Darkblade Guardian

by Andy Peloquin

  But that doesn’t excuse what he did. Nothing will ever atone for that. He had crossed too many lines to be redeemed.

  “So was she the one that poisoned the children, or was yours the hand that delivered the dose?” the Hunter demanded.

  “I tried for months to convince my lady to fight her urges, to seek help from the Sanctuary, the Illusionist Clerics, anyone who could help to repair her broken mind.” More tears streamed down the manservant’s face. “But when I saw she could not be restrained, I did the only thing I could. I tried to ease the suffering of her victims.”

  “The Night Petal,” Ilanna said. “A quick killer.”

  “Yes.” The manservant nodded. “One drop was all it took. Within hours, the child would slip into unconsciousness, never to wake again. A painless death, and I would be following, ready to take them to a quick burial. It was the best I could do for the ones my mistress chose to kill.”

  The Hunter bared his teeth in a snarl and seized the man by the collar. “Or you could have stopped her yourself!” His voice rose to a shout. “Instead, you not only let her keep killing, you helped her!”

  “And when the time comes, I will answer to the Long Keeper for my choices.” A hint of defiance sparked in the man’s eyes. “But I will look the god of death in the eye and tell him that I did what I did to protect the ones I love.”

  “Then I hope you’re prepared for your final judgement,” the Hunter rumbled. “Your time has come.” He seized the manservant’s head in his hands and twisted hard. The man’s spine gave a loud snap and he sagged, limp.

  For a moment, Ilanna could only stare in shocked silence at the corpse. “Watcher take you, Hunter!” she cursed. “He still had information we needed!”

  “No.” The Hunter shook his head. “He told us everything we needed to know.”

  “Like how bloody Lord Chasteyn is somehow alive after his wife murdered him years ago?” Ria stepped up beside Ilanna and jabbed a finger at the Hunter. “How can you explain that?”

  A cold smile spread the Hunter’s lips. “Simple. Lord Chasteyn is dead, and a demon wears his face.”

  Ilanna recoiled as his face began to shift, contorting like maggots crawling across a carcass, and his dark, scarred features changed to those of the manservant.

  “It is no difficult task,” he said in the dead man’s voice. Muscle and bone in his face moved, twisted again, until finally the Hunter’s face stared back at her. “When I first met Lady Chasteyn, she invited me to a party celebrating her husband’s return from a pilgrimage to Shalandra. The Gatherers are from Shalandra, and they serve the demon’s bidding. That could easily explain Lord Chasteyn’s prolonged absence and still connects him to the Gatherers.”

  Ilanna frowned in thought. “If she’s been killing, why haven’t more bodies been found?”

  “They have.” The Hunter shook his head. “According to my contacts, five children, all the same age as the Bluejacket in Old Town Market, appeared in the Field of Mercy.”

  Ilanna’s gut clenched. She had bad history with the Field of Mercy—she’d lost two of her dearest friends to the ravenous quicksand.

  It would serve as the perfect dumping ground for bodies, for both the Gatherers and Lady Chasteyn’s victims, she thought. They would never be found again. Only the gods knew how many criminals were buried beneath the thick mud.

  “But if they were dumping bodies in the Field of Mercy, why would they suddenly stop?” she asked.

  “I think I know the answer to that,” Ria said. “Yesterday I overheard a couple of Foxes talking about heightened security in Watcher’s Square and around the palace. Something about twice as many Praamian Guards, though no one seems to know why.”

  Ilanna grimaced. I know why. On her last visit to the King, she’d thrown a salty comment at Duke Phonnis mocking his Praamian Guards. He’d taken her jibe to “do something about” security measures to heart, it seemed.

  The Hunter spoke up. “But if the Gatherers and Holtan here couldn’t dump the bodies in the Field of Mercy, they’d have to find a new dumping spot. Which explains why they chose the alleys and sewers.”

  “And why they left the Bluejacket’s body in Old Town Market,” Ilanna put in. Kytos’ words flashed through her mind. They’d found the child dying from Lady Chasteyn’s poison, doubtless snatching him up before Holtan could collect his body—or the message to Baronet Wyvern. At Lord Chasteyn’s command, the Gatherers had dumped the dead or dying boy into the alley. “The Flaming Tansy claimed him before they could dose him with Night Petal.”

  The Hunter bared his teeth, fury blazing in his eyes. “The bastards deserved a far crueler fate than just death.”

  “If the legends of that dagger are true,” Ilanna said, thrusting a chin at Soulhunger, “their souls are suffering in one of the hells.”

  The Hunter glanced down at his dagger, then nodded. “True. But they will not suffer alone. Lord and Lady Chasteyn must taste the Watcher’s justice this day.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  The smell of demon hung thick and sickening in the empty house. The manservant reeked of rot and decay, the odor so strong the Hunter was surprised he hadn’t detected it when he encountered Holtan in the House of Mercy. Or when he encountered Lady Chasteyn, for that matter. Only the overwhelming amber, cinnamon, musk, and candied flowers of the noblewoman’s perfume had kept him from smelling it.

  But he’d found the demon now, of that he had no doubt. Everything pointed to the Chasteyns—Lady Chasteyn the murderer of the Bluejackets, and Lord Chasteyn as the Abiarazi and the leader of the Gatherers. All that remained was to track them down and mete out the punishment they deserved.

  “Hold on.” Ilanna stepped between him and the door. “We can’t just go storming into a nobleman’s mansion in broad daylight.”

  The Hunter snorted. “You might not be able to, but—”

  “If this demon is as hard to kill as you say he is, don’t you think it’s stupid to fight him and his household guards?” Ilanna cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, and any of the Duke’s Arbitors he might have hired to protect him?”

  “How many?” The Hunter folded his arms. “Ten, twenty?” He’d faced and defeated far worse odds than that.

  Ilanna fixed him with a deadpan stare. “Are you really trying to tell me you’re that good?”

  The Hunter said nothing, simply shrugged.

  Ilanna rolled her eyes. “Be that as it may, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather play this one smart.”

  “What are you proposing?”

  “We pay the Chasteyns a visit, but only after I’m sure we’re not going to run into a small army.” Ilanna gestured to Ria. “My people will keep the Arbitors and the household guards busy so we can get in and face the Chasteyns in person.”

  “And what makes you think they’ll even be there?” the Hunter asked. “If the Chasteyns know about the Gatherers or suspect that we’re on to them—”

  “You saw how their servant was strolling up to the orphanage.” The Guild Master shook her head. “Did you get even the slightest hint of nervousness or fear from him?”

  The Hunter considered the question. Holtan hadn’t seemed nervous or fearful, and given how much he cared for his mistress, he’d be the first one to know if the Chasteyns were afraid for their lives or preparing to flee. “No,” he said finally.

  “Which means the Chasteyns can’t know that we’re coming for them.” The Guild Master drove the point home. “So we’ve got time to do it right, to get in without tipping the Chasteyns off until we’re ready to take them down.”

  “Take them down?” The Hunter cocked an eyebrow. “So you’re not suggesting we drag them in front of the King for summary judgement?”

  The Guild Master snorted. “Why would I ever suggest such a thing? The Chasteyns have given me too much trouble to trust them to the King’s court. Besides, if Lord Chasteyn really is a demon, do you truly believe the Praamian Guards or Arbitors could handle him?”

 
“Not even a little.” The Hunter allowed a little smile to spread his lips. “I just wanted to see where you stood.”

  A dagger appeared in Ilanna’s hand with a deftness that surprised him. “I want my city cleansed of this filth, today!” Fire flashed in her eyes.

  “Good.” The Hunter nodded. “Then we will play it your way. How long do you and your people need?”

  Ilanna shot a glance at Ria. “The Serpents should be here at any moment. Once they arrive, we can be ready to move within the hour.”

  One hour, eh? The Hunter pursed his lips. He’d been so focused on finding the demon in Praamis he hadn’t given much thought as to how to deal with the thing once he did.

  Until Enarium, he would have driven Soulhunger into the demon’s heart and laughed as the creature died screaming. Now, with the promise he’d made to feed Kharna, he couldn’t afford to kill the Abiarazi. Their life force—the energy that coursed within their bodies, the source of their inhuman abilities—was far too valuable in the Serenii’s fight to keep the Devourer of Worlds from breaking into Einan. He had to find another solution to deal with the demon that didn’t involve killing.

  He stifled a snort. Easier said than done. Abiarazi had proven notoriously hard to kill, and trying to take one alive could prove paramount to suicide.

  Unless, of course, he had the right tools for the job. The Swordsman’s blades might be in the House of Need in Voramis, but perhaps there was another solution.

  “Allow me to make one request of your people before we go. An…unusual one, but vital to put an end to the creature we will face.”

  Ilanna cocked an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

  “What I’ll need is…”

  * * *

  The Hunter shot a glance at Ilanna, crouched beside him in the shadow of an overhanging rooftop. “How much longer?” he growled. He’d acceded to the Guild Master’s plan, knowing it would make his mission to take down the demon easier, but he chafed at the delay. If anything went wrong and the demon evaded him here…

  “Two minutes,” Ilanna hissed back. “Just waiting for the Serpents’ signal.”

  The Hunter ground his teeth. “Your people have what I need?” he asked.

  Ilanna jerked a thumb at the huge blonde man—she’d called him Jarl. Jarl shook his sack, and a satisfying clink of metal echoed from within.

  “Good.” The Hunter nodded. “Keep them at hand for when I subdue the demon.”

  He turned his focus back to scrutinizing the mansion that was their target. His eyes roamed the building and found only the exact same details he’d been studying for the last half hour.

  From his position atop the roof of a four-story mansion, he had an unobstructed view of the Chasteyns’ mansion. It was a larger, richer property, with tall trees, perfectly manicured lawns, and a four-tiered stone fountain in the paved stone courtyard. The building itself rose just three stories off the ground, but it covered more surface area than the rest of the properties around it. Evidently the wishleaf trade was more lucrative than the Hunter knew.

  Six guards in blue jackets, black trousers, and burnished silver breastplates—Arbitors, Ilanna had called them—patrolled the property, nowhere near enough to stop the Hunter from getting through.

  But to reach the nobleman before he was alerted to their presence, Ilanna had a different idea. When the Arbitors disappeared around the far side of the estate, Jarl had shot a crossbow bolt to anchor a rope to the rooftop beyond, then sent another of his comrades, which Ilanna had called a Hawk, to secure it. The Hunter had heard of these zip wires, as they were called, being used to convey heavy loads across vast canyons or fast-flowing rivers.

  An interesting and clever plan, he had to admit.

  The Hunter couldn’t help feeling impressed by Ilanna and her Night Guild. They had proven far more coordinated, controlled, and clinical than the violent Bloody Hand. Ilanna kept them in line, and they approached their various criminal activities with the dispassion of a trained professional—like a butcher or baker rather than the bloodthirsty, vicious bastards that had ruled Voramis.

  A low whistle echoed from somewhere below, and Ilanna turned to him. “It’s time.”

  She handed him a strange-looking contraption: a U-shaped length of metal with two railed wheels. When secured over the zip wire, the Hunter realized, the wheels would spin, thereby reducing friction with the rope and making the crossing faster.

  The Hunter stepped in her way. “I will face the demon first.”

  Ilanna looked ready to retort, but the Ghandian woman put a hand on her shoulder. “He’s right.” The words seemed to stick in her mouth, but she kept the disdain from the glance she shot at the Hunter. “A wise leader knows when to hang back and let her people do the dirty work.”

  Ilanna snorted. “Please, Ria, after all this time, you still don’t know me?” She did, however, remove her wheeled metal device and motion for the Hunter to go first.

  The Hunter snapped the wheels into place atop the rope, gripped the bar in both hands, and, taking a deep breath, leapt off the rooftop. The whirring of the fast-turning wheels was soon lost beneath the whistling of the wind in the Hunter’s ear as he sped down the zip wire toward the nobleman’s mansion a hundred paces away.

  Movement flashed in the corner of his eye, and he turned his head in time to see a dozen of the Night Guild’s assassins rush toward the gate. Their handheld crossbows twanged, sending tiny poison-tipped darts at the blue-robed Arbitors stationed at the gate and walls. He didn’t know if the poison was deadly or simply a sleeping draught, but right now, he didn’t care. Anything to keep the guards busy while he took out the demon.

  Four men wearing the livery and gryphon insignia of House Chasteyn raced out of the mansion and threw themselves at the Night Guild’s fighters. They, too, fell with poison darts embedded in their flesh.

  Then the Hunter had no more time to watch, for the balcony was racing toward him at terrible speeds. He lifted his feet to clear the railing, released his grip on the metal bar, and dropped into a forward roll that brought him to his feet. He used the forward momentum to drive his shoulder into the balcony doors with enough force to shatter glass, bend the metal lock, and splinter the frame.

  He leapt into the chamber beyond, sword and dagger drawn.

  His eyes fixed on the two figures seated on the plush couches before him.

  Beneath the thick stench of amber, cinnamon, musk, and candied flowers, the Hunter sensed the unmistakable reek of rot and decay. He’d found the demon.

  “Lord and Lady Chasteyn,” he growled, “for your sins, the hand of the Watcher comes for you this day.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Ilanna landed on the balcony a second after the Hunter, rolled with the fall, and leapt through the now-shattered window in time to hear his declaration. From anyone else, it might have sounded trite, but Ilanna felt a shiver run down her spine at the fury in his words. She could very well picture the Hunter as the Watcher’s right hand, meting out just punishment.

  The Chasteyns’ bedroom was luxurious, a massive silk-canopied bed dominating its center while ornate teak cabinets, dressers, and shelves lined the walls. The Chasteyns sat on a plush divan, sharing a cup of tea from valuable Nyslian porcelain cups. The picture of placid routine, but Ilanna knew the truth. Beneath their elegant clothing and polished demeanors lurked monsters.

  Lady Chasteyn was too stunned to do more than drop her tea, and a dark stain spread across her frilled yellow-and-white summer gown.

  Lord Chasteyn, however, leapt to his feet with impossible speed and darted from the room before she or the Hunter could react.

  With a roar, the Hunter charged after the fleeing nobleman.

  Ilanna heard the crunch of glass behind her, and didn’t need to turn to know Ria had joined her in the noblewoman’s sitting room.

  “Lady Chasteyn,” she snarled, “the Night Guild has come for a reckoning.”

  The noblewoman blinked and stared at Ilanna with
a confused look. “What have we done to earn the Night Guild’s wrath? Surely my husband has—”

  “This is not about your husband!” Ria’s voice was cold, hard. “Yours were the hands that killed those children.”

  “Surely you are mistaken.” Lady Chasteyn looked taken aback, even offended. When she raised a hand to her mouth, Ilanna caught a glimpse of scars—two running from her elbow to her forearm, and more, smaller scars running parallel to her wrists. “Where is Holtan? My manservant will be able to clear up any misund—”

  “Holtan lies dead, his just reward for his part in your crimes.” Ilanna stepped forward and drew a dagger. “Your husband has fled, and now you must stand judgement for your actions.”

  “So be it.” Lady Chasteyn recovered some of her poise and dignity and stood, head held high. Yet her fingers dug into her arms, hard enough to leave red lines. “Duke Phonnis will know the truth of the matter. He will see that I am innocent of whatever it is you believe I have done.”

  “Oh, the truth will come out.” Ilanna fixed the noblewoman with a hard glare. “When I present Duke Phonnis with your corpse and all the evidence that connects you to the murders of your Bluejackets, he will, indeed, learn who is behind these deaths.”

  Lady Chasteyn’s expression remained haughty for a moment, then the façade cracked and her face grew desperate, fearful. “Please! It is his fault!” She thrust a finger in the direction Lord Chasteyn had fled. “My husband is a cruel man, and he made me kill those children. He said they were a drain on our finances, that we were only doing the city a disservice by keeping alive those who would have died without our help. He is a monster!”

  Ilanna smiled. “You’re not far wrong on that one.”

  Lady Chasteyn, as if reading Ilanna’s wry humor as understanding, threw herself to her knees. “He and his terrible cult of Gatherers are murdering innocents, and I can do nothing to stop him. If I so much as speak against it, he beats me. When he ordered me to kill, I could not resist for fear that he would kill me as he has all the others.”