Darkblade Guardian

by Andy Peloquin

  The Hunter sniffed the air again. Still the stink of demon hung in the air, but not thick enough to indicate the demon’s presence—simply frequent contact with the Gatherers. That meant Kytos was as human as the rest of the Gatherers.

  Perfect. He’s the one I’ll keep alive.

  He raced on, hacking down a Gatherer foolish enough to get in his way. From the corner of his eye, he saw Errik bring down another, and another scream and crunch from the walkway told him Ilanna and her people were still in the fight. He’d run out of enemies to bring down far too soon.

  His eyes scanned the darkness for the men he sought, and his teeth bared as he caught sight of four men hustling a fifth toward a door at the northern end of the warehouse. Errik and his assassins were occupied behind the Hunter, and nothing but shadows stood between the Gatherers and the way out.

  You won’t escape me that easily!

  The Hunter roared his rage and poured more speed into his legs. The Gatherers made the mistake of looking over their shoulders, and their paces faltered for just a second.

  A second was all the Hunter needed to hurl his stolen sword at the nearest man. The Gatherer fell, hands clutching the sword embedded in his gut, blood spurting from the wound.

  Two of the Gatherers broke off from the cluster and turned to face him. The Hunter leapt into the air, Soulhunger slashing first right, then left. The Gatherers sagged, throats opened and gushing crimson. One managed to get off a lucky blow as he died, but the tip barely grazed the Hunter’s calf.

  The Hunter didn’t slow, but barreled into the two remaining Gatherers at full speed. He angled his body toward the man on the left—Kytos the Necroset, judging by the black stole around his neck, which bore the strange symbol embroidered with gold thread—and brought Soulhunger spinning up and across to the right. The tip of the blade punched through cloth and muscle, snapped bone, and pierced the Gatherer’s heart. The Hunter slammed into Kytos with the force of a charging warhorse, and the priest flew through the air to crash against the door through which he’d intended escape. The Necroset collapsed into a limp heap, unconscious.

  The Hunter waited until Soulhunger had finished off the Gatherer, but his eyes scanned the shadows for any more opponents. Errik held one at sword point, while Ilanna and Ria dangled another over the third-floor railing. At Ilanna’s snarl, they dropped the robed man and he plummeted to the floor without a sound save for the thump of impact and the loud snap of his neck and spine.

  When the light from Soulhunger’s gemstone dimmed, the Hunter pulled the dagger free. He stared down at the Gatherer and was surprised to find a man with skin a deep mahogany, oval-shaped face, and nose far too long and straight to be Praamian. Every one of them, even Kytos, had similar features.

  “Tell me one of you kept one alive!” Ilanna called out.

  “I’ve got one,” Errik responded. The Gatherer in his grasp gibbered in fear, but a quick blow of Errik’s pommel silenced him.

  “I’ve got the Necroset,” the Hunter put in.

  The Hunter strode over to the unconscious Kytos, seized his collar, and dragged him to the center of the room.

  “Sid!”

  The Hunter looked up to see Kodyn racing down the stairs, eyes fixed on the young man strapped to the table. Behind him, Aisha helped another young woman stumble down the stairs. The freed captive had the same oval face, sloping forehead, arrow-straight nose, and skin the same mahogany of the Gatherers, though a shade lighter.

  “K-Kodyn?” The boy on the table spoke in a weak voice tinged with pain.

  “I’m here, Sid!” Kodyn slashed through the boy’s bonds with his sword.

  “I knew…you’d come…for me,” Sid gasped. His chest was a bloody mess, the symbol etched into his flesh, and vomit stained his lips. The Hunter smelled the reek of poison on him—he didn’t know if the boy would survive.

  “Get one of Tyman’s healers here, now!” Ilanna snapped.

  The female assassin, Kalla, nodded and raced out of the warehouse.

  The Hunter waited until Kodyn had helped the young Sid down to lie on the floor, then lifted Necroset Kytos in a one-handed grip and dumped him onto the table.

  “Tie him down,” he instructed the one remaining assassin. “Can’t have him escaping.”

  The man Sys shot a glance at Errik, who nodded. As Sys set about binding the priest’s hands and feet, Errik strode toward the Hunter. Without a word, he pulled the Hunter’s sword from his belt and held it out.

  The Hunter took it in mute silence—that was as close as he’d get to thanks from the assassin.

  “Is this Kytos?” Ilanna asked as she, Ria, Aisha, and the girl Briana joined them beside the table, a solid wooden thing with ropes secured to the four legs. Blood and other foul bodily fluids stained the surface, and someone had carved dozens of depictions of that strange Serenii symbol into the wood.

  The Hunter nodded and grinned. “He tried to run. Didn’t work out as he’d hoped.” He gestured to the priest on the table, then to the other bodies littering the room. “None of them are Praamian.”

  “I noticed.” Ilanna pursed her lips. “I’d wager they’re all Shalandrans, but the fact that they’re occupying this building and operating freely in our city means they have local help.”

  The Hunter inclined his head. “None of your people, I assume.”

  “Never,” Ria growled.

  “Then we’ve still got a problem,” the Hunter said. “Kytos might be the head of these Gatherers, but not the demon I’m hunting.” He pointed to the man on the table. “Yet he reeks of demon. He’s had contact with the creature in the last few hours.”

  “Then it’s time we ask him a few questions,” Ilanna snarled. “And I’ve no intention of being gentle about it.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Before Ilanna could move, the Hunter stepped up and slapped the unconscious Necroset. Kytos jerked up, sputtering, but the ropes binding his arms and feet held him fast.

  The Hunter seized the priest’s robes in an iron fist and twisted until the hem cut off his air. Kytos stared up at the Hunter, defiance burning in his eyes, as his face slowly turned from an angry red to a deep, choking purple.

  Ilanna was about to say something when the Hunter released Kytos, hard enough to slam his head against the table.

  “Easy,” Ilanna said. “He won’t be able to talk if you splatter his brains across the floor.”

  The Hunter scowled, but Ilanna ignored him. Instead, she turned to Errik. “Bring me that plaster.” She gestured to the wooden bucket on the floor beside the table.

  Errik shot her a curious glance but obeyed without hesitation, righting the fallen bucket and setting it on the table beside the coughing, gasping priest.

  “You and your people came to my city, killed my people,” she snarled down at the man.

  “I came to save your people,” the Necroset responded.

  “Save them?” Ilanna arched an eyebrow. “You’ll have to explain the logic on that one, Priest.”

  “You would not believe me if I told you.” Kytos’ expression grew sullen, the defiance returning. “Heathens like you could never understand what is to come.”

  Ilanna bent over the man. “Try me,” she growled.

  Kytos snapped his mouth shut and set his jaw, his expression stubborn.

  Ilanna sighed. “Open his mouth,” she instructed Errik.

  Errik stepped up to the table, gripped the man’s jaw, and forced his lips apart. Ilanna dipped the trowel into the bucket and dropped a small scoop of the runny plaster into the prisoner’s mouth. Kytos gagged and choked, struggling to breathe around the fast-hardening liquid. At Ilanna’s nod, Errik released the man’s head, and Kytos spat out as much of the plaster as he could manage.

  “Shall we try that again?” Ilanna asked, a sweet smile on her face as she reached for another scoop of plaster. “Or do you want to take a stab at explaining the truth to a heathen?”

  “Your threats mean nothing compared to the
end to come!” The setting plaster garbled Kytos’ words but could not conceal the fanatical edge to his tone. “When Hallar’s prophesied destruction comes, this world will be washed away in a torrent of blood and scoured by fire.”

  Ilanna pursed her lips. “Sounds painful. Still doesn’t explain what brings you lot to my city.”

  “We have come to gather the people to the only place where they will be safe, to the life beyond this one.” A wild zeal burned in Kytos’ eyes. “One by one, the men, women, and children of this world will be sent to safety once they are purified by the Keeper’s Kiss and blessed by his mark.”

  Ilanna narrowed her eyes. “Let me get this straight. You’re killing people to stop them from being killed by whatever horror is to come?” She shook her head. “You see the irony in that, don’t you?”

  “The death of the body is far better than the death of the soul.” Kytos’ voice took on the same preaching tone that echoed in every temple in the Ward of Refuge. “It is our sacred duty to purify the body, mark it with the Long Keeper’s seal, and conceal their human imperfections. Only those who bear the Long Keeper’s mark will be given entrance to the Sleepless Lands. Sanctification comes with suffering, but is it not worth mortal pain in exchange for immortal bliss?”

  Ilanna’s mind raced. Journeyman Rilmine had spoken of the effects of Night Petal, how the poison flushed everything from the body. If that’s the Gatherers’ idea of purification, the seven burns would be the mark of the Long Keeper. And that symbol is to guarantee entrance to the Sleepless Lands.

  “So this?” She lifted another scoop of plaster and held it over his face. “This is what you want?” She dumped the liquid right into his eyes. “This is how you conceal your human imperfections and make yourself sanctified to the Long Keeper?”

  “Yes!” Kytos’ voice rose to a shout as he shook his head in an effort to clear the plaster from his face. He only succeeded in banging his head against the high steel walls of the horseshoe-shaped dish—which, Ilanna realized with a sickening sensation, had been used to hold the victims’ heads as they were encased in plaster. “We have come to bring mercy to your people. And you, in your short-sighted ignorance, have condemned all of your people to the prophesied doom.”

  “How do you know this doom is coming?” Ilanna asked in mocking tone. “I don’t know many people who can predict the end of the world with such confidence.” She added another layer of plaster to Kytos’ face, this time around his nostrils.

  “The Prophecy of Hallar foretells it!” Kytos gasped. Bubbles formed in the runny plaster as it slithered into his nostrils. “As the Keeper’s faithful, it is our duty to speak the truth, to warn the masses. But our people are as foolish and blinded as you, unable to see beyond what lies in front of their faces. If only they would open their eyes to the Long Keeper’s mercy, they could put an end to suffering and know peace and bliss forever more.”

  “Ilanna.” Errik’s voice sounded beside her.

  Ilanna turned to find the Serpent holding a small vial.

  “I’m betting it’s the Night Petal,” Errik said.

  With a nod, Ilanna took the vial from the Serpent. “Necroset Kytos, I offer you the one thing you did not offer your victims: a choice. Tell me who in Praamis is helping you, and I will let you live.”

  The Hunter scowled, but Ilanna smiled at him and gestured to the dagger at his hip. The assassin got the message: she would let the priest live, but he could do whatever he wanted.

  “I care nothing for this life!” Kytos spat. “I have been prepared to meet the Long Keeper since I was a child in the Hall of the Beyond. Killing me would be a kindness.”

  “Would it, though?” Ilanna’s smile grew as she stared down at the vial in her fingers. “Didn’t you say that only those purified, marked, and consecrated would be given this immortal bliss of which you speak? But what happens to those who aren’t properly sanctified?”

  Kytos shook his plaster-smattered head. “They are destined to wander the cold, empty darkness, ever searching for the Long Keeper’s embrace and never finding it.”

  Ilanna leaned over the bound priest. “Including you,” she whispered.

  “What?” Kytos jerked back. “I am a priest of the Long Keeper—”

  “But have you been purified?” Ilanna stared down at the man. “Do you bear the sign of the Long Keeper burned into your flesh, or the mark that grants you access to the Sleepless Lands? If you die with your head uncovered, your human imperfections exposed to the Long Keeper, will he condemn you to that cold, empty void as well?”

  Kytos opened his mouth, but no words came out.

  Ilanna’s smile turned cold. Missed that little flaw in your plan, eh, Priest?

  “Then I offer you what you desire most, Priest: consecration. Tell me who in my city was helping you, and I will give you the Keeper’s Kiss and all the rest.” Ilanna dropped her voice to a low croon. “Or would you rather spend an eternity wandering the afterlife?”

  “Purify me, and I will tell you what you wish to know!” Kytos nearly shouted. “One drop of the Keeper’s Kiss is all it takes to begin the purging.”

  “Answers first, sanctification later.” Ilanna pulled the cork from the vial with an audible pop. “My offer expires in five, four, three—”

  “I do not know!” Kytos cried. “He never revealed his face to us, but always kept it covered behind a mask.”

  Ilanna ground her teeth. “And you didn’t think that was odd?”

  “Odd?” Kytos sounded confused. “He is a true Gatherer, and the faceless mask he wears is intended to conceal his human weakness from the Long Keeper.”

  “You’ll have to give me more than that if you want me to hold up my end of the bargain.” Ilanna poured a drop of the Night Petal poison onto the man’s cheek. “Choose your next words wisely, Priest. The vial is almost empty.”

  “The child!” Desperation echoed in Kytos’ voice. “He said something about the child being connected to him.”

  “What child?” Ilanna demanded.

  “The one who was unworthy.” Sorrow echoed in Kytos’ voice.

  Ilanna dripped more Night Petal onto the man’s cheeks, causing Kytos to turn his head in a vain attempt to swallow the poison. Ilanna pulled it away after a moment, and Kytos’ tongue flicked out to try and lick the poison from his cheek, an effort that proved fruitless.

  “What child?” Ilanna slapped the man.

  “The child we took two nights ago.” Kytos stopped struggling, and his body sagged in his bonds. “When we Gathered him and brought him here, we found he was already too weak, his body rotting from the inside out. He passed into the afterlife before we could properly sanctify him. Our only choice was to give him the Keeper’s mark and hope the one who sees all accepts him into the life beyond this one.”

  Ilanna’s brow furrowed, and for a moment, she thought another child had died. Then it clicked. The Bluejacket!

  “So this mysterious man in the mask, the one who helped you, said that the child was connected to him?” she demanded.

  Kytos nodded. “He was furious when he saw the child lying on our table. Insisted we dump him rather than burying him with the rest.”

  “And where is that?” the Hunter growled.

  “In the Field of Mercy.” Kytos seemed surprised at the question. “For that is, in truth, our purpose in your city.”

  “Yes, of course,” Ilanna snapped. “To give the Long Keeper’s mercy to avoid this prophesized doom.”

  Her mind raced as she digested what the Gatherer had told her.

  “I have told you what I know,” Kytos said. “Now, please, purify me so I may join my brothers in the Great Beyond.”

  “Of course.” Ilanna’s voice was sugary sweet. “Open your mouth and receive the Keeper’s Kiss.”

  “Keeper have mercy on you and save you from the Final Destruction.” Kytos’ body relaxed his mouth opened.

  Ilanna stoppered the vial of poison and rammed it into his mouth. As Kytos
gagged and jerked in his bonds, she hefted the bucket of plaster and poured it over his nose and open mouth. He twitched, his body going rigid as he tried in vain to breathe through the thick plaster.

  For a moment, Ilanna thought the Hunter would draw his soul-stealing dagger and finish off the priest then and there. Yet he simply nodded and stood with his arms crossed, his face an expressionless mask. Perhaps he, too, believed this a more fitting end for the priest that had caused the deaths of so many.

  Something the priest had said flashed through her mind.

  The Bluejacket was somehow connected to the man in the mask. There’s only one explanation that makes sense.

  She turned to the Hunter. “I know who the man in the mask is.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The Hunter found himself intrigued and impressed by the Guild Master. Everything he’d seen of her so far—her tender manner with the Ghandian woman, the motherly concern for her son, the confidence of a competent leader—hadn’t prepared him to watch her in action with Necroset Kytos. He hadn’t needed to handle the interrogation because she’d manipulated his delusions with the deft hand of an expert. And for her to finish it off with such ruthlessness…it left him impressed, indeed.

  “I know who the man in the mask is.”

  The Guild Master’s statement caught him by surprise and raised his estimation of her even more. Had she come to the same conclusion as he?

  “You’re thinking it’s Lord Chasteyn,” he said.

  To her credit, the Guild Master’s eyes only widened a fraction. “Yes,” she said, with a barely-noticeable pause. “When he saw that they’d taken a Bluejacket—”

  “He was afraid they’d connect the child’s death back to him through his wife.” The Hunter sucked in a breath as realization dawned on him. “Which is why he tried to point the finger at Baronet Wyvern!”

  “Of course!” Now, Ilanna’s eyes did widen visibly. “If anyone found these Gatherers, they’d immediately recognize them as coming from Shalandra.”

  “And, given that there are only two people in Praamis with known ties to Shalandra, they would be the only logical choices.”