Darkblade Slayer Read online

  The Hunter noticed that Evren hadn't said two words since his arrival. The youth’s eyes kept darting back toward the north gate.

  Perhaps he’s running from something, too, the Hunter thought. Though aren’t we all in our own way?

  Too many had died—not only by his hand, but because of him. Farida, the little Voramian girl slain by the Bloody Hand. Bardin, murdered on the sacrificial altar of the demon Toramin. Master Eldor, who had chosen to give his own life so the Hunter could rescue Hailen.

  The Hunter felt the familiar burden of loss settle on his shoulders. No matter how far he ran, he could never escape it. Perhaps it was what drove him onward, pushed him to take up arms against his own kind to protect humanity. Guilt, and a desire to leave behind something more than his legend as an assassin.

  A snort from the sleeping boy in his arms brought him back to reality, and a smile touched his lips. I'll make a difference for at least this one, he thought. Yes, it would be enough.

  The first rays of daylight soon peeked over the eastern horizon, filling the sky with color and warming the air. The faint illumination painted the rugged flatlands around Vothmot a soft golden hue. Half a league in the distance, the countless peaks of the Empty Mountains thrust into the night like the spines of an enormous beast. The ridges of grey, white, green, and red had a rugged beauty, a timeless majesty. These mountains had existed on Einan before mankind—and possibly even the Serenii—set foot on its soil. They had seen kingdoms rise and crumble away to dust. Their craggy heights concealed the greatest secrets in the world, yet they held their silence with the same stoicism as they stood eternal vigil on the land below.

  Darillon took the lead, with Rassek riding a few paces behind him, and then the Hunter’s party. Both men rode hardy-looking horses with wide, deep chests, small heads, short necks, and flat, clean bones. Neither of the mounts was over fifteen hands in height, but they moved with sure-footed ease over the rocky terrain.

  Evren grew more relaxed with every passing minute. He still cast occasional glances at the city behind him, but with Vothmot disappearing into the distance, his expression grew less worried. Indeed, by the time the sun had fully risen, a sparkle of excitement shone in the youth's eyes.

  The Hunter rode in the rear, but it proved easy to keep up with the steady pace set by the mountaineers. Even with Hailen sitting in front of him, it took minimal effort to maintain his seat in the saddle and match his movements to Elivast's rolling gait.

  He smiled as he realized how natural it had become to ride. Once, not long ago, he'd been a mediocre rider at best. He'd rarely traveled on horseback—he had little need to do so in Voramis, and on his rare trips outside his city, he’d simply rented a coach or carriage. But since leaving Voramis, he'd actually become a competent rider. It felt almost like second nature to lift himself off the saddle with the rise and fall of Elivast's shoulders.

  Look at what I've become. So different from who I was before.

  The sun had fully risen by the time they reached the inclined trail into the Empty Mountains. The trail ran straight for at least half a league, then cut sharply through one of the valleys between two tall grey peaks.

  The Hunter cast a look back at Vothmot before the mountain hid the city from view. From this vantage point, a few hundred paces above the flatlands below, Vothmot sparkled with a new beauty. The gleaming white Master’s Temple occupied a place of prominence to the east, but the rest of the city—the stately temples, brightly-colored tents and stalls of the Prime Bazaar, the solid red brick buildings of the Ward of Bliss, even the shanties and slums—lent their own unique features to the façade that was Vothmot. From up here, the Hunter could almost forget the horrors practiced in the Master’s Temple, the poverty of the muddy streets behind the Ward of Bliss, and the chaos of the Prime Bazaar. The wind drowned out all but the faintest hum of the hundreds of thousands of lives that lived within those grey walls.

  He saw only one company of riders below, but they wore the bright crimson, green, and orange robes popular to Voramian noblemen rather than the shining steel armor and white cloaks of Warrior Priests. Just a company of sight-seers off to a late start exploring the Empty Mountains behind him.

  Hailen stirred in the saddle in front of him, yawning and stretching. “Hardwell, where are we?”

  “In the mountains,” the Hunter said. He pointed to the city below. “Look there.”

  “It’s beautiful!” Hailen gasped.

  They paused only long enough for the Hunter to transfer Hailen to Ash’s saddle, then continued riding up the trail that led deeper into the mountains. The trail before they wended through steep cliffs, scrub-covered slopes, and along one particularly vicious-looking ravine. The incline remained gentle, leading them ever upwards into the heights of the Empty Mountains.

  Darillon halted for a rest and a quick meal at noon. He chafed with impatience to resume their trek, but his partner took his time with the food and drink.

  "Everyone knows a good meal is to be savored, they do," Rassek told Darillon. “Ye ought to know that well. You Malandrians have a way of lingerin’ at feasts." He shook his head with grin. "Little wonder half yer city is too fat to be puttin' in a full day's work, says I."

  "At least we know the meaning of work," Darillon retorted. "Unlike you Praamians, who’d rather spend your days counting coins or striking a bargain." A wicked smile played on his lips. "Or stealing someone else's coins."

  "Now tha’s just not fair!" Rassek protested. "We Praamians never bargain."

  The two men laughed, and the Hunter found himself smiling. Despite Darillon's stoic, no-nonsense manner, he had a wry sense of humor that seemed amplified by Rassek's presence. The two men had an easy familiarity about them, their movements synchronized by decades of sharing the mountain trails.

  Even Evren's spirits seemed to lift as he ate and drank. He'd lost his guarded, apprehensive look, and smiled as the two men shared lighthearted conversation. He even exchanged a few words with Hailen when the cheery boy trotted over to him with a particularly enthralling stone he'd found. Hailen seemed content to expend his energy exploring the small, stone-covered clearing.

  "Either of ye hear about the ruckus in the Ward of Bliss last night?" Rassek asked.

  The Hunter tensed, and worry roiled in his gut. It had sounded like such an innocent question, and no trace of suspicion showed in the man's eyes, only the passing interest of a man with juicy gossip to share.

  "What of it?" he asked.

  Rassek grinned. "Quite the brouhaha, from what I hear." He rubbed his angular chin with a strong, stubby finger. "A whole group of Warrior Priests of Derelana, led by no less than a knight. Heard they were huntin’ some sort of renegade, I did."

  "Is that so?" The tension drained from the Hunter's muscles. Gossip had a way of distorting with every retelling.

  "That's not what I heard," Darillon said with a shake of his head. "Rumor has it they're hunting a killer. A right nasty one, as it were."

  The Hunter's brow furrowed, and the nagging sensation in his gut returned.

  Darillon nodded sagely. "Only a proper blackguard would warrant an entire score of Warrior Priests."

  "Is it true the bastard killed one of 'em?" Rassek asked.

  "I heard four Warrior Priests got dead." Darillon ran a hand over his bald head. "Crazy place, this world, when a man can send four of Derelana's priests to the Long Keeper. I saw one of those Militants fight once. A sight to behold, it was."

  The Hunter remained silent, feigning interest in the conversation. They had been no reason to suspect him, but he couldn't shake the worried feeling. He'd killed the Warrior Priests in self-defense and to protect Hailen. Yet he feared it had been a mistake. The men served Derelana, goddess of vengeance. They would hunt him to the ends of Einan to deliver retribution.

  Chapter Sixteen

  "What's yer story, kid?" Rassek asked, turning to Evren.

  The question caught the young thief off-guard, and he froze with a p
iece of bread halfway to his mouth. "W-What's that?"

  "Yer story," Rassek pressed. "What brings ye out into the Empty Mountains?" He looked the young thief up and down. "Ye don’t look like the sight-seein’ type, but even less like a thrill-seeker climbin’ the mountains fer the joy of it. So are ye searchin’ fer somethin’ or runnin’ from somethin’?"

  "Searchin’," Evren responded, just a tad too quickly. His voice held a note of nervous tension. "My pop and I always said we’d seek out the Lost City when I got old enough. Spent years plannin’ a trip, savin’ every penny we could scrounge up to hire a guide to take us. Only…" He dropped his eyes, and his expression grew sorrowful. "The Long Keeper took him last winter. My ma as well."

  "Condolences, laddie," Rassek said. "Sorry fer bringin’ it up."

  "I-It's okay." Evren swallowed and gave a weak shrug. "Just have to do it. For him, you know?"

  The Hunter stifled a grin. An admirable attempt. He'd spent the last fifty years deceiving people with disguises and false stories, and he recognized the lie for what it was. There might be a grain of truth in it—all the best lies contained some fact—but the boy was not in it for some promise he made to a father, fictional or real. There's only one reason for someone like him to get out of town, and that's—

  "You're the one the Wardens are looking for, aren't you?" Darillon's eyes narrowed.

  "What?" Evren managed to pull off a convincing expression of innocent shock. "You’re mista—"

  "Yeah, you are the one." Darillon made no move to rise, but his hand dropped to the dagger at his hip. "The Wardens say you're wanted for questioning in the death of a Lectern, with petty theft and vagrancy thrown in for added flavor."

  Evren's face grew as hard and cold as the stone mountains around him. "You're mistaken," he said in a toneless voice. His hands remained unmoving in front of him, but tension lined his shoulders. His eyes flashed once toward his mount, which stood ten paces away placidly chewing a stalk of mountain scrub grass.

  "No, I'm pretty sure I’m not." Darillon reached into a pack and produced a piece of parchment bearing the likeness of a young man that had the same small nose, slim cheeks, and close-set eyes as Evren. "Looks to me like you're running away from the Wardens."

  Evren said nothing, but his hand crept toward his belt, where he no doubt carried a dagger.

  "Maybe he is," Rassek said in a slow voice, "and maybe he isn't. Either way, it don’t matter much right now." He rested a hand on Darillon's forearm, and a meaningful look flashed in his eyes. "At the moment, he's just bein' another client enjoyin' a stroll of the Empty Mountains, isn’t he? The Wardens don’t control who is doin' what or goin' where out here, says I."

  Darillon's face hardened. "A murderer is—"

  "Very dangerous, if they happened to be findin' themselves facin’ enemies with nowhere to run, says I." Rassek's voice had a cautionary edge. His grip on Darillon's arm tightened. "But there's bein' no need fer that, not ‘til we get back to Vothmot ten days from now. Fer today, we've got the beautiful mountains and open skies to be enjoyin', we do.”

  He gave Evren a stern gaze. "And, if such a person was bein' in our company, see, there's no way we could ensure they got turned over the Wardens if, say, they happened to be departin' all nice and quiet-like afore we passed through the city walls."

  Evren's eyes narrowed, but he gave little nod.

  The interaction surprised the Hunter. He'd always been the one concealing the secrets, and it felt odd to watch it from the outside. He'd half-expected the two mountaineers to try to capture Evren, but Rassek's words seemed to mollify Darillon. The older man's hand fell away from his dagger, and the tension in his shoulders relaxed.

  "Ye won't be takin' no offense if we keep a close eye on our packs, though, will ye?" A glint of humor sparkled in Rassek's eyes.

  "Not at all." Evren actually grinned. "More of a challenge, that way."

  That didn't sit well with Darillon. "Let's move. Time's wasting." He stood and stalked off toward the horses.

  Rassek watched him go, then turned back to Evren. "Yer shite, yer stink, kid. Leave us out of yer business, ye hear?" He spoke in a low voice filled with menace. "We'll be doin' whatever we have to to keep out of yer mess, we will."

  Evren stiffened. "You ain’t gotta worry about trouble from me," he said, his voice tight. "The Wardens won’t never know we met."

  "Good, says I." Rassek nodded and stood. "Well, ye heard the man. Let's be off!"

  Evren's gaze shifted to the Hunter, and something cold and hard blazed in his eyes. "What?" he demanded.

  "Nothing at all." The Hunter shrugged. "I've got no reason to judge you."

  "No, you don't," Evren snarled. "You ain’t got no idea what happened."

  "So be it." The Hunter jerked a thumb toward the two older men. "Like they said, your business is your own."

  "You ain’t gonna threaten me again?" Evren raised a mocking eyebrow. "Promise you'll put a knife in my back before I do it to you?"

  "No need." The Hunter gave him a grin. "You already know I'll do that." With that, he stood and went to collect Hailen.

  * * *

  A new tension descended on their little party, and it didn't let up throughout the rest of the afternoon. Evren rode with his shoulders hunched, his left hand hovering near his belt. Darillon and Rassek both cast occasional glances over their shoulders, unsuccessful in their efforts to be discreet.

  Hailen, however, seemed not to notice. He spent the afternoon riding Ash and kept up a constant stream of chatter. He pointed out every rock, stubby tree, cliff face, cloud, bird, and oddly-shaped stone he passed. The boy's enthusiasm for the beauty of the Empty Mountains seemed truly boundless.

  The Hunter couldn't deny the mountains were beautiful. The scrubby bushes and mountain grass sprouting from the steep slopes gave their surroundings a harsh beauty, the dull brown and green mixing with craggy cliff faces in a dozen rocky shades of grey, white, and red. The trail winding between the mountains gave the Hunter a feeling of being protected, a stark contrast with the stuffy, enclosed atmosphere of Vothmot.

  But it was Hailen that brought a smile to the Hunter's face. The boy was lucid, alert, and talking; something that had become less and less common since leaving Kara-ket. Even with Soulhunger on his belt—a fact that both Rassek and Darillon had noticed but made a point not to mention—the boy still occasionally retreated into his head. He rode with a glassy-eyed, thousand-pace stare, as if lost in a world of his thoughts.

  To see Hailen like this proved a gift in itself. The incessant chatter that had once grated on the Hunter's nerves now came as a welcome change from the sullen silence brought on by the Irrsinnon. This was how the Hunter wanted Hailen to live. Only in Enarium would he find the solution to free Hailen of the Elivasti's curse.

  Aside from Hailen's high-pitched voice, only the occasional wind and the clatter of the horses' hooves on stone broke the silence. Even Rassek and Darillon's good-natured banter had stopped since their noonday conversation. The idea that they rode with someone who murdered priests—and priests of Kiro, the Master, no less—left them unsettled.

  If only they knew how many priests I've killed, the Hunter thought. Most had been Cambionari trying to kill him, but some—like Father Pietus or Brother Securus—had simply been victims of the demons' machinations. Too many others had died because of them. No more. The Sage's death would be the first step toward putting an end to the Abiarazi's predations on Einan.

  As the sun dipped toward the mountains in the west, Darillon pushed the pace a bit faster. He kept them riding until they reached a small rocky hollow nestled between two huge boulders.

  "We camp here tonight," he said in a gruff, terse voice. "We need to move fast. It gets dark and cold quickly in the mountains."

  The Hunter and Evren pitched one tent while Rassek set up the other. Darillon set about building a fire from a few scraps of wood he'd brought. A brass tripod and matching cauldron provided the mountaineer a place to co
ok, and he had a simple stew going by the time the camp was pitched.

  They sat around the fire, a subdued group eating their meal in silence. Even Hailen had run out of words. He sat quietly, his bowl ignored, playing with a handful of smooth, round pebbles.

  The Hunter drew in a deep breath of the crisp night air, and was surprised to find a near-absence of smells. He caught the unique scents of the three men around him, the odorous fragrance of the horses, and the aroma of the stew, but little else. This far from people, there were few things to taint the air. Just the hard, dusty scent of solid stone and the edge of a cold wind.

  He broke the silence. "So," he asked Darillon and Rassek, "where are we supposed to find the Lost City?"

  "North." Darillon's expression was unreadable as he met the Hunter's gaze.

  "How far north?" the Hunter pressed. He could feel Her presence pulling him northward and slightly to the east, but that feeling in the back of his mind wouldn't show him the way through the mountains. He'd need the guides to get him there.

  Darillon shrugged. "If I knew, I'd be living there, not renting my services out to lead sight-seers."

  "What Grumpy Guts ‘ere means to say is that no one knows, see." Rassek shot the older man a glare. "As I'm certain ye’ve heard, all records of Enarium's whereabouts have been lost fer thousands of years, they have. Which makes it a wee bit tricky to find the way."

  The Hunter chuckled. "Of course."

  "But accordin’ to the old legends, it was said the Serenii could see Vothmot from atop the tallest tower in Enarium. No one knows how tall that tower is, so there's no way to be knowin’ how far it is, see." Rassek leaned forward and spoke in a dramatic whisper. "It's the question all great mountaineers have been askin’ fer hundreds of years. What if one of those mountain peaks is actually bein' the top of the tower? What if Enarium is actually hidin’ in plain sight?"