Visibos raised an eyebrow. "How is it that you don't know all of this?"
The Hunter shook his head. "The gaps in my memory are…extensive."
Visibos spoke slowly. "If answers are what you seek, we may be able help you. This vault holds a wealth of information. Perhaps we will find the truth." He extended a hand to the Hunter. Was that a gesture of invitation? Why would Visibos help him, after all he had done? The Hunter studied Visibos, searching for any sign of deceit. Surprisingly, the offer seemed genuine.
But the Hunter couldn't forget his last encounter with the Cambionari, or their purpose for existing in the first place.
He snorted. "You? Help me? The only thing you will do is try to kill me again."
Visibos looked stunned, as if the Hunter had struck him.
"Aye, don't think I've forgotten."
Visibos's expression—a moment ago so frank and open—hardened. "We did our job, Hunter. And I'd do it again. Had that ferrospike poison not been so old, you'd be dead."
Feed me, Soulhunger echoed. The dagger had not tasted blood in weeks, and it lusted for death. The demon in his head screamed for him to kill Visibos, and together, they assaulted his mind. He gritted his teeth and fought back the voices.
Visibos couldn't hide his curiosity. "But even the effects of the ferrospike venom should have worn off long ago. Why hasn't your eye healed? Your kind recover from even mortal wounds. Only iron can…" He trailed off lamely, his eyes flicking to the shelf beside the Hunter.
The Hunter followed the apprentice's gaze. A plain metal box lay nestled between a stack of crinkled, yellowed parchments and the skull of some canine creature. He reached for it, then jerked his hand back.
Iron.
Visibos motioned at his face. "That eye looks bad. How did it happen?"
The Hunter narrowed his eye. "What do you care?"
Visibos snarled. "Does it matter? Aren't you just going to kill me anyway?"
The Hunter paused for a moment. "Bloodbear."
The apprentice's mouth fell open. "Sweet Mistress! They've been known to rip men apart, especially during mating season. But that doesn't explain why you haven't healed yet. Unless…" He scratched his cheek and studied the Hunter
"Unless what?"
"Tell me, Bucelarii, did you encounter the Watcher's Bloom?"
The name sounded familiar. Where had he heard it?
"Watcher's Bloom?"
Visibos stroked his chin. "An incredibly rare flower, which only grows at the bottom of the Chasm of the Lost. Bright blue petals, a sweet smell—"
"The smell of death." A scent he would never forget.
Visibos nodded. "Its oil is highly poisonous. Even a small dose is enough to kill four grown men. A single drop causes powerful hallucinations. Shame you didn't take more."
The Hunter ignored the barb. Now he understood why the dead of Malandria had plagued him. The ghosts of the fallen had been nothing more than a narcotic-fueled aberration. Yet they had seemed so real…
Visibos studied him. "Well? Have you been seeing odd things? Visions, perhaps?"
Just the phantoms of murdered innocents.
The Hunter's hand hovered above the iron box. "It doesn't matter. I will take what I have come for."
"You have your accursed dagger. What more do you want?"
He met Visibos' eyes. "The Swordsman's blades."
Visibos bared his teeth. "What do you want them for? Tired of living? Ready to kill yourself and end the line of the Bucelarii once and for all?"
A valid question, indeed. Why did he want the blades? Why not just disappear and be left alone forever? Did he really want—or need—the iron daggers?
'Yes,' the demon purred, 'leave the accursed blades where they lie. They will bring only suffering.'
He knew why the creature in his head wanted to be rid of the weapons. The iron posed a threat to it—and every other Abiarazi on the face of Einan. He couldn't deny the temptation to be free of them and the responsibility they symbolized.
No. They are a burden I must bear. They are the means to stop the demons from doing to the world what they did to Farida, to Bardin.
"Where are they? Take me to them."
Visibos opened his mouth to protest. The Hunter raised an eyebrow and hefted Soulhunger.
"There." The apprentice thrust his chin toward the box behind the Hunter. "How did you come by them? They've been lost for—"
"Iron. Open it."
The Hunter stepped to one side, making certain to keep Soulhunger within striking distance of the apprentice. A moment of inattention could cost him. Visibos was, after all, Cambionari.
With a sigh, Visibos opened the latch and raised the lid, revealing the twin blades within. The stark simplicity of the iron daggers contrasted sharply with the rich maroon velvet cushioning them.
"You can't take them, demon! They're sacred to—"
The Hunter pressed Soulhunger into Visibos' throat, cutting off his protest. "I. Am. Taking. Them. Got it?"
Visibos nodded, his lips pressed into a tight line.
Slipping Soulhunger into his belt, he wrapped his cloak around his hands and lifted the blades from the box. A surge of pain flashed up his arms, but he ignored it, just as he ignored Soulhunger's angry screams in his mind.
The Hunter turned to Visibos, teeth clenched. "Find me a bag."
Visibos looked around a moment, then pointed to a canvas bag stuffed between two boxes.
The Hunter had no time for the apprentice's tricks. The demon had joined its protests to Soulhunger, setting his head pounding.
"Bring it here."
Rolling his eyes, Visibos stooped and lifted the satchel, grunting with the effort.
"Open it."
Visibos glared, but held his tongue. He bent, loosened the ties holding the satchel closed, and threw back the lid. A small fortune in gold, silver, and copper gleamed within the bag, along with other items of value—candlesticks, cups, silverware.
Visibos made to empty the contents.
"Leave it."
The apprentice glared. "Of course a creature like you would steal from the Beggar Priests!" He stabbed a finger at the satchel. "This can buy bread and supplies for thousands of people in need."
The Hunter clucked his tongue. "Look around you, Visibos. You know as well as I that this wealth will never see the 'people in need', as you claim."
Visibos opened his mouth to speak, but the Hunter cut him off. "Enough! This is no more than what you and Sir Danna stole from me! I am only taking what is mine. Now open the bag."
The Hunter slid the Swordsman's blades into the satchel and slipped Soulhunger from his belt in the same movement. If looks could kill, a thousand men would have died beneath the Beggar Priest's withering glare.
The Hunter fumbled with the straps, taking his eyes off the apprentice for a single moment. When he turned back, Visibos had fled, the slap, slap of his slippers on stone echoing in the cavernous vault.
"Keeper's teeth!"
The Hunter slung the heavy satchel over a shoulder and gave chase, racing through the rows of shelves, his gaze fixed on the fleeing figure a dozen paces ahead of him. The chaos in his mind nearly overwhelmed him.
The satchel clanked on his shoulder, slowing him down. He dropped it onto a shelf and sprinted through the vault, closing the distance to the apprentice in a score of steps.
Instead of leaping out the open vault door, Visibos threw himself against the blank stone wall to one side. His outstretched hand depressed a section of stone with a clunk.
Too late, the Hunter seized the apprentice and spun him around. Visibos lashed out, fists pumping, knees flashing. The Hunter recognized the maneuver—he had taught it to the apprentice that day, before crossing the Bridge of Ilyerrion. With a snarl, he blocked Visibos' punches, sidestepped his knees, and slammed his forehead full into the apprentice's face. Visibos sagged, eyes glazing over, blood trickling from his nose and lips, but there was no mistaking the grin of triumph.
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"Damn you, apprentice! What did you do?"
Visibos laughed. "What I had to, you bastard! Now every warrior in the temple knows you're here."
A hidden alarm. Keeper take him!
"Fool! You've done nothing but condemn them to an early grave. You think any of them can stand before me?"
Visibos spat blood. "Lord Knight Moradiss is in residence here, and I pray to the Beggar God that you encounter him on your way out! A braver knight has not passed through these halls since Baradin Red-Hand. I wish you well on your journey, for it will be a short one—to the forgotten hell that spawned your kind. They will find you before you leave these tunnels."
"How many others are Cambionari?"
Visibos glared up at him, stubborn and silent. The Hunter slammed his boot into the apprentice's face. Cartilage crunched beneath the impact, and blood streamed from Visibos' broken lips.
"How many, Visibos?"
"More than you can fight!" Visibos glared at up him, defiance mixing with pain. "You'll never leave this temple alive, Hunter. There are dozens of Knight Apprentices in the temple, and Sir Danna is due to return to Malandria at any moment."
The Hunter's stomach twisted. He had no desire to face Sir Danna, not in his current state.
"How long? How long do I have to get out?"
Visibos spat blood on his boots. "Not enough to escape, you bastard! They'll be down here hours before you find your way out of the maze."
The Hunter eyed him. "I'll find my way—"
"Good luck with that! They will track you through the tunnels. You have no way out!"
The Hunter found the statement confusing. The stone passage beyond would leave no trace of his passage.
"How? How will they track me?"
Visibos clamped his mouth shut.
The Hunter crouched and pressed Soulhunger into the apprentice's cheek. "Don't make me use this, apprentice. Tell me how they will know. For that matter, how did you know to find me in the library?"
Visibos hesitated. The Hunter scraped Soulhunger across the man's forearm, drawing blood.
"How. Will. They. Know?"
Soulhunger drank greedily, and the apprentice's screams rang out in the vault.
"It's the Cambionari's gift!" He gasped, panting as if he had just sprinted across Malandria. "A gift from the Beggar God." His terrified eyes locked on Soulhunger, watching the blade soak up his blood.
"Tell me of this gift."
When Visibos refused to speak, the Hunter thrust the tip of the dagger into the side of the apprentice's neck. He counted to three before withdrawing the blade. Visibos' screams choked off with a sob.
"What is the gift, apprentice?"
"We can sense the presence of those accursed blades!" Tears streamed down the man's cheeks, and there was desperation and terror in his voice.
"But not me."
"N-No! It is the blades we hunt. They lead us to the Bucelarii." He was clearly struggling not to swallow for fear of the dagger pressed against his neck.
"How is that possible? How can you sense the blades?"
"The gemstones! They draw us to you. A sort of buzzing in our head. It grows louder the closer we are. That's the truth, I swear!"
The Hunter uttered a silent curse. The souls of the demons trapped in the blades. The Cambionari had the ability to sense them. This would make things much harder. He contemplated locking Soulhunger away in the iron box, but the box would be too heavy to carry along with the satchel of gold. He would take his chances.
He kicked Visibos in the face, and the apprentice sagged, stunned. The Hunter hurried back to collect the satchel of gold and the Swordsman's blades.
When he returned, he crouched, meeting Visibos' dazed eyes. "Know this, apprentice. Should any of your fellow priests die this night, know that their blood is on your hands."
Visibos' lips twisted into a snarl. "Don't be too confident, demon. Lord Knight Moradiss will cut you to shreds!"
A mocking grin split the Hunter's face. "Such anger, Visibos. I thought you Cambionari were supposed to be pure of heart?"
The apprentice glared. "The Beggar God needs more than just the pure of heart in his service. Alas, we cannot all be as good as Sir Danna or the Lord Knight. Some of us do what must be done."
"As you say. I, too, do what must be done."
The Hunter backed toward the vault door.
Visibos tried to climb to his feet. "You kill for pleasure! You and your kind are a plague upon our world. But by the gods, we will soon be rid of you."
The Hunter shrugged. "Perhaps, but not tonight."
"Run, foul creature! Find someplace deep in the earth to throw yourself, and stay there. We are coming for you. We know who you are and what you look like. We will hunt you down and, by the Watcher, we will find you."
"Even if it means the demons roam the world unchecked?"
Visibos' mouth snapped shut.
The Hunter's face split in a feral grin. "Think about that, apprentice. You would kill me, even if it meant stopping me from destroying the Abiarazi?"
Visibos's face twisted into a snarl. "No matter how good your intentions, in the end, your nature will always prevail. You are a demon, and we will—"
The Hunter slapped him, hard. "For your sake, Visibos, pray that this is the last time our paths cross."
The Hunter's eye fell upon a glass case on a nearby shelf. Inside lay a simple chain, with a bright silver pendant hanging in the center. The pendant seemed somehow familiar. He stopped and examined the glass case. A plaque beneath the pedestal read: High Illusionist Arrogus.
An image flashed in the Hunter's mind.
His arms and legs were bound, his head strapped tight in place. A thin, bearded face hovered between him and the flickering light of a lamp. Silver sparkled in the dim light, casting a reflection in his eyes. It swung slowly back and forth, drawing his eyes to it until…
The memory dissipated in a heartbeat, but it left the Hunter disoriented. He steadied himself on the wall. Behind him, Visibos tried to climb to his feet again. The Hunter kicked his hands out from beneath him and the apprentice slumped.
The Hunter stepped outside the vault and leaned the satchel against the wall, out of the way of the door.
Terror replaced the anger on Visibos's face. "What are you doing? You can't leave me here!"
The Hunter said nothing, but bent his shoulder to shutting the door. In desperation, Visibos launched himself forward. The Hunter kicked him in the face, knocking the apprentice back into the vault.
Visibos groaned. "Please! There's no way to escape the vault from within."
"Your friends are on their way, aren't they?"
"And you'll try to kill every one of them on your way out, you bastard! If you close that door, I'm as good as dead."
The Hunter shrugged. "So be it."
"But you said you don't kill for pleasure. Prove it! Let me live!"
The demon snarled in his thoughts. Soulhunger added its demands; it had tasted the apprentice's blood, and it wanted more.
The Hunter fought the voices back. "I can't let you hamper my escape. I'm leaving the city, and you'd only try to stop me."
Visibos's tone turned pleading. "But I won't! You have my word that I will not!"
The Hunter stared at the begging apprentice. The man had helped him; there was no need to kill him. The demon filled the Hunter's head with its incessant demands for death, Soulhunger echoing the desire. Both wanted to feed—who they consumed mattered not. The Hunter pressed a finger to his throbbing temple.
No. He deserves death, make no mistake, but I have made my choice.
He pushed the demon's protests to the back of his mind. "Answer me one question, Visibos. Give me an honest answer, and I will spare your life."
"Anything!" Visibos sounded a heartbeat away from full-blown panic.
"Where is Khar'nath?"
Visibos stared at him, mouth hanging open. Clearly, it was not the question he had expected.
"Kh-Khar'nath? W-Why do you—?"
The Hunter pushed and the heavy stone door rumbled slowly closed.
"Wait! I will tell you what I know."
With a grunt of effort, the Hunter stopped the door. "Tell me now!"
The words tumbled from the apprentice's mouth. "No one knows where Khar'nath is. But ancient stories tell of a city lost in the Empty Mountains, far to the north."
"How does one find this city?"
Anger peeked through Visibos's panic. "One doesn't! That's why it's called a 'lost' city! The city was called Enarium. It was a great fortress long ago, but was destroyed in the War of Gods. Only ruins remain."
"And this Enarium is another name for Khar'nath?" The door continued its slow rumble.
Visibos shook his head. "From what little I have read, the only way to reach Khar'nath is to pass through the gates of Enarium. That is all I know of Khar'nath!"
"How can I find Enarium?"
Visibos spoke quickly. "In my studies, I read of a city far to the north, beyond the Whispering Waste, named Vothmot. It is said that for a price, you can hire guides to trek through the wilderness of the Empty Mountains in search of Enarium."
"Vothmot," the Hunter repeated. "Beyond the Whispering Waste. My thanks, Visibos."
Visibos sighed in relief and stepped toward the door. But instead of pulling it open, the Hunter shoved hard.
Terror filled the apprentice's eyes. "You promised! You said you would let me live."
"You are alive. I have kept my word."
"B-But—"
"Silence! Once I have gone, I will inform one of your Beggar Priests you are down here."
Visibos opened his mouth to protest.
"Trapped or dead, Visibos. Your choice. Look at it this way: now you'll have time to read through the rest of the Numeniad."
"Damn it, demon! I—"
The Hunter snarled. He had grown tired of hearing that word. "A word of advice, Visibos. Do not be so caught up in your desire to kill that you fail to see what is right in front of you. When you are free, pay a visit to Voramis and ask Father Reverentus why I still live. Then come and find me. If, as you promised, our paths do cross once more, perhaps you and your friends won't be in such a hurry to put a blade in me…again."
"Keeper take you! By the thirteen gods of Einan, I swear I will—"
The Last Bucelarii Book 2: Lament of the Fallen Page 31