The conversation baffled the Hunter. This was not what he had expected from the Order of Midas. He had been prepared for displays of might to rival those in the streets of Malandria. Wave after wave of awe-inspiring power, not cowed glances and shocked surprise. These couldn't possibly be the wizards that instilled such terror into the heart of a nation.
The Hunter studied the faces carefully. Though the dancing candlelight made it hard to see, he realized the features of creatures before him did not move. They could not be flesh and bone.
Masks! The bastards are wearing masks.
He breathed deeply, inhaling the scents of the men before him. They smelled not of death and decay, but instead reeked of things far more mundane. A hooded figure with a bulging paunch smelled of dried meat and salted pork. Another, a tall, rangy figure on the far end of the circle, carried the overwhelming odor of cloves and olive oil. A third, the man with the quavering voice, stank of some foul herbal concoction.
Only one—the one with the rich, commanding voice—emitted the familiar stench of rot and decay.
This, then, is the wolf among the sheep.
He locked gazes with the man beside the altar, the one holding the dagger above Bardin's breast. The demon drew in a deep breath.
"Now that is a scent I have not encountered in a long time." The man's features twisted into a horrible grimace and he swept a theatrical bow. "Greetings. Have you come on the Warmaster's business, or for the Sage?"
What is he talking about?
"I am here on no man's business but my own. I've come for my friend."
The demon raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Are you certain, Bucelarii?" He placed special emphasis on the last word.
The other hooded figures turned toward the demon.
One spoke up. "What are you babbling on about, Toramin? What is a Bucelarii?"
The Hunter recognized the voice, along with the man's scent. Lord Apus?
The demon ignored the merchant-noble. His midnight eyes locked on the Hunter's face, and the Hunter returned his stare without hesitation.
"Abiarazi." Demon.
The voice in the Hunter's mind screamed with joy, setting his head throbbing. A momentary battle of wills raged silently between the two.
Shrugging, the demon nodded. "You have found me out, Bucelarii." He eyed the Hunter, more out of curiosity than fear.
The wizards muttered amongst themselves.
"Toramin," demanded one, the paunchy man who reeked of meat, "I demand an explanation for what is going on."
The demon regarded the short, fat man with a blank stare. Then, with a sigh, he turned his back on the circle of wizards. When he faced them again, his features belonged to a human. Broad of nose, with thick eyebrows, he had a strong chin, and a square, hard jaw. Even his eyes had changed—no longer midnight black, but a dark shade of brown.
The Hunter shuddered, remembering the First of the Bloody Hand. He, too, had shifted his features in a grisly wave of flesh and blood. The rest of these fools wear masks, but the demon wears his true face.
Toramin gestured to the Hunter. "This man is the legendary Hunter of Voramis."
Mouths gaped beneath horrific masks.
"Him?" Apus sounded angry. "How is this possible, Toramin?"
"You fools threw him into the maze. He found his way out. It couldn't be simpler!" Toramin threw up his hands in a gesture of despair.
The short, fat man protested. "Not possible! He would have encountered the snare. No one could survive the poison of the Watcher's Bloom!"
Toramin rolled his eyes. "Yet here he stands. Despite the fact that you"—he rounded on the fat man—"brought him here, Eredon."
Even in the dim candlelight, the Hunter could see Eredon turn an interesting shade of pale. "I-I—"
"Got greedy," snapped Toramin. "We had the victim for our ritual, yet you, in defiance of my express command, brought more victims into the maze."
Eredon's mouth dropped open. "Express command? I…" His face reddened. "Who do you think you are, giving me orders, Toramin? I—"
Toramin slashed the air. "You take orders from me, Eredon. Or have you already forgotten Yoldu?"
The Hunter glared, rage burning in his chest. These damned 'wizards' have been serving the demon all along. For this, they deserve to die!
Eredon blanched. "Yes, of-of course." His voice turned plaintive. "But I saved us a fortune! That fog is too expensive to take just one victim at a time."
"And so, in your greed and desire to spare a few imperials, you have led the Hunter right to us."
The demon turned to face the Hunter. "But, now that you're here, perhaps you might like to join us. Though you say you are not here at the Warmaster's command, I know the appetites of your kind tend toward—"
Again, a mention of the Warmaster piqued the Hunter's curiosity. He opened his mouth, but the rangy figure stepping forward cut off his words.
"Now, wait a moment, Toramin! You can't just invite a stranger to join our ritual. The Order of Midas is—"
"Facing a choice," Toramin snapped, interrupting the man. "The Hunter of Voramis is not a man to be trifled with, as I told you. No doubt tales of Voramis have reached your ears."
The wizards in the circle wilted beneath his glare.
Toramin sneered. "As I thought. But, I happen to know that the Hunter is an assassin like no other." He rubbed his chin pensively. "He is…different from those you have hired in the past."
Toramin turned back to the Hunter. He took a step forward, beckoning. "Come, Hunter. Join us. Do the honors!" He extended the accursed blade—the one he had been a heartbeat from plunging into Bardin's chest.
The Hunter stared at the man, disbelieving. The wizards had hunted him, sent assassins to kill him, thrown him in their maze of horrors. Now this man—no, this demon masquerading as a man—tried to appeal to the darker side of his nature, the part he refused to allow control over his actions.
The dagger's voice whispered its filth into his mind, and he shuddered. "You can't—"
"Kill a filthy beggar? Please, Hunter, do you know why these vermin still exist in our perfect city? Only because we permit it. Provided they remain in the Wretch Hole, of course."
The Hunter's lips twisted into a snarl.
"Oh, excuse me, did I offend you?" Toramin's lips spread into a vicious smile. "I knew you were spending your time there, but I didn't think you would actually make friends with one of them." His eyes flicked to Bardin's unmoving form. "It seems a sad coincidence that he is the one who has to die tonight."
The Hunter took a menacing step forward. "Not if I can help it."
Toramin shook his head. "Please, Hunter. What can you do? Just look at yourself. You're barely strong enough to stand, you have just one eye, and you've taken more punishment than your body can handle."
The Hunter looked down. Blood stained his robes—some of it his, some of it the filthy muck of the maze. He had to ball his fists to stop his hands from trembling. His legs quivered, and his mouth felt full of sand.
It would be so easy. He could take the knife. The power it fed him would restore him to—
No! The Hunter ground his teeth. I will not! Bardin is my friend.
Mocking laughter rang in his head. 'Friend? The bastard didn't even recognize you half the time. He couldn't even call you by the false name you gave him. How could he be your friend?'
Yet he was. Bardin had taken him in when the Hunter had nowhere to go, had helped him in his time of need. The Hunter would be damned if he failed to protect the man…his friend.
"Release him, and I will walk out this door. You will never see me again."
The paunchy Eredon turned toward Toramin. "Toramin, if he is truly as dangerous as you say he is, shouldn't we listen to him?"
"Perhaps," Toramin mused. "Though I wonder what the mighty Hunter of Voramis will do if we decide his threats carry little weight. Will he take out his vengeance on the terrible Order of Midas, the scourge of Malandria?" His mocking tone sen
t heat racing through the Hunter's veins.
"Now wait, just a m-minute," stammered the ancient man. "This whole 'wizard' thing seems to have gotten out of hand." With shaking hands, he removed the mask from his face. "Look, Hunter. There are no wizards here." He fidgeted with the mask, his eyes wide.
Lord Apus removed his mask. His bearded face showed no fear, but the Hunter saw it in the hunch of his shoulders. "Aye. We're just merchants." He stabbed a finger toward Toramin. "He is the only one with any kind of real power."
Merchants? He had been skeptical of the existence of true wizards. But to find out the Order of Midas was nothing more than merchants!
"How—?" He couldn't quite figure out how to frame the question. "The magic? The lights? The wolves?"
Toramin shrugged. "Illusions. We have one of the most talented Illusionist Clerics on Einan to aid us in our 'magic'."
"But why? Why the pretense?"
Toramin smiled, a sneering thing that never reached his eyes. "To breed fear, of course. Fear makes people easy to control. When the people are under our control, the city is at peace. Have you not noticed how clean and orderly Malandria is? It is all thanks to this." He gestured toward Bardin's bound form.
"And you expect me to believe all this was to bring peace to the city?"
"For the most part."
Toramin grinned at the Hunter, and for a moment his features twisted and shifted in the flickering candlelight.
The gruesome sight sent a chill down the Hunter's spine. "But if you wanted peace, why the human sacrifice?"
"Other than to clean up the streets, you mean? Fewer beggars…"
"But why the maze? Why make them suffer?"
"Ahh, that."
The Hunter ached to smash his fist into Toramin's face, if only to wipe away the awful, mocking grin. All those people, slaughtered for the demon's pleasure.
'And how are you any different? Or are you forgetting the Bloody Hand? You were more than happy to butcher them all.'
That was different! They deserved death for what they did—
'So you insist,' the demon's voice mocked him, 'but remember who you are talking to. I know the truth! I remember the blood rage…'
The Hunter wanted to protest, but he couldn't dispute the demon's words. He had carved his way through the Bloody Hand without thought or hesitation. They had taken from him the people who mattered most, and for that, they had to die, every last Watcher-damned one of them. So how was he different from the demon?
No, this isn't the same. The protest was weak.
Erodon fell to his knees, shrieking. "It was his idea!" Terror emanated from the fat man in waves, the reek of fear mixing with his meaty odor. "Toramin said it would help to encourage fear among the people. Please don't kill us!" His words dissolved into blubbering pleas for his life.
The demon in the Hunter's mind snarled. 'Coward! Kill that one, at the very least.'
Toramin rolled his eyes at the trembling Erodon. "Someone shut him up! Apus!"
Lord Apus seized the fat merchant's shoulders and shook him until he fell silent.
Toramin glowered at Erodon. "For pity's sake, Erodon. At least have the courtesy to meet your death like a man." He turned his gaze on the Hunter and smiled. "Though I daresay the Hunter hasn't yet decided what to do with us. Isn't that right?"
The Hunter opened his mouth to speak, then shut it with a snap. He had no idea what to do about these 'wizards'. He had promised the dead their revenge, and he had to rescue Bardin. Beyond that, he wasn't certain.
Toramin's words drew the Hunter's attention again. "I will tell you all you need to know, Bucelarii. I believe I can offer you something sufficiently enticing to assuage your anger towards the Order of Midas."
Perhaps he could strike a bargain with the demon. He could afford to listen to Toramin's offer if it meant he would spare Bardin's life. He could always find a way to kill the demon later.
The Hunter glared. "Go on. I will hear you out, but I make no promises."
Toramin eyed him for a long moment, then nodded. "Fair enough."
The hand holding the dagger disappeared within the voluminous sleeves of his robe, and the Hunter heaved an inward sigh of relief.
Bardin was safe, for the moment.
Chapter Five
Toramin spoke in a calm, measured tone. "The maze has existed for hundreds of centuries, though we have only begun to…make use of it in recent years."
"But why throw your victims in there? Why not kill them and get it over with?"
"Fear." Toramin produced the dagger and held it up to the Hunter. A predatory grin touched the corners of his lips. "I'm sure I don’t need to tell you the true purpose of these sacrifices. You've seen what a weapon like this can do. After all, you do have one of your own, do you not?" He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "What I wouldn't do to get my hands on one of those blades!"
Obscene lust flashed across his features. Then he looked down at the dagger, and his expression turned to one of disdain.
"This blade feeds off the fear of its victims. The more fear, the more power is produced. Sadly, it is…flawed."
"What's wrong with it?"
The Hunter had sensed something strange about the dagger, though he couldn't quite explain what or why. If he could find out more about this blade, perhaps it would provide him with answers about Soulhunger.
Toramin shook his head. "Let's just say the…raw material…was less than sterling quality."
"I don't understand."
Toramin looked shocked. "No?" He stroked his chin pensively. "You wouldn't. They were forged before your time. I suspect no one ever explained the truth of the gemstones to you."
"What truth? What do you know?" He stepped forward, within reach of Toramin—and the dagger.
The demon wearing the face of Lord Toramin stared at him, seeming unconcerned by his proximity. He opened his mouth to speak, but a voice cut him off.
"What in the twisted hell is going on?" One of the hooded figures stepped forward, threw back his hood, and removed his mask—revealing a pale face with sharp, angular features and delicate lips. "Am I missing something here? What are you talking about, Toramin?"
Toramin didn't take his eyes from the Hunter, but his voice cracked like a whip. "Arette, be a good man and shut your mouth."
The slim man looked as if he had been struck. Apus rounded on Toramin, his face red with fury. "Why do you treat this filthy assassin and thief as if he is one of us? And why do you keep referring to him as Bucelarii? You know full well the demonspawn are dead and gone!"
Toramin rounded on Apus. "Are they, Apus? And you're certain of that?" Apus stood a full head taller than the demon, but the intensity in Toramin's voice made the merchant noble flinch.
"Well, I-I—"
"I-I-I," Toramin mocked him. "Fool! You have no idea of the truth."
His features swam in the firelight, morphing back into the dripping fangs and leering visage of the demon—his true face. Apus's mouth fell open and he stepped back in horror.
"I can smell the blood of true power running through his veins, you cretin!" Toramin's snarl sounded inhuman, and the demon in the Hunter's mind screamed in delight. "It may be polluted by the mewling stench of you pitiful mortals, but he carries with him the inheritance of the true power on Einan."
Apus flinched and retreated from the ferocity of the demon's tirade. "You-you…" He gaped for a moment, then snapped his mouth shut, face red with rage.
Toramin turned to face the Hunter. "Now, Bucelarii. I have told you the truth, as promised. Will you accept my offer? Join of the Order of Midas, and rule Malandria by my side."
The demon in his mind screamed at him, begging him to accept. The creature had seemed overjoyed the moment he had laid eyes on Toramin, just as it had when he encountered the demons in Voramis. It wanted to find comradeship with its kin as much as he did.
The offer held allure. The Hunter had spent the last few days sleeping in a slum and eating scraps. The
man before him promised to give him power over the entire city. He had never hungered to rule, but now that it was within his grasp, he couldn't deny its tug on his mind. What he could do as ruler of Malandria…
But at what cost?
His friend lay on the altar, bound, unconscious. If he said the wrong thing, turned down Toramin's offer, Bardin would die.
Not if I can get to him first!
Toramin stood beside the altar, dangerously close to Bardin. It would take him a second to plunge the accursed dagger into his friend's heart. The demon was his primary threat, but he wasn't alone. Would any of the others try to stop him?
The Hunter's vision blurred and faded as myriad faces of dead men, women, and children appeared before him. They had plagued him since arriving in Malandria, their dull, lifeless eyes staring at him, accusing.
You swore you would avenge us, they seemed to say. Our killers stand before you. Will you keep your word?
The demon in his mind protested. It wanted the Hunter to accept Toramin's offer, to seize the dagger, to kill. Toramin would help him—
I know your kind better than that! You would say anything to bend me to your will, to make me kill.
Toramin's offer might have seemed sincere, but the Hunter knew the demon had an ulterior motive. The Abiarazi were anything but altruistic. The creature in his mind had overplayed its hand.
An internal scream of rage set the Hunter's head throbbing, but he ignored the pain. Instead, he stared at Toramin, who still stood with his right hand extended, as if in an offer of friendship.
"If I accept, you will let my friend go?"
A flash of anger set Toramin's features rippling in a gruesome wave of flesh and bone. When it finally settled, only mild irritation showed.
"If you are so concerned for this pitiful human, I will release him."
"But he has seen too much!" cried Erodon. "He will—"
Toramin rounded on the fat man with a furious glare, baring his teeth in a snarl. "He will be released. And none of you will have anything to say about it!"
Erodon faltered and cringed, then shut his mouth. Eyes ablaze, the demon glared at the other 'wizards' in the circle. None argued; not a word of complaint passed from their lips.
The Last Bucelarii Book 2: Lament of the Fallen Page 26