"Yahmir would love to add your skin to the collection in his tent, he says." Younis grinned, his teeth white against his dusky skin.
"I'm certain he would. Now, would you loosen these damned ropes so we can travel?"
Younis raised an eyebrow. "After last night, you think we'll let you off that easily?"
"If you want me to kill your al-Malek, I do."
Younis ground his teeth. He barked something in his own language, and a handful of men moved toward the Hunter.
"They have nothing to fear from me."
"Please, ytaq, do you think I was born this morning? Any man with half a brain would be uneasy when facing a warrior who could carve his way through Il Seytani's camp as you did. The Mhareb born without fear does not live long."
The Hunter grinned. "I can see why Il Seytani chose you for the task."
Younis sneered. "Do not think your clever words will work with me. I know your kind too well."
My kind. His smile grew. I very much doubt he knows my kind at all.
The ropes around his wrists and ankles loosened and fell free. The Hunter hid a wince as he straightened his legs, and his shoulders throbbed. He climbed to his feet with slow, deliberate movements.
"My thanks. Now, what's on the menu for breakfast?"
"For you, ytaq, nothing but sand." Younis lifted a water skin to his lips and drank deep. "We may not be able to kill you, but there are many other ways to remind you who holds the power here."
The Hunter ground his teeth, crunching down on grit and sand from a night spent sleeping face-down. His parched throat begged for water, but he'd be damned if he let it show. Tying his gear in place, he leapt into the saddle.
"Well then, what are we waiting for? Let's be on our way." Without hesitation, he dug his heels into Elivast's ribs, and the horse broke into a trot. He hid a smile at the shouts and cries behind him. This was no attempt at escape, simply one more way to irritate his captors. They wouldn't kill him; Il Seytani needed him alive. They could only put up with his antics. The more he wore them down, the easier it would be to kill them.
Chapter Twenty-One
Every fiber in his body begged for water. He'd stopped sweating hours ago; he simply had no more fluid to lose. The bandits hadn't given him water since morning.
Impatience, frustration, rage, and helplessness warred within him. He ached to seize Soulhunger and kill the bandits, but the watchful guards gave him no opening. A half-dozen iron-wielding warriors rode between him and Younis at the head of the column. Had they carried steel weapons, he wouldn't have hesitated. But he couldn't risk facing their iron blades, not when Hailen's life hung in the balance.
'What does the child's life matter?” The demon's voice echoed on the moaning desert wind, mocking him. 'Why risk yourself?'
I swore to protect him.
'To whom did you swear? I remember no oath, no words to bind you. You could leave him there. You could just ride north, as we originally intended.'
Somewhere in the north, he would find answers about his past. He would find Her, the mysterious woman who plagued his dreams. Every moment he spent trying to rescue Hailen was another delay. But he couldn't simply leave.
I made a promise to the boy, and I will keep my word.
Bitter anger radiated in his mind. 'You and your word. What is the word of the Hunter worth? How many times have you kept it in the past?'
Faces danced through his mind: Old Nan, Karrl, the others that had died in Voramis. Farida. Bardin, his friend from Malandria. The images set his head aching, and the familiar burden settled on his shoulders.
I never made a promise to protect them. The protest was weak. I said the words to Hailen, and I will keep my word.
'And the truth of your past? How long will you wait to seek out answers?'
Only as long as it takes to rescue the boy, then we continue the journey north.
The demon's scorn filled his thoughts. 'So it's a 'we' now? You attract peril like a dung heap draws flies, but you will drag the boy along with you. How do you propose to 'protect' him as you promised? Your very presence puts him in danger.'
The Hunter ground his teeth, crunching sand. He had no answer. The demon asked questions he could not answer, forcing him to face truths he had no desire to confront.
At least there will be killing. That should bring you some comfort.
'Yes,' the voice purred, radiating smug satisfaction. 'It will be a pleasure to kill this king.'
And anyone else who gets in my way. Perhaps he could silence the demon with thoughts of death. When I return to claim Hailen, may the Long Keeper have mercy on any who would try to stand in my way.
The throbbing retreated, leaving the Hunter alone with his burning thirst.
He turned to the bandit beside him. "Water." The word came out in a pitiful croak.
The bandit sneered and muttered something in his native tongue.
"Give me water, damn it!"
The man dropped a hand to his iron dagger, and he muttered something harsh in his own language.
The Hunter gave up the fruitless attempt. He squinted into the distance, at the towering peak of the Mount Baradh. Though it looked to be just a few miles distant, he guessed it lay at least a day away. The desert played tricks on the eyes. The aching thirst in his throat and the scorching afternoon heat did little to help.
He squinted up at the sky, taking in the bright reds, blues, and purples of the late afternoon.
Thankfully, the sun is setting, and the heat will abate.
He needed water, and soon. If the bandits refused to give it to him, he'd take it from them by any means necessary.
***
His tongue felt thick and swollen, his mouth dry as the golden sand. He hunched over his knees, staring into the fire.
Night had fallen, and the bandits made camp for the night. When he demanded water, even Younis had grown deaf and dumb. They'd devoured a meal of dried meat, dried fruits, and nuts, laughing and mocking him in their own language. His anger grew with every heartbeat, until rage burned like wildfire in his chest.
"Well, ytaq, I take it you have learned the folly of your ways."
The Hunter didn't bother to look up. The scent of cloves, iron, and wood smoke told him Younis stood over him.
Something dropped to the sand between his feet. "Drink."
Thirst warred with dignity, but the need for water won out. The Hunter scrabbled in the dust, ripped the cork from the water-skin, and drained it in a single draught. At that moment, the tepid water tasted better than the finest iced wines of Voramis.
"A man of the desert learns to sleep lightly, ytaq. Your assassin's skills will not serve you in the Sah'raa. This is our land, and you live or die at my command."
The Hunter met Younis' gaze. The bandit's dark eyes held no mercy or pity. Given the choice, the Hunter had little doubt the bandit would kill him without a second thought. But they needed him, and that gave the Hunter the edge. They would keep him alive until they had what they wanted.
"You keep calling me 'ytaq'. What does it mean?"
Younis bared his teeth. "In our tongue, it means 'devil'."
The Hunter grinned. "I like it."
***
From high in the Thalj Pass, the view of the Advanat stole the Hunter's breath. A sea of sand stretched in all directions, dunes writhing across the landscape like brazen serpents. With hardly a tree or shrub in sight, the desert looked like an unbroken lake of the purest gold.
The Hunter wiped sweat from his forehead. They'd climbed hundreds of paces in a matter of hours. The Thalj Pass ascended Mount Baradh at a steep incline, and it grew ever more difficult to fill his lungs with oxygen. Only his inhuman stamina and stubborn resolve kept him going when he ached for rest.
The bandits had given him one meal each day, and just enough water to keep him alive—barely. His stomach growled, his throat burned, and every muscle in his body ached.
He wished for his water-skin, but the bandits had tak
en it with all his rations. Pristine white snow surrounded him, a stark change from the desert's burning heat. He'd resorted to eating handfuls of it, not caring that it scorched his tongue with its chill.
His robes did little to keep out the chill. Though the sun shone down bright, the biting mountain wind sapped all warmth from the day. The Hunter almost wished for the heat of the desert; it would be far less exhausting than the relentless cold that set his teeth rattling. He dreaded nightfall. Who knew how cold it would get?
Elivast moved more slowly as well. The horse's ribs peeked from beneath his glossy coat. The bandits had fed the beast enough to keep it moving, but the fat the horse had accumulated over weeks of travel with the caravan had disappeared. Sirkar Jeroen had clipped the horse's coat to keep him cool in the desert heat, and the beast shivered beneath him. When the Hunter walked, Elivast huddled against him for warmth.
We have to get through the pass quickly. Chills racked his body, and long minutes passed before he got his shivering under control. He needed to rest and to get warm.
***
Somehow, at some point in the long, frozen night, the Hunter slipped into an uneasy sleep plagued by dreams—or memories.
"Please! Why are you doing this?" He struggled against bonds far stronger than he.
Age had long ago wrinkled the face before him, but intelligence sparkled in the old man's eyes.
"I do this because my god has commanded it, Bucelarii." The ancient voice held no trace of malice. "Your kind are a blight upon this world, yet the god of beggars would have you live."
"So let me live in peace!" No amount of fighting could snap the ropes holding him fast.
"Your kind can never find peace. Your lives span centuries, and every one of you is destined to embrace turmoil, death, and madness. The Illusionist has entrusted us with the task of saving you from yourselves."
"But why?" He stared into eyes filled with sorrow and reluctance. "What good is this?"
"Have you ever felt the pain of loss, Bucelarii?"
He nodded.
"Now imagine that amplified a hundred, a thousand times over. The mortal lives of everyone you love will end, yet you will live on long after their bones turn to dust. Can you truly believe you would be better off with the knowledge of all you have lost?"
He had no words to respond.
She stood behind the ancient priest, tears streaming down Her face, Her hand stroking the gentle roundness in Her belly.
The ancient head nodded and a younger priest stepped forward, something glinting in the dim light.
"I do this for you, Bucelarii." Silver drew his eye, flashing in the light as the pendant danced and swayed. "I do this for all mankind."
Her lips felt cool against his flushed forehead. "Forgive me, Hai'atim."
Chapter Twenty-Two
A rough hand shook the Hunter awake.
"On your feet, ytaq. Time waits for no man."
The Hunter's leaden eyelids refused to open, but he forced himself up onto an elbow. He'd slept poorly, and days of hard travel—from the day he'd galloped into the desert after the fleeing bandits—had taken their toll on him. But he'd be damned if he let his exhaustion show.
"I'm up," he growled at Younis.
The bandit grinned, his teeth white against his dusky skin. "I had worried you would leave us, qattala. The way you were sweating, thrashing, and muttering, you definitely had a touch of the ice plague. Comes from eating too much snow."
The Hunter snarled. "My thanks for your concern."
Younis shrugged. "If I had my way…"
He didn't need to finish his sentence. The Hunter knew exactly how he felt.
The memory of Eileen's little body amidst a sea of sand twisted his stomach. The way they had left her there…they deserved the suffering that awaited them the moment he recovered Soulhunger.
He climbed to his feet and bundled his gear, hiding a shiver at the chill in the air. His stolen robes kept him warm, but the morning had dawned with a ferocious bite. Even Younis's companions had wrapped themselves in extra layers of clothing.
"Today we begin the descent into Al Hani, ytaq. If all goes well, we will reach Aghzaret by midday."
The Hunter turned to Younis, raising an eyebrow. "We?"
"You expect us to trust that you will keep your word? The moment you are out of our sight…"
The Hunter muttered a sullen curse. He'd hoped to find a way to overpower his companions, retrieve Soulhunger, and ride back to Il Seytani's camp without having to enter Aghzaret and kill the al-Malek. Too many chances that something could go wrong and keep him from returning for Hailen. But he hadn't found his opening. His escort had been too alert, too wary on their journey. Now, he had no choice.
"Fair enough." He held out his hands. "My weapons."
Younis shook his head. "In time. When we reach the city, I will return your belongings."
"You? You're coming with me?"
Younis shrugged. "Who better to keep an eye on you?"
The Hunter snorted. "Such modesty."
"A man does not rise to second-in-command of the Mhareb through humility."
One of the bandits called out something in their native tongue, and Younis answered. The following exchange seemed to be an argument, with Younis barking orders and his companions protesting. After a few minutes, Il Seytani's second snapped something harsh and sharp, and the others seemed to back down. Judging by their sullen expressions and angry glares, they were less than pleased.
"Trouble in paradise?"
Younis made a show of ignoring him as he strapped the rest of his gear into place and swung up into the saddle. "Coming?"
Hiding a grin, the Hunter followed suit. He cast a glance at the Swordsman's iron blades, tucked into the massive bandit's colorful waistband. The man wore them beside his scimitar and curved belt dagger, treating them as he would any other weapon.
I'll be back for you. The demon protested, as always. It hated the iron daggers more than it hated everything and everyone else, but he'd grown accustomed to ignoring its demands to leave them behind. He'd carried them with him since leaving Voramis, though why, he didn't know. The Beggar Priests had treated them with such reverence, he couldn't do any less. The fact that they could kill demons made them valuable weapons in his war on the Abiarazi.
He mounted up and trotted after Younis, but none of the other bandits moved to follow. Younis sat outside the mouth of the cave, visibly impatient.
The path sloped sharply downward, and snow crunched beneath the horses' hooves. The Hunter slowed Elivast to a walk to avoid slipping. To their left, the mountain rose hundreds of paces overhead. To their right, nothing but the open air stood between them and certain death.
The Hunter turned to Younis, who rode a few paces behind him. "So it's just you?"
Younis scowled. "Others will follow in due time, while the rest will hold their post here."
"So close to the city? Aren't you afraid of being discovered?"
Younis shook his head. "The Thalj Pass is steep and treacherous, and most prefer to go around the mountain. No, there is no fear anyone will stumble across our camp." He glanced sidelong at the Hunter. "So you have no hope that we will be killed before you complete your mission. Accept it, ytaq, there is no way out."
The Hunter scowled and kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
Looks as if I don't have much choice. He'd invested too much time and energy into searching for a way to escape or overpower his escort. Far easier to turn my efforts toward killing the al-Malek.
But would Il Seytani keep his word? If the Hunter did kill the ruler of Al Hani, would the bandit chieftain return Hailen?
I won't take that risk!
He had two missions in Aghzaret: figure out how to kill the al-Malek, and find a way to escape and return for Hailen. He wouldn't trust Il Seytani to keep his word. The bandit chieftain had no reason to.
The Hunter turned to Younis. "Now, would you like to tell me how I'm going to lear
n my way around a new city among a people who speak a language I do not understand to kill a king I have never met?"
The bandit grinned. "You said you were good. Now you prove it."
They rode in silence, the Hunter's mind churning as he ran through dozens of plans to return. He cast occasional glances over his shoulder at his companion, but the man's posture—back rigid, eyes narrowed, hand on his sword hilt—spoke of Younis' wariness.
No chance I'll surprise him anytime soon. No, his best hope lay in finding a way to ambush the man in Aghzaret. He would bide his time, appear to keep his end of the bargain. But at the first opportunity, I will return for Hailen.
They rounded a bend in the path, and the mountain gave way to a breathtaking view. Arid grassland stretched out of sight beyond the horizon, where rolling hills shone a solemn brown beneath the bright morning sun. The city of Aghzaret sat astride a drainage basin, beside the only arable ground in sight. Swaths of fertile green surrounded the western half of the city, a stark contrast to the dry, dust-colored land to the east. A deep blue river carved its sinuous way through the terrain, flowing beneath the south wall and cutting through the rust-colored city before meandering off to the east.
"Aghzaret, jewel of Al Hani." Younis grinned. "There's no place like it in all the world."
***
Elivast danced to the side of the road as a wagoneer cracked his whip and shouted something in an impatient tone. The dilapidated wagon, laden with a massive load of winter wheat, rumbled past, pulled by a team of hoary donkeys. Younis called out a reply to the two swarthy men, who laughed and flipped a rude gesture at him.
The wide, deep-rutted road climbed the green hills beyond Aghzaret's western gate. Hundreds of wagons, carts, and pedestrians flowed in and out of the city. Flocks of sheep, cattle, and goats grazed alongside herds of stocky desert horses. A collection of huts, hovels, and makeshift shelters bordered the western edge of the wall, providing homes for those who lived and worked outside the city.
The Last Bucelarii Book 3: Gateway to the Past Page 15