Blade of the Destroyer: The Last Bucelarii: Book 1

by Andy Peloquin

  Argam.

  "Room beginning to spin, Hunter?" the Second asked, confidence filling his voice.

  The poison seeped into the Hunter's arm, and the swordbreaker clattered to the floor. He leaned on the table for support.

  "Like I said," the Second's face split into a mocking grin, "I knew you were coming."

  The Hunter wobbled and sagged, the point of his sword resting on the floor for a moment as he sought to hold himself upright. He stumbled backward, off balance, and with renewed vigor, the Second pressed the attack. Eyes filled with triumph, he darted forward with a lunge meant to impale the Hunter.

  But the Hunter had only feigned weakness. He blocked the Second's thrust with contemptuous ease, and his right hand came up hard and fast. The blade set into the sword's crossguard slammed into the Second's throat.

  Blood spurted over the Hunter's knuckles as the little blade cut deep. The Second clutched at his throat in a vain effort to stanch the torrent, but the wound gushed with every labored breath. The room filled with the coppery tang of fresh blood and the foul stench of the Second's bowels loosening in terror.

  The Second slumped to his knees, still fighting to stop the gore pumping from his throat.

  "Many have tried to kill me before," the Hunter whispered into the man's ear, "better men than you, Second. And all have failed. Join them now."

  With his free hand, the Hunter drew Soulhunger. The Second's eyes widened at the sight of the blade. He tried to scream, but only a horrible gurgling punctuated the silence.

  With a howl of rage, the Hunter drove the point of the dagger deep into the Second's chest. The dying man's screams echoed in the small room.

  "May your soul rot in whatever hell it has gone to," he cursed, watching life fade from the man's eyes.

  Power flooded him, and Soulhunger screamed in ululating ecstasy as it drank deep of the Second's lifeblood. The Hunter stumbled backward, clutching at his head to drown out the horrible cried echoing through his mind. The scars on his chest burned, and a new mark joined those etched into his skin.

  But the pain didn't bother him. Vengeance had been served.

  * * *

  "Get that damn door open, Kuritts," Oden yelled.

  They had all heard the screams from within the Second's room, and the clash of steel on steel had been unmistakable.

  The four thugs battered at the heavy door, but the bloodwood refused to yield. Long minutes passed before the Hand cutters forced the door open, but by that time, the sounds from the room beyond had died. The carnage within showed the futility of their efforts

  "Keeper!" Oden cursed as he surveyed the carnage in the room. Blood dripped from the forehead of the naked whore splayed over the top of the Second's desk, pooling in a foul-smelling puddle at the center of the room.

  The body of the Second hung naked and bleeding, pinioned to the wall by his own daggers. From where he stood, Oden could see something carved into the corpse's chest. Stepping closer, he squinted in an effort to read the bloody words.

  The Hunter is inexorable.

  Fire blossomed in his face as an explosion engulfed the small room.

  * * *

  Grim satisfaction flooded the Hunter as the detonation shook the tunnel around him.

  Thank you, Graeme, for your little blue bottles of alchemical fire!

  He basked in the cool darkness of the Serenii passages, slipping through the shadows without a sound.

  A twinge of fear raced through him as dust and debris rained down from the roof. For a moment, he worried the weight of the crumbling building might trigger a collapse in the tunnels. He was immune to most wounds, but he doubted even he could survive being buried under a mountain of stone. But only a few loose chunks tore free before the rumbling overhead died down. The Serenii had built their tunnels well.

  These secret passages truly are marvelous. The Serenii tunnels had allowed him to enter the Second's room unseen and unheard, and he had used them to escape the building before the alchemical bombs exploded. Now let's see if they lead me to where the First is hiding.

  A wave of nausea flooded him, forcing him to stop and lean on the wall for support. Breathing hard, he struggled to stay upright as the smell of the argam in his veins overwhelmed his senses.

  Derelana damn that Second and his bloody poison. Cowardly bastard. He recognized the irony of his anger.

  The weakness passed, and the Hunter continued his trek through the darkness. He knew his body would flush out the poison within a few hours—more than enough time for him to track down the remaining members of the Hand.

  After tonight, Voramis will be free of the burden of the Bloody Hand, and I can turn my attention to the demons.

  He pictured the First's smug grin and relished the thought of wiping it from the man's face with the edge of his sword.

  I'm coming for you, you bastard.

  The First would pay for his sins. He could not outrun the Hunter.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The little pickpocket crept through the unlit Serenii tunnels beneath Voramis. His eyes darted nervously around and his hands shook with fear, setting the shuttered lamp he carried rattling.

  Just out of reach of the meager lamplight, the Hunter smiled, his eyes tracking the jumpy thief. The smooth floors of the tunnel made it easy for him to move without fear of stumbling, and the soft leather of his boots muffled his footsteps. He ghosted along in pursuit.

  "Watcher damn the Hunter," the thief muttered. He pivoted his head from side to side, stopping periodically to check for signs of pursuit.

  "Lead me to your master," the Hunter whispered softly into the darkness. "Your time will come, little thief." His voice carried through the tunnel, reverberating until it seemed to echo from every direction.

  The thief jumped and spun around. "What?" His voice trembled. Holding the lamp high, he peered into the shadows around him. "Wh-who's there?"

  Nothing but silence greeted him.

  "Damned tunnels!" he cursed, turning and picking up his pace. "Creepy bloody things. It's all in yer head, McCreedy."

  The Hunter stifled his laughter as he followed the pickpocket, who trotted at a near-run, his breath coming in gasps. The thief reeked of terror, the smell overwhelming his natural unwashed fragrance.

  Let's see where the little bastard scurries to now.

  The Hunter had laid waste to every place the Bloody Hand could hide. He had killed their men, frightened away their customers, and burned their primary source of income to the ground. He was certain the thief would lead him right to the First—one of the final loose ends to tie up. Once he had ended the Bloody Hand's leader, he could hunt down the Third—whoever he was—and Celicia.

  A stab of anger ran through him at the thought of the woman who had called herself Celicia. She had played him, and for some reason that stung far worse than any pain caused by the Second's implements of torture.

  She was just doing her job, he told himself. He wasn't certain why he was so angry at her betrayal, yet it hurt nonetheless.

  Eventually, he would have to deal with Lord Jahel as well. Dozens of the Dark Heresy had died tonight. It wasn't enough to dim the Hunter's rage.

  Even if I have to tear apart the Palace of Justice, I will find the place where he skulks. The days of the Dark Heresy were numbered.

  His promise to Father Reverentus echoed in his mind. The weight of his vow pressed on him, but he pushed those thoughts aside. It would have to wait—first, he needed to put an end to the Hand once and for all.

  Instinct told him that the thief headed in the direction of a large, open cavern—a location marked clearly in a script he had been unable to decipher. The cavern would be a good place for the First to lie in wait. It had enough space to hold a small army—or however many of the Bloody Hand remained alive.

  He consulted Graeme's map, which he had committed to memory. If it was correct, he should reach the cavern in a few minutes. A thrill of anticipation coursed through the Hunter, and h
is heart pounded in excitement. The First was so close; he could all but feel the man's presence.

  The pickpocket fairly sprinted through the tunnel in his fear, his lamp rattling and bouncing as his heavy boots echoed in the corridor. He turned a corner in the tunnel, disappearing from view.

  The Hunter moved quickly to catch up with the man, and rounded the bend in the passage in time to see the thief disappear through a small opening a few dozen paces away. Light shone from beyond, and the Hunter heard the sound of voices.

  The little pickpocket was speaking, his voice filled with fear. "Sorry, boss, but it was time for me to get back here. There's no sign of anything anyways, just those bloody creepy tunnels." The thief's voice echoed, as if he stood in a wide-open space. Immediately, the Hunter knew he had found the cavern.

  Uncertain of what to expect, he peered around the edge of the opening. Torches flickered in the room beyond, illuminating the cavern. An eerie wind whistled through the high-vaulted space. From where he stood, the Hunter could see gaping darkness at the edge of the room.

  His mind took in the details without conscious thought. He had eyes only for the figure in the center of the cavern.

  Found you, you bastard!

  The First cut an imposing figure in his elegant garments, towering over the small thief. His clothes were as ostentatious as the day he had tortured the Hunter, and he stood as the single bright spot of color in the massive, empty cavern. The scent of his perfume wafted toward the Hunter's hiding place. Beneath hung a sickly sweet odor of decay.

  That smell…

  It was an odd scent, one he had encountered before. It teased at his mind, but it was a puzzle he couldn't solve…yet.

  He pushed the frustrating thought aside and quickly scanned the room, his eyes searching the shadows for the First's army. Surprisingly, the man was alone. No heavily-armed thugs flanked him—a testament to his overconfidence.

  He has no fear that I will find him here, the Hunter thought. Time to put the fear of the gods into him.

  The Hunter stepped from the shadows and threw back his dark hood. "Your time has come, First," he said, his voice solemn. "The Hunter always finds his prey, and tonight you will suffer the same fate as your men."

  The little thief leapt into the air, squeaking in fright. He turned to face the Hunter, and his mouth fell open. The pickpocket squirmed beneath the Hunter's glare, looking as if his bladder was a heartbeat away from emptying itself. His hands shook as they reached for the pitiful dagger at his belt.

  The First, however, showed no sign of fear, but calmly turned to face the Hunter.

  "By the gods, if it isn't the Hunter himself." With a smile, he swept a courtly bow. "What a pleasant surprise! Well, perhaps not quite a surprise. To tell you the truth, I've been expecting you."

  Instinct screamed in the Hunter's mind a heartbeat before his sensitive nostrils detected the coppery scent of dried blood and cold steel. He felt movement behind him, and without thinking, threw himself to the floor. That instinct saved him, for a heavy fist whooshed over his head, missing him by a hair's breadth.

  He lashed out and heard a grunt of pain as his kick connected. His boot struck a massive shinbone instead of the man's knee, as he had intended. He rolled away, seeking to place distance between himself and the huge hands reaching for him—the same hands that had gripped the handles of Lord Cyrannius' wheeled chair.

  Tane stared at the Hunter with a dark expression, his heavy brows knitted in frustration. The Hunter's hand flashed toward his sword belt, but Tane moved with a speed that should have been impossible for his size. He spread his massive arms wide, attempting to encircle the Hunter in a bear hug powerful enough to crush ribs. A grin of triumph spread on his face.

  But this time, instead of retreating the Hunter stepped forward, moving between Tane's arms. His fists pummeled the big man's solar plexus, kidneys, and throat. He slammed the knife-edge of his hand into the bunched muscles on the side of the Tane's neck, and his elbow shot upward to strike the underside of the huge man's chin. Tane gasped for breath, his arms dropping.

  The Hunter risked a glance over his shoulder. The First had not moved, but his hand rested calmly on his sword. Unwilling to chance a surprise attack from the rear, the Hunter danced to the side, placing both of his enemies within his field of vision.

  "You're going to have to do better than that, Hunter," Tane rasped, rolling his huge shoulders, "if you want to take me down." He shook his arms as if to loosen the muscles before settling into a weaponless fighting stance. Hands empty, fingers spread, knees bent, eyes watching the Hunter's every move.

  While the Hunter had trained in unarmed combat, he preferred weapons. He slipped his sword from its sheath with a ring of steel on leather. The blade felt comfortable in his hands, filling him with confidence.

  He stepped forward to launch his attack, but his body betrayed him. The effects of the argam still lingered, slowing his movements and causing his legs to wobble. His knees sagged for a heartbeat, but it was all Tane needed. The huge man leapt forward with inhuman speed and plowed his fist into the Hunter's stomach.

  The blow knocked the breath from his lungs and doubled him over. With lightning quickness, Tane's arms snaked around him. One huge bicep crushed the Hunter's throat, cutting off his breath, while the other wrenched his right arm behind his back, nearly twisting it from its socket. Tane wrapped his legs around the Hunter's midsection, and the man's prodigious weight pulled the Hunter off balance. He fell backward, his arms and legs splayed.

  Panic flashed through him as he fought desperately to break free from Tane's vise-grip, but the arms wrapped around him yielded not an inch.

  "Hunter, Hunter, Hunter," the First said, shaking his head in mock sorrow. "Always so predictable."

  Struggling for breath, the Hunter stared up at the First, defiance in his eyes.

  "He could kill you right now, you know," the First said, still standing and calmly watching the struggle. "Our Third here has killed dozens of men with his bare hands. Even you can be broken."

  Third?

  The Hunter's mind raced, struggling to put the pieces of the puzzle together even as Tane's massive fingers choked the life out of him. He tried to breathe, tried to speak, but nothing came out.

  Fear flashed through him. Not like this, he thought. This can't be how I die.

  He tried to struggle, but the lack of oxygen left his limbs weak. Slowly, his vision blurred, darkness creeping in.

  "Don't kill him just yet." The First's voice seemed a long way off, barely audible as the Hunter drifted into a warm, soothing haze.

  This is the end. The Hunter felt his body go slack, his struggles weakening. Let it end.

  The pressure around his throat suddenly eased, and the Hunter gasped and filled his lungs with air. He coughed, sending pain flashing through his body. It hurt to breathe, to move, even to think.

  He felt himself being dragged along the ground, but he had no fight left in him. It required all of his will just to remain conscious. He was roughly hauled to his feet, but when the hands released him, his legs refused to hold him upright.

  A hard slap rocked his head to one side, startling him from his daze. He opened his eyes, but a wave of nausea washed over him. The room whirled around him. Swallowing hard, he closed his eyes until the spinning stopped.

  "You might have been a bit too eager," the First said. Tane's only response was a grunt.

  The Hunter cracked an eyelid, and to his relief, the room no longer spun. Opening the other eye, he found himself staring into the smiling face of the First. Tane stood scowling behind his master, watching him with a wary expression.

  Cool stone pressed against the Hunter's back, and thick ropes held him fast. Try as he might, he could not break free of his bonds. Thankfully, they offered some support, holding him upright as his shaky legs regained their strength. He clenched his fists, feeling his hands grow cold as the tightness of his bonds cut off the flow of blood.

  The F
irst had called Tane "Third"—the missing Finger. The Hunter found it odd that such a high-ranking Hand member would pose as servant to Lord Cyrannius. He couldn't figure out how it fit, and his inability to solve the mystery frustrated him.

  It just doesn't make sense!

  Even as his mind searched for answers, his eyes took in the details of his surroundings. An eerie wind moaned through the high-vaulted stone ceiling of the cavern, carrying with it a horrifying smell of decay and rot—the foul odors of the Midden. Dust lay thick on the floor, and every step the First took kicked up small clouds of ancient debris.

  His hands jerked instinctively toward his weapons, but they no longer hung at his side. A momentary stab of panic flashed through him; he felt naked without them. His eyes darted around the room in search of his sword belt. He found it—on the floor, between the feet of the hulking Tane.

  His heart sank. Perhaps if he could break free, there was a chance he could reach them. He knew it would be next to impossible, but he had to try.

  The First stooped over the Hunter's weapons, and his hand closed around Soulhunger's grip. For a moment, the First simply stood staring at the dagger, caressing the blade with delicate fingers, seemingly lost in thought. There was reverence in the way he handled the weapon. Soulhunger pounded in the Hunter's mind, yet it seemed somehow…off. The blade whispered in a voice filled with eager bloodthirst, but there was something else he couldn't quite explain.

  "I know what you must be thinking, Hunter." The First turned suddenly to stride toward him. A sardonic smile spread on the man's face. "You find yourself tied up and at my mercy once again."

  His mocking laughter infuriated the Hunter, who strained at his ropes in a vain attempt to break free. Tane stood like a massive statue in the background, his wary eyes watching the Hunter's every twitch. The First, however, paid no attention to his struggles. He had eyes only for the ornate dagger in his hands. His fingers played with the blade's sheath, turning it over.