The Last Bucelarii Book 2: Lament of the Fallen Read online

  "It is nothing, sir knight. Anyone would have done the same."

  Sir Danna shook her head. "You do yourself a disservice. Many would have remained hidden and opted to save their own hides, rather than aid beleaguered travelers."

  The Hunter said nothing. He did not know how to respond to the praise.

  "I would offer you the protection of our company, but clearly you do not need our help to defend yourself." Her eyes flicked to the sword hanging at the Hunter's belt. "Would you consider sharing the road with us? I know how lonesome travels can be with no one to speak to, and I would welcome another member to our party."

  The Hunter opened his mouth to reply, but hesitated. Having only a horse for company had grown tiresome, but he couldn't shake the wary feeling within him.

  We have just met, and she offers to travel with me?

  He read no guile in the knight's frank, open expression. Yet it seemed odd that anyone could be so open and trusting.

  Do I dare travel with them?

  Every instinct told him to continue alone. The risk of discovery increased with every league. Could he take the chance? Why would he want to?

  The demon snarled at him to put a knife in the pair and be done with them. He shook off the voice, but couldn't overcome his hesitation.

  Why would I want to travel with them? What could they possibly offer me?

  Companionship. Escape from his lonely solitude. He had been alone with his maudlin thoughts for far too long. Even this brief exchange had left him dreading the thought of traveling alone.

  Sir Danna looked at him expectantly.

  "Of course, sir knight. I would be honored to journey with you and your companion."

  Sir Danna beamed and clapped him on the back. "Excellent! Now, let us fetch our horses, and we will be off. We must cover a few leagues before the sun sets."

  The ache in the Hunter's head intensified. His inner demon screamed at him, protesting the folly of his decision.

  Easy. I can always ride away if things get out of hand. What hope have they of stopping me?

  The demon quieted, but the Hunter sensed its displeasure.

  If I must, I will not hesitate to kill them. Satisfied?

  Smug contentment filled his mind.

  Sir Danna had turned to mount up, but Visibos stared at the Hunter with naked suspicion.

  The Hunter returned the apprentice's gaze without wavering. Sir Danna may trust easily, but this Visibos seems a different sort.

  The apprentice studied him, hesitation written in his expression. He opened his mouth to speak.

  "Will you be coming any time soon, Visibos? Or will you continue glaring at Hardwell the rest of the day?"

  The apprentice dropped the Hunter's gaze, and, with a mumbled apology to the knight, pulled himself into his saddle. He swayed in his seat, pain creasing his face.

  The Hunter did not envy the man—the afternoon's ride would not do his head any favors. He climbed into his own saddle.

  Sir Danna squinted up at the sun. "We have a few hours of daylight left. Let us make haste to cover as much distance as we can."

  The Hunter kicked his horse into step behind the knight's enormous warhorse. Visibos took up the rear. The small of the Hunter's back tickled. He sensed the apprentice's wary eyes boring into him.

  'You do not need them,' the voice insisted. 'You cannot trust them! Ride away now while you still can!'

  The Hunter ignored it. Anything was better than traveling alone.

  Besides, what threat could these two possibly pose? He had watched them fight. They were good, but he was far better. No, the knight and her apprentice were no danger.

  I will not let my guard slip, he told himself. I will play the part of Hardwell, and they will never know the truth.

  He could leave any time he chose. He could kill them any time he chose.

  Chapter Six

  The Hunter was only too glad when Sir Danna slowed the pace to a comfortable walk. He tried not to wince at the agony in his thighs. Visibos groaned behind him, and the Hunter stifled a smile.

  The knight motioned for the Hunter to ride beside her, and he spurred his horse to fall into step with hers.

  "So, Hardwell of Praamis, where does the road lead for you?"

  The Hunter shrugged. "Truth be told, I do not know. The south offered me little in the way of employment. I ride north to seek my fortunes." He had prepared vague answers in anticipation of the knight's questions.

  "I find it odd that a sword-for-hire travels without a destination in mind," Visibos said from behind, his tone skeptical.

  "You must forgive my Knight Apprentice," Sir Danna said. "He is ever hesitant to trust."

  "No matter. My recent history has been somewhat…difficult, so I welcome the time to travel. The open road offers time for healing—both of body and mind."

  "I understand." Genuine sympathy filled Sir Danna's eyes. "Sometimes, one just needs to be alone."

  "Aye, but it is also good to have company to distract from one's thoughts."

  "Indeed." Silence fell between them again, stretching out for long minutes.

  The Hunter's nostrils filled with the knight's scent: steel, sweat, leather, and wisteria. An odd combination, just like the woman herself.

  A warrior at heart, yet with traces of woman beneath the armor.

  Visibos, on the other hand, smelled of dried herbs, parchment, and ink, with only a hint of sweat.

  Definitely more a scholar than a warrior.

  "Tell me about yourself, Hardwell," Sir Danna asked. "I would know more of your past."

  "There is not much to tell, sir knight." The Hunter feigned hesitance. 'Hardwell' was a cautious man.

  Sir Danna gave him an encouraging smile, motioning for him to continue.

  "I was born in Praamis." The Hunter spoke in a slow, measured voice. "My father served in the Praamian Guard, and he taught me to wield a sword in the hopes that I would follow in his footsteps."

  "And did you?" The knight leaned forward.

  The Hunter smiled inwardly. Even without his alchemical masks, he played his disguise well.

  "When I came of age, I served in the Praamian Guard for the mandatory six years."

  "A noble profession."

  "Aye, so I thought." He shook his head as if saddened by a memory from his past. "But some of the things we were forced to do in the name of the Principate…"

  He let a moment of silence elapse, accompanying it with a theatrical shudder. When he continued, he spoke in a quiet voice.

  "After being released from service, I knew I had to leave. Over the last few years, I have spent much of my time traveling between Praamis and cities along the coast of the Frozen Sea."

  "I have heard wondrous things about the Frozen Sea." Sir Danna's eyes sparkled with delight. "Tell me, is the water covered with ice, as they say?"

  "Aye, and the weather is cold enough to freeze your cullions…er…" He trailed off, pretending reluctance to curse in front of a lady.

  Sir Danna snorted and broke into a laugh. "No need to moderate your language on my account, Hardwell. I may be a woman, yet I am also a knight, accustomed to being around men with very colorful vocabularies."

  "As you say, sir knight." The Hunter returned her smile, this time with genuine warmth.

  He found himself relaxing around Sir Danna. Her welcoming, open manner put him at ease. He felt he could speak to her without guarding his words.

  The demon screamed in his mind. 'That is when you must be most cautious. Kill them or ride away before you are discovered.'

  The Hunter warred with indecision. He had no desire to be alone on the road again, but he couldn't risk anyone finding out the truth.

  I will be cautious, he determined. I will only tell them what I must.

  'You are a fool! They will see. They will know!'

  Not if I don't let them. Not if I keep who I am hidden away. They will only see the character I play.

  A pounding ache settled behind his
eyes. He clenched his jaw. He would not yield; he was in control of his actions, not the demon.

  Sir Danna's voice cut into his thoughts. "You say your life has been difficult in the last few years. If you don't mind my asking, did you lose someone close to you?"

  A torrent of guilt washed over the Hunter, the remembered pain of his loss taking him by surprise. He couldn't speak for the lump in his throat.

  Sir Danna waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "Never mind. If you would not speak of your past, tell me of your plans for the future."

  "Plans?" The Hunter shook his head. "I have none. I think I will simply travel until the road takes me to a place where my skills are needed, and where I can find someone willing to pay."

  Silently, he cursed himself for failing to control his emotions. Too much truth had filtered into his lies.

  Sir Danna studied him. "Perhaps you will end up in Malandria."

  "If that is where the road leads." He shrugged, and lapsed into silence. He could feel Visibos's gaze boring into his back.

  "Sir Danna," the apprentice called. "Perhaps it is time for us to consider finding a place to camp."

  The sun had dipped toward the tops of the tallest trees. Dusk was not far off.

  "You are right, Visibos. Let us turn off the road here. Mayhaps we will find a good spot nearby."

  Sir Danna turned her massive warhorse from the road, leading them toward a barely visible trail that cut through the brush bordering the main road. The Hunter had to duck and twist out of the path of low-hanging branches, but after a few minutes of riding, they came upon a small glade. Surrounded by a thick copse of trees, the clearing, while small, would serve as a place to camp for the night.

  "Perfect!" Sir Danna smiled. "Well done, Visibos."

  The apprentice grinned. The grin turned to a scowl when he noticed the Hunter's gaze.

  With an imperceptible shake of his head, the Hunter swung down from his horse. He stifled a groan. His legs ached from the day of riding, an oddly alien pain after the numbness of his first days out of Voramis. The presence of people had pushed back the languor, leaving him to experience every ache and twinge.

  "Not used to riding, eh?"

  The Hunter pretended not to notice Visibos's mocking tone. "Don't spend too much time on a horse's back in the city guard. Still haven't gotten used to riding. My own two legs serve me better."

  Visibos swung down from his own horse with a smirk, but the Hunter caught the apprentice's slight wince.

  Definitely a scholar.

  Visibos' fingers were long and slim, better suited to holding a pen than heavy weapons. His hands had none of the roughness of Sir Danna's, though he held his reins in a firm grip.

  Sir Danna was the polar opposite of her apprentice. She walked with grace and confidence, carrying herself erect. Visibos shuffled along the ground, his shoulders hunched.

  While the knight's armor looked to have been crafted specifically for her, Visibos's gear was almost too small for his long, lanky frame. Patchy stubble grew across his pointed chin and angled cheekbones, and a few stray hairs sprouted from his hawkish nose. Dark eyes stared out from beneath thin eyebrows, and the man's gaze scurried everywhere, taking in every tiny detail.

  An odd pair, indeed. I wonder what brings them together.

  Why would Sir Danna choose an apprentice like Visibos? She looked better-suited to a knight-in-training with a sturdier build, rather than the bookish man with whom she rode.

  The Hunter rubbed down his own horse, watching the pair work. The two seemed comfortable together. They had clearly established a routine. Sir Danna cared for the horses, while Visibos disappeared into the trees. By the time the knight had removed their gear, the apprentice returned with an armload of branches. Visibos started a fire in minutes, and Sir Danna produced a cooking pot.

  The apprentice helped to remove Sir Danna's plate and chain mail, his slim fingers adept at working the myriad cinches and ties. Visibos placed the armor in a neat pile, and within a quarter of an hour, Sir Danna stood in just her tunic. She turned her attention to the fire as Visibos shrugged out of his half-plate and chain mail.

  For the first time, the Hunter got a good look at Sir Danna. He couldn't help studying her, but it was more than the attention he paid to a potential foe. He had never seen a woman—or a warrior—like her before. Something about the knight intrigued him.

  Her movements looked almost erratic, as if ill-at-ease without the weight of her armor. The top of her head failed to reach the Hunter's chin, yet the breadth of her sloped shoulders nearly matched his own. The arming doublet revealed the thick, blocky form of a warrior.

  There was nothing curvaceous or soft about her. Thick muscle banded her arms, and the heavy fabric of her breeches did little to hide the girth of her legs. She had strong hands with thick, stubby fingers covered in a multitude of scars.

  All that training in the heavy armor has not done her figure any favors, but there is no doubt that it has made her a worthy fighter.

  An encounter with the Warrior Priests of Derelana had left the Hunter with immense respect for those who dedicated their lives to mastering the art of war. Two decades of hard work went into training Warrior Priests in preparation for service.

  "Allow me to offer some supplies." The Hunter produced a package of dried meat from his bags.

  Sir Danna smiled and accepted it. "Much appreciated, Hardwell. With your contribution, I believe we have everything we need to make a glorious feast."

  Their 'glorious feast' consisted of trail biscuits and a hearty road stew, made with the Hunter's salted pork, dried root vegetables Visibos produced from one of his satchels, and a few herbs Sir Danna discovered growing around the clearing. Though simple, the meal tasted better than anything the Hunter had eaten in the last week. He wolfed it down without waiting for the stew to cool.

  Two bowls and a burnt tongue later, the Hunter's stomach ceased growling. He leaned against a tree, relishing the heat spreading through his body. Slowly, the tension slipped from his muscles.

  "My thanks for the delicious meal, Visibos." The Hunter attempted a friendly tone. If he was to travel with the knight and her apprentice, he had to find a way to allay the man's suspicions.

  Visibos gave the Hunter a smile that appeared genuine.

  It seems a good way to befriend the apprentice is to compliment his cooking. Good to know.

  "If you don't mind, Hardwell," Sir Danna said, "I'll take first watch. Visibos will take second, and you can have the wee hours of the morning." She stood and stretched, shaking her arms to loosen muscles stiff after hours of riding.

  "Of course, Sir Danna. Are you certain you don't want me to take first watch?"

  Sir Danna shook her head. "No, I love the late hours of the night. They allow me to commune with the gods more clearly."

  The Hunter shrugged. "As you wish."

  He helped Visibos collect and wash the crockery in a nearby stream, earning a nod of thanks from the apprentice. Choosing a spot near the fire, the Hunter spread his blankets on the ground.

  Sir Danna sat before the fire, arms wrapped around her knees. Her lips moved, her whispers too quiet to hear.

  Talking to her gods, no doubt.

  Visibos's dark eyes glittered in the firelight, watching him. He quickly turned away when the Hunter met his gaze.

  I must find a way to ease the man's suspicions. But how?

  He pushed the concern aside. He would worry about that tomorrow. For now, he needed sleep.

  He filled his lungs with the fresh night air. The taste of smoke mixed with the earthy scent of loam. The warmth of the fire soothed and relaxed him, the hypnotic rhythm of the dancing flames calming his mind. The fatigue of the day washed over him, and he allowed his eyelids to droop.

  The visions came then; memories leapt out at him.

  Within the bright depths of the flames, he saw the hell he had glimpsed in the Serenii tunnels. Lord Jahel's face appeared in the fire, laughing, mocking. Bo
ne and skin morphed into the faces of Lord Cyrannius and the First of the Bloody Hand. Shuddering waves of flesh and gristle writhed, shifting, transforming.

  Demons roam Einan once more. People treat them as myth and legend, but I know the truth.

  The Hunter retreated deeper into his blankets, his sword clutched to his chest. He told himself it was out of habit rather than fear.

  He had left Voramis behind, not only to find the truth of the woman whose face plagued him, but to discover the truth of the demons. Curiosity drove him to learn of his past, and his own heritage as a Bucelarii—descendant of the Abiarazi horde.

  The demon added its voice to the swirling maelstrom in the Hunter's mind. 'He disowns his blood, all to play the hero, the protector.'

  The Hunter was too tired to fight it off.

  I'm no hero. If it was up to me, they'd all rot.

  He had no desire to save the world. He had no reason to save humans from themselves.

  A vision of horror flashed through his mind. Creatures of nightmares seized a screaming child, tearing at pale skin with razor-tipped claws. Blood splashed across chitinous armor as the demons ripped the child apart in their haste to devour the flesh.

  The girl bore Farida's face. She lay bloody, mangled, discarded like refuse, gasping her last agonizing breaths.

  Oh, child. I am so sorry.

  He wished he could scrub the memory from his mind forever. With it gone, the sorrow would leave. He needed no reminder that he was once again alone.

  He turned his back on the fire and buried his face in his cloak.

  He could turn his back on those who had feared and hated him, yet he had not the strength to hide his face from the suffering of innocents. People like Old Nan, Ellinor, Little Arlo. They would suffer most should the Abiarazi find their way into the world once more.

  The demon whispered in his mind. 'Why must you protect them? You are not one of them, after all. You are Bucelarii.'

  They do not deserve such suffering.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and pushed back against the demon's voice.

  I'm doing this for them.