Darkblade Seeker: An Epic Fantasy Adventure (Hero of Darkness Book 4)

by Andy Peloquin

  What choice do I have? The Hunter glanced down. He had to reach Hailen tonight. He had to know if Soulhunger's gemstone would keep the madness at bay without the need for the opia.

  “He will be the death of you, Hunter!” The demon's rage tore into his mind with razor claws. “We nearly died in the Advanat, and again climbing this accursed mountain!”

  It led us to the Abiarazi. Surely that pleases you.

  “Not if you intend to treat them as you have every other Abiarazi you've encountered.” The hideous, deformed faces of the First, the Third, Toramin, Garanis, and Queen Asalah flashed before his mind's eye.

  I did what I had to. You can't fault me for trying to survive.

  “And now? Who will you choose? Which of the two will you serve?”

  I am the Hunter. I am servant to none—neither man nor demon!

  Contempt flooded his thoughts. “Well then, stubborn Bucelarii, who will you choose to join, as ally if not vassal?”

  In the months since leaving Malandria, he'd come to understand the truth: the demon's voice was simply one more part of his mind, as separate from him as Soulhunger's insistent demands. Though it required a supreme effort of concentration, he could conceal his thoughts and intentions in the part of his mind that belonged to him alone. It left him exhausted, but it was the only way to remain sane.

  We shall have to see what happens. The demon would never give him peace if it knew his every thought. It lusted for blood and death at any cost; it would tear his mind to shreds if it knew what he intended to do.

  “Do not take too long to decide, Hunter. We Abiarazi are not known for our patience.”

  The Hunter snorted. Don't I know it! He'd endured the demon's demands for blood for far too long. The shrieks and screams had risen to such overwhelming intensity that his head felt ready to explode.

  Downward he climbed, thirty, forty, sixty paces. Fire burned in his muscles but he refused to pause in his descent. For Hailen's sake, he couldn't.

  But a few paces below, the temple façade grew smooth, the stone less worn. The flexible toes of his soft-soled boots could find no purchase. No! He fought to wrestle back the panic surging within him. I have to keep going.

  With every moment he spent searching for a way down, his fatigue grew until pain screamed in his fingers and forearms. He traversed first to the right, then to the left, in vain. The stone was as smooth as glass.

  The demon's laughter filled his mind. “Fool and failure!” it mocked.

  The Hunter's heart sank. He had failed, at least in this one thing. He couldn't get to Hailen, not this way. With a stone settling in his gut, he returned the way he had come.

  His mind raced. How can I get to him now? Perhaps the Sage had finished his business and returned to his rooms. His presence would make it more challenging for the Hunter to cross the bridge unseen, but at least the secret passage would be empty. If he hurried, he still had time to reach the Elivasti city where, hopefully, Master Eldor could help him.

  The climb back up seemed to take twice as long as the descent. Blood seeped from gashes in his fingers, and his shoulders, arms, and legs ached from the effort. The mockery of his inner demon reverberated so loudly it set his head throbbing.

  As he pulled himself up over the lip of the railing, a sound reached him, so faint he thought it was nothing but the wind in his ears. But it came again—the near-silent click of a key turning in a lock.

  His boots hadn't touched stone before light bathed the bridge. A moment later, the scent of men—reeking of dried blood, old wine, urine, and vomit—slammed into him. The rush of heavy feet echoed loud in the near-silent night.

  He'd slipped Soulhunger free of its sheath a moment before caught sight of his opponents. A half-dozen men in the scarlet robes of Masters of Agony stampeded from the Warmaster's temple. The stench of iron flooded the Hunter's nostrils as his eyes fixed on the metal-tipped staves.

  "Get him!"

  The rush of battle drove back the Hunter's exhaustion. He leapt forward before they could coordinate their attack, anger surging within him. He could take out his frustration on the Masters of Agony. Keeper knows they deserve it!

  He lashed out with Soulhunger, and the metallic tang of blood thickened the night air. Two men fell, clutching their throats in a vain attempt to stanch the gush of crimson.

  Ducking beneath a swinging staff, the Hunter barreled into the man who stood between him and freedom. The torturer fell with a cry. Yet in the heartbeat before Soulhunger slipped between the fallen man's ribs, the man wrapped his arms and legs around the Hunter. He died with a piercing scream, but that delay cost the Hunter. More Masters of Agony raced from within the temple. By the time the Hunter disentangled himself and climbed to his feet, a full score of staff-wielding men had surrounded him. A handful more held torches and lanterns.

  Keeper's teeth! He edged backward against the stone railing, eying the metal-tipped staves warily. Can't let those get close. He'd left his sword in his room. The Masters of Agony were little more than thugs, but there were too many to fight with Soulhunger alone.

  "Hold!" He spoke with as much authority as he could muster. "Do you know who I am? What I am?" It had worked with the Elivasti. Perhaps it would cow the Masters of Agony as well.

  One of the men sneered. "Course we do! Why else d'you think we're here?"

  "Then tell me what you want, and no more of you need die this night." He stepped forward, and the Masters of Agony before him flinched.

  One, a wiry southerner with hands far too large for his diminutive size, stepped forward and raised his staff. "We've orders from the Warmaster his'self. Nothing you says'll change that." He thrust an over-large finger at the Hunter. "At him, lads!"

  A full ten men rushed him from all sides, staves whirling. He tried to ram his way through, Soulhunger thinning their ranks, but a wall of Masters pressed in around him. A staff slammed into his hand, crunching bone. Soulhunger fell from his shattered fingers. More blows hammered at his knees, his back, his face. The onslaught didn't stop once he hit the ground.

  He cried out as the iron tips touched exposed flesh. The metal's poison slowed his movements, spreading numbness through him until it felt as if he fought in a quagmire. And still they beat him.

  Agony coursed through every cell of his body. Shadows pressed in around him, blurring the edges of his vision. He couldn’t see, couldn't breathe!

  Something struck him between the eyes, and the world went dark.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  She looked up as he strode into the garden, a beatific smile wreathing Her perfect face.

  Happiness swelled in his chest. "How do you feel, Az'nii?"

  She looked down at Her growing belly. "Tired. Nauseous. Happy."

  He knelt beside Her and placed a hand against Her stomach. "The little one grows stronger every day. It won't be long now."

  Worry flashed in Her eyes for the briefest moment. "Yes." The smile returned. "It's time we chose a name."

  "Already?" He took a seat beside Her. "He—or she—is months away from seeing this world."

  She shook Her head. "No." Her voice held surprising force. "It must be now." The lines of Her forehead had deepened. She sat with a rigidity that spoke of anxiety.

  "What's the matter, Az'nii? What could possibly be causing you worry here, in the most beautiful garden in all of Enarium?"

  Her smile looked strained. "Nothing. I am just tired. The little one has been keeping me up at night."

  He nodded. "I've felt you tossing and turning. But what is the cause of your concern?"

  She met his eyes. "I worry about the future—our future." She stroked Her belly. "I worry what will happen if the little one grows up without a father…"

  "Hush, Az'nii." He wrapped his arms around Her, and She sank into his embrace. "There is nothing to fear. We are safe within Enarium."

  "That's what the others believed, but look what happened to them! They—"

  Icy water ripped the Hunter f
rom his dreams—no, his memories—with a jerk. The shock pushed back the darkness, giving way to the fire in his veins.

  Panic tightened his chest. The iron!

  His throat tightened, cutting off his oxygen, and his heart thumped a somnolent rhythm. The metal's poison was doing its terrible work. He tried to move, but something held his arms in place. He was too weak to struggle against the bonds.

  A huge, bearded face hovered above him. The Warmaster held a finger to his lips. "Shh! No more screaming." A savage leer twisted his lips. "Not yet, at least. There'll be plenty of time for that. But first…"

  The Hunter felt something placed in his hand. Soulhunger.

  Beside him a man knelt, bound, shirtless, his face a mask of bruises, a vacant expression in his eyes. The Warmaster's huge hand closed around the Hunter's numb fingers, which had blackened from the iron's poison, and drove Soulhunger into the prisoner's bony chest. Crimson light flared from Soulhunger's gem. A spasm of terror contorted the man's face. His screams of agony echoed too loud in the room, as if the stone walls amplified the horror.

  A blistering wave of power pulsed through the Hunter's veins, pushing back the iron, and sensation returned to his blackened limbs. He convulsed as his throat opened, his arms and legs twitched with the energy coursing through them. With the return of life came pain—shattered bones, torn and lacerated muscles, bruises beyond count. Every nerve added its voice to the symphony of suffering that rose to a terrible crescendo.

  With a jerk, the Warmaster ripped the blade free. The massive Abiarazi studied the slumping corpse with a dispassionate eye, then turned to the Hunter. "I couldn't have you dying on me, could I? We've so much to discuss!"

  The Hunter realized he lay spread-eagled atop a table. He tried to sit up, but steel manacles held him fast. The thick metal band crushing his ribs prevented him from drawing full breath.

  "Where am I?" He glared at the Warmaster. "What in the…frozen hell am I…doing here?"

  The Warmaster's vicious smile broadened. "Why, you're in my personal sanctuary, of course!"

  Eyes of carved stone leered down at him from the high-vaulted ceiling. The indecipherable symbols and images etched into the walls seemed alive with sanguine desire. An oppressive heat filled the chamber. The reek of blood—fresh and dried—hung in the air, coupled with the stench of ordure, urine, and vomit. Shrieks and cries echoed from behind him. Voices begged and wept for mercy, cried in torment, and sang with the terrible pitch of anguish. The sound of sizzling flesh and the scent of charred meat drifted toward the Hunter.

  "I've had you brought here to answer a few of my questions. And not a moment too soon. The iron would have killed you, were it not for Gillidan here." He gestured to the corpse on the floor. "I always knew I kept him around for a reason. Other than the joy of tormenting him, of course."

  The Hunter glanced at the corpse. Scars covered the man's bare chest, back, and sides where knives, whips, hot irons, and other tools too terrible to contemplate had carved chunks from his flesh. His death was the closest thing to mercy he's encountered in a long time.

  He returned his glare to the Warmaster. "You have questions? Ask, but release me…at once."

  The huge demon snarled. "I am in command here, Hunter, not you." His massive fingers toyed with a stiletto. "You'd do well to remember that."

  With deliberate slowness, he pushed the blade into the soft tissue of the Hunter's right elbow. The Hunter clenched his jaw to stifle a scream.

  "Excellent!" Delight brightened the Warmaster's face. "I can see this is going to be a very enjoyable experience."

  "What do you want?" the Hunter spoke through gritted teeth.

  The Warmaster turned to a nearby table, upon which sat a silver tray. "I want you to tell me what the Sage is planning." He ran his fingers across the bright steel implements of torture. "I know the cowardly bastard is up to something. It's why he sent you, isn't it?"

  "What are you talking about?"

  "My man saw you crossing the bridge. There's only one way to get onto the bridge—from the Sage's rooms. It's simple logic."

  The Warmaster slid another stiletto into the Hunter's left elbow. Twin pulses of lightning shot up and down his arms, but he refused to cry out.

  "Or," he said, gasping, "could it be that I was coming to see you without the Sage knowing?"

  "Oh?" The Warmaster paused in his perusal of his tools and turned to the Hunter.

  "Yes!" The Hunter winced as pain spiked his mind. The shrieking of his inner demon grew louder with every heartbeat. "I didn't want the Sage to know I was coming here. I climbed along the outside of the temple to get to the bridge."

  The Warmaster shook his head. "Not even a fool would do that. It's too high to—"

  "I climbed the face of Shana Laal itself! You think the temple's height would stop me?"

  "Perhaps." The Warmaster folded his arms across his barrel chest. "It sounds logical. Totally plausible, in fact." Fire filled his eyes; his expression transformed to one of utter hatred. "But that's what he'd tell you to say, isn't it? You think you're cleverer than me, too? You think I'm so foolish as to believe your pathetic lies?"

  The huge Abiarazi seized a blade and slashed the Hunter's throat. The Hunter's arms jerked as he instinctively tried to clap his hands to the gushing wound, but the manacles held him fast. He coughed and heaved in a desperate attempt to breathe.

  The Warmaster's enraged face hovered above him. "I am no fool, Bucelarii." His fetid breath twisted the Hunter's stomach. "Do not lie to me again. I doubt even you could re-grow a severed arm." He leaned on the dagger in the Hunter's right arm, driving it deeper.

  A strangled, half-choking cry burst from the Hunter's bloodstained lips. His throat had healed enough to allow him to draw a few faint breaths. Twin veins of molten steel ran up his arms as the Warmaster ripped the daggers free. Warm wetness trickled from the wounds, dripping along his sides and soaking into his breeches. The scent of fresh blood joined the miasma of foul odors tainting the room.

  "Now, let's try this again." All trace of emotion had fled the Warmaster's face, and he spoke in a flat monotone. "Tell me why the Sage sent you. What is he planning?"

  "He…didn't…send me." The Hunter spat each word "He doesn't even know I'm here."

  "I told you not to lie to me." The demon reached for a blade with a curved, jagged edge.

  "Wait!" Desperation edged the Hunter's words. "I'm telling you the truth!"

  The Warmaster shrugged. "We'll see, won't we?" He pressed the blade against the Hunter's chest.

  "Why are you doing this?" The Hunter's voice rose to a shout. "I am one of your kind!"

  Harsh laughter rang out, but the smile never reached the Warmaster's midnight eyes. "You may be one of us, but blood is nothing in the face of treachery!"

  The Hunter's mind raced. The demon had to know about the First and the Third, but no one could know he'd killed the demons in Malandria and Al Hani.

  "What are you talking about?" He swallowed a mouthful of bloody saliva. "What treachery?"

  "The other night, I gave you a chance to join me. I believed you when you said you were remaining with the Sage to find a way to eliminate him. So logical." His face twisted into a snarl. "When I encountered the stink of Bucelarii in my chambers, I told myself it was a mistake. 'Surely he wouldn’t accept my offer then stab me in the back on the same night!' I insisted. The moment I saw you with the Sage at the Expurgation, I knew I was right. You took me for a fool. Then I hear you are sneaking around my bridge, and I get to thinking. Why would he be doing that? Surely he could find a way to slip free of the Sage's watchers and enter my domain through the front door."

  The Warmaster leaned closer, his voice dropping low. "You played me, just like he would. You're just like him: conniving, deceitful, treacherous. Not a warrior, like I thought. Nothing but an assassin, a murderer for hire, the sort of lowlife he would use. The moment you chose the Sage, you sealed your fate!"

  "But I—"


  The Warmaster's fist slammed into the Hunter's jaw. "But nothing! You are the Sage's creature, and every word out of your mouth is a lie. Killing you would deprive him of a valuable tool." His face hovered close to the Hunter's, and he spoke in a low, guttural whisper. "But once you are broken, I will make you mine. You will be my tool, to use as I see fit."

  Cold dread seeped into the Hunter's veins. He'd survived torture before, but this promised to be far worse. The Masters of Agony were renowned for their ability to inflict such terrible torments that even the strongest of men sought the relief of insanity and suicide. And now, he was to suffer at the hands of the Abiarazi who commanded them, who no doubt had taught them everything they knew. Even his inhuman constitution would eventually fail beneath the torments.

  An image of Hailen played in his mind, replaced a moment later by his memory of Her. The swell of life in Her belly, the warmth in Her smile as She reached for him. Her presence pulsed in the back of his mind. He clung to it, used those images to drive back the beginnings of fear.

  He would survive the Warmaster's worst. For Hailen. For Her. He had a reason to live: to free Hailen from the enclosure and the curse of the Irrsinnon. To find that woman who brought a swell of emotion to his chest every time he saw Her face. If what he'd seen in his memories was true…

  "Look at that, not a drop of blood!" The Warmaster poked at the Hunter's arms. The pain had faded as his body repaired the injured flesh. "It's been thousands of years since I was fortunate enough to practice on one of my kind. The way we heal…" He closed his eyes, and an almost orgasmic shiver ran down his spine. "It makes the art all the more enjoyable!"

  Men wearing the scarlet robes of the Masters of Agony entered the room. One pushed a wheeled cart, where row upon row of steel implements—hammers, saws, drills, knives, needles, and dozens more the Hunter didn't recognize—glinted in the lamplight. The torturers watched him with eager, hungry eyes, like predators studying their prey.

  The Hunter opened his mouth to speak, but the Warmaster shook his head. "Don't waste your breath on words. You'll need it for screaming." With a horrible, gleeful grin, he reached for the first tool.