The Hunter shrugged. "I told you of my past, my service in the Praamian Guard and the Legion of Heroes in Voramis. There's not much more to say."
The secret to deception lay in only giving small bits of information at a time. The slower he doled out the bits and pieces of his story, the easier it would be for the knight to believe it.
"Yes, I have not forgotten. But I want to know more about the man beneath the armor. Tell me, do you have family, a wife, children?"
"No, no family. Had a child once. Lost her…to the ague."
This detail was crucial to the fabricated history of Hardwell. The pain he displayed would deter the knight from inquiring any further into the story. Yet a very real lump rose in his throat to accompany the memory of Farida. There was no deceit in his anguish.
"And the child's mother?"
"No idea. Never knew the woman. Just found the child on my doorstep one day, wrapped in blankets." Another half-truth to sell the lie.
Sir Danna placed a hand on his shoulder. "I am sorry for your loss, Hardwell. I have never known the pain of losing a loved one, but I have sat beside many passing into the embrace of the Long Keeper. We will speak no more of your past. Instead, let us talk of your future."
"I know not what my future holds. After the loss of my little one, I had to leave the south. Too many memories. I needed to find a new path to travel."
This was no lie. Farida's death had compelled him to leave Voramis; he couldn't live in a city haunted by her memory.
"The north was the only choice open to me. I was content to travel in my own company, at least until I met you."
Though why I agreed to travel with you, the words went unspoken, I still do not know.
Sir Danna grinned. "A fortuitous meeting. The gods led you to us in time to save good Visibos."
"Indeed. Now I must ask a question of you, Sir Danna."
"Of course. Anything."
Sir Danna's sincere and open manner seemed so out of place in the Hunter's world, filled with mistrust and suspicion. It came as a refreshing change.
"Why did you invite me to travel with you? We had only just met. How did you know you could trust me?"
Sir Danna's face split into a beatific smile. "A good question, Hardwell." Her eyes took on a faraway look, piety written in her expression. "In this world filled with evil and wickedness, the Beggar God has graced a chosen few of his priests with a gift—the gift of inner sight."
The Hunter's heart pounded, his stomach twisting. Could she have seen the truth of who I am?
"I looked into your eyes, Hardwell. Long before I asked you to join us. Do you know what I saw?"
If she knew the truth, he had no choice but to kill them—a thought he found surprisingly distasteful. At least in Sir Danna's case. He felt no reluctance to do away with Visibos. The apprentice's innate distrust had marked him from the first.
"What did you see?"
"I saw a man searching for meaning in his life." The knight's expression looked sincere. "A man trying to leave behind a past of which he is ashamed."
The Hunter stared at the knight, mouth agape.
Sir Danna smiled. "Make no mistake; there is something inside you that draws you toward the darkness. But we all have our demons, Hardwell. The difference is that not all of us choose to fight."
The knight stabbed a finger at him, her eyes boring into his. "You fight with every shred of strength to push back your demons. You struggle to do what's right, though you often find it hard to know what that 'right' is. But that's what makes you human."
That word, human. He wasn't, not truly.
The Hunter's head ached, and his mouth felt suddenly dry. He tried to form coherent words.
"There is goodness in you, Hardwell, no matter what you may believe to the contrary. The Beggar God graced me with a glimpse of the real you, and I knew you to be a man with whom I could share the road. Perhaps I may even be able to help you in some way neither of us yet knows."
He could find nothing to say, and the knight seemed not to expect a reply. Silence lapsed between them.
The Hunter's mind seethed. Inner sight? Could such a thing be possible?
But if she had the gift, she had to know the truth. The Hunter wanted to believe she had seen something good within him. Yet he knew better.
If she could truly see the real me, she would have shunned me by now.
Everyone else in his past had done so.
The demon snarled in his mind. 'She can't know. She is nothing more than the charlatan priest of a weak god.'
Visibos's voice broke into the Hunter's thoughts. "Sir Danna. We have but an hour or two before the sun sets. Perhaps we should find a place to make camp for the night."
A glance at the sun proved the apprentice's estimate correct. Brilliant colors splashed across the heavens as the shining orb descended toward the treetops. A crescent moon hung low in the evening sky.
Sir Danna nodded. "Very well. Let us search for a place to camp."
Within an hour, the sun had disappeared beneath the highlands to the west, and the three traveling companions prepared to bed down for the evening. A hollow between two hills hid them from sight of the road, providing shelter from a brisk breeze that kicked up dust and leaves. No trees grew on the undulating hills bordering the road. The open sky would be their only companion for the night.
No trees meant no wood to build a fire. The three shared a cold meal of road biscuits, dried meat, and water unpleasantly warm after the hot day. They ate in silence, the darkening sky casting a pall over their meal.
Sleep evaded the Hunter long after the gentle snores of his companions filled the air. The moon shone over the hills to the east, its pale light providing faint illumination. The stars twinkling in the cloudless sky taunted him with their aloof indifference.
Sir Danna's words echoed in his mind.
"There is goodness within you, no matter what you believe to the contrary."
Could she be right? He desperately wanted it to be true.
Sir Danna's words filled him with hope. Others had claimed to see good in him before. Father Reverentus, the old Beggar Priest, had seen past his demon heritage. Celicia, the Fourth of the Bloody Hand, had also found something within him—enough to cause her to defy the First.
The demon's whispers shattered his hope. 'There is no goodness within us, for we are beyond good and evil. They are human concepts, and we are more than mortal. We are Abiarazi, rulers of this world and every other upon which we tread. Conquest is our way, and we tread down any who oppose us.'
This truth lanced his mind like a hot poker. He had tried to believe he was no different than those around him, yet the voice in his head never let him forget.
That is who I really am. I am something more than human.
Or something less…
Ever stubborn, he tried to argue with the voice within. But Sir Danna said—
The demon filled his head with rage. 'Sir Danna is a fool! She worships a weakling. Her god is nothing but a shade of the Destroyer, the true power in this world. When we return our master to life, these priests will discover the truth of whom they worship.'
Soulhunger added its incessant demands. We bring death.
The Hunter's hand crept to the scar on his chest. We brought death. No longer.
The dagger pounded in his mind, setting his head throbbing. In the stillness of the night, the blade's whispers burned with such intensity that he could not ignore them. Too well he knew what it wanted.
No! I will not feed the Destroyer! You will kill no longer.
The demon's screams added to the dagger's voice. 'You will not escape us, no matter what you tell yourself!'
More faces flashed in the Hunter's mind. Dark Heresiarchs. The Bloody Hand. Lord Daavros. Lord and Lady Damuria. Hundreds more whose names he no longer remembered. Blood stained the pale, slack features, open mouths, and glassy eyes staring at him. A shudder ran down his spine.
The creature's whispers fill
ed with satisfaction. 'You did this. You are Bucelarii. You are the bringer of death.'
The darkness lulled him to sleep, but he found no peace in slumber. Destruction and chaos filled the Hunter's dreams, drowning him in a river of bloodshed, carrying him along in an endless stream of violence.
Chapter Eleven
'They're going to kill you!'
The voice tore the Hunter from sleep, snapping his mind to full consciousness in a heartbeat. He jerked upright, drawing his sword and lashing out in one smooth motion.
Nothing but empty air met his blade. The world was dark and still, the night air cool. Mocking laughter echoed in his mind.
Leave me alone! Let me sleep.
The Hunter curled up in his blankets once more, but the voice in his head refused to be silenced.
'You will find no peace, Bucelarii, not until you give me what I crave. What we crave.'
Soulhunger added its voice to the turmoil.
The Hunter clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the pounding behind his eyes. Sweat stung his eyes and turned his palms clammy. He knew what the thing wanted, but he would not yield.
I deny you, demon. Do your worst!
Throwing off his blankets, he climbed to his feet. Only the sounds of heavy breathing broke the oppressive silence of the night.
The Hunter slipped away from camp, his soft leather boots making little noise. The brisk air filled his lungs and calmed his racing heart. His fingers clutched his heavy sword, the weight and feel of the weapon soothing. If the demon would not allow him to sleep, the Hunter would find peace another way.
Reaching a patch of short grass a few dozen paces from the camp, the Hunter fell into the beginning stance of a basic sword form. He moved slowly at first, losing himself in the movements of the combat forms. He increased his speed until the demands on his body drowned out the voices in his mind.
Calm filled him as he twirled in the silent dance of death.
* * *
The day dawned bleak and grey, a perfect match for the Hunter's mood. Wrapped in his blankets, he watched the empty hills for any sign of life. Nothing moved but the grass blowing in the dawn breeze.
His efforts to silence the voice in his mind had taken a toll on his body. His sweat-stained tunic clung to his clammy skin. His muscles quivered with exhaustion, and the thought of another day in the saddle filled him with dread.
Visibos awoke first, his eyes darting to the seated figure of the Hunter. Tension flitted across his face for a moment before the apprentice schooled his expression and gave the Hunter a nod no doubt meant to look casual.
Sir Danna awoke with the same cheerful attitude of the previous morning. She graced the men with a bright "Good morning," ignoring their lackluster response. She filled her mouth with trail biscuits and a handful of dried fruit Visibos produced from his bag, an ebullient grin on her face.
The Hunter ate in silence, trying to watch his companions unnoticed. He caught Visibos's gaze on him, but the man's eyes slid away when the Hunter looked at him.
I see his mistrust of me has not dimmed after a night of sleep.
Sir Danna tried to draw the Hunter into conversation, but he replied with only monosyllabic answers. Her attempts to do the same with Visibos proved equally fruitless. The silence between them hung heavy.
Meager breakfast finished, the knights departed for their morning prayers. The Hunter lost himself in his thoughts. Numbness filled him as he prepared to ride, and he moved as if in a daze. When Sir Danna and Visibos returned a short while later, the Hunter ignored their inane conversation.
Sir Danna set a steady pace, allowing Pathfinder to settle into a slow trot. A dull haze filled the Hunter's mind, matching the gloomy sky. Clouds hung thick and heavy overhead, threatening a downpour. A crisp, cool wind carried the scent of rain.
The Hunter drew back his hood, allowing the breeze to wash over his face. The pounding of Elivast's hooves drowned out the whispers in his mind, and the exertion provided him a reprieve from his melancholy. By the time Sir Danna called a halt, the Hunter's inner turmoil had diminished.
He munched on his sparse midday meal in silence, listening to Sir Danna instructing her apprentice in the martial art of grappling.
"Even if you find yourself without a weapon," the knight was telling Visibos, holding up her empty hands, "you are never truly defenseless. Draw your sword."
Sir Danna was an oddity. He had encountered many women adept at combat, but none wielded a sword with such ease. Though her armor gave her the appearance of being stocky, the diminutive knight had real muscle beneath the padding. She held her head high and walked with confidence.
A true knight, that one.
Visibos, on the other hand, looked out of place dressed as a warrior. The heavy half-plate hung awkwardly on his long, lank frame. Where Sir Danna strutted, Visibos shuffled his feet. The uneven length of his hair and the stubble on his cheeks didn't suit the man's hawkish appearance.
Sir Danna beckoned to her apprentice. "Now, attack me with an overhead strike."
Visibos brought his heavy sword down at the unarmed knight's head. Sir Danna stepped inside her apprentice's guard and raised her forearm. The cross-block arrested Visibos' downward motion, his wrists colliding with Sir Danna's arm.
"Now you are exposed to any number of strikes. To the throat. To the knee. Even to the face." Sir Danna demonstrated with her elbows and knees. "Once inside your opponent's guard, you have a moment of advantage."
Sir Danna impressed the Hunter. She moved with the sort of fluid grace only achieved through years of hard training.
The knight turned to him. "Hardwell, you must have learned a few tricks during your time in the Praamian Guard."
The Hunter gave the knight an apologetic smile. "Alas, my lady, I would be no match for your knightly martial arts. I am a simple soldier-at-arms, schooled in a much cruder form of warfare."
"And that," Sir Danna said, a grin spreading on her face, "is exactly what Visibos here needs. I can teach him to fight as a knight, but he will undoubtedly encounter many who do not respect the ethics of combat."
"Very well, Sir Danna. If you insist." Climbing to his feet, the Hunter brushed the last crumbs from his pants and strode toward the knights.
Visibos's back stiffened. His expression grew carefully neutral, and he studied the Hunter through narrowed eyes.
The Hunter held up empty hands. "Come at me with the same strike."
Visibos complied, repeating the attack. The apprentice overcompensated, striking with excessive force. The Hunter avoided the descending sword and stepped inside the man's guard. He tapped Visibos's knee with his heel and the apprentice's throat with his elbow. When Visibos flinched, the Hunter took advantage of the man's hesitation and threw him to the ground.
Sir Danna laughed and clapped her hands. "Well done, Hardwell! You see, Visibos, you were so intent on your strike that you committed too much force. When he moved from the sword's path, you had no time to recover before he shattered your knee, crushed your throat, and knocked you on your back."
Visibos glared at the Hunter through narrowed eyes, his face red, lips pressed together in a thin line. He shrugged off the Hunter's offered hand, climbing to his feet unaided. Anger radiated from him in waves.
That might not have been the best idea. A prickly one, this Visibos. Give the man a chance to regain some dignity.
"Perhaps he might like to try your lesson on me, Sir Danna."
At Sir Danna's nod, Visibos handed the sword to the Hunter. The Hunter repeated the same overhead strike, giving Visibos plenty of time to anticipate the blow and react. He allowed himself to be thrown to the floor, landing with a dramatic grunt.
"Very good, Visibos!" Sir Danna beamed at her apprentice. Visibos grinned at the praise, and extended a hand to the Hunter.
"Well done." The Hunter said took the apprentice's outstretched hand and pulled himself to his feet. "My backside will be complaining all afternoon thanks to you." He proffered t
he sword to the apprentice.
Visibos's grin widened. With a companionable nod, he took the weapon and slipped it back into its sheath.
"With that lesson learned," Sir Danna said, "it is time for us to continue our journey."
The Hunter strode toward Elivast, groaning and rubbing his back theatrically. The horse snorted in protest at the Hunter's interruption of its meal.
Sir Danna pointed to the crossroads, a few hundred paces distant. "We take the road north. If we ride hard, we may reach the Bridge of Ilyerrion within an hour."
Visibos' face creased into an excited grin. "This is something you will want to see, Hardwell!" His voice held no rancor. "It is a marvel of the ancient worlds, the likes of which you will find nowhere else."
"What's so special about it?" The scholar's enthusiasm intrigued the Hunter.
"You will see," was all the answer Visibos would give.
Chapter Twelve
Sir Danna pushed the horses hard, but for once the Hunter didn't begrudge the pace. Curiosity burned within him.
What could turn a stodgy scholar like Visibos giddy as a schoolboy?
At the crest of a steep hill, Sir Danna reined in Pathfinder. The Hunter pulled Elivast to a halt beside the knight, his breath catching at the vista spread out before him.
The land sloped downward and dropped into a yawning abyss. A massive fissure split Einan from east to west, disappearing beyond the horizon. The sheer red stone cliffs of the north face plunged out of sight below the canyon's southern rim. A promontory in the north wall reached craggy fingers skyward, and from it an enormous stone bridge spanned the gulf, connecting the north and south.
"By the gods!" The Hunter's eyes traveled along the fissure, drinking in the awesome sight.
"The Bridge of Ilyerrion." Visibos spoke in a voice filled with wonder, a rapt expression on his face.
"Prepare for a lecture, Hardwell," Sir Danna whispered. Louder, she said, "Come, Visibos, at least let us ride while you regale us with tales of the past." With a grin, she nudged Pathfinder forward. Visibos followed and the Hunter, unwilling to fall behind, kicked Elivast into a walk.
The Last Bucelarii Book 2: Lament of the Fallen Page 7