Darkblade Slayer

by Andy Peloquin

  Darkblade Slayer

  Hero of Darkness (Book 5)

  By Andy Peloquin

  Copyright. Second Edition

  Andy Peloquin

  ©2018, Andy Peloquin

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book, including the cover and photos, may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. All rights reserved.

  Any resemblance to persons, places living or dead is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction.

  Life for a Life

  Sign up for my VIP Reader List

  and get the prequel short story for free!

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering. -- Sigmund Freud

  Chapter One

  The Hunter could not outrun the storm.

  Lightning flashed all around him, so bright it pained his eyes. The very air seemed to sizzle and come alive with the force of the tempest. The storm clouds billowed high above him like an enormous beast of darkness and fury, filling the sky with an endless cacophony of bellowing thunder. It had earned the name the locals whispered in fear: the Shattering Tempest.

  The Hunter's eyes fixed on the solitary "island" of stone in the middle of the Whispering Waste. It stood at least half a league away; the black clouds loomed closer with every thundering heartbeat. But he had to reach the shelter of stone before the lightning struck them.

  Not for his sake, but for the sake of the small figure clutched in his arms.

  Hailen rode in the saddle behind him, head buried in the Hunter's back. The sound of his whimpering was faint, drowned out by the pounding of the horses' hooves.

  The Hunter cast a glance over his shoulder. The massive wall of clouds reached dark, smoky fingers toward him, as if seeking to drown him in their boiling, windswept embrace. The Whispering Waste belied its name; the thunder rolling across the vast expanse of emptiness could shatter mountains. Bolts of lightning struck the ground all around, sending shards of the salt-covered earth spraying like a hail of arrows. A piercing, shrieking wind set his cloak flapping and tugged at him, as if seeking to drag him from the saddle.

  Yet no rain poured from the clouds. The boiling, seething frenzy of the storm seemed hell-bent on punishing travelers that dared to brave the torturous crossing.

  The Hunter bent lower in the saddle and urged Elivast to greater speed. The horse stumbled for a moment before taking off into a full gallop. Elivast was tiring, but the Hunter couldn't slow. If those blazing spears of lightning and hurricane winds caught them in the open, they wouldn't survive. The horses could rest in the shelter of the stones.

  The sharp, pungent tang of lightning hung on the air, and the Hunter's heart lurched as a massive crack shattered the ground twenty paces to his right. The echoing thunderclap nearly deafened him. His head rang and the brightness stung his eyes.

  The small island of stone drew nearer one heart-rending pace at a time. Elivast's flashing hooves ate up the ground at a gallop, but the Hunter recognized the signs that the horse was tiring. Ash, Hailen's stocky desert horse, pounded alongside them, on the verge of panicking. The Hunter couldn't change horses now; he needed Elivast to carry the extra weight of Hailen's little body.

  Come on! He gritted his teeth. Just a little farther.

  An ear-splitting BOOM echoed from behind him a heartbeat after blinding light split the roiling sky. Shards of salt showered across the Hunter's back with stinging force. The Shattering Tempest had caught up.

  The air crackled and sizzled as spears of lightning slammed into the ground all around him. A deafening symphony of thunder roared past him, swallowing him in its ear-splitting fury. Howling winds whipped shards of salt through the air with enough force to shred skin.

  Elivast screamed, and terror drove him faster. The Hunter could do little more than cling to the saddle and hope Hailen held on as the horse raced to the outcropping of stone in the middle of the sea of white.

  Lightning split the air in front of them, barely ten paces away. The concussive blast washed over the Hunter, nearly hurling him from the saddle. His head spun with such force it drowned out the voice shrieking in his mind. Elivast staggered, shocked by the lightning.

  "Elivast!" The Hunter's shout sounded so faint through the ringing in his ears. "We're almost there!" He dug his heels into the horse's ribs. Slowly, Elivast tottered forward, stumbling into a full gallop to cross the last forty paces to the small island of stone.

  The Hunter, blinking away tears and fighting to see, turned Elivast's head toward the only place that would offer them any shelter from the storm. Four obsidian stones stood in the heart of the island of land that rose from the endless sea of white salt-covered ground of the Whispering Waste. Ten paces tall and three wide, the midnight monoliths leaned inward, providing a pitiful windbreak.

  Elivast shied from the stones, but the Hunter pushed him onward. The stench of rot and decay twisted the Hunter's stomach. These were Dolmenrath, the creations of the Serenii, whispered to have been used to summon demons during the War of Gods thousands of years earlier. The stones emanated an almost tangible pall of malevolence.

  But he had no choice. These stones offered the only shelter from the lightning, the buffeting winds, and the stinging spray of salt.

  He leapt from the saddle, whirled to scoop Hailen up, and dashed the last five paces to the circle of standing stones. Stepping into the circle felt like stepping into mire—no earthly mud, but a thick, suffocating mass of evil.

  The Hunter fought the dread writhing within him and ducked into the shadow of an obelisk. The massive stone blocked the worst of the wind, and the Hunter drew his long, dark cloak across his face to protect himself and Hailen.

  The monoliths hummed around him as lightning struck at them with sizzling fingers. An eerie wailing pierced the ring of obsidian stones, stabbing into his ears and setting his head ringing. Hailen’s presence pushed back the voices in his mind, but he could not escape the wailing of the wind. It seemed voices whirled all around him, scree
ching, shrieking, begging, pleading. He could make out no words but could not escape the chaos.

  The Hunter gritted his teeth against the pain. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to take slow, deep breaths.

  "Hardwell?" Hailen's whimper, so close to his ear, pierced the raging maelstrom.

  "We're alive, Hailen." The Hunter gripped the boy tighter—as much for his own comfort as for Hailen's. "We're alive," he repeated.

  "I-I'm scared." Hailen snuffled in his arms. "I don't like the wind. The voices…they're…telling me…"

  "Don't listen to them. Just listen to me. The voices aren't real. They're just a trick of the wind."

  He spoke the words to comfort Hailen, but he knew the truth. He had heard voices for years—the voice of Soulhunger, the dagger he'd inherited from his demonic father; the voice of the demon living in his mind; the voices of the dead in Malandria. The more he tried to ignore them, the louder and more insistent they grew.

  Hailen had inherited his own curse: the Irrsinnon, the madness that gripped all Elivasti. The purple-eyed descendants of the Serenii were fated to insanity unless they took the opia, a fruit that grew in two places on Einan. They had left Shana Laal behind; they had to reach Enarium, the Lost City of the Serenii, to find the cure for the boy before the madness overtook him.

  The Hunter pulled the cloak tighter about them. The wind whipped at the cloth, trying to rip it from his grasp. Though his forearms and hands ached, he fought to retain his grip. They had to weather the storm.

  Hailen whimpered in his arms, terrified.

  "Hailen, did you ever hear the story of Agarre the Giantslayer?"

  The boy's sobbing fell silent. After a moment, he replied, "No. Will you tell it to me?"

  The Hunter smiled. "Of course. Once upon a time, there was a young girl who lived in a small village. Agarre was her name…"

  For what seemed an eternity they sat, boy and man huddling together in the man’s cloak, a pathetic shelter from the storm. The Hunter spoke in a soft, soothing voice, telling the boy the story of Agarre, the heroine that killed the giants in the Empty Mountains. He did it to calm Hailen but found it calmed him as well. So long as he remained fixed on the boy in his arms, he did not think about the storm raging around him.

  Gradually, Hailen relaxed, and soon his chest rose and fell in the rhythm of sleep. The Hunter marveled; how could the boy sleep at a time like this? Yet, with his arms wrapped firmly around the boy, he felt an odd sense of peace. Chaos and destruction whirled all about, but, like the island of stone amidst the endless expanse of the Whispering Waste, he had a refuge from his tempestuous life with this little boy.

  * * *

  The Hunter awoke to absolute silence. The wind had ceased its wailing, and the crack of lightning retreated. The sound of Hailen's breathing filled the little cocoon of his thick cloak. But when he peered out at the world around him, a cloak of stillness had descended.

  The Whispering Waste was truly a barren expanse, as silent as it was empty. The Hunter could hear the gentle pounding of his own heartbeat in the absolute stillness. Sunlight gleamed off the ocean of white all around him, so dazzling he had to shield his eyes from its brilliance. The black stone of the Dolmenrath was the only spot of color in an endless expanse of emptiness. For leagues in every direction, the Hunter saw…nothing.

  The Whispering Waste had a harsh, desolate beauty like nowhere else on Einan. The salt flats stretched a hundred leagues from east to west and fifty from north to south. The strange-shaped hexagonal, cubical crystals reflected the light like snow, filling the air with a terrible heat that not even the thundering storm had fully beaten back. A maze of tiny cracks and fissures made the salt-covered ground seem like a maddening puzzle of pieces that had been forced together.

  Hailen stirred in his arms and poked his head out of the cloak. "It's gone, right?"

  "Yes." The Hunter set the boy down and climbed to his feet. "The storm is over. Which means we need to get back to riding. I'm going to check on the horses. You keep away from the black stones, you hear?"

  "Yes, Hardwell." Hailen nodded, an eager expression on his face. He laughed and threw himself into a pile of sand driven into a pile by the wind. He waved his arms and legs. "Look, Hardwell, salt angels!"

  The Hunter smiled. The boy saw the world around him with a bright-eyed eagerness the Hunter envied. Where the Hunter saw an arid desert of salt where nothing grew, not even the fiercest desert cactus. Hailen saw a marvelous landscape out of the legends and myths.

  Elivast and Ash stood in the lee of one of the Dolmenrath obelisks. Both horses showed signs of fatigue. Elivast's head hung down, his ears drooping and his eyes dull. Ash snorted at his approach, but didn't lift his head. The storm had sapped what little remained of their strength.

  The Hunter dug into the packs and produced one of their last waterskins. He hadn't considered just how much water the horses would need to get across the Whispering Waste. Though the crossing would only take four days—according to the tavernkeeper at Whiteridge, the village where he'd bought supplies for their journey—the horses each needed to drink at least five gallons per day. Between water, feed for the horses, and food for him and Hailen, they carried a heavy load.

  The Hunter removed their saddles and blankets and gave them a good brushing down. Salt crystals fell from their manes, tails, and coats. He took care to do a thorough job—even the smallest crystals could rub until the skin blistered and cracked. At Saltfall, the village just east of the Whispering Waste, he'd give the horses a day to rest. It was all they could afford.

  The storm had cost valuable time. In the back of his mind, he could feel the thump, thump of his target's heartbeat growing fainter with every passing second.

  He gritted his teeth. I'm coming for you, you bastard!

  He hunted the Sage, the mastermind behind the Abiarazi's plan to free Kharna, the Great Destroyer.

  Thoughts of the demon brought a surge of fury to the Hunter's chest. The Sage had used him to eliminate the Warmaster, a rival Abiarazi that controlled the Masters of Agony, professional torturers twisted by the demon's cruel torments. The Hunter had intended to kill the demon, but he hadn't counted on being forced to kill Master Eldor, the Elivasti that found him, welcomed him into his home, and trained him decades earlier. The Sage had forced Master Eldor to face the Hunter; the old Elivasti had sacrificed himself so his people could survive.

  For that—and his many other crimes—the Sage would die a painful death.

  As long as Soulhunger still had the demon's heartbeat, it could track him anywhere on Einan. He knew the Sage hurried to reach Enarium in time for something called “the Withering”. His only hope of stopping the demon was catching him before he unleashed whatever evil plan he had.

  Fury set his hands shaking. The Hunter stowed the horse brush and re-saddled the two horses. It was time to move.

  He turned to call Hailen, and his heart stopped when he saw no sign of the boy. "Hailen!" A hint of panic tinged his voice. "Hailen, where are you?"

  "Aha!" With a little laugh, the boy jumped out from behind the farthest of the four Dolmenrath stones. "Did I scare you?"

  "Absolutely," the Hunter growled, biting back on his anger. "We've got to move." His gut tightened as Hailen trotted past the black obelisks toward him.

  The four monoliths contained an immense amount of power, a remnant of the Serenii that had created them. Though the power was locked away in those stones, it could be summoned by a single drop of Hailen's blood. He'd seen what they could do in the Advanat Desert and again in the mountains beneath Kara-ket, the twin temples of the Sage and the Warmaster. Both times, the use of that power had changed Hailen. First, his eyes had turned purple. Slowly, the Irrsinnon, the madness that Hailen and all other descendants of the Serenii, had begun to claim him. It had gotten worse over the last week.

  The Hunter's gaze went to the blade hanging from the makeshift baldric he'd fashioned for Hailen.

  Feed me! Soulhunger insisted,
its voice faint in the back of his mind.

  He hated being separated from the dagger—it had been with him since his first memory, as much a part of him as his midnight black eyes or his body's unique ability to heal itself. But he hated being near Soulhunger just as much. The blade's voice had grown louder, more insistent since his last kill nearly four days earlier. It lusted for blood and would not give him peace until he satiated its demands.

  In Kara-ket, he had learned a secret: something about Soulhunger's gemstone, the source of that voice, kept Hailen's madness at bay. Whenever possible, he let the boy carry the dagger. Its presence protected Hailen from the Irrsinnon. Only when he went hunting, both to appease the voice in his mind and Soulhunger's demands, did he take the dagger. He knew it angered Soulhunger—the blade craved the life force of his victims—but he did it for the boy's sake.

  "Come on, Hailen." He held out a hand. "We've got a few hours before the sun sets."

  "Will it be all gold and red and purple like yesterday?" Hailen's eyes sparkled.

  The Hunter shrugged. "We'll find out soon enough."

  He lifted Hailen into Ash's saddle, careful not to touch the boy's skin. Contact with demons—Abiarazi and Bucelarii alike—triggered something within Hailen, making his fingernails bleed. The sight of it had startled and even terrified the Sage. The demon had called the boy "Melechha". One more question for the Hunter to answer.

  Mounting Elivast, the Hunter closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. There, in the back of his mind, he felt the Sage's heartbeat echoing.

  A grim smile touched his lips as he kicked Elivast into motion. You won't escape me, Sage.

  Chapter Two

  The Whispering Waste might have been a harsh wasteland of salt and wind, but the Hunter had to admit he'd never seen such spectacular sunsets anywhere. Not even on the ocean the one time he'd journeyed across the Frozen Sea.

  Lines of crimson mixed with threads of gold, sweeping in broad swaths across the dark blue sky. The last traces of sunlight tinged everything in a rosy glow that seemed unnaturally peaceful in contrast with the storm that had raged hours before. The salt flats mirrored the play of colors in the sky, turning the world around them into a glorious, swirling mass of mingled hues and shades of brilliance.