Darkblade Slayer Read online

  The Court of Judgement was a marvel in itself. Instead of a paved stone plaza like in Voramis, Vothmot’s temple square was covered in pristine white marble to match the Master’s Temple. A never-ending parade of grey-robed Beggar Priests moved through the square at a steady pace, wiping away the dusty prints left by the boots and sandals of those flowing in and out of the temples. They attended the cleanliness of the square with devotion bordering on fanatic, as if this was how they best served the Beggar God.

  By comparison with the Master’s Temple, the rest of the gods’ houses were paltry things. The statues guarding the entrance to the Temple of Derelana seemed worn by age and weather, and the voices of the Choir of Purity in the Maiden’s temple sounded oddly discordant. The Illusionist Clerics cavorting in their wild, mad dance before the Temple of Prosperity wore robes more ragged and threadbare than usual. The beggars and lepers sitting on the broad stone steps before The Sanctuary, temple to the Bright Lady made the temple’s plain brick exterior seem crude by comparison.

  The Hunter lounged on the lip of a fountain bubbling merrily in the heart of the Court of Judgement, nibbling on the herb-and-salt-crusted flatbread and soft white cheese he’d purchased. He had to admit the Vothmot cooks were bloody good. He hadn't eaten anything this tasty in weeks.

  For the last hour, he’d had watched people flow in and out of the Master's Temple. Most wore the rich green-and-silver velvet robes that marked them as Lecterns, servants of Kiro. However, a steady stream of pilgrims in humble, rough spun garments entered through a postern gate. Evidently, people flocked from all around Einan to witness the beauty of the temple’s stained glass window and pay homage to the Father of the gods.

  No guards stood outside the Master's Temple, but the Wardens of the Peak patrolled the square in force. Though their mirrored metal plate armor and curved swords were intended to dissuade criminals, their presence made it difficult for the Hunter to get in and out unseen.

  His plan was simple and straightforward: he'd sneak into the Master's Temple and find the Vault of Stars. If necessary, he'd convince a High Lectern to give him access. The plan had worked well enough in Malandria. This time, he wasn't injured or hallucinating, so he should have no problem pulling it off. Given the size of the temple and the scribe's comment on the vast amount of storage space needed for the books, the Hunter expected the Vault of Stars would be built beneath the ground level.

  “Talk about easy, eh?” The voice of his inner demon had a mocking edge. “Just get in and find the Vault, simple as that?”

  The Hunter shrugged. Pretty much. Unless you have another suggestion that doesn't involve walking in the front door and killing everyone until they tell me what I want to know.

  “Always have to do things the hard way,” the demon sneered. “So much power, yet you refuse to wield it.”

  I've seen what happens when people try to control that power. It twists them, turns them into monsters.

  “And are your precious humans any better? Give them even a modicum of control over others, and what do they do with it? Do they seek to make life better? No, they do everything they can to not only maintain that control, but to extend their dominance. They are no better, no matter what you tell yourself.”

  Perhaps you are right. The Hunter leaned back in his chair. He had seen the terrible things men and women did to each other in the name of greed, power, and lust. Murder, theft, blackmail, treason—these were the tools humans used to achieve their goals at the expense of others. Yet there is one thing you're forgetting, the one thing that separates the humans from Abiarazi.

  “And what is that?” the demon's voice demanded.

  Humans seek to rule the world, but the Abiarazi seek to destroy it. The demons would unleash destruction across all of Einan in the name of Kharna. They would wipe out everything I hold dear, as they have so many times in the past. And that is why I will not let them succeed.

  “How noble and heroic!” the voice mocked.

  The Hunter clenched his fists. I never claimed to be anything other than what I am. But I will not see my world turned to ash by the Great Destroyer.

  Chapter Six

  For another hour, the Hunter remained seated on the fountain, eating more of that marvelous flatbread and cheese and sampling the wines of Vothmot, his eyes fixed on the temple and the guards patrolling the square. The Wardens passed once every ten minutes, but he had no doubt they'd increase the frequency of their patrol once night fell. A glance at the sky told him he had at least an hour or two until sunset. The Court of Judgement around him seemed to be quieting down as the final pilgrims trickled out of the square for the evening. With a grunt, he downed the last of the cheese and climbed to his feet.

  He wouldn't go back to Divinity House until tomorrow. It would be a waste of time to cross the city again, and he had no reason to check up on Hailen. The boy would be as safe in Madame Aioni's care as in his. Given everything that had happened in the last weeks, perhaps more.

  Time to explore the back streets around the temples and see if they offer a better way in. The Court of Judgement matched the grandeur of the temple facades, but the alleys running behind and beside the temples always concealed secret entrances. Even if he couldn't find a door to go through, he ought to be able to find a way to get up onto the roof of the Master's Temple. Upper-floor windows tended to be left unguarded, especially in temples. No one would be foolish enough to break into a temple and risk the wrath of the gods. He, however, had no reason to fear the gods.

  If they were going to strike me down, they would have done so long ago.

  They nearly had, thousands of years before. He and the rest of the Bucelarii, the half-human offspring of the Abiarazi, had been rounded up and herded to Khar'nath, the flaming pit into the fiery hell. Only the Beggar God's pleading had convinced the rest of the gods to spare their lives. In all his years on Einan, the gods hadn't once interfered in his business. He doubted they'd start now.

  Yet, despite his skepticism, he couldn't quite deny the presence of the gods. He'd wanted to write them off as nothing more than human imagination—after all, he'd told Father Reverentus long ago in Voramis, mankind created the gods to bear the blame for everything that went wrong in their lives. But the things he'd seen—the Ritual of Cleansing in the House of Need, the portal into the fiery hell in the Serenii tunnels beneath Voramis, and the power of the Dolmenrath in the Advanat Desert and again beneath Kara-ket—he couldn't deny the possibility that the gods existed.

  That thought unsettled him to no end as he strode through the square. If the gods existed, it meant that the priests' claims of "divine plans" and "destiny" could hold merit. He had no desire to be the pawn in anyone's game, not man, demon, or god.

  Someone bumped into him, a youth little more than a boy. He mumbled a hurried apology before hustling off into the crowd.

  The Hunter watched him go with a raised eyebrow. Interesting. He'd hardly felt the boy's hand reach into the inner pocket of his cloak and pluck out his purse. He's good.

  The Hunter had never mastered the thieves' skills of lifting purses or picking locks, but he'd spent enough time in Lower Voramis to have encountered more than his share of light-fingered criminals. Most were young boys, though a few young girls made thieving their trade of choice as well. Smaller, quick-fingered children made the most effective, and most innocuous, pickpockets.

  Nearly twenty years earlier, on a journey to the city of Praamis to establish the Lord Anglion persona, he'd seen a young girl snatch a purse from a merchant's belt with breathtaking dexterity. The paunchy man had no idea he'd been robbed until he went to pay for his wife's expensive bolt of silks. The Night Guild employed some truly skilled thieves.

  This youth could have been the best of them. He didn't look back once as he slithered through the crowd, moving away from him at a pace that appeared unhurried but covered ground quickly. He made toward a small side alley that no doubt served as his escape route.

  Unfortunately for the
boy, he'd picked the wrong pocket.

  The Hunter had caught the youth’s scent: sandal leather, cloves, and the strange spice the people of Vothmot called yenibahar. The smell would lead him through the thick press of people, but the Hunter had his target within his line of sight. He skirted the crowd at a rapid stride and tracked the boy's movements from the corner of his eyes. He ducked down an adjacent alley and ran the twenty paces to a small intersection, then cut to the left. Leaning against the wall, he drew a long, sharp dagger and waited.

  The youth appeared less than a minute later. He was so busy digging through the contents of his stolen purse that he didn't notice the Hunter waiting in the shadows. He let out a terrified yelp as the Hunter snagged his collar, slammed him into the wall, and pressed the edge of the dagger to his throat.

  "Not bad," the Hunter growled. "You're quick, but you chose your target poorly."

  The boy fixed the Hunter with a wide-eyed stare, but no fear mingled with his shock. "Hey now!" he protested. "What's the meanin’ of this? I’m just here mindin’ my own business—"

  "And counting my imperials." The Hunter snatched the purse from his hands and hefted it. "I ought to turn you over to the Wardens. Is the penalty for theft the same here as it is in the south?"

  The youth’s face—a face with a small nose, slim cheeks, and close-set eyes, with a layer of grime to cover it all—hardened but he said nothing.

  “Or maybe I can just take your hands myself.” The Hunter lowered the dagger and pressed it against the boy’s wrist. “Right or left, your call.”

  A hint of fear flashed in the youth’s eyes, but he didn’t cry out or cringe. A tough one, the Hunter thought. But life on the streets has a way of hardening anyone.

  The Hunter fixed him with a long, hard glare. "But maybe today's your lucky day."

  "Is it now?" The thief’s words held a derisive tone which failed to completely conceal his unease.

  "Yes." The Hunter nodded and lowered his dagger, though he didn't release the young man’s collar. "You know your way around these parts, yes?"

  "Course," the boy said with a shrug. "But everyone in Vothmot knows the Court of Judgement well enough."

  "I don't need everyone. I just need one clever someone who can show me an easy way into one of the temples."

  The thief’s eyebrows rose. "What would you be wantin' with the temples, eh?"

  The Hunter tapped the youth’s nose with the tip of his dagger. "How badly do you want to know?"

  "Fair point," the youth replied. His eyes darted between the blade and the Hunter's face. "Any temple in particular, or any one'll do?"

  The Hunter hesitated. He had little worry of being reported to the Wardens, but he was taking a risk that the thief would warn the priests.

  “You have no need of him,” the demon screeched in his mind. “Kill him and be done with this nonsense.”

  The Hunter gritted his teeth against the pounding presence. "I need to get into the Master's Temple."

  The words elicited an oddly forceful reaction. "You goin’ to kill one of 'em?" the young man whispered, and a hard glint shone in his eyes.

  The question caught the Hunter off-guard. "What makes you ask that?"

  "Well, look at you." The youth gestured to his clothing. "You look like every assassin I've known."

  The Hunter's brow furrowed.

  "Hey, I ain't got no problem with it," the youth told him, raising his hands in a defensive gesture. "If you are goin’ to do one of those nonces in, I'll gladly help you." A darkness, strange in one so young, flashed in his eyes. Life on the streets had hardened him beyond his years. "Just tell me where you want to go, and I'll show you the best way in."

  The Hunter raised an eyebrow. "You've been inside the Master's Temple?"

  The thief’s expression turned as hard as the stone wall at his back. "No, of course not." His tone had grown suddenly guarded. "Just know a few of the Lecterns, is all. They told me enough to know what's what."

  The Hunter didn't press. The young man’s business was his own. "So, if I was looking for a specific book, one I couldn't find in the Royal Library, you could tell me where to go?"

  "You betcha." The boy gave a confident nod. "I'll give you what you want. For the right price, of course."

  "Your hands aren't price enough?" The Hunter hid a smile. He had to admire the boy's pluck. "I could turn you over to the guards—"

  "And I could tell 'em you're thinkin’ of payin’ a little visit to the Lecterns." The youth’s face broke into a guileless grin. "Seems like we've both got somethin’ we'd rather the Wardens not find out, eh?"

  The Hunter inclined his head. "Fair enough. Name your price." He released his grip on the young man’s collar. Now that there was the prospect of money changing hands, there was no risk of the thief fleeing.

  The youth straightened his clothes and pretended to think for a moment. "A pair of golden ladies ought to cover it." He held up two fingers.

  "Two imperials?" The Hunter shook his head. "There’s no way the information you've got is worth more than a silver half-drake."

  The young man’s eyes narrowed. "Make it one imperial, and I'll show you a way only the Lecterns know."

  The Hunter fixed the youth with a hard gaze. "One golden piece, eh?" He pursed his lips in a pretense of contemplation as he produced the coin and rolled it between his knuckles.

  "And," the thief added hastily, "I'll even tell you how to find the entrance to the Vault of Stars." His eyes followed the coin with an almost desperate hunger.

  The mention of the vault set the Hunter on full alert. Had the young man followed him from the Royal Library and overheard his conversation with the scribe? If so, he knew too much.

  “Yes,” the demon insisted, “he's a liability.”

  "I see that got your interest," the youth said with a grin.

  "What makes you think this vault matters to me?" the Hunter asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

  "You said 'book', and that it can't be found in the Royal Library. The sort of person who's goin’ to break into the Master's Temple for a book is goin’ to be after somethin’ valuable." The thief grinned. "If you were just goin’ after a child's book of legends, you wouldn't bother."

  Clever and observant. The Hunter's admiration for the young man increased a fraction.

  “Too observant.” The demon's fury filled his mind. “Slit his throat before he becomes a problem.”

  "How do you know where to find the Vault of Stars?" the Hunter asked. "If, as you say, you've never been in the temple before, it seems an odd detail for you to have just picked up on the street."

  The thief’s face fell as the Hunter made the coin disappear into his hand. "Like I said, I know a few Lecterns. Some of them happen to get a bit loose-lipped when plied with the right liquor."

  In Voramis, priests of the Master enjoyed a far more liberal lifestyle than many of the other religious orders. They ate, drank, and whored like any Voramian with coin to spare, and often indulged in depravities that would make even a hardened man cringe. Indeed, some of their excesses—such as their appetites for young boys—filled him with revulsion.

  If the priests were the same here, the youth’s explanation could be plausible.

  "So, one golden imperial gets me into the Vault of Stars." The Hunter made the coin appear, then produced a twin. "And two keeps your mouth shut."

  "Tight as a camel’s arse in a sandstorm," the thief said with a broad grin.

  "Good." The Hunter nodded at the dagger at his hip. "Smart man like you knows what'll happen if you try to pull anything on me, right?"

  The young man’s eyes darted to the blade. "Somethin’ awful gruesome and painful, no doubt. Maybe along the lines of slittin’ open my guts and cuttin’ off my prick?" He gave the Hunter a wry grin. "Sound about right? It wouldn't be my first time threatened, you know."

  The Hunter shrugged. "That ought to do it." Try as he might, he couldn't help liking the youth. "Though I could get particula
rly creative if pushed. Leave little pieces of you strewn around Vothmot, or drain the blood from your body and skin you alive."

  The youth tried to look stoic, but his coloring turned a shade paler as he swallowed. "That won't be necessary." He held out a hand for the coins. "Everyone'll tell you Evren's a man of his word. Once we strike the deal, you'll get your gold's worth."

  The Hunter placed an imperial in the boy's hand. "You'll get the other once we're done." He tucked the coin into an inner pocket. He'd keep a sharp eye on the boy just in case he tried to lift his purse again. He seemed just brazen enough to try something like that.

  "Fair enough." Evren made the coin disappear with impressive speed.

  "Now," the Hunter said, "show me this secret way into the Master's Temple."

  Chapter Seven

  The Hunter stared at the stone wall with a raised eyebrow. "This is your secret way in?"

  "Yup," Evren said, grinning.

  The Hunter rapped on the stone and found it as solid as it looked. No sign of a hidden passage or a concealed opening anywhere. He turned to the young thief. "You remember what I said would happen if you yanked me around, right?"

  Evren's grin widened as he pointed up. "You gotta climb."

  The wall stood ten paces high, and though the texture was rough, the Hunter saw no foot or handholds. Even his powerful fingers couldn't chip through stone and mortar.

  "Show me," he told the boy.

  "Nuh uh," Evren said with a shake of his head. "I ain't climbin’ that."