Blade of the Destroyer: The Last Bucelarii: Book 1
Page 34
The demon's body thrashed in its death throes before finally lying still. The Hunter's fingers curled around Soulhunger's blood-covered grip, and with a mighty heave, he wrenched it from the dead demon's chest. The blade drank eagerly, and within seconds, the light of the gem had faded.
The wind howled around him, carrying the sounds of screaming from beyond the still-open portal into the fiery hell. The scent of sulfur and charred meat wafted toward him, and he fought the urge to gag. The portal writhed and twisted. The breach in reality collapsed inward, and the world seemed to bend around him, shrinking to a tiny point and exploding outward faster than his mind could comprehend.
A concussive force washed over the Hunter, throwing him through the air. He slammed hard against the ground. Dark spots swam in his vision, and he struggled to breathe. He could do no more than lie on the ground, fighting to remain conscious.
The demon's life force must have anchored the portal, his mind thought dimly. When Soulhunger took his life, it severed the connection.
"Keeper-cursed demons," he spat, his voice weak and faint.
Slowly, with great effort, the Hunter rolled onto his stomach. Climbing to his feet seemed to be an impossible task, and yet somehow he managed. His legs still ached, but they had healed sufficiently to allow him to move.
Have…to find…the First, he thought, gritting his teeth through the pain.
He lurched toward the tunnel into which the First had disappeared, pausing only long enough to retrieve the Swordsman's iron blades and his sword belt. Vision swimming, his stomach lurched when he bent over. He swallowed his gorge and stumbled on.
Rumbling sounded high above his head. He looked up in time to see a massive boulder crumble and fall from the roof of the cavern. The ground beneath the Hunter echoed the ominous grumbling of the roof, and stone rained down around him.
Twisted hell!
He tried to hurry, but his legs refused to cooperate. They sagged beneath him, sending him stumbling. He fell hard, then scrambled to his feet once more, determined to keep moving toward the tunnel with all the speed he could muster. Something slammed into his shoulder and hurled him to the ground.
One arm in front of the other, he thought. If he could not walk, he would crawl. The distance to the mouth of the tunnel seemed endless. Another chunk of rock struck the back of his neck, and his vision blurred.
Move, move, move!
A gigantic stalactite broke free of the roof with a deafening 'crack'. The enormous shard of stone plunged toward him, tons of debris and loose stone accompanying its descent. A curse flashed through his mind as the roof collapsed, burying him beneath a mountain of rubble.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Am I dead?
He felt nothing, saw only darkness. He floated, drifting through an empty void.
If so, the afterlife is supremely boring.
As conscious thought returned, pain whispered its way back into his limbs. An immense weight pressed on his spine, crushing him and rendering him immobile.
What in the frozen hell?
Dazed and confused, he tried to focus through the throbbing in his head. He remembered crawling away from the body of the Third, fighting to escape before…
The roof of the cavern collapsed.
His ribs creaked painfully, and pulling air into his lungs seemed impossible. Dust filled his mouth and nose, setting him coughing. More pain.
I must be buried beneath the rubble.
For long moments, he struggled to move his arms, his legs, his head, even his fingers. Nothing. Nothing but pain.
No! I have to get out of here.
Darkness pressed in around him, paralyzing him with its incalculable weight. He tried to move, threw every ounce of strength into the struggle, but his muscles failed. Fear rippled through him as he fought for breath. The oppressing blackness trapped more than his body; his very soul felt crushed beneath the burden.
It's hopeless! Panic seized his mind. I can't get out of here. I'm going to die buried alive.
His head spun and his stomach twisted, threatening to empty itself in his fear. Sweat trickled down his face. His heart beat so fast it felt as if it would rip free of his chest. His breath came fast and hard, and his limbs jerked violently. The faint sound of clattering stone reached his ears, but only darkness greeted his eyes.
For the first time in memory, the Hunter truly feared death. He had faced ghastly odds before, but nothing like this. There was no one to hunt, no one to kill. There was only him and the mountain of rock and stone over his head. Visions of his crushed, buried body raced through his mind.
Not like this. His animal side howled in panic. Not alone and trapped far beneath the earth!
Another wave of terror flooded him, and his limbs twitched in a paroxysm of fear. The hopelessness of his situation overwhelmed his primal instinct. Despair filled him. He had no way of escape.
Accept it, he told himself. Accept that you cannot escape, and surrender to the darkness. It can all be over. The pain, the suffering, it can all end.
Tears filled his eyes. Something within him broke, a dam holding back the pain, and emotion burst from within his chest. Salty wetness flooded down his cheeks as he wept.
I've tried to ignore the pain my whole life, tried to distract myself from feeling the desolation of being alone in the world.
He relaxed his tired muscles, and his heartbeat slowed. He no longer fought for breath, but simply lay there, acceptant of his fate.
Let it be over, he thought. I'm tired of being alone, being an outcast, being rejected.
No, something within him whispered. Never truly an outcast, never completely rejected. Never alone.
Faces floated in the darkness. Old Nan. Jak the Thumb. Ellinor. Little Arlo. They had accepted him, even welcomed him.
But they are gone now.
He had always kept his feelings bottled up, telling himself they were a sign of weakness. Now he wept freely. He wept for himself, letting the emotion wash through him as hot tears streamed down his dust-stained face.
Don't lose control, screamed the demon in his head, howling with rage. To lose control is death.
He had always considered his animal instinct a gift, the thing that made him the killer he was. He had listened to it, had used it to make him a peerless hunter…The Hunter. But now, with a sinking in his gut, he realized what that other half of him truly was.
The demon within.
He had fought to control his urges, his desire to kill, but the demon had always won. Every time he killed, he had given more of himself to the demon. With every death, his humanity had died a little more.
No longer, he vowed. With my death, the demon will be silenced once and for all. It will never again be able to harm another human being. The time of the Hunter must end.
With acceptance came peace. His pain seemed to fade into the darkness around him. He floated, weightless, numb. Emptiness filled his mind, and he closed his eyes.
It is the end.
A new face materialized—a happy face, with chubby cheeks, long eyelashes, and a smile so infectious it had always brought a grin to his own face.
Farida.
Her smile dimmed, and her skin turned cold, lifeless. Once again, the Hunter saw the empty, unseeing eyes and slack expression on the child's face as he had laid her on the steps of the House of Need. He couldn't look into those eyes, couldn't see the accusation written there.
I'm so sorry, child. I'm so sorry.
A fresh wave of sorrow flooded him, and tears fell anew.
It is all my fault, he thought. I allowed this to happen to her. It is because of me that this innocent child was killed.
Farida's features rippled, morphing once more into the happy, smiling face of the child he had seen so many times. She stared back at him through eyes bright with life. She saw him now—the real him, without disguise.
It's not your fault, she seemed to say. It may have been because of you, but it is not your fault.
No, the vision responded, you gave me life all those years ago when you brought me to the House of Need. Death is inevitable, but it is thanks to you that I lived as long as I did. You saved me.
A wave of emotion flooded him, joy mingling with his sorrow. The pain of loss at Farida's death remained, but happiness washed over him as he realized that he truly had saved her all those years ago.
Were it to end like this, your death would be meaningless, she told him. Your life had meaning to at least one little flower girl. Is that not enough for you to keep living?
End it all, the demon within him whispered. The darkness around him beckoned. He wanted nothing more than to accept the peaceful embrace of death.
Get up, Farida's face seemed to say. Fight, Hunter.
With a final haunting smile, her face slowly faded from his thoughts, leaving his mind empty. Only blackness filled his vision as he was once more left alone.
It is over, his demon half said.
No. I cannot let the First escape. I cannot let him out into the world once more, where he will disappear forever.
Embrace the comfort of death, the demon whispered, its voice soothing, and we will join our brothers once more.
NO! I WILL NOT YIELD!
The voice murmured promises of an end to his suffering, offering him peace, but the Hunter had found his will to live.
I will escape, he thought, and I will fight. The First still walks free, but he will pay for what he has done.
Pain flooded him once more, the pressure of the rubble above him threatening to break him in half. Agony coursed through every muscle and bone. His ribs felt as if they would shatter at any moment. Yet the pain only strengthened his resolve.
It will not end here. I am the Hunter, and I will not die trapped like a worm.
The Hunter heaved, his muscles straining. Pain flared along his chest and back with the effort. Every bone in his body protested, yet the mountain refused to move. Willing his body to work harder, the Hunter fought to arch his back, to bend his elbows, to bring his knees to his chest. He threw every ounce of his strength into his muscles, his will alone forcing his body to keep pushing though his sinews quaked with the effort.
I can't be far from the surface, he thought.
The debris covering his right arm shifted. He heard the clatter of rubble, and hope surged through him at the sound. He pulled his hand toward him, trying to free it from the crushing mountain atop him. A muffled scream tore from his lips as blood rushed into his wrist and the nerves came back to life in his crushed fingers. He nearly collapsed from the agony of returning sensation. Yet he poured the pain into the fire of his will, using it to fan the flame and feed his rage.
I WILL NOT YIELD!
Slowly, the heavy stones above him shifted. He heaved upwards, struggling to free his body from the debris burying him.
But the strain was too much, the weight too heavy. His strength fled. Exhausted, his muscles drained, he fell back to his face and hands. The stones above him threatened to crush him beneath their weight.
Yet he refused to give up.
No! It will not end here!
A soft breeze wafted across his face, beckoning him. He fought toward it, crawling one painful pace at a time. Rocks carved deep grooves into his back, and blood trickled down his sides, but still he struggled. Hand over hand, he pulled himself toward the pinprick of light in the distance.
Almost there…
With a final tremendous effort, the Hunter dragged his body free of the rubble. He flopped to the stone floor and sucked in huge gulps of air. The mountain collapsed behind him, burying the small cavity in a shower of dust and stone.
For long moments he lay there, panting for breath, sensation washing over him. Blood coursed through his arms and legs. He was weak, but alive. Agony permeated every nerve and muscle in his body, yet he refused to let it steal his consciousness. The pain served to remind him that he had escaped death once more.
Something hard pressed into his back, and relief flooded him as he touched the hilts of the iron blades. His left hand still gripped Soulhunger. Already the shattered bones had begun to re-knit, hardening with every passing second. Soulhunger remained silent, but the Hunter could sense its consciousness slowly returning. His head throbbed, both from his injuries and from the dagger's presence in his mind.
Slowly, the agony in his fingers subsided. They felt thick and clumsy, but he could move them without too much pain. His vision wavered when he tried to stand. Another wave of pain swept over him, forcing him to lean against the wall for support. His knees threatened to give out—his legs had not yet fully healed.
"Bloody Minstrel," he cursed. "Let's hope I don't run into anyone on my way out." He realized he was speaking aloud. "Great, and now I'm talking to myself." Talking into the empty silence of the tunnels felt oddly comforting. It made him feel less alone.
Dust showered from the ceiling, along with a few chunks of loose stone. A rumble echoed through the cavern. Somehow, the Hunter found the will to move. Though it required all of his resolve, he forced himself to take slow, pain-filled steps down the tunnel. Fear of the tunnel's collapse propelled him forward. He had already climbed his way free of one mountain of debris, and had no desire to do so again.
I'm coming for you, you bastard. A smile touched his lips. He visualized the suffering he would visit on the First in vengeance for what he had done.
"Damned demon!" he cursed aloud.
He filled his lungs with the stale air, ignoring the ache in his ribs. If he could find the First's scent, he could—
A grim, wolfish snarl of rage burst from his throat.
I've got you now.
Fighting to ignore the pain in every step, the Hunter hobbled down the empty Serenii tunnels. He followed the demon's trail through the darkness, his eyes ever alert for danger. The scent of decay, faint as it was, led him unerringly toward his prey.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
It seemed like hours had passed, but the Hunter guessed he had walked for no more than half an hour. The sound of his gasping echoed in the silence of the dark passages. His hands no longer throbbed, and his legs only complained with every other step. The pain had gone, but exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him. He wanted nothing more than to collapse, to close his eyes, to sleep on the cold stone floor. The echoes of the tunnels crumbling behind him forced him onward.
Light flickered ahead, beckoning him and yet filling him with a sense of dread. Light could only come from torches, meaning people. His sensitive nostrils detected the scents of steel, leather, and stale sweat. Armed men, undoubtedly left there by the First to kill him.
The Hunter peered around the corner, and cursed silently. Five men stood in the circle of torchlight, wearing the crimson-trimmed black robes of the Dark Heresy, heavy swords strapped to their waists. He wondered if he should find another way, but the First's trail led through the group of men. He had no choice but to fight.
Shite, he thought, this is not going to be fun.
The fingers of his left hand had not yet healed sufficiently to wield the long sword. Instead, he drew one of the Swordsman's iron blades and gripped Soulhunger in his weaker hand.
Here goes nothing.
With all the speed he could muster, he dashed around the corner of the passage and charged toward the Dark Heresiarchs. His soft boots made no sound on the tunnel floor, and he whispered a silent blessing on the cobbler who had made them.
Soulhunger throbbed weakly in his mind, and the voice in his head and the weight of the dagger in his hand comforted him. He just needed to get close enough to sink the blade into one of the Dark Heresiarchs…
The Hunter waited until he was within a dozen paces of the Dark Heresiarchs before hurling the Swordsman's blade. Even as he released it, he knew the cast had been poor, but it was enough. The crossguard slammed into the face of one Heresiarch, and the man dropped, clutchi
ng at his broken nose.
Before the other Heresiarchs knew what was happening, the Hunter was upon them. He lashed out with Soulhunger, and the dagger's tip sank deep into the back of the nearest guard. The blade slid through the man's ribs and sliced the smooth muscle of the heart. The Dark Heresiarch died with a blood-curdling scream.
Power rushed through the Hunter, flooding him with strength and vitality. As the first Dark Heresiarch slumped, the Hunter's right hand—now fully healed—tugged his sword free of its sheath.
"The Hunter!" one of the Dark Heresiarchs gasped, his eyes going wide.
"Stop him!" shouted another guard. The Heresiarch had more courage than good sense, for he lunged forward to cross swords with the Hunter without waiting for his companions to join him. He died in seconds, blood spurting from a gaping wound in his neck.
Two more guards found their nerve and, drawing heavy swords, rushed the Hunter. He fended off their attacks, waiting for an opening. But when he saw a third man struggling to clear his blade from its sheath, he knew it was time to change tactics. The last thing he wanted was a long, drawn out struggle; he could not allow the First to escape.
The Hunter leapt forward, sword held high, a growl of rage bursting from his lips. One of the Dark Heresiarchs' swords slipped past the Hunter's guard, slicing a deep gash in his stomach. The Hunter's shout of pain blended with the guard's wet gurgle as the Hunter buried his sword in the man's throat. The other Heresiarch swung high, and the Hunter thrust Soulhunger between his ribs. The Dark Heresiarchs fell in unison.
Fear filled the faces of the last two men, but the Hunter gave them no time to flee. He laid open the thick artery in the arm of the first guard, who screamed and clutched at the wound in a vain effort to stanch the torrent of blood.
The last Heresiarch proved more proficient with the sword than his companions; he managed to hold off the Hunter's strikes for a few moments, even landing a lucky blow across the Hunter's forehead. A contemptuous slash of the Hunter's sword sent the guard's blade wide, and Soulhunger thrust in for the kill.