Apus climbed to his feet and stood with a stiff back, staring at the Hunter with defiance written in his eyes. "Our fathers had enough, and they overthrew the nobility." He stared at the ancient man beside him. "They brought peace to Malandria, and we have done our part to keep it."
"And you expect me to believe that you murdered countless innocents in the name of order and peace?"
Apus glared. "You have seen the streets of the city for yourself, Hunter. Clean and orderly, with work for all."
"Save for the miserable bastards living in the shadow of the Black Manor, and those of the Wretch Hole."
"A necessary evil," protested the ancient man. He shrugged and held up hands twisted with age and rheumatism. "The wretches of the Forgotten Ward would multiply beyond control if they were not…culled. The Wretch Hole would spill over if we did not take measures to prevent it."
Rage flared hot within the Hunter. He was an assassin, a killer, and even he cared more for human life than the men before him. He wanted to heed the voice in his head, to cut down every one of them where they stood. The acrid tang of fear filled the room; it would be so easy…
"We have done what we could to contain the filth that stains the city," Apus said, as if offering a valid reason for an untold number of murders. "We knew we could not rid Malandria of the wretches altogether, so when Toramin suggested the solution, Keeper forgive us, we seized it." Shame flitted across his bearded face.
"You condemn the city to living in fear just so you can claim to make it a better place?"
Apus nodded. "Yes. The irony of that statement is not lost upon me. Upon all of us."
"But the Illusionist Cleric charged us so much!" whined the man of many chins. "It was the only way…"
The Hunter rounded on him, silencing him with a snarl. "Charged you for what?"
"The 'magic'," he squeaked. "The dancing lights. The fog. The wolves. All of it, all illusions."
Of course. None of it was real. All a fraud, just like the men before him.
Apus spoke in a quiet voice. "We needed the people of the city to fear the wizards. If they did, they would obey the edicts issued by the 'Order of Midas'. After their suffering at the hands of the churches and nobility, they were all too happy to comply."
The ancient man chimed in. "The churches aided the nobility in taking everything we had. What little coin the nobles didn't tax from us, the religious orders took in 'charitable contributions'. None but they ever saw the gold they stole from us."
This didn't surprise the Hunter. He had seen the lavish interior of the Beggar Temple.
Something didn't fit. "If all of the churches took from you, why destroy them all save for the House of Need? Why let the Beggar Priests live when all the rest were killed?"
"They were the only ones who did not demand high tithes from us." The elderly man said, shaking his head. "They remained true to the calling of their god, ministering to the needy and infirm. For that, we let them live. We gave them the wealth of the other temples, with the understanding that they would continue to aid those in need. They have done much good for Malandria over the last generation."
"And you think that justifies your killing hundreds—nay, thousands—of people? You are murderers, each and every one of you!"
"For that," the old man said and drew himself up, "we will answer to the Long Keeper when he takes us." He looked at the others. "Some of us sooner than others."
The Hunter gripped the blade tighter and stepped toward the elderly man. "You will answer to him tonight."
The false wizards hung their heads in shame, but a trace of defiance still burned in a few eyes. Apus moved to block the Hunter's way. "And what of you, Hunter?" He spat the name. "You are an assassin. How many have you killed?"
"Those I have killed deserved it," the Hunter snarled. "Each and every one of them! I may have blood on my hands, but I have never taken the life of an innocent."
The Hunter started forward again. Lord Apus shrank back, his demeanor changing from defiant to plaintive in a heartbeat.
"It was Toramin's plan!" He threw up his hands as if to shield himself. "Our coffers are drained from paying the Illusionist Cleric, and we could not afford his services any longer. Toramin suggested this means of gathering the power ourselves. What choice did we have?" Apus glanced at the dagger in the Hunter's hand with fear and desire written in his eyes.
"He told you this would give you power?"
Apus nodded vigorously. "Yes! He even showed us what it could do!"
The fat man's piggy eyes gleamed above his rotund cheeks. "He lifted a cart with his bare hands."
"And you think that this"—he thrust the dagger beneath Apus's chin—"is the source of his power?"
Apus reddened and glanced at the demon's unmoving corpse, but held his tongue.
Coarse laughter burst from the Hunter's chest. "You fools! You actually believed his words?" Judging by the looks on their faces, they had. "You murder innocents all for naught!"
"Not for naught," protested one man, a thin man with pale skin, sunken eyes, and a weak chin. Fervor burned in his eyes. "We do it to make Malandria the jewel it was long ago, and can once again be!"
The Hunter stared at the man, open-mouthed. These men had deluded themselves into believing they were doing the right thing!
"No," he growled. "You did it for the power Toramin offered you."
Every man's expression showed their hunger. They wanted to be as the lords and nobles of old, and for that, they spilled innocent blood.
"Answer me this, you greedy bastards," the Hunter growled, "have any of you discovered your 'magical powers' since these sacrifices began?"
The men glanced at each other. Shame burned in their expressions.
"N-No," stammered Lord Apus, "but—"
"But nothing!" The Hunter cut him off with a violent slash of his hand. "You have been duped for years! You have killed the citizens of the city you claim to want to protect, all to feed the Destroyer."
The merchants' eyes grew wide, and a collective gasp burst from their open mouths.
"W-What?" Lord Apus paled.
"Kharna the Destroyer! Every life taken by this accursed blade has fed him. You are a pawn in the god's game, duped by your own avarice." He stabbed an accusing finger toward the merchants. "You are responsible for returning him to Einan."
This stunned the merchants into horrified silence. The only sound heard in the room was the gentle trickle of blood—Bardin's blood—dripping from the edge of the altar.
The old man, turned a sickly shade of grey. "Wh-What are you t-talking about? How do you know all this?"
The Hunter rounded on the ancient merchant. "It matters not. What matters is that all of you have been played for fools. Worse still, you followed willingly, like bulls led to the gelding block."
None of the merchants in the room could hold his burning gaze.
"And, as the shit cherry on top of the Keeper-damned cake, you sent those three fools to kill me." The Hunter shouted now, his fury unleashed. "You abducted my friend!" He thrust a finger toward the unmoving body lying atop the altar.
"We had no choice!" All traces of Apus's defiance had fled. "Tales of Voramis reached our ears, and when Lord Toramin told us you were in the city, we were afraid."
"We had to get rid of you," Erodon sniveled, his chins wobbling, "before we suffered the same fate as Bloody Hand."
Rage surged within the Hunter. These fools, in their fear, have taken everything from me.
His eyes fell on Bardin's unmoving body. He desperately wanted to see the man's chest rise and fall. He had lost it all…again.
He clutched the accursed dagger until his knuckles whitened. They are to blame for his death, even if theirs was not the hand holding the knife!
"You all have killed innocents," he said, his voice a low, menacing growl. "The blood of men like Bardin, like my friend"—his voice cracked, and he swallowed before continuing—"is on your hands. You all deserve to die!"
"For the love of the gods, have mercy!" Erodon fell to his knees, hands clasped in an imploring gesture.
The Hunter sneered. He ached to lay open the blubbering man's throat. "The way you had mercy on the countless men and women who have died on this very altar?"
Apus spoke up. "We only did it for the people of Malandria." The bearded man cringed beneath the Hunter's glare. Even he didn't believe the weak lie.
The Hunter snarled. "You did it to line your pockets with gold!"
Eyes filled with desperation, Apus tried a new approach. "Let us make amends! Tell us how we can make things right. We will do whatever you say."
The demon screamed in the Hunter's mind, begging him to kill the merchants. It had tasted blood this night, and lusted for more.
The Hunter felt tempted to give in. Rage burned within him, threatening to burst from his chest in a glorious explosion of carnage.
It would be so easy…
An image of death danced through his head. He gripped the knife tighter.
Peace, friend.
The voice sounded in his mind, so quiet he could hardly sense it over the raging of his inner demon. Bardin's bald head and florid face materialized behind Lord Apus. His eyes held only pity, not for the sniveling merchants, but for the Hunter.
We are avenged. Let it be enough.
But they killed you! The Hunter needed to unleash his anger, if only to stop the weight of sorrow from crushing him. Who better to suffer than these men who had taken his friend from him?
Bardin gave him a sad smile. Yes, they killed me. Me, and countless others. They do deserve death, but not at your hands.
If not mine, then whose?
Their time will come. The phantasm shook his head. But if you take their lives, it will affect you more profoundly than you realize.
The demon screamed at him. These merchants deserved death, every damned one of them!
Bardin's ghostly form held his gaze. They deserve punishment for what they have done, and they will stand before the Long Keeper and answer for their crimes. They do not deserve the death you bring this night.
The Hunter stared at the dagger in his bloodstained hand. He knew what it could do. Hardened men had screamed in terror as Soulhunger stole their souls. He had felt its horrible effects himself.
The demon tried to drown out Bardin's voice. 'Slit their throats! Bathe in their blood!'
The gentle whisper filtered through the pounding in the Hunter's mind. The lives you have taken, you believed they deserved to die. These men may deserve death, but not like this.
'Gut them and watch their insides spill out!'
The voices fought for dominance, setting his head aching.
Bardin's eyes traveled over the merchants huddled in a circle. Living with what they have done is far more of a punishment than killing them. They know the truth of their actions, and it will haunt them for the rest of their days. And for many, their days will be far fewer in number than they expect.
The demon tried a different approach. 'Filthy humans! Their death will restore your body. Don't you want to be whole and powerful once more?'
The Hunter gritted his teeth at the agony of the new scar across his chest. Killing with the accursed blade would restore him. But he would rather die than be polluted by the tainted, filthy power that had flooded him with Toramin's death.
The Hunter smothered the demon's protests. Silence, demon! I hold their lives in my hand, but I will not claim them. Let the bastards suffer with what they have done.
A scream of rage sent pain shooting through his head, but he ignored it. He was in control, not the demon.
He glared at the Order of Midas. "Go, I spare your lives this night."
"Oh, thank you, thank you!" Erodon's chins wobbled and he all but sobbed. "You are gracious, Sir Hunter. We will—"
The Hunter silenced them with a slash of his hand. "Stay out of my way! I care nothing for you or your city. I am here for a single purpose, and I will leave when I am done."
Lord Apus stepped forward. "Let us aid you in your—"
"You will do nothing! Your city is your own, do with it as you please." He held up a warning finger. "But get in my way again, and the fate of the Bloody Hand will be a kindness compared to the misery I will rain down upon you."
The merchants shrank back, eyes wide.
"You have our word." Lord Apus climbed to his feet with a groan. "The Order of Midas will not interfere with your business."
The Hunter nodded. "Good. One more thing."
He strode toward the trembling merchants. Lord Apus flinched, but the Hunter pushed past the bearded merchant to stand before the altar.
He stared down at Bardin's unmoving form, and tears welled in his eyes. Bardin's face looked so serene, an odd contrast with the blood staining his filthy, ragged robes. A weight settled on his shoulders. He felt responsible for the man's death, though a dim part of his mind told him it was not his fault.
Numbness crept over him, and darkness pressed in on the edge of his vision. He wanted to lie down and sleep, if only it would stop him from feeling the crushing, twisting agony in his heart.
No, he told himself. I have no time for this. He placed a hand on Bardin's chest and head. May the Long Keeper watch over you. Be at peace, my friend.
For a long moment, he stood in silence. The loss hit him harder than he cared to admit. He had come to call the man a friend in such a short time.
The time for tears was over. Wiping his eyes angrily, he turned to the merchants. "You will bury him with dignity." His voice was rough, harsh, with tone of command that brooked no argument.
"Of course!" Lord Apus's expression showed his eagerness to comply. "We will bury him with honors."
"He cared nothing for honor," snarled the Hunter. "He was a cleric of the Illusionist. You will give him a burial befitting his station."
Apus nodded. "As you say."
The Hunter felt something thick through Bardin's filthy tunic. Turning back to his friend's body, he pulled the object free. A sheet of parchment, stained with blood.
Bardin's work. Perhaps it held answers.
Bardin's pendant caught his eye. No doubt it had once gleamed bright, but now a thick layer of rust and grime tarnished the silver. With gentle movements, he released the clasp and wrapped the filthy chain around his hand.
Farewell, my friend. With a gentle pat on the man's chest, the Hunter turned away.
"I give you this warning," he snarled. His glare skewered the merchants huddled together. "If I see any of your faces again, I will kill you." He raised the knife, holding it up to the firelight. "I am the Hunter. Do not cross my path, or you will become my prey."
The men flinched at the menace in his voice. "Of course, Sir Hunter," Lord Apus said. "And we will stop the sacrifices immediately. We will—"
"I care not! I am taking this"—he held up the demon's accursed dagger—"and you will never use it again. This is your city, to do with as you please. Just leave me alone."
Darkness swam in his vision; his limbs grew heavy with the torpor that followed every kill. He had to escape this chamber of death now.
"I leave you with this, 'wizards' of the Order of Midas. For Malandria to be truly beautiful, you cannot simply cover up the sores and hope no one sees. Serve your people. Invest some of your vast wealth on the poor bastards trapped in the Forgotten Ward and Wretch Hole."
He turned on his heel and strode away, then stopped.
"Where is the way out?"
Lord Apus pointed a shaking finger at a door opposite the one through which the Hunter had entered.
Without a backward glance, the Hunter strode from the room. He climbed the spiral staircase beyond, his lungs burning not with exertion, but sorrow.
The filthy pendant and the bloodstained parchment clutched in his hand were all he had left of his friend. He tried in vain to swallow the lump in his throat. His chest felt as if someone had reached inside and crus
hed his heart. He would never see Bardin again.
Chapter Nine
A stray evening breeze gusted through the filthy streets around the Hunter. He pulled up his hood to block out the cold, and retreated into its welcoming shadows. The Black Manor towered behind him, its onyx walls blended with the shadowed gloom of the Forgotten Ward.
He was not surprised. Of any place in this city to find a demon, human sacrifice, and a maze of horrors, it had to be the Black Manor. He shuddered and turned his back on the forbidding structure. He would never see it again. Once he retrieved his belongings, he would be gone from Malandria, never to return.
Fatigue clouded his thoughts and filled his mind with a thick fog. He struggled against the languor that threatened to steal his consciousness. His feet, moving of their own accord, felt leaden with every step.
The demon's voice filled his thoughts, its fury palpable. 'You let them live! After what they did?'
I did. I made the choice, and there is nothing you can do about it.
'You are the Hunter! You bring death, but these fools still—'
I killed the demon. It is enough. The Hunter would not be cowed by anything or anyone, not even the creature within him.
'You killed the wrong one! It was the humans who deserved death.'
Death, perhaps. But this would deliver far worse…
He still gripped Toramin's accursed dagger, his knuckles white. Crusted blood glued his fingers to the blade. Unclenching his fist sent pain shooting down his forearm.
Nausea swept through him. He could still feel the tainted power from the accursed blade, and it sickened him to his core. He had to find Soulhunger, if only to taste the pure, clean energy coursing through him.
The demon would not be put off easily. 'Remember what happened the last time you ignored me?'
How could he forget? He had ignored the creature's demands to kill the Cambionari. In return for his sparing them, they had left him for dead at the bottom of the Chasm of the Lost.
Yet here I stand. Their best efforts failed. And once I have reclaimed what is rightfully mine, it will be as if we had never met.
The Last Bucelarii Book 2: Lament of the Fallen Page 28