Darkblade Guardian

by Andy Peloquin

“On this, at least, we can agree.” The Hunter spoke in a quiet voice, and Ilanna heard a depth of meaning she didn’t quite understand.

  “So call us thieves, killers, thugs, or criminals, but never associate us with those bastards!” Ilanna found herself moving around the desk, striding toward the Hunter. Dagger or no, she wouldn’t allow him to hurt Errik. She crouched in front of him, her face a hand’s breadth from his. “And if you ever compare me and my people with them, I will rip out your tongue, legend be damned!”

  The Hunter held her gaze for a long moment, his eyes seeming to pierce to the core of her being. A smile slowly spread on his lips, and he actually chuckled. “Consider me warned, Guild Master.” He sheathed his dagger, stood, and offered Errik a hand.

  The Serpent stared in stunned surprise at the Hunter’s outstretched hand, then scowled and rolled to his feet, sheathing his sword in one smooth motion.

  The Hunter folded his arms. “Allow me to offer you a deal, Master Gold.”

  Ilanna cocked her head. “I am listening.”

  “Our goals are aligned. We both want to put an end to these murders, and deliver the guilty to their deserved punishment.”

  His tone made Ilanna certain he had no intention of turning the killer over to Duke Phonnis for a fair trial. She had no problems with that.

  “I have no quarrel with your people,” the Hunter continued. “As long as they do not interfere, I will not harm them.”

  Ilanna shot him a wry smile. “How kind of you.”

  The Hunter ignored her retort. “After I have found the killer and dealt with him, I have no reason to remain in Praamis. The city will be yours.”

  This surprised Ilanna. “Just like that? No more contracts, no more deaths for the legendary Hunter of Voramis?”

  The Hunter shook his head. “I have come here for a specific purpose, and I will depart when I have finished. Pray to the Watcher that I do not have cause to return.”

  The words sent a little shiver of instinctive fear down Ilanna’s spine, but she kept her expression neutral. “So be it. You are free to use the Hawk’s Highway or the sewer tunnels, and I will ensure my people do not interfere with your business.” She strode over to the desk, picked up the skull-headed dagger, and tossed it to him. “Show them this, and they will know that you have my permission to operate freely in Praamis.”

  The Hunter caught the dagger without taking his eyes from her. “A truce, then.”

  “But be warned, Hunter.” Ilanna held up a finger. “My people will also be searching for the killer. If we should find him first…”

  The Hunter smiled at this. “This is one quarry you may hope never to meet. Your people are good—better than many of the men and women I’ve faced across Einan.” He nodded to Errik, the grudging respect between skilled opponents. “But the killer I hunt would tear through your bravest warriors without breaking a sweat.”

  Ilanna narrowed her eyes. “Even the most skilled fighter can be brought low with the right weapon.”

  “True.” The Hunter inclined his head. “Yet you may find that this enemy cannot be defeated with any of the weapons you wield.”

  Ilanna struggled to conceal her puzzlement. What in the bloody hell is he talking about? The way he said it made it sound like she hunted some kind of monster or beast, but those belonged to the pages of story books.

  The Hunter slipped the ruby-headed dagger into his cloak and swept her a bow. “Farewell, Master Gold.”

  “Watcher guide your steps, Hunter.” Ilanna inclined her head.

  Just like that, the Hunter of Voramis, the assassin that inspired terror enough to make the nobility of southern Einan wet their britches, strode from her office.

  At the click of the door closing, Ilanna felt as if all strength drained from her limbs. She sagged against her desk and let out a long breath.

  “Bloody hell!” She rounded on Errik. “What in the Watcher’s name were you thinking, rushing him like that? You could have been killed! Fiery hell, you should have been killed.”

  “He murdered Kindan.” Errik met her gaze with a defiant scowl. “And when I heard him talking like that—”

  “You should have kept your bloody temper under control, damn you.” Ilanna blew out another shaking breath. “The way he moved, that speed, he’d have slit your throat before you could blink.”

  “I know.” For the first time in decades, fear glinted in Errik’s eyes. “He had me dead to rights. So why didn’t he finish it off?”

  “Because we’re not his target,” Ria said. Ilanna turned to find the woman gripping the plush armchair in white knuckles, her hands trembling with the rush of adrenaline. “The Hunter only kills those he’s paid to.”

  “Only, in this case, I believe it’s personal for him.” Ilanna had reached the snap judgement when Errik’s life was on the line, but her intuition had proven true. “He doesn’t care about Chantelle or any of the others. It’s the murdered children that set him off.”

  Errik’s eyebrows rose. “You think?”

  Ilanna nodded. “Think over what Tassat told you of their encounter. The Hunter accused them of murdering children. He didn’t say anything about the rest of the bodies.”

  Ria seemed to pick up Ilanna’s train of thought. “But when he thought Tassat wasn’t responsible for killing the children, he let them live.”

  “Exactly.” Ilanna’s brow furrowed. “Whatever brought him to Praamis, he’s focused on hunting the murderer now.”

  “Keeper’s teeth!” Errik whistled. “So it’s true.”

  Ilanna cocked an eyebrow. “What is?”

  Errik scratched his beard. “A story I heard on my last visit to Voramis.” He sat in one of the chairs beside her desk. “A rumor of dozens of deaths around the same time the Bloody Hand was eliminated. Beggars and outcasts, mostly those too old, weak, or sickly to live long. But among them were a few children, and one story mentioned one of the Beggared from the House of Need being killed. As I said, it was nothing more than speculation, but—”

  “But it could put the Hunter’s actions in an interesting new perspective.”

  Ilanna sat as well and leaned back in her chair. She’d been too relieved at the Bloody Hand’s demise to care about the why. She had chalked it up to nothing more than a turf war, the Bloody Hand crossing the Hunter or interfering with his business. Yet with Errik’s story and what she’d seen of the Hunter, a new burning curiosity had formed in her gut.

  Perhaps he’s not quite what the legends make him out to be. That was an understatement, she knew. Legends of the Night Guild exaggerated their cruelty and viciousness—she encouraged such aggrandizement because it served as a useful deterrent to her enemies. So who is the Hunter, really?

  Ilanna pushed the thought from her mind. She could speculate later. Right now, she had to focus on locating the killer. The Hunter had come for answers, but he’d inadvertently given her the clue she sought.

  “Errik, go to Shaw and get the Hounds out on the streets. I want them combing every street between Vendor’s Block and Baronet Wyvern’s mansion. If there’s even a hint of where that Bluejacket was snatched or who took him, I want it found now.” Ilanna fixed the Serpent with a stern glare. “And make sure they understand the terms of our truce with the Hunter. Make sure everyone knows.”

  Errik glowered, but Ilanna knew it was nothing more than his instinctive reaction to what had just happened. The Serpent had spent more than two decades training to be the best assassin in the Night Guild. Facing an opponent as clearly superior as the Hunter could shake any man’s confidence.

  Errik made to go, but Ilanna stepped forward and seized his arm. “You almost got yourself killed today, Errik. That would have killed me, too.”

  Errik’s anger melted away. “Sorry, Ilanna.” Sorrow twisted his face. “Kindan…he was more than just another Journeyman to me. He was the closest thing I had to a brother.”

  “A rare gift in our line of work.” Ilanna took his hand in hers and squeezed it. �
�The time to mourn him will come, I promise.”

  “Thank you, Ilanna.” He returned her grip for a moment, then broke free. “I’ll see to the Hounds.” With a solemn nod to Ilanna and Ria, he strode from the room.

  Ilanna turned to Ria, only to find anger burning in the woman’s eyes. “What?”

  “I’ll rip your tongue out, legend be damned?!” Ria’s voice held an edge of fury. “Did it ever occur to you that that might piss him off and he’d just slash your throat instead of Errik’s?”

  “The thought did cross my mind.” Ilanna smiled.

  Ria was in no mood for humor. “It’s my job to protect you, Ilanna, but sometimes you make that job bloody difficult!”

  “It’s not your job.” Ilanna shook her head. “You’re the Master of House Phoenix, not—”

  “I don’t care what my title is.” Ria stalked around the desk with the grace and fury of a panther on the hunter, Ilanna her prey. “It’s my job because I bloody love you. I’d do anything to stop you from getting hurt, but when you go and put yourself in such a damned stupid position and piss off the Hunter of bloody Voramis, you—”

  Ilanna silenced her tirade with a kiss. The encounter with the Hunter left her more shaken than she cared to admit, and the strength of Ria’s presence comforted her. When she broke off, she found moisture on Ria’s face.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I should have realized how foolish I was being.”

  Ria blinked away tears. “You are my life, kauna.” The Ghandian word meant “my love”, an endearment Ria only used in tender moments. “You and our little Hawk. If anything happened to either of you, it would shatter my heart.” She gripped Ilanna’s face in her strong hands and pressed another kiss to her lips. “I am quite fond of that tongue of yours, my love, but there are days when it is far more trouble than it’s worth!”

  “Would you believe me if I promised to mind it?” Ilanna asked.

  “Not for an instant.” Ria gave Ilanna a wry smile. “Your strength of spirit is one of your greatest qualities, and one of the reasons I fell in love with you all those years ago—”

  “Not that many years ago!” Ilanna protested.

  “Fair enough.” Ria laughed, then her expression sobered. “But sometimes, I fear you are too strong.”

  “Only because I have you beside me.” Ilanna squeezed Ria’s hands. “You have made me strong, Ria.”

  “If only I’d made you cautious as well.” Ria chuckled.

  “I thought you liked my daring, adventurous side?”

  “Most of the time, yes.” Ria nodded. “But when you find yourself face to face with the Hunter, I’d counsel just a shred more circumspection next time.”

  “I’ll take your words under advisement,” Ilanna said with a grin.

  Ria looked unconvinced, but before she could retort, a knock sounded at the door.

  “Enter,” Ilanna called.

  Before the words had fully left her mouth, the door burst open and Darreth scurried in, breathless. “Ilanna, I’ve found it!”

  “Found what?” Ilanna asked, curious. Darreth only failed to address her by her title when excited or worried.

  Darreth waved a sheet of parchment at her. “The symbol! I know what it means!”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Angry glares met the Hunter as he exited the Guild Master’s office. Thirty men and women crowded into the chamber beyond and though none had drawn weapons, their expressions were wary, their postures tense.

  The Hunter strode toward them without a word, simply a confident, level gaze. They parted before him—albeit unwillingly—but the Hunter kept moving at an unhurried pace. He’d seen the Guild Master with her people; none of them would move against him without her command. She held the reins of these criminals, thieves, and killers in a fist of iron.

  He consulted his mental map of the tunnels and retracted his step to the massive room with the strange rope maze. Again, he couldn’t help smiling as he raced up the rope ladders, leapt over broad gaps, and darted across narrow plank bridges. It was just so enjoyable, with so many paths to choose from that every ascent would feel brand new.

  Cool night air greeted him as he climbed out the window and onto the flat rooftop. He drew in a deep breath, glad to be free of the stuffy tunnels with the myriad contrasting scents of the people occupying them. Up here, the scents and sounds of life remained far below, and he basked in the company of the whispering wind and the fresh, clean tang of a chilly evening.

  He went over his conversation with the Guild Master in his mind. He hadn’t learned much about the killer he sought—though he had a location to start retracing the Bluejacket’s steps—but the encounter had been enlightening. The Night Guild might be on the same side of the law as the Bloody Hand, yet the resemblance ended there.

  Despite Master Gold’s attempts to appear callous, he’d seen that spark of genuine humanity in her. She cared about her people. He’d been surprised at the way she bargained for the assassin’s life—not with threats or promises of gold, but by appealing to his better nature. He’d heard the concern, seen the worry written in her eyes as she saw him prepare to kill the man that had attacked him. Her assassin had been more than just an underling, but a friend.

  He had to admit grudging respect for the assassin. Anger had made him careless, but that blitz attack had almost caught the Hunter by surprise. Instinct and decades of training had kicked in to pull off that take-down. Had the assassin wielded weapons of iron instead of steel, the Hunter might have chosen to avoid confrontation.

  Yes, he’d made the right choice by accepting the truce with the Night Guild. The less time he spent running or fighting, the sooner he could deal with the killers and their demon master.

  He set off across the rooftop network of bridges and walkways—the Hawk’s Highway, she called it?—in the direction of Vendor’s Block, where the fussy secretary-looking Journeyman had told her he’d delivered the note to the Bluejacket. He wasn’t certain what he was searching for, but he had to at least try looking for any clues that could lead him to the killers.

  Half an hour later, he dropped from the rooftop onto the silent, empty Path of Penitence. The Lady’s Bells had just rung the third hour of the morning, long before even the early-morning merchants arose to prepare for the day’s sales. He had the streets to himself for an hour or two.

  Not entirely to himself, it turned out. His boots had barely touched the ground when he heard the clank of armor, saw a glimmer of light coming from around a nearby corner.

  Damned Praamian Guards! He ducked into a nearby alleyway and into the shadows of a doorway, his teeth grinding in frustration as he waiting for the patrol to pass. The olive-clad guardsmen marched at an unhurried pace, and it seemed an eternity before the tromp, tromp of their boots faded into the night.

  The Hunter didn’t know how long he had before the next patrol; he’d have to cover ground as quickly as he could while still keeping an eye out for…what exactly? If the boy had been snatched the previous day, what sort of traces would remain to mark his abduction? Aside from the few tracks he’d found beside the dumped body—drag marks, two bootprints, and a round mark that could have been left by a knee—there’d been no other marks.

  The thought of that first body made him pause. Drag marks?

  His mind flashed back to the body he’d stumbled upon after killing the Night Guild assassin on the rooftops. The killers had encased the girl’s head in plaster, wrapped her in canvas, and carried her to the dump site—or, at least, he hadn’t found anything to indicate the body had been dragged. Yet the Bluejacket had been dragged, his body found without plaster mask or canvas wrapping. The only thing the two bodies had had in common was that strange Serenii-looking symbol carved into their chests.

  Could there be two killers?

  The Hunter mulled that over in his mind. Two killers operating in Praamis at the same time. Unlikely, but not impossible. One killer dragging a body, meaning he—or she—lacked the stre
ngth to carry the child. The other killers, the group he’d seen in the sewers, carrying out their strange ritual with the plaster mask.

  But what about that symbol? Both bodies had born the same markings. If there were two killers, why did they show up on both victims?

  One killer or two—the evidence pointed at both options. He couldn’t figure out which scenario proved most likely.

  Growling in frustration, he slipped out of the alley and set off down the road, following the route he guessed the Bluejacket would have taken to reach Baronet Wyvern’s mansion in The Gardens. Within a few hundred paces, he had to admit the effort would likely prove fruitless. He had no lamp to drive back the shadows, but a light would simply draw the attention of the Praamian Guards. His tracking skills were adequate at best—he’d always relied on Soulhunger and his keen sense of smell when hunting his victims.

  Time to approach this from a new angle, he decided.

  He abandoned his hunt for clues and took once more to the rooftops, just in time to avoid another Praamian Guard patrol. Crouched in the shadows of an overhang, he considered his next plan of attack.

  The Night Guild controlled crime in Praamis, but it seemed they knew as little about the killer as he did. Thankfully, they weren’t the only source of useful information. In fact, when it came to facts and secrets, no one proved as wealthy as the Hidden Circle.

  He’d learned of the Hidden Circle in Voramis years earlier. A sect of alchemists practicing their craft in defiance of the Secret Keepers’ embargo on alchemy of any sort. Graeme, his fat alchemist friend from Voramis, numbered among them.

  Yet alchemy only provided a small percentage of the Hidden Circle’s true wealth and power. They traded in information of every sort—one never knew what could be valuable in the wrong hands. The Hunter had used that to rope Graeme into his quest to sustain Kharna. After all, the information he had to offer on the Serenii, Enarium, the Abiarazi, and the truth of the gods of Einan was something no one else in the world could offer. It had proven compelling enough to not only get Graeme’s cooperation, but actually convinced him to join his mission. Graeme had used his contacts in the Hidden Circle—which operated in every city around Einan—to help him hunt demons.