Darkblade Guardian

by Andy Peloquin

  Ilanna nodded. “But if Baronet Wyvern was dead—perhaps his death could be written off as a suicide—no one would think to look at Lord Chasteyn.”

  Something the priest said had stuck with the Hunter. “What he said about the Bluejacket, about him dying before they did their ritual on him, did that make any sense to you?”

  Ilanna shook her head. “Struck me as odd. How would a Bluejacket end up poisoned before being poisoned by the Gatherers?”

  The Hunter’s mind flashed back to his visit to the House of Mercy, and his conversation with the caretaker. “When I visited the House of Mercy, someone mentioned that there were far fewer children these days.” His brow furrowed. “My contact in the city said that a few dead Bluejackets would form a pattern indicating Baronet Wyvern as the man responsible. But what if we’ve been looking at the wrong man. Or woman?”

  Ilanna’s eyebrows shot upward. “Lady Chasteyn?”

  The Hunter shrugged. “I know it’s a stretch, but can you think of any other way for the Bluejacket to wind up poisoned?” The caretaker that had greeted him at the orphanage said Lady Chasteyn served the children lunch every day. He couldn’t understand why she would poison the child, but the how certainly fit.

  The Guild Master seemed to come to the same conclusion. “If Lord Chasteyn is involved with the Gatherers, it’s not impossible to believe Lady Chasteyn is as well. Though why two different poisons were used is beyond me.”

  “Only one way to find out,” the Hunter growled. “We go and ask Lady Chasteyn herself.”

  Ilanna’s expression grew pensive. “We can’t simply go around accusing the nobility of Praamis of such a crime without proof.”

  The Hunter shrugged. “You can’t.” He turned to go, but Ilanna stepped in his way.

  “This is my city,” she told him. “Every body you drop will get blamed on me and my people. You can walk away when this is all done, but I’ve still got my King to answer to. That means we’re going to play this my way.”

  The Hunter cocked an eyebrow. “And what way is that?”

  Ilanna’s smile grew syrupy. “We’ll ask Lady Chasteyn, like you said, but we’ll actually use words.” She gestured to her three assassins. “We’ll save the violence and torture for when it’s absolutely necessary. Turns out the fine nobles of Praamis aren’t too fond of hearing that the Night Guild is murdering their peers.”

  The Hunter couldn’t help grinning at her sharp tone. “So be it.” He held up a finger. “But I give you fair warning: if, as I believe, we discover Lord Chasteyn is the demon I seek, I will deal with him my way.”

  Lord Chasteyn wouldn’t actually need a mask to conceal his features—he could simply shift his face as the Hunter and all those of Abiarazi blood did. Perhaps he’d simply worn it for theatrics’ sake. Whatever the reason, the Hunter was convinced it was a demon beneath the disguise.

  “Nothing will stop me from bringing him down. Not you or your Night Guild, and certainly not your King.”

  Ilanna fixed him with a stern gaze, something dangerous written in her eyes. Finally, after a long moment, she shrugged. “So be it. If there is a demon in my city, killing it is worth the hassle of explaining to Duke Phonnis why a nobleman turned up dead.”

  “Who says he needs to turn up at all?” Errik said from beside Ilanna.

  The Hunter turned to the assassin with a surprised grin. “That’s one way to think of it.”

  The fierce warrior woman, Ria, placed a hand on Ilanna’s arm. “And what about the rest of the Gatherers? How do we find them?”

  “We don’t.” Ilanna shook her head. “As we originally planned, we let them come to us.”

  She turned to Errik. “You and your Serpent stay here. Get that door back in place and fix the place up so any Gatherers who show up aren’t instantly alerted.”

  Errik shook his head. “Sys will stay, but if you’re hunting a…” He seemed to stumble over the word. “…a demon, I’m going with you.”

  “As am I,” Ria declared.

  Aisha flicked blood from the tip of her long dagger and strange, short spear and stepped up beside Ria.

  “No.” The Guild Master moved toward Aisha and placed a hand on her shoulder. “First you’re going to return to the Night Guild to summon reinforcements. I want the Hounds, Foxes, and Bloodbears here within half an hour, and a handful of Serpents to meet me at the House of Mercy.” She shot a glance at Errik that seemed to say, “Happy?” “Once that’s done, you’re going to help Kodyn get all the captives to safety.”

  Two terrified children cowered behind a stack of crates, and Kodyn had helped the girl, Briana, to sit on the floor. Her face had gone pale, pinched with pain, and sweat stood out on her gaunt forehead.

  Aisha looked ready to protest, but Ilanna held up a hand. “Right now, these people need your strength more than I. Help them find their way home, return them safely to their loved ones, then return to the Night Guild.”

  After a long moment, Aisha relented. “As you say, Master Gold.”

  Kodyn looked up from where he crouched protectively over the girl he’d rescued. “Guild Master, I’d go with you, but Briana—”

  “I want you safe, my son.” Ilanna shook her head. “See to the people that need you.”

  The Hunter couldn’t help feeling a surge of sorrow welling within him. He had Kiara, Hailen, Evren, Graeme, and a few others to call friends, even family, yet nothing compared to what this Guild Master had. Whatever life had thrown had her, she’d taken and used it to grow strong—not on her own, as he had, but with the help of those around her. He found himself longing for that sense of companionship, of trust.

  He pushed the thoughts aside and swallowed the emotions. I’ve more important things to deal with. If Lord Chasteyn really was the demon, he’d finally complete the mission that had brought him to Praamis in the first place.

  He waited until Ilanna had finished giving her men commands, then nodded toward the door of the warehouse. “Let’s go.”

  With a nod, Ilanna fell into place beside him, her loyal guardian beside her. Together, the three of them strode out of the warehouse and down the road that led in the direction of the House of Mercy.

  The streets of Praamis had come alive since sunrise. Carts, wagons, and carriages rumbled up and down the broad avenues, weaving through the throngs of pedestrians that surged toward the nearby marketplaces and shops of Vendor’s Block.

  One look at the Hunter, Ria, and Ilanna sent most passersby scurrying out of the way. The Hunter strode with purpose—not only to reach their destination before the Chasteyns fled, but to avoid any Praamian Guard patrols that might object to their bloodstained appearance and the weapons they carried.

  They reached the House of Mercy in a matter of minutes and strode in without hesitation. Last time, he’d paid a visit as Lord Anglion, with subterfuge and deceit his weapons. Now, the Hunter of Voramis came calling, and woe to those who stood between him and the demon he hunted.

  Fearful looks greeted the three of them—as to be expected from seeing armed warriors storming into an orphanage.

  “Where is Lady Chasteyn?” the Hunter demanded of the nearest caretaker, a portly, rosy-cheeked woman whose curling red hair refused to stay put beneath her white wimple.

  “Sir, this is a place of peace and refuge,” the caretaker replied in a calm voice. “There is no need for violence—”

  “Tell that to your mistress,” Ilanna snarled. Quick as a striking whip, she darted forward and seized the woman’s tunic. A dagger whispered from a sheath at her hip to press against the woman’s cheek. “Where. Is. She?”

  “Not here!” the caretaker cried out. “She sent word that she was ill.”

  Ilanna nodded to Ria, who hurried down the hall toward Lady Chasteyn’s office. A minute later, she returned and shook her head.

  Ilanna released the caretaker. “Thank you.”

  The woman flinched as the Guild Master reached into her pocket, but Ilanna only produced a pouch, which cl
inked as she placed it in the caretaker’s hand. Again, the Hunter couldn’t help feeling surprised by the gesture—an oddly humane one, given Ilanna’s reputation as Guild Master. He followed Ilanna as she stalked out onto the street.

  “We need to get to the Chasteyns’ now,” he insisted once they’d ducked into an alley opposite the House of Mercy. “If they know they’re discovered, if they try to run—”

  “They have no reason to suspect anything,” Ilanna replied. “If Lord Chasteyn had his Gatherers kill the Baronet, he doubtless believes his hands are clean. We can wait until my Serpents arrive, then go pay the Chasteyns a visit in their mansion.”

  “If any of the Gatherers somehow escape your men and get word to the demon, he may flee.” He clenched his fist. “I cannot allow him to evade my grasp, not when I am so close to bringing him down.”

  Ilanna was about to respond when Ria hissed. “Ilanna!”

  The Hunter and Ilanna whirled and found the Ghandian woman pointing out into the street.

  “Isn’t that Lady Chasteyn’s manservant?” Ria asked.

  The Hunter scanned the crowd until he found the man he sought. Hair gone grey with age, slim features, cord-thin build, and dull brown servants’ garb. The man walked with the pronounced limp left by some injury or defect of birth to his left leg.

  The Hunter’s eyes narrowed. He reached into a pocket and plucked out the thread he’d taken from the dead Bluejacket. The thread had been clutched in the child’s hand along with the blackmail note for Baronet Wyvern. It had been a scant clue, barely evidence enough to tie the Gatherers to the boy’s death.

  Yet now, staring at the thread and the manservant’s clothing, a shock ran through him. The boy was poisoned before his death. The poison had to come from the House of Mercy. Either Lady Chasteyn herself, or her trusted servant.

  But why? The question nagged at him. Why would the servant poison the Bluejacket? And how did the thread from the manservant’s robe end up in the boy’s hand.

  All questions he intended to ask the man, Holtan, in person. He wouldn’t bother being gentle.

  He didn’t bother to explain to Ilanna or Ria, but slipped out of the alley and strode toward the manservant. Slipping up behind Holtan, he drew Soulhunger and pressed the dagger’s tip into the man’s back.

  “Make a move or sound and you die a slow, painful death.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The manservant’s violent reaction shocked Ilanna. The slim, grey-haired man whirled far too fast for someone his age, slapping away the Hunter’s dagger and driving a punch into the assassin’s chest. It seemed to catch the Hunter by surprise, too, for the blow knocked him back a single step.

  Whirling, the manservant tried to flee, but his twisted leg slowed him down.

  The limp! The sight set pieces clicking into place in Ilanna’s mind. Daytin, the alchemist, had said the man who bought the Flaming Tansy had limped.

  Ilanna crossed the distance to him in three quick steps and kicked his right foot out from beneath him mid-stride. His bad left leg crumpled under his weight and he collapsed with a cry.

  The Hunter and Ria reached her at the same second, and they both descended upon the manservant before he could retaliate.

  “I warned you!” the Hunter growled, and drove his dagger into the man’s side. The man screamed in agony, and Ilanna’s eyes flew wide at the bright red light that bloomed from the gemstone set into the pommel. But before she could shout at the Hunter that they needed the servant alive, the assassin tore the weapon free of the servant. Ilanna watched, spellbound, as the steel seemed to consume the blood staining the tip and last finger’s breadth of blade.

  What the bloody hell manner of weapon is that? Once again, she couldn’t help a shudder of fear—both from the Hunter’s reputation and what she had just witnessed with her own eyes. Thank the gods he hasn’t turned that thing against us.

  By the time she blinked away the unease, the Hunter had seized the servant’s collar and hauled him bodily to his feet. “Know anywhere private we can take him?” He shook the man. “Someplace where no one will hear him scream.”

  Ilanna nodded. “This way.”

  The manservant tried to struggle, but the Hunter drove a fist into his gut. Breath whooshed from the man’s lungs and he sagged, only to have the Hunter haul him upright by the drab brown vest and tunic once more.

  “Cease your resistance,” the Hunter barked at the servant, “and you might live through this.”

  The man’s face creased into a scowl. “I don’t know what you think yo—”

  The Hunter gripped his face in a strong hand, cutting off his words. “We know exactly what your master and mistress are up to.”

  The man’s eyes widened a fraction and in that moment, Ilanna knew their theory about the Chasteyns had been correct. That was the look of a guilty man.

  “Please, you don’t understand!” The servant protested as the Hunter hauled him down the street. “I just did it to help the mistress.”

  Ilanna’s gut clenched, and she hurried her steps. Two streets away, she led Ria and the Hunter through a back alley and into small brick house set a good distance from the main thoroughfare. The Night Guild owned such properties around the city—safe houses in case someone needed to lie low from the law or a rival.

  The Hunter threw the manservant to the floor and loomed over him. “Explain how killing children is helping your mistress!”

  “You don’t understand,” the man said again, barely above a whisper. Tears sprang into the man’s eyes, and he shook his head. “It was the only way…”

  “The only way to what?” Ilanna’s voice was cold and hard as ice.

  “To keep her from ending it.” The manservant’s shoulders slumped, as if someone had just hung a millstone around his neck. “She’s endured so much…she almost broke once, I couldn’t let it happen again.” He lifted his eyes and fixed her with a pleading look. “I promised her mother I would keep her safe!”

  Ilanna narrowed her eyes. “Unless you want me to let my friend at you again—” She gestured to the Hunter. “—you’ll speak plainly.”

  The man seemed to deflate, his posture exuding shame. “Lord Vorack Forgolan was a cruel man.” He spoke in a low, miserable voice. “A man of violent passions. He returned from the Eirdkilr War a brutal, vicious creature, seeking to inflict pain on anyone who stood in his path. In business and at home.”

  Ilanna’s jaw clenched. An all-too familiar story.

  “My father tried his best to shield Lady Forgolan and her daughter from the master’s rages, and after his passing, the duty fell to me.” The manservant held out his insignia, a gryphon clutching three stalks of wheat—the symbol of House Forgolan or House Chasteyn, she guessed. “But when my lady married Lord Chasteyn, she traded one cruelty for another, one violent hand for another.”

  “What does this have to do with killing children?” the Hunter growled.

  Ilanna held up a hand. “Let him speak.” She’d known men confess their sins out of relief at being discovered. A man’s soul could only carry so much guilt before the burden grew too much to bear.

  “The day came when my lady tried to take her life.” Sorrow and shame twisted the man’s face. “Five years ago, on Maiden’s Day, while her husband entertained guests next door. A desperate act to humiliate the man that had tortured her for years. But, to my eternal regret, I honored my vow to her mother and stopped her before the knife could open her wrists. I stitched her up, nursed her back to full strength, but she had changed that day. She determined to have her vengeance, in this life if not in the next. But it would not be a quick vengeance, nor a painless death. She would make Lord Chasteyn suffer for years as he had made her suffer. Banshee’s Bite was her weapon.”

  Ilanna recognized the name—Banshee’s Bite was a slow-acting toxin that built up in the heart, lungs, and blood vessels, suffocating its victims to a lingering death over the course of a year or more.

  “But Lord Chastey
n uncovered the deceit after just a few days, and when he confronted my lady, they fought and she killed him.” He shivered, as if reliving a horrible memory. “So much blood. More blood than I’d ever believed possible. I barely recognized my master after what she did to him.”

  Ilanna didn’t need to imagine it; she had a similar memory, from the time she’d killed Sabat. The Bloodbear apprentice had more than deserved his cruel death, poisoned and slain by the same knife he’d used to kill Ethen. She had hacked and stabbed at him until his body barely resembled the fat, cruel-featured boy that had laid hands on her.

  “Let me guess.” The Hunter’s voice held a scornful edge. “She developed a taste for killing.”

  The manservant nodded again. “She was changed after that day. Gone was the fearful daughter and terrified wife. In her place was the Lady Chasteyn I’d hoped she would grow up to be once free of her father’s shadow.” His face paled. “She laughed, sitting in that pool of her husband’s blood. Laughed, and smiled! As if she’d just sampled a fine wine.”

  The Hunter’s scowl deepened. “Some people are born broken, while others are broken by the ones closest to them.”

  “Yes!” The manservant latched on to the words, as if they held hope. “She cannot help herself, the need to kill. It was beaten into her by first her father than her husband. She is ill, and I have done everything I can to help her.”

  The Hunter sneered. “By killing children. Some help you are!”

  “She would have killed them anyway,” the manservant protested. “I found her standing over the body of one of her Bluejackets, her hands still clasped around the boy’s throat. When I saw the suffering in the child’s face, the horror in his still-open eyes, I almost summoned the Praamian Guards right there. But I had promised her mother that I would let nothing harm her. I had failed with Lord Chasteyn, but I could stop her from harming herself.”

  The man’s words sickened Ilanna, yet she could understand that blind devotion to a loved one. She’d done horrible things in the name of saving Kodyn, then saving him when she’d believed him dead.