"Since the dawn of mankind," Visibos said, his reverence audible, "the Bridge of Ilyerrion has spanned the Chasm of the Lost. Some say it was built by the gods themselves, for no human hands could have moved the stones." The passion in the apprentice's words was unmistakable.
The Hunter hid a smile. Definitely a scholar at heart.
"The Bridge stretches an entire league, joining the south and north rims. Did you know that it was once a major crossing? It connected the cities of the south to the north."
"Once?"
Visibos shrugged. "The years have worn the stonework of the bridge smooth. Beasts of burden can no longer traverse the bridge; their hooves slide on the stones. Only men and horses can cross, but with difficulty. Most choose to travel the Godsbridge to the east. Now, the Bridge of Ilyerrion stands deserted and forgotten."
"The Godsbridge?" Another name the Hunter had not heard.
Visibos shook his head at the Hunter's ignorance. "A much shorter bridge, and in better condition than this one."
"Come, apprentice. Let's pick up the pace. You can tell him more as we make the crossing."
Sir Danna kicked Pathfinder into a canter, and the two men spurred their mounts to match the pace. The hill was steep and the road worn, but Elivast proved himself a sure-footed mount. Within a quarter of an hour, the party rode onto the Bridge of Ilyerrion.
The bridge was formed of stone blocks the length and width of a dozen men, supported by pillars the Hunter guessed to be at least a hundred paces across.
It is far too large to be made by human hands. The weight of such large stones must be immeasurable!
"You say this thing stretches an entire league?"
Visibos nodded. "Never seen anything so large, Hardwell?" The apprentice's grin held a trace of mockery.
"Never!"
"Touch the stone."
Dismounting, the Hunter knelt and ran his hand along the worn, smooth surface of the bridge. A carpet of green moss made it slick to the touch.
"Impressive."
Sir Danna nodded. "Indeed. For this reason, we must slow our pace to a walk. Any faster, and we run the risk of the horses' hooves slipping."
Climbing back into the saddle, the Hunter nudged Elivast to follow the knight and her apprentice.
As they rode, Visibos muttered under his breath. "Four hundred twenty-eight, four hundred twenty-nine. Aha!" He pointed to the stone beneath his horse's hooves. "Four hundred thirty! The exact center of the bridge. From here, you get a peerless glimpse at the canyon below."
True to his word, the view from the bridge was breathtaking. The red stone cliffs of the canyon plummeted hundreds—no, thousands—of paces into the earth.
The sheer magnitude of the divide overwhelmed the Hunter. A league across, and easily half as deep, the canyon served as a reminder of just how small he was compared to the world around him.
"How do you know this is the center? What were you counting?"
"The symbols." Visibos pointed to a mark etched into the bridge's stone railing. "There are exactly eight hundred fifty-nine symbols. That one is dead center."
The Hunter leaned closer to study the symbol, and surprise raced through him. He had seen those symbols before…in the House of Need.
The language of the Serenii.
Trying to keep his expression neutral, he turned to Visibos. "What do they mean?"
Visibos shrugged. "No one knows, but it is a subject of much speculation." He, too, bent in the saddle to study the markings.
"As fascinating as the bridge is," Sir Danna interjected, "we must ride if we are to cross in the early afternoon. It would not do well to be in the high hills when night falls."
"Of course, Sir Danna."
The Hunter followed the two knights, trusting Elivast to set the pace. His eyes roamed the walls of the canyon, tracing the jagged stone cliffs to the river far below. The dark red flood ran from east to west in a single thread of water, save for one a point where the river forked and split around an island. Four stones stood on the islet, and though the cliffs dwarfed the monoliths, the Hunter guessed they were at least a hundred paces high.
"Visibos," he called to the apprentice. "What are those?"
Visibos followed the Hunter's finger, and his expression darkened. "A place of evil, if the stories are to be believed."
"What do you mean?"
"It is said those stones predate even the Bridge of Ilyerrion. Perhaps even as far back as the War of the Gods. They are believed to be a place of power."
"What manner of power?"
"The sort brought about by death and suffering."
Sir Danna gave her apprentice a half-smile. "That is just a superstition, Visibos. You can't believe everything you read in story books."
The apprentice stiffened, his eyes flashing. "Not all superstitions are fictitious, Sir Danna. Many a legend is based on reality. If there is any truth to this one, the stones could hold the souls of those killed by the demons who roamed Einan."
A gust of wind carried an all-too-familiar odor, twisting the Hunter's stomach. It was the same smell of death and decay that had marked the First as a demon, the same stench emanating from the horror he had encountered that night in the Serenii tunnels.
A shudder ran down his spine. Truly, it is a hellish place.
Visibos spoke in a somber voice. "When demons roamed Einan, they brought death and destruction. According to legends, those stones"—he stabbed a finger at the monoliths—"served as a focus for their power. The slaughter they wreaked, oh, it was terrible! Only because the gods took it upon themselves to eradicate the demons was the world saved from annihilation." The apprentice shuddered, eyes glazing over.
The Hunter wanted Visibos to continue, but Sir Danna cut him off.
"Come, Visibos. Enough talk of legends." The knight shook her head, a gentle smile on her lips. "We must continue our ride if we are to descend from the high mountains before dark. You know how cruel the wind can be when night falls."
Sir Danna's words snapped Visibos back into the real world. "Of course, Sir Danna." With a nod, Visibos kicked his horse into motion.
The Hunter followed, but saw little of the world around him. His thoughts had turned inward, growing dark.
The past I cannot remember has reared its ugly head once more. Will I never be free of the curse of my heritage?
The demon screamed in his mind. 'We will rise! You will return us to our rightful place as rulers of this world. You, Bucelarii, are meant to wield the power channeled through those stones.'
The Hunter fell into a brooding silence. His eyes darted time and again to the dark stone circle, feeling the horror radiating from the island. Every breath filled his nostrils with the reek of decay. The monoliths, standing tall and silent, taunted him with their mystery. Soulhunger, as if sensing the proximity to the standing stones, set his head throbbing with its bloodlust.
I cannot escape the part of me I wish I could forget, yet I have found no answers into my past.
Another presence pushed the dagger's whispers from his thoughts.
Her presence. That mysterious Her.
The hint of decay wafted away and a fresh gust of wind carried a sweet smell.
Jasmine. She smelled of jasmine, and—
He had no idea where he would find Her or who She even was. He only knew She dragged him ever northward in pursuit of a forgotten memory. He no longer saw the world around him, only Her.
Her face smiling down at me as she lies in bed next to me. Her skin warm on my own, her lips rich and—
"Be careful, Hardwell!" Sir Danna's voice pierced his thoughts.
The knight's warning shattered his memory. The beautiful image floated away on the wind, replaced by Sir Danna's scarred, homely face.
"What?"
Surprised by his angry outburst, Sir Danna pointed to the bridge beneath Elivast's hooves. "Look."
Looking down, the Hunter's stomach bottomed out. The stone had crumbled and fallen away, leaving a m
assive hole in the center of the bridge. Only empty air hung between him and the river thousands of paces below.
"Watcher's teeth! I nearly rode into that." Only the knight's warning had saved him.
Sir Danna tilted her head to one side and studied the Hunter, eyes narrowing.
"Forgive me," the Hunter said, "I was lost in thought."
Sir Danna's brow furrowed. "Angry thoughts, it seems. Pay attention to the world around you, Hardwell. This section of the bridge is treacherous."
For nearly half an hour, they picked their way with caution across the slick stones of the bridge. Portions of stone had crumbled away, forcing the travelers to dismount and guide the horses around the holes. The Hunter's stomach lurched every time he glanced into the abyss below. Elivast protested at the treacherous footing.
The Hunter's shirt clung sodden to his back by the time they reached the far end of the Bridge of Ilyerrion. The moment his foot touched solid ground, a weight lifted from the pit of his stomach.
The two knights appeared less troubled by the crossing, though perspiration stood out on Visibos's pale forehead.
Sir Danna climbed into her saddle. "We must ride. We have a few hours until the sun sets, ample time to descend the mountain."
Visibos followed suit. "Of course, Sir Danna. You don't want to be caught in these hills after dark, Hardwell. The wind turns vicious and cold once the sun sets."
The Hunter, distracted by the stench of decay wafting up from the canyon, clambered atop Elivast without a word. His mind hunted the memory of his mystery woman, desperate to see Her face one more time.
Another scent filled his nostrils—faint at first, but growing with every step down the hill. The familiar smell tickled in the back of his mind.
Smoked meat. Mud. Wagon grease. Why do I know that scent?
At that moment, an odd whirring reached his ears.
Instinct warned him of danger. Without thinking, he pulled his feet from the stirrups and threw himself to the side. Something flew past his shoulder, but he was already out of the saddle and falling to the ground.
He hit the ground hard, shoulder protesting from the impact as he rolled to his feet and dove toward a nearby outcropping. Something ricocheted off the rocks over his head and slammed into the back of his calf before he found cover.
His companions were not so fortunate. Something struck Sir Danna's bare forehead with a thunk, and the knight toppled from her saddle, hitting the ground with loud crash.
Visibos had closed gauntleted fingers around his sword when something snapped his head to the side. The apprentice swayed for a moment, then sagged in the saddle. Long, silent seconds passed before the weight of his armor dragged him from his horse.
Crouching, the Hunter glared down the hill. His leg ached, but the agony in his shoulder drowned it out. His efforts to move the arm confirmed his fear.
Broken! He cursed. It would heal, but too slow for him to be of help to his companions.
Stone struck stone above the Hunter's head, causing him to jerk backward. He ducked behind the protection of the rocks.
They're flinging stones! But how?
He had never encountered anything that hurled rocks with such force.
A familiar voice called from around the bend in the road. "Come out, come out! If you do, maybe we won't hurt you too badly."
The Hunter peered around the edge of the outcropping. A man in loose, dirty rags straddled the trail. His left hand clutched a leather thong with a pouch in the middle, a stone in his right.
That must be how they fling the rocks.
A second man stepped into view. Tattered clothing, fiery red beard, a dagger clutched in his thin hand—the Hunter recognized this man only too well. The man had put a knife in his back, but, like a fool, the Hunter had allowed him to live.
Arric.
Chapter Thirteen
"You bastard! I told you what would happen if I saw your face again."
Arric shrugged "A man's got to eat. I can't help it if you and your friends happened to be the ones my mates and I run across." The red-bearded man produced a rust-stained dagger and began to clean his nails. "Now, if you'll just come on out, we can end this nice and civilized-like."
"You mean a dagger in the gut, instead of the back this time?"
"We do what we must." Arric grinned, revealing large gaps between rotting, discolored teeth. "Save me having to send my men to hunt you down. They get a bit cranky if their victims don't cooperate."
"Yes, I'll just come out and hand myself over to you now that you've promised to kill me. What kind of fool do you take me for?"
"The kind of fool who finds himself outnumbered thirty to one."
The Hunter scanned the rocks, but saw no sign of the bandits. Only the scents of unwashed humans wafted toward him on the wind.
There has to be at least a dozen, maybe more. Not the best odds now that he faced them alone. He had faced worse, but never willingly.
"Can't be thirty to one," he called. "Not enough space around the road to fit all that many. Try again, Arric."
"Even if it ain't, we're still more than a match for one man. You haven't got nowhere to run to. And we've got your mounts."
At the red-bearded man's signal, three bandits rushed from their hiding places toward the horses. One snatched at Elivast's bridle, and the horse snorted and bucked against the tug on his bit.
Arric snarled at the bedraggled bandit grasping Elivast's reins. "Pull, damn it!"
The Hunter smiled. Good horse!
"Now, all you have left are the clothes on your back. We'll just leave you here. That way, I don't have to kill you myself. Wouldn't be right and all, seeing how you spared me." Arric gave the Hunter a pitiless smile. "Though that don't mean you won't end up dead. Nearest town is a few days' ride away, and you're on foot. "
The Hunter's mind raced. What to do? Kill the bandits? Not if he could help it. There had to be another way.
'Foolish, Bucelarii,' the demon snarled. 'Look what happens when you ignore me. You try to play the hero, you try to do the "right" thing, and this is how it turns out. It's like Voramis all over again.'
No! He slammed his eyes shut, blocking out the memories. This is different. It—
Mocking laughter filled his thoughts. 'How is it different? You let them live!'
He clutched the hilt of his sword, his knuckles whitening. No!
'And now, it's going to happen all over again. They are going to die in front of you. This is your fault, Hunter!'
Something snapped the Hunter's eyelids open. Frozen in place, he watched the bandits creep toward the fallen knights, daggers clutched in their grimy hands.
'You let these men live, and look what happens. You're failing those you call "friends" all over again.'
No! Please!
'What are you going to do about it?'
The reek of decay drifted toward him, wafting up from the depths of the canyon. Something in his mind snapped, and anger boiled in the Hunter's chest, the floodgates of his rage spilling over. Blood hammered in his ears, and fire burned in his veins.
They were Beggar Priests, true. They had hunted his kind to extinction. He couldn't be certain they wouldn't hesitate to kill him if they knew the truth. But he couldn't leave them to die, not like this. He saw the faces of Karrl, Old Nan, and all the rest. He had failed his friends in Voramis before. He wouldn't fail again—not even these priests.
A roar ripped from his throat—a horrible, primal sound that froze the bandits where they stood. His hand moved of its own accord, pulling his sword free of its scabbard. The sound of pounding feet reached his ears a second before he realized they were his own. His heavy blade whistled through the air, tearing a bandit's neck in half. Warm blood sprayed his hand and face.
Pivoting, the Hunter slammed the sword's pommel into the second bandit's face. Teeth shattered, soft cartilage folded, and the man's head snapped back. He dropped like a felled ox.
The Hunter leapt over his falli
ng body toward the next brigand, the pain of his healing shoulder drowned out by his rage.
"Kill him!" Arric's voice sounded distant, barely penetrating the red haze filling the Hunter's vision.
The Hunter saw only the Long Keeper waiting to embrace the pitiful wretches before him. He snarled his rage—at the demon in his mind, at the blade begging him to kill, at himself for his weakness. Only death could silence the inferno raging in his chest.
The bandit standing over Sir Danna's body squeaked in terror, but the Hunter silenced his cry with a sweep of the sword. A detached part of his mind noted how the heavier blade carved through bone and gristle more easily than his lighter sword. He kicked the falling head, sending it spinning into Arric's stomach.
Feed me!
Soulhunger's cry echoed in the Hunter's mind, startling him. His eyes flicked toward Elivast. A bandit stood with his left hand gripping Soulhunger's hilt awkwardly, his eyes wide in terror.
"Mine!" The snarl tore from the Hunter's lips with a force beyond his control.
Ours! The voice in his head crowed in delight. Our birthright!
The Hunter screamed with every step. "You…will…not…take…what…is…mine!"
The stench of excrement wafted from the man holding Soulhunger, and a dark stain seeped down the front of his filthy britches. A whimper escaped the man's lips. He lunged forward, thrusting the dagger at the Hunter's stomach.
The Hunter brought his sword down hard, severing the scrawny arm. The man stumbled and fell with a scream. A downward thrust silenced his cries.
Something slammed into the Hunter's head, filling his world with blackness. He reeled for a moment, tasting blood, his vision blurring. He staggered to one knee, grunting in pain.
'Get up, damn you,' snarled the voice in his head. 'This is no time for your mortal frailty.'
He dropped a hand to the ground to support himself, and his fingers touched Soulhunger's hilt. Cold dread raced through him.
Yes! The blade's voice filled with triumph. At last, we will feed!
The Hunter tried to resist, to fight the voices in his mind. He couldn't give in! They would not win. But as his fingers closed around Soulhunger, the blade added its voice to the demon's snarls. Together, the two overwhelmed his resistance, shattering his mental barriers and pushing all conscious thought from his mind.
The Last Bucelarii Book 2: Lament of the Fallen Page 8