balcony. It took him less than five minutes to clamber down the stone wall, slip past the barely-awake guards patrolling the mansion’s perimeter, and glide through the Baronet’s tree-shadowed estate toward the wall.

  His mind worked as he climbed over the wall and dropped into the darkness of The Gardens. His path led back in the direction of the Night Guild, apparently. If he could find out who had hired the Bluejacket to deliver the message to Baronet Wyvern, he could retrace the boy’s route and possibly find the location where he’d been snatched. From there, he might be able to follow the demon’s scent—there was no doubt in his mind that the demon worked with or led the group of murderers he’d found in the sewer tunnels—back to their lair. It was a slim hope, but right now, he had nothing else to go on.

  Graeme’s reports on Praamis had been sparse, to say the least. The fat alchemist, a member of the information-collecting Hidden Circle, had only known of three murders, but that strange symbol and the plaster head casement had connected two of them. He’d come to Praamis expecting to find more deaths that would point him in the direction of the Abiarazi he hunted. His hopes had proven true, though his gut twisted at the knowledge that children had had to die to set him down the right path.

  But no more. The murders end here and now.

  Empty words unless backed by actions, he knew. Until he actually located the killers, they would continue to operate with impunity. Their need for sleep, food, and drink would slow them down, but even he couldn’t go for days without rest—or without using Soulhunger to replenish his energy. When the dagger consumed a life, it flooded him with power and vitality, pushing away all need for mortal sustenance. He would find the murderers and feed them to Soulhunger.

  His next move would be an oblique step in the right direction. The Night Guild would answer his questions about the note’s origin, and in doing so, help him hunt down the murderers. His confrontation in the sewers made him believe his goals could align with theirs—they wanted to find the killers just as he did, for their very existence depended on it. Perhaps, if their Guild Master was a rational person, he may be able to enlist their aid, or at least utilize their resources.

  To do that, he’d have to locate their secret lair. That promised to be easier said than done. But he was the Hunter of Voramis. He’d tracked bandits across a desert, hunted a demon through the Empty Mountains.

  How hard could it be to find a den of thieves in a city like Praamis?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Ilanna stood silent and solemn in Journeyman Rilmine’s charnel room as the next body was brought in. Two Bloodbears carried the canvas-wrapped bundle—a tiny thing against their massive frames—and set it gently onto the iron table. Something within gave a heavy thunk as it hit the table. The sound drove a dagger of sorrow into Ilanna’s gut.

  “Thank you.” She dismissed the Bloodbears with a nod.

  A hand slipped into hers, and she turned to find Ria standing beside her. Ria’s eyes reflected her own sorrow at the latest discovery, the woman’s strength bolstering Ilanna’s own.

  Gritting her teeth, Ilanna turned to Rilmine. “Open it,” she said in a quiet voice.

  “Of courssse, Guild Massster.” Rilmine set about removing the canvas, his long, pale fingers tugging at the thick material with an almost tender gentleness. When he stepped back a few moments later, Ilanna’s gut tightened at the sight.

  A child, wearing nothing but filthy undergarments. The murderer had stripped away any clothing that could indicate who the child was. A thick mask of smooth, featureless plaster encased the child’s head and made it impossible to tell the body’s gender.

  “Remove the plaster,” Ilanna ordered.

  Journeyman Rilmine sucked in a whistling breath. “It will take time.”

  “Do it.” Ilanna fixed him with a cold glare. “I will wait.”

  “Asss you wish.” Rilmine reached for a thin saw—long and thin, with close-set steel teeth—and set to work on the plaster mask. The rasping sound echoed in the chamber and grated on Ilanna’s nerves. She remained silent, her fingers locked in Ria’s grip, her eyes fixed on the horrible symbol etched into the child’s chest.

  Once again, the wounds held little blood, indicating they’d been carved after death. In a way, that felt even more horrible. Desecrating corpses was a ghoulish act, and it filled Ilanna with a cold rage. When she found the people responsible, she would carve a dozen such marks into their bodies—but she’d make sure they lived long enough to feel the agony. They deserved no less.

  Time passed at a crawl as Journeyman Rilmine worked at the plaster mask, but Ilanna forced herself to remain unmoving, unspeaking. She didn’t know if the child had family to mourn their passing; she would bear silent vigil for the departed.

  Finally, Journeyman Rilmine lowered the white dust-covered saw and stepped back. “Would you do the honorsss, Guild Massster?”

  “There is no honor in this, Rilmine.” Acid burned at the back of Ilanna’s throat. “Such things should never be permitted to happen in our city.”

  The spectral Journeyman ducked his pale, hairless head. “Of courssse, Massster Gold.”

  Ilanna moved to stand beside the body and placed her hands on either side of the cut plaster mask. Taking a deep breath, she removed one half to reveal the child’s face.

  A boyish face, five or six years of age—just a little older than Kodyn had been when he came to live in the Night Guild with her. A lump rose into Ilanna’s throat as she s
tared down at the waxy features: chubby cheeks that had once doubtless held the blush of life, a small nose, full lips that could have stretched into a broad smile. The boy’s eyes had been closed, and specks of plaster marred his pale, freckled skin. Seven round marks had been burned into his skin—the same mark they’d found on Arashi, the dead Fox apprentice.

  Ilanna drew in a sharp breath, and the plaster cracked beneath the force of her vise grip. Even when Ria placed a calming hand on Ilanna’s shoulder, it took every shred of self-control not to hurl away the mask in her rage or to empty the contents of her stomach in disgust.

  She spoke without tearing her eyes from the body. “Can you tell me anything about how he died?”

  “Thisss wasss the caussse of death.” Journeyman Rilmine pointed to a deeper mark on the boy’s chest. “I also found it on Arashi on clossser inssspection.”

  Ilanna frowned as she studied the wound Rilmine indicated. It looked like all the others, but as she got a better look, she realized it wasn’t just skin deep. A long blade—likely a dagger, judging by the width of the stab wound—had been driven through the child’s chest, between his ribs, and into his heart.

  “Asss with the other body,” the ghoulish Rilmine said, “the killer ended it with a quick thrussst to the heart.”

  “And the poison?” Ilanna demanded, now turning to stare at the strange-looking Scorpion. “Can you tell if they used Night Petal on him?”

  “Until I open him and check hisss heart, I cannot tell,” Journeyman Rilmine said. “But I predict that we will find the same poissson.”

  Ilanna’s gut clenched. “Poisoned, yet finished with a thrust to the heart?” Her brow furrowed. “Why would the killer waste their effort when one or the other would suffice?”

  “I cannot ssspeak to that.” Journeyman Rilmine held up his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Perhapsss they sought to put an end to the child’sss sssuffering. Night Petal isss a cruel poissson, I am told. It emptiesss the gut, the bladder, even the ssstomach. One by one, the organsss shut down until the body sssimply cannot function. Yet death isss the resssult of dehydration, a ssslow, cruel way to die.”

  “A killer with a conscience?” Ilanna snorted. “That sounds highly unlikely.”

  “Agreed.” Journeyman Rilmine nodded. “Yet you asssked, ssso I gave an anssswer.”

  “Yes, so you did.” Ilanna drew in a long breath. “Do you have any idea what would make these burn marks?” She pointed to the child’s forehead. “Red-hot metal? Acid?”

  “I believe it isss the work of metal,” Rilmine said. “Acccid would make it more difficult to contain the damage to the ssskin.”

  The answer added to the churning in Ilanna’s gut. “But after the child was dead, right?”

  “Yesss.”

  There was that mercy, at least. If the killer had ended the child’s life with a dagger thrust to the heart, at least he wouldn’t have suffered too badly.

  It is a sad day when a quick death is considered a mercy.

  “If you will permit me to undertake my examination of the body, I may find information of more ussse.” Journeyman Rilmine held up a warning hand. “Though I cannot promissse anything. The dead offer only few anssswersss.”

  “Anything is better than what we’ve got now.” Ilanna’s voice was as hard and cold as the ball of ice forming in her gut. “Find out who’s killing these children, Rilmine. Even the slightest hint could point us in the right direction.”

  “Of courssse, Guild Massster.” Rilmine bowed.

  Ilanna strode from the room and stalked down the tunnel toward Master Scorpion’s chambers.

  Ria hurried along beside her. “You can’t wake Tyman right now, Ilanna. He’s old, he needs his rest.”

  “And I need to know what his Scorpions are doing about finding the Watcher-damned Night Petal poison that’s killing these children!” Ilanna’s furious shout echoed down the hard-packed earth corridor.

  “You know Tyman, Ilanna.” Ria spoke in a soothing voice, which only added to Ilanna’s anger. “You know that he’ll send word the moment he finds anything. If you haven’t heard from him, it means there’s nothing to hear. The best thing you can do right now is—”

  Ilanna rounded on Ria, eyes blazing. “Don’t you dare say wait!” Her voice cracked like a whip. “I’m sick of waiting, sick of watching the bodies pile up. You know what’s going to happen if we don’t put a stop to this, Ria! How can you tell me to sit by and do nothing?”

  “Because I know you, Ilanna.” Ria didn’t back down from Ilanna’s anger—she never had—but met it with calm. “I know that once you head down the warpath, there’s no way to stop you. You get so focused on dealing with one problem that you don’t think about all the damage, pain, and chaos you cause.”

  “So this is my fault?” Ilanna snapped. “I’m the problem here?”

  “No, of course not.” Ria shook her head. “But you’re not a Journeyman anymore, not just one more Hawk running the rooftops. You’re the Guild Master, responsible for every man, woman, and child in the tunnels.”

  “Thank you for that reminder!” Ilanna clenched her fists. “And you know what will happen to all those men, women, and children if Duke Phonnis has his way. If I don’t deal with this soon, the Duke is coming for us!”

  “Which is why you need to be calm, to think rationally rather than letting your anger get the best of you.” Ria gripped Ilanna’s shoulders in her strong hands. “There are few people in Praamis that can match your wits and cunning when you are calm, your head clear. That’s when you’re at your best—and that’s how we need you to be. You, Master of the Night Guild, need to think beyond what you’re feeling right now.”

  Ilanna’s jaw clenched. She hated to admit it, but Ria was right. Right now, she felt like drawing her sword and hacking her way through Praamis until she found the murderer. But that would only give Duke Phonnis more ammunition to use against her and the Night Guild.

  She drew in a deep breath, blew it out, then took another.

  “Good.” Ria’s soothing tone no longer irritated her, but helped to dim the fires of anger burning in her gut. “Focus, Ilanna. Think about our next step. We know the killer is using Night Petal, but until Tyman finds the source of the poison, we’re not going to find out who bought it. We know Chantelle left The Gilded Chateau to visit Baronet Wyvern, but we know he didn’t kill her. And the Hunter of Voramis is in the city, but he’s not responsible for the deaths. What comes next? What do those bodies tell you?”

  Ilanna frowned, deep in thought. She started walking—she always thought best when on the move—leaving House Scorpion and moving through the Night Guild tunnels. Ria strode along beside her, hovering, protective, yet allowing her to think.

  “The second child, the one brought in after Arashi,” Ilanna said finally, “what do we know about him?”

  “According to what I’ve heard, he was one of Lady Chasteyn’s Bluejackets.”

  Ilanna stopped and rounded on Ria. “What?”

  The Ghandian nodded. “The Hounds who collected the body said one of the guards mentioned the boy belonging to the House of Mercy, but Lady Chasteyn hadn’t come around to claim his body for burial.”

  Ilanna frowned. “Lady Chasteyn’s Bluejackets?”

  Her mind flashed back to the noblewoman she’d met at the party earlier that evening. From what she’d heard, the noblewoman was renowned for her charitable efforts in the city. But she definitely didn’t look like she was mourning the loss of one of her children. Did she not know? It was possible that she’d been so consumed with the preparations for the celebration that she hadn’t received the news. Or did she just not care?

  But only one of the bodies had been a Bluejacket. The rest had seemed random: a Fox apprentice, Chantelle the courtesan, a riverside dock worker, and a pair of day laborers.

  Why would anyone want them dead? In her experience, people only killed for a select few reasons. Vengeance, a desire she was intimately familiar with. Jealo
usy and obsession. Greed. Power.

  Some of them made sense for some of the victims, but no motive fit them all.

  If they wanted to kill children, why kill the men? If the men had been their targets, why go after Chantelle? If someone had killed Chantelle out of jealousy, why had they killed children? If someone killed the Fox apprentice to gain power and leverage against the Night Guild, why would they stoop to murdering orphans?

  It just doesn’t add up. Fatigue and anxiety muddled her head, but she forced herself to keep thinking on the problem.

  Some killed to send a message—the gods knew the Night Guild had dropped enough bodies for the purpose of making a statement. So what if the murderer intended to make a statement of some sort? He could choose victims at random because the message wouldn’t be who he killed, but how.

  More than that, she realized. What he did to the bodies after their deaths!

  It came down to that symbol. It had only been present on some of the bodies—the Bluejacket, the Fox apprentice, and the latest victim among them—but that was the only thing to connect the victims. The symbols were meant as a message.

  But what in the bloody hell good is that message if no one can read it?

  She quickly explained her train of thought to Ria, and the Ghandian woman nodded. “Maybe Darreth has found something out about that symbol.”

  “Let’s go.” Ilanna picked up her pace and hurried down the tunnels that led to her office. If anyone could winkle out the meaning of that symbol, it would be Darreth. He’d been the one to discover Lord Torath’s role in the trafficking of innocent girls and Bonedust through Praamis—all thanks to a crude symbol painted onto the barrels of drugs.

  She was less than fifty paces from her office when a commotion in the nearby corridors drew her attention. Serpents, Hounds, and Bloodbears raced down an adjoining passageway, and their furious shouts echoed off the packed earth walls.

  Ilanna hurried toward the corridor and caught sight of Shaw, Master of House Hound. “What’s going on?” she demanded

  “The Hunter of Voramis!” A hint of fear cracked Shaw’s usually calm demeanor. “He’s come for us!”