Darkblade Slayer

by Andy Peloquin

  The Hunter gave the man a grateful nod and slipped out the door. The sun had fully set by now, and the shadows of night concealed him as he hurried away from the brothel. The tromp, tromp of heavy boots grew louder behind him. He picked up the pace, trusting his cloak to keep him hidden. He scanned the darkness in search of the alley the guard had mentioned.

  His heart leapt as he spotted it just twenty paces away. Shifting Hailen in his arms, he jogged toward the alley.

  He was just about to duck around the corner when a voice shattered the silence of the night.

  "There he is!"

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Hunter had a split second to react. Either try to outrun the men behind him or fight his way free. For once, he didn't argue with the demon or Soulhunger's desires. He'd never get away carrying Hailen, not with the Warrior Priests so close behind.

  He rushed five steps down the alley and set Hailen on the ground.

  "Close your eyes and cover your ears," he hissed. "Do it, now!"

  Hailen complied, squeezing his eyes shut and clapping chubby little hands over his ears. The Hunter drew Soulhunger from the sheath on the boy's belt even as he pulled his sword free. He slipped back toward the mouth of the alley, crouched, and waited.

  The sound of booted feet grew louder as his pursuers thudded toward him. With all the force he could muster, he swung a left-handed blow in a hard, low sweep.

  Steel clanged off heavy greaves, but the force of the strike shattered the bone beneath. A man in splinted mail fell to the ground with a cry of pain. The Hunter was already swinging again, and the tip of his sword ripped open the man's throat, silencing his voice. The man gurgled and clasped a hand to his throat.

  The second Warrior Priest hurtled into view and swung his long sword at the Hunter's head. The Hunter ducked the blow, then twisted violently to avoid a dagger thrust aimed at his gut. The stink of iron flooded the Hunter's nostrils as the blade scraped a thin line into his leather armor.

  Before the man could pull back from the strike, the Hunter returned with a blow of his own. His sword struck high, and a second later Soulhunger thrust upward. The Warrior Priest, ducking the intentionally high swipe, met the rising dagger. Razor-sharp steel sliced through the soft flesh of his neck, through the roof of his mouth, and into his brain. He fell without a sound.

  All this happened in the space of two heartbeats. The Hunter listened for any sign Sir Danna or the other Warrior Priests pursued him, but heard nothing. Taking a deep breath to push back the thrill of battle, he wiped the tip of his sword on the dead man's cloak and sheathed it.

  "Feed me!" Soulhunger raged. The demon in the Hunter's mind echoed its fury at being deprived its kill.

  In Kara-ket, the Hunter had learned a curious truth: the gemstone set in Soulhunger's hilt was only activated by the terrified screams of his victims. Without those screams, the dagger could not feed. When he'd killed the Warrior Priest, there had been no rush of power, no crimson light radiating from the gemstone, no fresh scars etched into his flesh. It had been a simple death, as if he'd killed using common steel. Demon and blade shrieked in protest at the wasted death. They hated the Hunter for depriving them of the dead man's life force.

  Right now, a silent death would prove the wiser choice. If Sir Danna heard screams, she'd come running and he'd never escape. He couldn't protect Hailen and fight Sir Danna, much less all the Warrior Priests with her as well. The iron daggers in the dead men's hands told him the Cambionari knight had prepared them for their battle with him.

  He raced back toward Hailen. The boy flinched as the Hunter laid a hand on his shoulder, but his fear turned to relief as his eyes popped open.

  "Come on, Hailen." The Hunter helped the boy to stand. "We need to run."

  "Are there bad men chasing us again?" Hailen asked.

  The Hunter nodded.

  "Why?"

  The question, spoken in a voice of genuine innocence, nearly broke the Hunter's heart. Hailen couldn't understand why Sir Danna was chasing them. Chasing him, and Hailen would simply be collateral in her quest for vengeance.

  He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Come on, we need to go," he said and took Hailen's hand.

  The Hunter set off at a jog, slow enough for Hailen to keep up. Hailen's physical health had deteriorated since their departure from Kara-ket. Whatever had made him healthy in the shadow of the Serenii temples had faded, and the boy was once again the weak, easily fatiguing child he'd been on their journey from Malandria. After just a few blocks, the Hunter had to scoop Hailen into his arms and carry him as he put as much distance as possible between them and Sir Danna.

  "What about Ash and Elivasti?" Hailen asked as he bounced in the Hunter's arms.

  "We'll see them again…soon," the Hunter said between clenched teeth. "But for now…be quiet and…trust me. I'll…get us to safety."

  He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt.

  * * *

  Sweat soaked the Hunter's tunic, and the muscles in his back and legs burned as he finally paused for a rest. He leaned on his knees and sucked in deep breaths. He'd been running for what felt like an hour. The narrow alleyways of Vothmot's Ward of Bliss really were a maze as the guard had said. Even his keen sense had failed him in the cramped, twisting streets. When they finally emerged onto one of the main thoroughfares of the city, he found himself farther from the north gate than he would have liked.

  But he couldn't keep running. He needed a break. His arms and back ached from carrying Hailen, and his legs were cramping from lack of water, food, and rest. He almost regretted his decision to not let Soulhunger feed on the Warrior Priest. The rush of power from the dagger would be just the boost he needed to get them the rest of the way.

  The faces of the two Warrior Priests he’d killed flashed through his mind. Warrior Priests served Derelana, Goddess of Vengeance, and they wore the symbols of their goddess etched into the swirling black tattoos that lined their faces and the shaven right sides of their heads.

  Much like the Adepts, servants of the Swordsman, Warrior Priests were a martial priesthood, trained from a young age in the skills of combat. Once they became full Militants, they joined the ranks of their brothers-in-arms that traveled Einan, hiring out their swords to anyone with a mission of revenge their upper-priests deemed worthy of the Lady’s vengeance. They were like mercenaries, but with a holy quest to bring harsh, often fatal justice to wrongdoers. From beggars to kings, they held all subjects to the wrath of the goddess, and were relentless in the execution of what they believed to be divine obligations.

  The Hunter had faced the Warrior Priests once before, many years earlier and thousands of leagues away. One of the targets he’d been paid to kill had fled south, across the Frozen Sea to the Principality of Icespire. When he had followed, he found himself competing with the Militants to be the first one to eliminate the man. He had learned a great deal of respect for the skill-at-arms of Derelana’s followers and would rather avoid confronting them again.

  But if they traveled beside Sir Danna, it meant she had convinced them that her quest for vengeance truly was holy. They would not rest until he suffered Derelana’s holy retribution, or Sir Danna fell by his hand. It was one of the quirks of their order: if the one who contracted them died before revenge was carried out, the Warrior Priests considered it a sign that the quest hadn’t truly been holy.

  “Kill the knight, then, and be done with this!” the demon shrieked in his mind.

  The Hunter pushed the voice away. Just this once, he considered escape the more effective solution. He had no time for delay, and the Empty Mountains could provide him ample opportunity to lose Sir Danna and her Warrior Priest entourage.

  He glanced up at the moon. Midnight wasn't far off. He had another couple of hours to cover the distance to the north gate. He'd have to push the pace, which meant either carrying Hailen again or hoping the boy could keep up. For now, he'd settle for trotting with the boy beside him.

  With
a groan, he stood and set off at a jog. Hailen soon panted and wheezed, growing exhausted, but the Hunter didn't slow. They had a good deal of ground to cover if they were to make their rendezvous with Darillon at dawn.

  The streets around them were mostly empty, save for the occasional late-night wagon. Patrols of Wardens of the Peak passed at regular intervals, forcing the Hunter to slow to a nonchalant walk. They gave him only a casual glance. A man in a dark cloak hurrying through the streets alone would be suspicious, but Hailen's presence made it seem far more innocuous. There could be dozens of reasons a man and his son would be out this late.

  He scanned the streets for any sign of the Cambionari Father Reverentus had inevitably sent after him. At each new intersection, he glanced over his shoulder to check for pursuing Warrior Priests. The mounted warriors could cover ground far more quickly than he could afoot. He had to hope they'd elected to follow him through the alleyways instead of simply pursuing him on horseback.

  His gut clenched at every sound around him. The clang of a metal window shutter set his teeth on edge, and he jumped at the tromp, tromp of the Wardens’ boots. He ducked into a shadowed alleyway as the sound of horses' hooves thundered toward him. Only after he'd concealed himself did he pick up the additional creak of carriage wheels. He cursed in frustration as a horse-drawn buggy rolled past.

  Try as he might, he couldn't shake the feeling of danger. Too many people in Vothmot were hunting him. Sir Danna and her Warrior Priests. Father Reverentus' Cambionari. Fiery hell, he wouldn't be surprised if the Sage had spies among the populace. For the first time, he found himself yearning for the emptiness of the open road. Out there, at least he knew who watched him. He could see his foes and choose to fight, hide, or flee. Here in the confines of the city, enemies could lurk around every corner.

  He was keenly aware of Hailen's hand in his. Blood seeped from the boy's fingernails, turning his grip slick. Crimson droplets left a trail in the dust of the road. If Sir Danna knew what to look for, she would have no problem following him. He hadn't had time to bandage Hailen's hand to conceal the effects of the boy’s contact with his demonic blood.

  Enemies closed in from all sides. He had to flee the city and into the Empty Mountains before his foes cut off any chance of escape.

  Relief washed over him as he rounded a corner in the street and spotted the north gate. He was so close to freedom.

  What the citizens of Vothmot called a gate was actually little more than an open archway. The massive wooden doors had rotted away centuries ago, the iron banding turned to rust by the passage of time. In the absence of war, the Vothmoti never bothered to replace it.

  Traffic never fully ceased at the north gate. Travelers from all over Einan rode up the broad highway from the southwest, while treasure-seekers off to hunt for Enarium exited through the gate nearest the Empty Mountains. The Wardens on guard watched the flow of riders, wagons, carts, and pedestrians with a wary eye but never interfered. Too much of the city's revenue came from people visiting Vothmot for the temples or the guided tours of the nearby mountains.

  He scanned the crowds for Warrior Priests or Sir Danna. He saw no sign of splinted mail, tattooed faces, or the flowing white Militant cloaks, but his gut clenched as a troop of six heavily-armed men rode past. He doubted all demon-hunters wore plate mail like Sir Danna. Any one of the men clad in chain mail, scale mail, or leather armor could be Cambionari hunting for him on Father Reverentus' orders. He'd never know until they came for him.

  The tightness in his chest eased and hope surged within him as he spotted two familiar horses. Ash and Elivast walked placidly behind the young, dark-haired groom holding their reins. They had been fed, groomed, and treated well.

  The Hunter's eyes never stopped moving as he slipped through the crowd toward the young man. He saw no sign of pursuit, but that could change at any moment. Sir Danna had to be close behind. He couldn't get out of Vothmot fast enough.

  The youth whirled as the Hunter tapped him on a shoulder, his hand dropping to a dagger. He relaxed as he saw the silver half-drake in the Hunter's fingers.

  "You the guy?" the young man asked in a sleepy drawl.

  The Hunter nodded. "Madame Aioni sent you?"

  "That she did." The youth held the reins out to the Hunter and grinned down at Hailen. "The madame threw in a bit of extra food for the little guy."

  "Thank her for us," the Hunter said as he flipped the coin to the youth.

  The young man caught it deftly and tucked it into a pocket. "Will do." He gave a little bow, then strode off into the night.

  The Hunter gave everything a cursory once-over. His packs were tied down, the saddles cinched tightly, the bit and bridle securely in place. Ash seemed eager to run, but Elivast looked less than pleased at being disturbed from peaceful slumber.

  "You ready to ride?" he asked Hailen.

  The boy nodded eagerly and reached his arms up with a grin. The Hunter lifted him off the ground and swung him up onto the horse's back. The stirrup strap needed a quick adjustment for the boy's short legs. He vaulted into Elivast's saddle, collected Hailen's reins, and kicked the horses into a trot.

  He cast a glance backward as he rode through the city gates. Relief filled him as he saw no sign of shining plate mail. No one ambushed him with shouts of "Demonspawn!"

  Yet he couldn't help the sorrowful sinking in his gut. Voramis. Malandria. Al Hani. Kara-ket. Now Vothmot. Another city he had to flee, with death left in his wake. Another place he could never return.

  He was running out of places to run away from.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Even though he'd left the city of Vothmot behind, the Hunter couldn't stop glancing over his shoulder toward the north gate. He expected to see a column of mounted men charging out into the darkness in pursuit, to catch the glint of torchlight shining off shining splinted mail breastplates and white cloaks.

  His fears proved unfounded. Sir Danna and the Warrior Priests hadn't appeared by the time he reached the spot where he'd agreed to meet Darillon. His gut clenched at the sight of the two figures beside the mountaineer. The tension drained slightly when he recognized one: the lean, short form of Evren the thief, sitting on a horse that looked two heartbeats away from being sent to a tanner’s to be turned into glue.

  Darillon introduced the second man as Rassek, his partner in enterprise.

  "Got close to a hundred years of experience between us, we do," Rassek said with a grin. “Most of it belongin’ to the old man here.”

  He was slightly shorter than Darillon, with a lithe, lean build that spoke of years climbing the mountains. His hair had none of the grey in Darillon’s beard, though he had to be fast closing on his fourth decade. There was no mistaking his Praamian heritage; the Hunter could see it in his light blonde hair and pale skin and hear it in the harsh accent common to those living in the makeshift slums outside the Praamian Wall. His scent resembled to Darillon’s--leather oil and horses, but edged with musky cedarwood.

  Darillon shot a glare at Rassek, but the younger mountaineer’s grin just widened. Darillon glanced at Evren, then at Hailen, and his brow furrowed. "You said it was just the two of you. By my count, you two plus him makes three." He jerked a thumb at Evren.

  The Hunter nodded. "He'll be joining us, though he'll pay his own way."

  "His coin's not bein' the matter at issue, see." Rassek stroked his angular, clean-shaven chin. "We've stocked up on enough gear and supplies fer two of ye and the two of us. Climbin’ harnesses and rope, tents, sleepin’ rolls, food, water, and everythin’ else we'll be needin' in the mountains. But addin’ a fifth is wee bit of a problem. We stretch the supplies too far, we're like as not to be runnin' out of food or water in the middle of bloody nowhere, see."

  "The only thing to do is to cut the trip short," Darillon said, shrugging. "Instead of two weeks, we'll do a ten-day. That'll be enough to get you deep into the Empty Mountains and perhaps all the way to the Lost City itself." He spoke as if he'd given this same
speech a thousand times before. "But coming back sooner means our supplies last as long as necessary."

  "Trust us, friend." Rassek added with a nod. "The trek through the Empty Mountains is bein' hard enough, mark me. Last thing we need's to be runnin' out of the essentials. That's a recipe fer death right there, says I."

  The Hunter considered their words. He'd paid for a two- week trip knowing full well he didn't have anywhere near that much time. He hadn't known the Sage's precise timeline, but the Elivasti in the tunnels beneath Kara-ket had told him he had more than a month until the Withering. Accounting for the days he'd spent traveling to reach Vothmot, the Withering would be occurring within the next ten days. He'd have to catch up to the Sage or reach Enarium well before then if he wanted to put an end to the demon's plan to restore Kharna.

  "So be it." He nodded. "Ten days."

  "Excellent!" Rassek clapped his hands. "Then let's be gettin’ mounted up and on our way before the sun's up. We’ll want to be coverin' as much ground as we can afore all those blasted sight-seers clutter up th’ trail."

  "Sight-seers?" The Hunter's forehead creased at the unfamiliar word.

  Darillon snorted. "Poncy, fat-arsed, air-headed noblemen and women from around Einan coming for the thrill of the Empty Mountains. They want the excitement with none of the difficulty."

  "Alls they come fer is to be seein' the sights, see," Rassek added with a mocking grin. "Hlareth and his ilk in the Prime Bazaar make a pretty penny showin’ them around a few days."

  "Idiots don't even know they're being led in circles." Darillon gave a disdainful grunt. "They're just happy to pay their coins so they can bring a story home to tell the rest of their useless lot."

  The two men gave their equipment one final examination before mounting up. The Hunter gave his own gear the once-over as well, tightening straps, adjusting cinches on the horse's tack, and checking on Hailen. The boy dozed in his saddle, his eyelids drooping. He didn't protest as the Hunter lifted him from Ash's back and placed him atop Elivast. By the time the Hunter swung up into his saddle and gathered the horse's reins, Hailen had returned to the quiet, dozy state. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm as they set off into motion.