Darkblade Slayer

by Andy Peloquin

  "Hardwell, come take a look at this." Excitement shone in Evren's eyes. "I-I think I've found somethin’."

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Evren held out the book. "Read this passage here."

  The Hunter took the volume and scanned the section Evren indicated. It came from a scene a page or two after the part that had revealed the way through the cliffs.

  “Facing them bravely I stood

  My red velvet length

  Soft flesh member

  Thick purple veins

  Triumphant and proud

  Defiant against guardians beyond number.”

  “Ugh,” the Hunter said with a grimace and closed the book. "I could have lived forever without knowing those details about the bard's prick."

  He tried in vain to scrub the image of Enmor fighting off King Draqua’s guards with his erect penis. The chapter continued with the Journeyman bard barely fleeing Ghandia with his head—and other body parts—still attached.

  Evren nodded, and his face reflected the Hunter's disgust. "Agreed. But that ain’t what stood out to me. Funny thing is, it's the only part of the book that gets into such…graphic detail." He gave a little shudder. "Back in the Master's Temple, we always knew to skip that bit."

  The Hunter's brow furrowed. "But you think those details are somehow important?"

  Evren hesitated. "I ain’t all sure." He thrust a finger at the book. "Might be he included it on purpose so it stood out from the rest of the story."

  "So, what?" the Hunter asked. "We're supposed to look for a mountain that looks like red velvet flesh with thick purple veins?"

  "Maybe that's where we need to go to be safe from the Stone Guardians. Or where we go to get rid of them."

  "If that bit about ‘my love’s most treasured secret parts’ is talking about Enarium, it could mean those guards are the Stone Guardians." The Hunter tugged at the stubble that had sprouted on his face. The last weeks of traveling from Kara-ket hadn't included many opportunities for a shave. "I guess we need to be on the lookout for something phallic, then. Like a tall, manhood-shaped mountain or stone pillar."

  Evren shrugged. "Maybe. Like I said, I ain’t sure."

  The Hunter read over the passage again, but instead started at the top of the page. Now that he had gotten in the mind frame of looking for oddities, he found another section that stood out to him.

  “The regal moon’s flow

  Like crimson tides of life

  Blood on the air

  Summons and beckons

  A beacon calling out

  To the guardians of my love fair.”

  He cringed at mention of the women’s cycle, but mulled over its significance. "Did you catch this bit about the blood?" he asked Evren.

  The young thief nodded. "A lot of focus on blood, even when he ain’t never mentioned it in the rest of the book. Even when Enmor’s goin’ up against the guardians."

  "That's what I thought." The Hunter pondered the passage. He had an idea, but it seemed a stretch. "What if this is referring to the thing that attracts the Stone Guardians?"

  Evren's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

  The Hunter scratched his beard. “What if blood is what attracts the Stone Guardians?"

  The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. The massive creatures had only appeared after Sir Danna and her Warrior Priests attacked. His own keen sense of smell could pick up the coppery tang of fresh-spilled blood from hundreds of paces away. If the Stone Guardians were drawn to the odor, it could explain how they'd known where to find him and the others in the middle of the Empty Mountains. And why they hadn't attacked Darillon, Rassek, Evren, Hailen, or the horses.

  The Hunter stared down at the book. How many more secrets lay hidden in its pages? How much more could he learn from the strange story of the Journeyman bard?

  No, how much more could we learn?

  He held the book out to Evren. "I want you to keep this for me."

  The thief's eyebrows shot up. "What? Why?"

  "Because we need to find out everything we can from it, and because I can't afford to spend every spare moment with my nose buried in a book."

  Suspicion flashed in Evren's eyes. "I ain’t so useless I can’t do anyth—"

  The Hunter cut him off with a shake of his head. "You're the one who has the greatest chance of actually finding something we can use. I've got to keep an eye on the boy, watch our backs, and try to find a way to keep us alive long enough to reach Enarium. But if there are more clues to get us safely there, anything hidden that will help us fight off the Stone Guardians, we need to know. And you proved you're clever enough to figure it out already."

  For a moment, the suspicion on the thief's eyes softened, replaced by genuine surprise and something more. Warmth? Pride?

  "I'll do it." Evren took the book from the Hunter. "I'll try to find what I can."

  "You've more than earned your way on the trip, Evren." The Hunter met the young man's gaze firmly. "You saved our lives at least once, and I'm counting on you to do so again. For the boy's sake, if not for the rest of us."

  Evren swallowed, and gave a little nod. He tucked the book into his cloak, stood, and strode toward his bedroll. He climbed into his blankets, but stopped before lying down.

  "Your scars," he asked in a quiet voice, "who did that to you?"

  The question surprised the Hunter. He instinctively prepared to use the lie he'd told Lady Damuria back in Voramis, saying they were a Praamian ritual. But something stopped the words from coming out.

  "It's a long story," he said at last. He couldn't tell the young man the truth—who'd believe such a thing?—but for some reason, he didn't want to deceive him any more than necessary.

  Evren nodded. "Got it." He hesitated, then rolled up his long sleeve to reveal white scar tissue crisscrossing his upper arm from elbow to shoulder. "We've all got long stories of our own."

  The Hunter said nothing. He could only imagine what horrors had befallen the young man to leave him so scarred, mentally as well as physically. Evren had grown hard out of necessity, yet in that moment, the Hunter caught a glimpse of the boy Evren must have been long ago. Before the Lecterns ruined him.

  "Did you at least get even with the one who did that?" Evren asked. The edge had returned to his voice, his eyes gone flat.

  The Hunter shrugged. "In a sense." His scars served as a reminder of the cost of his actions. Every death left a new mark etched into his flesh, a reminder of just how much he took from others.

  "Good." Evren rolled up his sleeve. "When it gets to be too much, you just have to act, you know?" He searched the Hunter's face. "Even if it means you have to spend your life runnin’, sometimes it's better to run than keep lettin’ people hurt you."

  "I understand," the Hunter said. He truly did. He'd done far worse than killing a priest, for gold instead of survival or sanity. "It takes a toll on your soul, but there are times it's a price worth paying."

  With a little nod, Evren lay down in his ragged bedroll and pulled up his blankets.

  The Hunter sat in silence, staring at the glowing coals before him. He'd seen many young men turn out like Evren. Life in Lower Voramis had been hard. When money was scarce—which it always was—many had no choice but to turn to disreputable means of scraping together enough coin to survive. The brothels of the Blackfall District had always been filled with young men and women, barely more than children, who had found a way to make a living, no matter the pain or disgrace.

  Yet unlike many of them, Evren hadn't been given a choice. He hadn't chosen to fall victim to the priests. The horrors had been inflicted upon him by priests, men that ought to have protected and cared for him. They had taken his trust in them and twisted it into a vile power that enabled them to abuse him. Him, and doubtless many others around Einan.

  But that was ever the case with mankind. He'd seen the worst of human nature, in many cases as evil and depraved as the Abiarazi he hunted. Frozen hell, he'd witnessed t
hings that would make even a demon cringe, men and women inflicting horrors, cruelties, and injustices upon each other. They made him almost want to accept the demons' offer to join them and eradicate humanity to make a world for the Abiarazi and Bucelarii.

  Almost.

  Over the last few months, he'd come to see that humanity had more to offer than just villainy, treachery, and malice. Darkness always overshadowed the light, but those few spots of light—people like Farida, Bardin, Hailen, and Evren—shone so much brighter for the darkness around them. Even Rassek, Darillon, Graden, Kellen, Visibos, and, yes, Father Reverentus proved that humanity had just enough to be worth saving. The scales tipped heavily toward evil, but he could see enough good to make it clear what he had to do.

  In Enarium, he would confront the Sage, destroy Kharna, and free the world from the grip of the Abiarazi and the god of destruction. He was no hero—an assassin could never truly be called such—but perhaps he was precisely what Einan needed. Someone who could bear the burden of killing, as death was necessary to bring life.

  As long as the Abiarazi lived, Einan was in danger. As long as Kharna remained to affect the world, there remained a chance of his return. Only a killer could put an end to both.

  The shrieking in his head rose to a painful intensity. The Hunter gritted his teeth against the ache in his skull. The demon spoke no words, simply screeched incoherence, filling his mind with its desires for death. Unlike Soulhunger, which craved blood regardless of its provenance, his inner demon hated the fact that he killed the Abiarazi. It ached for him to return to his roots as the Bucelarii, the obedient soldiers that fought beside the demonic hordes to eradicate humanity. The demon saw every Abiarazi death at his hands as a betrayal of his heritage.

  So be it. He could betray at least that half of himself. He would cling to the shred of humanity within—the part of himself that had prevented Father Reverentus from ordering his death. The part of him that had driven him this far. The only thing keeping him going when he wanted to collapse beneath the burden of guilt.

  The throbbing in his head grew so excruciating it brought tears to his eyes. The curse of the Empty Mountains amplified the voice, far louder than the Warmaster's temple in Kara-ket. The demon's presence filled his head with its fury, shrieking, railing, demanding, and begging.

  The Hunter pounded at his head in a vain attempt to silence the voice. His vision blurred, and his breath came in ragged gasps. It felt like the presence in his mind tried to kill him. If he would not yield, it would drive him insane.

  He knew what it wanted. He had fought to avoid giving in to its demands. Yet at that moment, he knew he could fight no longer. He couldn't run from it, couldn't hide or erect a wall in his mind to block it out, not with the curse of the Empty Mountains amplifying its intensity. It didn’t matter that he’d killed just hours earlier; the voice refused to fall silent. He had only one choice.

  He stood quickly and raised the hood of his dark cloak. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he checked his sword in its sheath, then strode down the trail, back the way they'd come earlier. He would give the voice what it wanted.

  Chapter Thirty

  The Hunter welcomed the cool embrace of darkness. The faint glow of the stars provided enough light for him to pick his way back along the trail. Moonlight shone on the dark grey cliffs bordering the left side of the trail, while a cool wind wailed through the abyss on his right.

  Nervous tension thrummed within his chest. It would be too much to hope the Stone Guardians had killed all thirty of the warriors accompanying Sir Danna. Had the knight survived? And what of the five Cambionari with her? How many Warrior Priests remained? This trip served as more than just a chance to silence the voice in his mind; he needed to scout his enemy's position and find out what, if any, threat he faced.

  The demon’s insistence set his head ringing with its incoherent wails. He filled his thoughts with images of carving his way through Sir Danna's camp, hoping to satiate its demands enough that it would fall quiet in eager anticipation of what lay ahead. The demon had been with him long enough to know that he needed peace in order to do what it wanted him to.

  The demon radiated displeasure at his leaving Soulhunger behind. It wanted death, but most of all, it wanted him to use Soulhunger to feed Kharna. Power flooded the Hunter with every life the dagger stole, but only a fraction of what went to the Great Destroyer.

  The discovery of Soulhunger's true purpose had filled the Hunter with a sense of dread. He killed to keep the voices at bay, yet his sanity came at a high cost. One day, Soulhunger would consume enough power that Kharna could break free of his prison.

  Not if I can help it.

  Surely the wisdom of the Serenii contained in Enarium could help him find a way to seal the Destroyer away forever. Just as it could provide the Sage with the power to free Kharna, perhaps it could give the Hunter what he needed to eliminate Kharna for good. With Hailen, a Melechha, beside him, Einan had hope, however faint it might look at that moment.

  But tonight, he'd left Soulhunger behind for another reason entirely. Sir Danna and the Cambionari had tracked him through the Empty Mountains by following the gemstone's presence. He didn't understand how their powers worked, but it was enough to know they did. If even one of the Cambionari had survived the Stone Guardians' attack on the bridge, they would sense Soulhunger's presence as he approached their position. Any chance at stealth would be negated.

  With the power Soulhunger stole from his kill earlier that day, all traces of his fatigue, hunger, and thirst had faded. He was wide awake and filled with energy as he slipped down the trail. He had six or seven hours of darkness left—more than enough time to find his enemy.

  Though he carried a sword and daggers, he had little intention of using them. He'd prefer to slip into the enemy's camp unseen, kill in silence, and leave without anyone knowing he was there. If he could eliminate a few of the Cambionari and Warrior Priests—hell, even Sir Danna—the odds of further pursuit would drastically diminish. He, Hailen, and the others could safely reach Enarium.

  He hadn't figured out the problem of the Stone Guardians, but they had given him an idea. Before he left Sir Danna's camp, he would make sure to spill blood—just enough to attract the Stone Guardians. If, as he suspected, the scent of blood attracted the massive stone beasts, he could eliminate Sir Danna and her men once and for all.

  Rounding a bend in the trail, he caught a glimmer of light off in the distance. A predatory smile spread his face. It seems someone survived the attack at the bridge. Time to find out who.

  It took him the better part of half an hour to reach the source of the light. His pursuers had made camp at a section of the trail that widened to a shelf roughly twenty paces wide and forty long. Tall cliffs bordered one side of the camp, with a precipice dropping into a deep chasm on the other.

  The Hunter crouched in the shadow of a huge boulder and spied four men standing guard. Three wore the splinted mail and white cloaks of the Warrior Priests, while the fourth wore the leather armor and rounded helm of a Cambionari. They faced his direction in silence, their backs to the fire and eyes fixed on the darkness.

  Beyond the guards, he counted six tents large enough to sleep two men, surrounding a larger tent—doubtless Sir Danna's—in the middle of the camp. Two more Warrior Priests sat beside the fire. One had his arm in a sling, and the other wore a heavy bandage around his head. That meant as many as eighteen of his enemies had survived. Four had died at his hands, so another eight had fallen to the Stone Guardians.

  He winced. Not the best odds.

  The stink of iron drifted toward him. The Cambionari and Warrior Priests each carried iron daggers—the metal was too brittle to be useful for a sword. Even the Swordsman’s iron daggers, twin blades that lay cloth-wrapped in the Hunter's pack, would shatter beneath repeated blows. The steel swords served as the Cambionari and Warrior Priests' offensive weapons, but they wielded the shorter iron blades specifically to deal with him.
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  His skill and speed had kept him alive in his earlier confrontation. He'd attacked so quickly and with such ferocity his opponents hadn't had time to react, and the narrow bridge had given him the advantage of only facing two at a time. Now, in the camp, they could surround him and use their superior numbers to turn any battle in their favor.

  But he had no desire for battle. He just needed to get around the sentries. The rear of the camp shouldn’t be guarded. Even if they anticipated his attempt to double back, the single trail provided no way for him to get around behind them. Their position should prove totally secure.

  Yet Sir Danna had no idea who she truly faced. She saw him as the offspring of demons, a man who wouldn't hesitate to kill. She didn't know of his past as an assassin. For as long as he could remember, he'd found ways to get around, under, and behind guards just like these. Only one man had escaped his wrath—the Sage—and he'd only done so by leaving ten Elivasti warriors to fight the Hunter, then fled before the mountain collapsed.

  The Hunter slipped back up the trail, well beyond the limited reach of the firelight, then lowered himself over the edge of the cliff. It proved harder going than he'd like, as he could not see to easily find foot and handholds. But he'd made harder climbs with less light. Bloody hell, he'd climbed down the smooth exterior of the Serenii temples in Kara-ket. This rocky mountainside proved far less challenging.

  He descended two man-heights below the level of the trail, then crept at a horizontal traverse along the cliff face. This made for slower going, and his muscles soon ached from the exertion. Sweat streamed down his face and soaked his tunic. More than once, the evening breeze whistling through the canyon nearly threatened to tug him free of the cliff face.

  But he refused to stop moving. He counted each pace as he moved, until he estimated he was roughly five paces away from the watching guards. He found a comfortable position in a crevice in the rock wall and listened for any sounds. When the rush of his pulse had faded to a dull thudding in his ears, he caught the sound of a cough off to his right. A moment later, someone cleared their throat, and armor clanked as one of the Cambionari or Warrior Priests shifted their stance.