Darkblade Guardian

by Andy Peloquin

  “I’m certain you didn’t come here to judge my décor.” Fear made Ilanna’s voice a bit harder, sharper than she intended. “You have questions. Spit them out, and we’ll see if I feel like answering them.”

  The Hunter leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers beneath his chin, that infuriating smile tugging at his lips. He remained silent for a long moment, doubtless enjoying the discomfort his reputation bred.

  Ilanna waited until he opened his mouth to speak, then cut in first. “You injured and killed my men.”

  “They attacked me,” the Hunter replied without hesitation. “Ask your assassin, I gave them a chance to walk away unharmed.”

  “You can understand why they might think twice about inviting you into our home,” Ilanna said. “You aren’t exactly known for your friendly visits.”

  “Neither are you.”

  Errik and Ria stiffened as the Hunter reached into his cloak, and the Serpent half-drew his sword.

  The Hunter paused, his smile growing as he moved slowly. Errik’s sword came all the way from its sheath as the assassin drew a dagger, but the Hunter simply placed the blade on the desk before her.

  Ilanna glanced down at the weapon, a skull-headed dagger with two ruby eyes. “Where did you get that?” she asked.

  “Baronet Wyvern was kind enough to show it to me.” The Hunter sat back, once again relaxed and at ease in his chair. “We had a chat about his…relationship with the Night Guild.”

  Ilanna shrugged. “You’d be surprised how many relationships we have. Not only here in Praamis, but in Voramis as well.”

  The Hunter cocked an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

  Ilanna sat back in her chair now, her posture matching his. “But you didn’t come here to exchange banter about who has friends in higher places. What do you really want?”

  “The truth.” The Hunter’s lips pressed into a tight line. “About Lady Chasteyn’s Bluejackets, and why the Night Guild uses them to do their dirty work.”

  “Dirty work?” Ilanna struggled to hide her confusion. “What dirty work?”

  “Blackmail.” The Hunter drew a scrap of parchment from his robes, again making Errik and Ria tense, and placed it on the desk before him.

  Ilanna picked up the parchment and scanned its contents. “Young Lady Riandra’s blood is on your hands, Baronet Wyvern,” it read. “What is it worth to keep her death a secret?”

  “You take offense at our methods of keeping the nobles of Praamis in line?” she asked as she folded the note.

  “No.” The Hunter shook his head. “But when the one hired to deliver that message turns up dead, murdered, then I begin to grow curious.” For the first time, a hint of emotion cracked his featureless expression: anger. Fire blazed in his eyes, a brown so dark they almost looked black. “So why did the child carrying that message end up lying in an alley in Old Town Market?”

  Ilanna’s gut clenched. Another body? No, she realized. They’d obtained the body collected by the Praamian Guards that morning, found in Old Town Market. Somehow, the Hunter had stumbled across the corpse.

  But why the hell does he care?

  The answer to that question could prove a very interesting one.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The Hunter fixed the Master of the Night Guild with a solemn expression. Thoughts of the dead child brought anger surging into his gut, but he forced himself to keep his temper under control.

  If I do or say anything wrong, those two guard dogs behind her will bite.

  He found the three people before him a fascinating study. He couldn’t deny the Guild Master’s beauty—dark hair that stood in sharp contrast to her pale Praamian skin, full lips, well-formed nose and cheekbones, and her unique scent of lilies, roses, and leather. Her strong shoulders, callused hands, and trim waistline spoke of an active life.

  Yet it had been her strength of will that intrigued him. She sat in her armchair with the relaxed poise of a gentlewoman at high tea, and her eyes showed not a trace of fear. She held herself and spoke with a calm self-assurance that reminded the Hunter of Kiara.

  The fact that she, a woman a full head shorter than him, ruled the Night Guild spoke volumes about her temperament and character. Her underlings deferred to her automatically. She hadn’t needed to shout her men down, but she’d given the command in a tone that expected obedience. And they had. Fifty men and women with bared weapons and murder in their eyes—mingled with a healthy dose of fear, of course—had heeded her command.

  Clearly she’s not the sort to be cowed into submission.

  And the way the two behind her hovered, clearly they cared about her. Both looked ready to throw themselves at the Hunter at a moment’s notice. Everything about the man—from his dark glare, wary eyes, tense posture, and grey clothing a match for the Hunter’s own—screamed assassin. Very likely a skilled one, given the way the rest of his kind deferred to him. He smelled of sword oil, wood, and musk, a manly scent that spoke of an affinity for violence.

  The third, the broad-shouldered woman with skin the color of Vothmot kaffe, was a mystery to him. Her unique scent of gardenias, crabapples, and fresh-cut grass intrigued him almost as much as her visible strength and ferocity. He’d heard tales of the warriors of distant Ghandia and Issai but never met one in battle. Judging by the way she crouched like a lioness over her cub, he wasn’t certain he’d want to.

  His gaze returned to the Guild Master. “You’ve yet to answer my question.”

  He hadn’t missed the slight narrowing of her eyes, the sharp intake of breath at his words. He’d caught her off-guard.

  To her credit, she recovered in an instant and shot back, “You think us somehow to blame for the child’s death?”

  The Hunter shrugged. “The thought had crossed my mind. After all, the reputation of the Night Guild is known far and wide. The things they do to children…”

  That elicited an interesting reaction from the woman before him. She stiffened, her features somehow growing more attractive as they hardened into a glare. “Your reputation isn’t one of peace and harmony, Hunter,” she fired back.

  The Hunter inclined his head. “On that, we can agree.”

  Inwardly, he grinned. She has fire this one. Watcher help whoever tries to tame her.

  “Permit me a moment, will you?” the Guild Master asked.

  The Hunter raised an eyebrow.

  The Guild Master ignored him and turned to the man beside her. “Errik, fetch Darreth for me.”

  The man, Errik, shook his head. “Not a damned chance. I’m not leaving you here with him.”

  “If he wanted me dead, Errik,” the Guild Master said, her tone patient, “I’ve no doubt I’d be speaking to the Long Keeper at this very moment.”

  The Hunter allowed his smile to show.

  Errik fixed the Hunter with a hard glare, then stalked around the desk toward the door. The Hunter never took his eyes from the Guild Master as the door opened, then closed a few seconds later.

  “You called, Master Gold?” came a new voice.

  The Hunter turned to find the bespectacled man from the desk outside standing as far away from him as possible. His face remained the same ashy pale color, and despite his attentiveness to the Guild Master, he shot nervous glances at the Hunter from the corner of his eye.

  “Tell me, Darreth, whose script is this?” Master Gold held out the note the Hunter had brought.

  The nervous man took the parchment from the Guild Master and scanned it for a few seconds. “Journeyman Entym’s, I believe.”

  “Have Entym sent here at once.” She spoke in a quiet voice, yet one that brooked no argument.

  “Of course, Master Gold.” The man gave the Guild Master a little bow, shot a nervous glance at the Hunter, and fled from the room.

  Master Gold leaned back in her chair. “If one of my Journeymen sent the note, perhaps they will be better-suited to give you the answers you seek. While we wait, perhaps you might tell me why it’s so important that you f
ind out the provenance of that blackmail note. After all, you yourself said you care little about how my Night Guild handles our business in Praamis.”

  “And I don’t.” The Hunter shook his head. “But when children end up dead in the streets, that’s when I start to care.”

  “Which is what I find most curious of all.” A smile played on the Guild Master’s lips as she leaned forward. “Why should you, legendary assassin of Voramis, care about one Praamian child? Unless you’ve been paid to hunt down his killer, of course. Though I find that highly implausible, given the body was first discovered this morning.”

  The Hunter remained silent as he pondered how to answer her question. He’d expected it and had prepared a lengthy lie, yet now, facing the Master of the Night Guild, he knew his deceit would hold less water than a shattered crystal goblet.

  He drew in a deep breath. “Would you believe me if I told you I had a soft spot for innocent children who have no one to defend them from the evils of this world?” It was true, but it sounded better spun into a lie—one someone like the Guild Master could believe.

  “An assassin with a heart of gold?” Master Gold chuckled. “Would you believe me if I told you we use the Bluejackets to run our messages as a way of helping the orphans?”

  The Hunter raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

  Master Gold spread her hands. “We are who we are, Hunter. We are an enterprise dedicated to profit, pure and simple. Yet on those occasions when it is possible, we do what we can to ensure coins find their way into the pockets of those who need it.”

  The Hunter couldn’t tell if she was lying or not—she would have made a superb actor, that much he knew.

  Just then, the door opened. The man who entered was short and round, nearly the perfect circle, with a bald head that sat like a ball of dough atop his pale, pasty body. His robes bore ink stains that matched the black smudges on his hands and face.

  “Y-You summoned me, Guild Master?” He wiped a beat of sweat from his sloping forehead.

  Master Gold held out the note. “Did you pen this?”

  The man, Entym, took the parchment and studied it. “I did.” His expression grew curious. “But I see no error in the lettering or the message. I thought it succinct enough for—”

  Master Gold raised a hand, and the man’s words stuttered to silence.

  “Did you hire a Bluejacket to deliver this to Baronet Wyvern?” Master Gold asked.

  “Yes.” The Journeyman bobbed his round head, which set his cheeks wobbling. “Was it not delivered?”

  “No,” the Hunter growled. “The boy carrying the message ended up dead.”

  Entym’s eyes widened. “By the Mistress! How terrible, truly terrible!”

  The Hunter stood and moved to loom over the pale-faced man. “Where did you give him the message?”

  Entym shrank back, his words an unintelligible jumble.

  “Journeyman!” Master Gold’s voice echoed loud in the room. “Speak plainly, and you have nothing to fear.”

  The man swallowed hard, collected himself, then tried again. “I-I handed it to the Bluejacket on the corner of the Path of Penitence, near the eastern edge of Vendor’s Block.”

  The Hunter pondered the man’s words. If the boy got the message in Vendor’s Block and was headed toward Baronet Wyvern’s mansion in The Gardens, how in the bloody hell did he end up in Old Town Market? The marketplace lay at least a quarter of the city’s width in the opposite direction. The risk of being spotted dragging the boy—alive or dead—across Praamis to dump his body in that alleyway was far too high.

  Only one answer made sense. They had to have gone through the sewers.

  “If that is all?” Master Gold asked the Hunter with a raised eyebrow.

  The Hunter, concentrating on his thoughts, gave a dismissive wave, and the rotund Journeyman fled from the room without a backward glance.

  The Hunter retraced the route he’d taken through the sewage tunnels, pinpointing the spots where he’d entered and where he’d emerged once again after finding the killers’ lair. Old Town Market wouldn’t have been too far out of the way, and the killers could move freely underground.

  “You say the body was found in Old Town Market?” Master Gold shot a meaningful glance at the fierce Ghandian woman beside her. “That’s far out of the boy’s route.”

  The Hunter nodded. She’d been thinking along the same lines as him. “Which begs the question, where was he snatched?”

  “I will have my people search.” Master Gold stood, a dismissive tone in her voice. “I’m certain we will find something to lead us to—”

  “Do so.” The Hunter stood as well. “But do not let them get in my way. I am still not convinced you are blameless, but for now, I will accept that you had no reason to want the child dead.”

  “How magnanimous of you!” The Guild Master’s tone was sharp, her voice edged with anger. “Truly, your judgement of our integrity sets my heart at ease.”

  The Hunter met her anger with icy calm. “You and your kind are fortunate that is all I am judging today, else the outcome of our meeting this night would be ending quite differently.”

  The woman’s face went flat, as hard as the steel in her assassin’s hand. “Beware your words, Hunter. Your legends will not stop me from putting a dagger in your heart.”

  The Hunter snorted. “Your threats are meaningless to me. I am no more afraid of you than of the Bloody Hand, and unless you wish to end up like them, I warn you to stay out of my way. Next time I may not show such restraint.”

  “You call killing Kindan restraint?” the assassin, Errik, shouted.

  “He chose to fight when I gave him the opportunity to walk away unharmed,” the Hunter growled back. “His blood is on his own hands.”

  “Perhaps I ought to get a bit of your blood on mine!” Fury twisted Errik’s face, and his hand dropped toward his sword.

  The Hunter didn’t move. “Do your worst. I did not come to fight, but if I must…” He left the words unsaid. “You and your kind are little better than the Bloody Hand. Be grateful I—”

  “You bastard!” The assassin’s face had gone white with rage, his tone dripping hatred. “We are nothing like those scum.”

  “Kidnapping children, forcing them to become criminals like you?” Anger flared hot and bright within the Hunter. “Even the Bloody Hand didn’t stoop that low.”

  That pushed the man over the edge and, with a furious roar, he ripped his sword free and charged.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Horror froze Ilanna in place for a single instant as Errik charged the Hunter. She’d sensed Errik’s mounting anger—he’d taken the death of Kindan harder than she’d expected—but she’d never expected him to lose his temper.

  That single instant was enough for the Hunter to nearly kill her friend.

  The Hunter moved fast—faster than she thought possible. His posture shifted from looming fury to lethal grace with the agility of a striking serpent. He stepped forward, seized Errik’s upraised sword arm, and pivoted with impossible speed. Errik flipped over the Hunter’s shoulder to crash hard into the floor. The Hunter followed him down, his ornate belt dagger suddenly in his hand and poised to thrust into Errik’s neck.

  “No!” The cry burst from Ilanna’s lips with the force of an explosion. “Stop!” The cry was directed both at the Hunter and Ria, who had drawn her assegai spear and prepared to charge.

  She glared at Ria and shook her head. Don’t, she mouthed.

  Ria bristled, but Ilanna’s expression hardened until the Ghandian woman stepped back.

  The Hunter paused, dagger a finger’s breadth from Errik’s throat. “Why?” He spoke without taking his eyes from Errik. “Give me one good reason to let him live.”

  “Because I’m asking you,” Ilanna said.

  At this, the Hunter shot a quizzical glance at her, one eyebrow cocked.

  “No threats, no insults, no promises.” The words poured from Ilanna’s mouth with a
force beyond her control. “Just a request from one human being to another.”

  This seemed to amuse the Hunter, for some reason. A smile quirked his lips.

  “Forgive my friend his rashness.” Ilanna scowled at Errik, who lay on the floor, eyes fixed on the Hunter and the blade dangerously close to his throat. He knew the legends of the Hunter as well as any—if the stories were to be believed, that dagger could steal a man’s very soul. “The Bloody Hand is a sensitive topic for many of us. We all lost friends to their cruelty.”

  The way the Hunter had spoken of his vengeance against the Bloody Hand, Ilanna could tell the act had been very personal. Few things could motivate an assassin to wage a personal war on such a powerful organization. There wasn’t enough gold in Voramis to make that happen, which meant the Bloody Hand had done something to piss him off. She’d gambled that they had harmed someone close to him, perhaps a child, even, given his passion in hunting for the murderer that was killing children. Not a lot to go on, but with Errik’s life on the line, she’d taken the gamble and used that to appeal to whatever shred of decency he possessed.

  It seemed to work. He didn’t release Errik, but the dagger didn’t continue its descent toward her friend’s throat.

  “I know what the world thinks of the Night Guild.” Ilanna pressed her momentary advantage. “They call us monsters for what we do. Perhaps they are right, but I make no apology for doing what is necessary to survive. Certainly you can understand that as well.”

  The Hunter turned toward her, his gaze piercing. Though he said nothing, Ilanna sensed she was getting through to him.

  “Yet, despite what people think of us, we are nothing like the Bloody Hand!” Vitriol dripped from Ilanna’s voice and fury burned in her gut. “They were a blight on this world. They brought only pain and suffering, and Einan is far better off without them.”