Laughing, Moradiss spread his arms wide. "Strike, Bucelarii! Do your worst."
The Hunter studied the heavy armor, searching for weak spots. The neck, beneath the armpits, the back perhaps.
Moradiss's sword drove straight toward the Hunter's stomach, forcing him to twist aside. His skin crawled as the blade came dangerously close to his ribs. The Hunter ducked beneath a blow aimed at his neck. Moradiss's iron blade ruffled his hair in passing, setting his scalp prickling.
Dropping low, the Hunter hooked the knight's foot and pulled it from under him. Moradiss staggered backward, off balance, his arms flying wide. The Hunter leapt in, Soulhunger thrusting toward the knight's armpit. The tip of the dagger barely pierced the chain mail before the Hunter had to hurl himself backward to avoid Moradiss' descending slash.
"Fast, but not fast enough."
The Hunter held up Soulhunger. A single drop of crimson trickled down the blade. The knight's eyes widened as the steel soaked up the blood.
Moradiss shook his head. "It makes no difference. I have sprinkled shavings of pure iron into my food since before I could wield a blade. Spill a single drop of my blood, and it will be as poison to you."
The Hunter's heart sank. Well, damn!
He edged around the Lord Knight, eyes fixed on the iron sword.
'Kill the bastard!'
The Hunter gritted his teeth. Silence! I do this on my terms.
'He is trying to kill you!'
So he is. But I told you, I decide who dies!
Moradiss swept a low slash, and the Hunter leapt back, out of reach of the longer blade. He studied his opponent and the massive sword warily. Without armor to weigh him down, he was faster, but even a single blow would have a devastating effect.
Soulhunger jerked in his hand, aching to plunge into the Lord Knight's chest and drink deep. The Hunter would not give in to its demands.
Time to end this!
He hurled Soulhunger at the knight's face. Moradiss blocked the blow with contemptuous ease, and the dagger clattered to the floor at his feet. But the Hunter had not aimed to kill. He covered the ground in quick, short steps, slipping inside the Lord Knight's guard.
The knight punched at the Hunter with his gauntleted left hand. The Hunter twisted aside from the blow and smashed his elbow into the knight's face. As Moradiss wobbled, the Hunter slammed his boot into the inside of the knight's knee. Bone shattered with an audible snap. Moradiss's eyes widened, then he slumped to the ground with a cry of surprised agony.
Leg twisted at an awkward angle, Moradiss glared up at the Hunter. Pain contorted his features, mixing with naked hatred and rage. "Kill me, you bastard! I'll take you with me!"
The Hunter had no intention of killing the knight. "This fight is over, Moradiss. Call off your dogs, and let me go."
He leapt back to avoid a swipe of the huge sword and darted forward before Moradiss could recover. His boot crunched down on the Lord Knight's fingers, eliciting another cry of pain. The Hunter slipped the knight's belt dagger free and pressed its tip against the underside of Moradiss's neck.
He stared into the knight's eyes. "Let it be done, Lord Knight. Tell your men to let me pass, and I will let you live."
The demon snarled. 'The Hunter of Voramis would never have hesitated! Not when his life was in danger.'
The Hunter hid a smile. Perhaps the Hunter of Voramis is no more. Perhaps I have changed.
The creature's rage filled his mind with agony. 'Never! We are Bucelarii, offspring of greatness. We are bred to kill!'
Moradiss glared up at him, expression stubborn, his eyes filled with contempt. "I will never yield to your kind, demonspawn!" He spat the last word. "Kill me now if you must, but know that my comrades will hunt you to the ends of Einan."
'Do what you do best and kill him! '
The demon's screams for death set the Hunter's head pounding. Soulhunger begged to feed, its voice burning in the Hunter's mind.
The Hunter clenched his fist, his stomach roiling. He hadn't expected the dagger to be silent, which was why he had left it where it lay. He would not yield. He was in control here, and neither demon nor blade would compel him.
A fanatical madness filled Moradiss's eyes "Do it, Bucelarii. Do it, or by every god on Einan, I will hunt you down and kill you."
Something within the Hunter threatened to burst forth. He struggled to breathe around the crushing weight in his chest.
"It doesn't have to end like this, Moradiss. You can live."
Moradiss replied with a snarl of rage. His shattered fingers seized the edge of the iron sword, and his muscles bunched for a strike.
The Hunter didn't hesitate. Quick as a darting snake, he thrust the knight's dagger up under his chin, through the roof of his mouth, and into his brain. Moradiss gave a weak, wet cough. Defiance fled from his eyes, fading to a dull, lifeless gaze.
The Hunter released the blade and stepped back, careful to avoid blood spurting from Moradiss's neck. Acid surged in his throat, his stomach in knots.
The demon filled his mind with its cries of pleasure. Soulhunger raged in his thoughts, angry at him for denying it death. He only stared down at his hands, feeling numb, empty.
A startled gasp pulled him from his daze. He studied the bloodless, terrified faces and wide eyes of the guards around him. They had clearly expected Moradiss to carve the Hunter to ribbons.
The Hunter scooped up Soulhunger and waved it at the guards in front of him. "I warned him, and he paid no heed! Now will you get out of my way, or I do have to kill every one of you bastards next?"
Chapter Fifteen
The Knight Apprentices dropped their hands to their sword hilts, their faces hardening. Steel rasped on leather sheaths.
"Hold, men!" A voice spoke from behind the Hunter.
An ancient man—easily in his eighth or ninth decade of life—moved through the guards, who parted to make way for him. Wisps of hair protruded from a nearly bald scalp, dark spots dotted the parchment-thin skin of his hands, and his wrinkled face showed the stubble of days without shaving.
The Hunter had seen this man from afar, watching the beggars filling the House of Need. The collar of his rich white robes bore four rings of blue. Something about his eyes…they held kindness, a gentleness the Hunter had only seen once before. The man reminded him of Father Reverentus, chief of the Beggar Priests in Voramis.
Visibos spoke of a 'Father Pietus'. This must be him.
The priest motioned for the guards to stand back. "Please, friend, this is the house of the gods. Why do you bring death?" A few lowered their weapons, but most remained wary and tense.
The Hunter gestured at the men surrounding him. "It is your men who have attacked me, Father. I intended to leave without shedding blood, but alas, it is not to be."
"The Lord Knight named him 'demonspawn', Father," protested a swarthy fellow with a bristling black beard and dark eyes. "He called him Bucelarii!"
The priest's bushy eyebrows shot up. "Impossible!" His lips twisted, as if in thought. "Although, just a few weeks ago, Sir Danna reported having killed one on the road. Could there be another...?"
The Hunter said nothing, his eye never leaving the armed men arrayed before him.
The old priest shrugged. "If that is true, you can understand our…reaction." He gestured to the guards. "You are standing in the House of Need. Home to the very priests given the task of hunting down your kind. Your presence here has aroused their ire."
"Understandably so."
Father Pietus bowed his head. "Alas, the Lord Knight made the mistake of underestimating you, Bucelarii. He was a good man. He did not deserve this end."
"I have no quarrel with him, or any of you priests. I tried to tell him, but he would not listen. Perhaps you will prove wiser than he."
The old priest shook his head. "You left him no choice. You know the Cambionari are sworn to our god to hunt down your kind, Bucelarii."
The Hunter raised his hands in a gesture of peace.
"Then hunt me down tomorrow. Let me leave in peace, and no more blood will be spilled here."
The demon screamed in rage, demanding death. Soulhunger, sensing the blood staining the floor, pounded in his mind, begging to feed.
Pietus shook his head. "It cannot be, Bucelarii. You cannot be permitted to leave. Not alive, at any rate."
The Hunter tightened his grip on Soulhunger. "Then, Father, you leave me no—"
"Paeter!" A childish voice echoed from the hall behind Father Pietus. A moment later, a young boy scampered toward the old priest. Throwing his arms around Father Pietus' waist, he squinted up at the priest, a beatific smile on his face. "Paeter!"
It was the child who had stood beside Father Pietus that day in the temple. The Hunter had only seen the lad from afar, but up close, the boy didn't resemble Farida as much as he'd thought. The way his nose turned up reminded the Hunter of the little girl he had found in Voramis, but the bridge of the lad's nose was flatter, his lips fuller, and his round cheeks swallowed a weaker chin. Behind the lad, a rotund woman huffed and puffed after her charge.
The priest forced a smile. "Hailen." He patted the lad's head with a wrinkled hand, and looked up at the woman stumbling toward him. "Frissie, dear, I see your charge has escaped his bed once again. Perhaps you might explain yourself?" He spoke through clenched teeth.
"Your pardon, Father," panted the rosy-cheeked caretaker. "His young feet scamper so fast I can hardly keep up with him." She gave the boy a stern glare. "Perhaps I will attach a leash around his neck to prevent his running away."
Hailen smiled up at her, no fear or remorse in his expression.
Father Pietus shook his head. "It is late for the lad to be out of bed. Get him out of here before—"
The priest tried to hand the lad off to the waiting arms of the women, but Hailen broke free. Heedless of danger, he scampered toward the Hunter. A guard tried to snatch him, but the lad moved too quickly.
The old priest's eyes widened. "Hailen!"
Hailen squinted up at the Hunter, his eyes wide and friendly, a smile on his face. He knelt and placed a chubby hand on the pale forehead of Lord Knight Moradiss.
"Hello, shiny man." He patted Moradiss' head gently, but when the knight didn't respond, Hailen shook his shoulder. "I said hello, shiny man." The smile never wavered.
Does he not understand that Moradiss is dead? The lad intrigued him. Something about him reminded the Hunter of Bardin. Perhaps he, too, is touched by the Illusionist.
When Moradiss didn't respond, Hailen's face crinkled in consternation. One of the guards darted forward and scooped up Hailen, his eyes never leaving the Hunter.
A giggle sounded from behind the guards. "Shake him again, Hailen. He might wake up if you try it a third time."
For the first time, the Hunter noticed the man. His dark grey cloak blended with the shadows of the stairwell, and he made no move to step forward. His features were unremarkable: mousy brown hair, thin lips, gaunt cheekbones, and skin pale from too much time spent indoors. He looked like thousands of other men the Hunter had seen and ignored on the streets of Malandria. Nothing about him drew the eye or called attention, save for his irritating giggling.
"Garanis," Father Pietus chided. "You know Hailen doesn't see things as you or I. He probably doesn't realize Moradiss is dead. I doubt he even grasps the concept of death yet." The priest shook his head, sorrow in his eyes.
Garanis giggled again, his eyes darting to the boy. "Yes, there is definitely something different about the lad." He rubbed his slim hands together. "Different, different indeed, indeed."
The guard deposited Hailen in the old cleric's arms, and Pietus gripped the boy's shoulders firmly to stop him from escaping again.
The Hunter couldn't take his eyes off Garanis. Here stood another reminder of Bardin. His friend had often mumbled nonsense to himself, a sign he was touched by the Illusionist.
The Hunter pointed with Soulhunger. "Who is your friend? What is a cleric of the Illusionist doing in the House of Need?"
Anger flashed in Garanis's eyes, momentarily replacing the madness. His eyes widened and he flinched as if struck.
Something about the man seemed off. His features didn't look quite right. Could he be…?
The scent of iron, steel, and sweat filled the room, tainted with the stench of fear. Father Pietus smelled old, of dust mixed with the various ointments the Hunter guessed he applied to his aching joints. Heavy perfume wafted from the rotund caretaker, and Hailen had a clean, innocent scent that sent a stab of pain through the Hunter's heart. Farida had smelled like that.
But the Illusionist Cleric reeked of decay—not the sickly, sweet scent of fresh death, but a deep, ancient rot. The Hunter would recognize it anywhere. Garanis's features rippled in the torchlight, flesh and bone morphing in a sickening wave. The smile never left his lips.
This, then, was the demon.
How in the bloody hell is there a demon here, in the House of Need? He had smelled its presence on his last visit, but he had never expected to encounter the creature. The demon stood in the midst of Cambionari, yet they seemed not to notice him at all!
Then he remembered Visibos. They don’t track the blood, only the blades.
He stared down at Soulhunger, gripped tightly in his left hand. It was the beacon that had drawn the Cambionari to him. Would lead them to him again, if he kept it. Once again, he was seized with a desire to hurl the blade away. Without it, the Cambionari would never find him. He would be forever free of its incessant demands for blood, its voice in his head.
It would be so easy…
Pain flared in his right arm and raced up to his shoulder. He stared down, dumbfounded, at the bright crimson stain on his tunic.
Blood!
He thought he had avoided the torrent gushing from the knight's neck, but he must have missed these drops. His skin burned from the contact.
Moradiss spoke the truth!
Black blood spread through the veins in his hand, and a tingling numbness ran up and down his arm. The Hunter flexed the hand to try to restore sensation.
Father Pietus pushed Hailen into the arms of his florid-faced nurse. "Go, Frissie! Take Hailen away from here, now!"
The boy looked up at the priest with a curious expression. "Paeter?"
"Go with Frissie, Hailen." Father Pietus shooed the boy away. "She'll find you something nice to eat." He cast a worried glance at the Hunter, who still had not moved.
"Yes," said Hailen, "I'm hungry. Want to eat."
"Good lad."
Garanis patted Hailen on the head as the lad passed. The moment the Illusionist Cleric touched Hailen, his fingernails turned a bright crimson, as if stained with blood. None of the others seemed to notice. Only the Hunter had seen it.
What in the hells was that?
Hailen flinched almost imperceptibly, then gave a weak smile to the man in the dark cloak.
Frissie tugged at the lad's hand. "Come, Hailen. Let's visit the kitchens."
Excitement filled Hailen's voice. "Kitchens! With the fire, Frissie?"
"Yes, Hailen, fire…" Their animated conversation faded as they disappeared into the next room.
"Father Pietus!" The Hunter spoke in a harsh voice, trying to mask his growing desperation. "Let me depart, and no more blood needs be shed."
The Beggar Priest opened his mouth to speak, but the Hunter cut him off.
"You may be charged to hunt me and my kind, but this night, I am not your enemy. He is the one you should be hunting!" Soulhunger's tip pointed at Garanis. "He is the real threat you face."
Garanis sneered.
Father Pietus arched a bushy eyebrow. "What are you talking about? Garanis is a good man—"
"He is no man! He is Abiarazi."
The word had no effect on the Knight Apprentices, but Father Pietus' looked physically ill.
Garanis' jaw dropped. "W-What are you doing? Has he sent you? Tell him I need more time! The Sage must be patient."
Th
e man's babbling made no sense to the Hunter. But that name! Toramin had also mentioned it. Who in the twisted hell is the Sage?
"What is he talking about, Garanis?" Father Pietus' eyes remained fixed on the Hunter.
Garanis swallowed, but when he spoke, his voice held no trace of insanity. "He is mad, Father, touched by the Illusionist!" Fire burned in his eyes.
The Hunter stepped forward. "I speak the truth, Father. If you have any doubts, have him take up the knight's iron blade. He will—"
"Father Pietus," snapped Garanis, "we must be off."
The old priest turned to study the Illusionist Cleric. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
"We have much to do this night," Garanis said. His voice—once tinged with madness—now rang out clear and strong. His hands traced elaborate patterns in the air, arresting the priests' attention.
Father Pietus nodded. "Of course, Garanis." His eyes seemed to follow Garanis's fingers, and confusion clouded his features.
Garanis addressed the Hunter without releasing the priest's gaze. "If the Sage has sent you, it means he is growing impatient. But I am not yet ready."
The Hunter had no idea what the demon was talking about. "Who is this 'Sage'? And why would he have sent me?"
"If he didn't send you…" Garanis' head snapped toward him. "Impossible!"
The guards looked puzzled as well. A few exchanged glances, staring back at the Illusionist Cleric and Father Pietus.
The Hunter clutched Soulhunger tighter. "Whatever is going on, I want no part of it. Leave me to depart in peace, and it will be as if we had never met." He gritted his teeth to push back the dagger's demands for blood. The demon in his mind remained uncharacteristically silent.
Garanis studied him for a long moment, then shook his head. "No. You lie! You will return to the Sage and tell him I have failed, all so you can take control of Malandria!"
The Hunter's mind raced. Something was happening, something much bigger than he understood. And why weren't the knights reacting? Didn't they find Garanis' words strange? Why were their eyes dull and clouded?
The Last Bucelarii Book 2: Lament of the Fallen Page 33