Darkblade Guardian Page 7

  And that is why he cannot be allowed to live. Up here in his mountaintop fortress, he has not seen the truth of humankind.

  Through the decades spent as the legendary assassin of Voramis, the Hunter had seen men and women indulge in every vice, debauchment, and depravity under the sun. Humans had done things that twisted his stomach and made him sick. Yet he had also encountered the other side of the coin, people who made him believe that humanity, despite its flaws, deserved saving.

  He half-expected the voice in his mind to protest. Yet no mocking insults or snarled demands echoed in his head. A weak throbbing far in the back of his mind was his only reply. Something about the temple suppressed the demon's presence, kept it locked away. A part of him dreaded his return to Kharan-cui, when he would once again depend on Hailen's presence to hold the insistent demands for death at bay.

  He pushed the worry aside. One problem at a time. He had the Sage believing he was slowly being won over. His plan to worm his way into the demon's confidences was succeeding better than expected.

  "I can respect your desire to work for the good of this world." He turned to the Sage and held out a hand. "'Tis a far nobler goal than lining your pockets with gold or seeking to rule men."

  "And I would have you join me, Bucelarii." The Sage clasped his forearm. "There is much we can do together, you and I."

  The Hunter held the demon's gaze, keeping all traces of his true feelings from his expression. "Of that, I have no doubt."

  Chapter Nine

  The Hunter's stomach chose that moment to growl.

  "Forgive my poor manners." The Sage chuckled. "I'd forgotten you humans need to eat more often." He snapped his fingers and an Elivasti stepped onto the gallery. "Bring us food and drink."

  The silent warrior bowed and re-entered the temple. Moments later, two servants rushed from within. One bore a platter heaped with food—roasted game hens, a brace of wildfowl, toasted seeds and grains, and an assortment of exotic fruits. The other carried a sweating silver pitcher and two cups of shimmering crystal. With a deep bow, she handed a goblet to the Sage.

  He took a sip and swished the wine in his mouth. "Ahh, the fruits of Nysl are ever a delight." He held the wine up to the window. "See the way the light plays through the wine, showing the clarity and color?"

  The Hunter sipped the vintage. During his years as the legendary assassin of Voramis, he'd adopted scores of disguises to hide his true identity as he mingled among the high and low-born of Voramis. One such disguise, a wealthy Praamian fop by the name of “Lord Anglion”, had attended wine samplings among the nobility of Praamis and Voramis. The arrogant lords loved to make loud pronouncements on the wine's "legs" and "body". He'd thought it all pompous absurdity. So long as the wine tasted more like fruit than vinegar, he would drink it.

  "It's good."

  "Good?" The Sage snorted. "My dear Hunter, this is a Flitan Rosado, the finest wine sold in Nysl—indeed, anywhere on Einan!" He swirled the wine in his glass. "The Nyslians do not allow a single bottle of Flitan to leave their city. I have procured this wine at great cost."

  The Hunter took another sip. "I prefer Voramian Snowblossom, if it's all the same."

  The Sage shook his head. "I suppose there's no accounting for taste." He ripped a leg from the wildfowl and picked at it with delicate bites.

  The Hunter followed suit with more gusto. He sipped the wine—no sense offending his host further—but dug into the meat, seeds, and grains like a man on a mission.

  The Sage smiled. "Eat your fill. I will have more brought if you'd like."

  The Hunter shook his head. "No need." He swallowed the mouthful of wildfowl and washed it down with the wine. "That will suffice." Though his stomach had ceased its growling, he could have emptied the tray. But he couldn't let a full belly slow him down. He had no idea what to expect next.

  "What say you to a walk?" The Sage emptied his goblet and replaced it on the tray. "I've found the humans' way of 'taking a constitutional' a truly pleasant habit."

  The Hunter shrugged. He'd planned to explore the temples anyway—this way, he didn't have to go through the laborious effort of ditching his minders.

  The Sage dropped his voice. "Perhaps we should visit your quarters to retrieve your weapons? Unless you believe Soulhunger will suffice."

  "You believe I will need my sword?" The Hunter's brow twitched.

  "In Kara-ket, you never know what lies around the next corner." An ominous look clouded the Sage's midnight eyes. "It is wise to be armed, even in the midst of allies."

  As he followed the demon from the gallery, the Hunter felt suddenly naked without his sword. The shadows of the temple corridors seemed oppressive.

  * * *

  The Hunter checked the sword on his belt one last time before stepping from his room. The familiar weight comforted him, but his eyes darted around for any hint of threat. Despite the Sage's calmness, the Hunter could sense his unease.

  Icy feet danced down his spine, and he reflexively reached for Soulhunger. The solid feel of the dagger's hilt did little to ease the foreboding that settled like a weight on his shoulders. The Sage never spoke as they descended the grand staircase. Though their Elivasti escort seemed at ease, the Hunter's tension increased with every step. What danger lurks in these halls that could instill fear in an Abiarazi?

  The staircase gave way to a landing, which ended in a set of double doors. Two white and black-clad guards flanked the doorway, arms crossed over their chests, iron-tipped staves leaning against the wall. Both bowed at the Sage's approach and, without a word, swung open the enormous doors.

  The moment the Hunter's foot passed the temple threshold, a scream slammed into his mind with physical force. The voice of his inner demon pierced his thoughts and tore at his consciousness, driving thousands of spikes into his brain. He fell to one knee, pounding at his head, fueling every shred of willpower into biting back a cry.

  “You thought you could hide from me?” White-hot rage flooded his thoughts. “You cannot escape me. I AM you!”

  No, you're not! He tried to push back, but the demon's scream shredded his mind.

  “I will not be silenced!”

  Acid surged in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut. You have been sated, Demon! His clenched fists trembled, his knuckles white. I killed for you—

  “Days ago! Give me more. I must have more!” The howling in his head rose to a terrible intensity, and a scream burst from his lips.

  "Hunter?" The Sage's voice came as if from across a vast distance. "What's wrong?"

  The Hunter struggled against the demanding presence. He forced himself to his feet, though it seemed molten lead permeated every muscle. "It…is…nothing…"

  "You expect me to believe that?"

  Wildfire raged through his brain, consuming all thought. "You…couldn’t…help!"

  "I've encountered many of you Bucelarii before." The Sage crossed his arms. "The voice drives you to kill and will not leave you in peace until you do."

  The Hunter nodded, though his head felt ready to explode from the building pressure.

  "Listen to me, Hunter." The Sage's calm, quiet tone cut through the pounding in his head. "To fight it, you must remember you are in control of your mind. Believe you have the power to silence it, and use that conviction to drive it back."

  The Hunter's jaw ached from clenching so tightly, but he tried to do as the Sage instructed. You are nothing. I am in control.

  "Slow, deep breaths." A slim hand gripped his shoulder. "As you exhale, push the voice from your mind."

  The demon's presence fought back, refusing to give ground. “There is only one way to silence me. Give me what I desire!”

  You do not command me!

  "Picture yourself building a wall in your mind, your will as the bricks. Use it to contain the thing within."

  “You will not drive me out!” his inner demon screamed. “You need me. Without me, you are nothing.”

  The Hunter's fingers dug fur
rows in the grass. It is you who needs me, not the other way around. He envisioned a wall, and built it higher with every ragged breath. The demon hurled its fury against the solid structure to no avail.

  One frenzied heartbeat at a time, he forced the presence back. If you want me to give you what you desire, Leave. Me. In. PEACE!

  With a final surge of willpower, he set the final brick in place. Something snapped. The burning torment in his mind retreated, and silence filled his head. He drew in a shuddering breath, his legs sagging.

  The voice had gone. For now. He'd won, but how long would the peace last? In the end, the demon always returned. Without Hailen's presence to keep it at bay, he had to give the voice what it wanted, and soon.

  "Better?" The Sage still gripped his shoulder.

  The Hunter nodded. "Th-Thank you."

  The Sage dismissed it with a wave. "You asked for proof you could trust me. I hope you are beginning to see how an alliance would benefit both of us."

  "I am." The Hunter forced a grin. "Clearly, there is a great deal I could learn from you."

  "More than you can possibly imagine."

  Arrogance, it seems, is another of the Sage's weaknesses.

  The Sage thrust his chin toward the rocky path that led away from the temple. "Walk with me, Hunter. I have something I believe a warrior such as you will find fascinating."

  The Hunter fell into step beside the Sage, his curiosity piqued.

  "There is a great deal about Kara-ket that you have yet to learn. I expect you will want to explore, and you may. In the company of my men, of course. At least for the time being." He gave the Hunter a meaningful look. "Though I'm certain you will soon discover that some places are better left alone."

  The Hunter raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

  "No doubt you are familiar with the Masters of Agony." The Hunter nodded. "This temple"—he pointed to the one from which they had just emerged—"belongs to me and my vassals. That temple"—his finger thrust toward the other towering spire—"is home to the Masters of Agony and their lord, the Warmaster."

  The Warmaster? Garanis had spoken the name in Malandria, as had Queen Asalah in Al Hani.

  "Tell me about him."

  The Sage's expression soured. "You will hear no kind words pass these lips. I believe it is best you meet him for yourself."

  The path cut through a manicured lawn—an impossibility at this altitude—toward a set of stairs carved into the mountainside. Pillars of steam rose from vents set into the ground, the cliff face, and the base of the temple.

  The Sage eyed him with a grin. "Wondrous, is it not?"

  "Indeed." The Hunter held out his arms. "We are surrounded by snow-capped peaks, yet the air is as warm as a Voramian spring."

  The Sage nodded. "A marvel of the Serenii. No magick, however, but ingenuity." His slim finger indicated a hole in the ground. "Those vents bring warm air from deep underground. The very stones of the temple let off heat that drives back the chill, and the high cliffs"—he gestured to sheer rock faces encircling the temples—"keep out the wind." He shook his head. "Every time I think how much was lost to us when the Serenii disappeared…"

  They ascended the stairs in silence. Within minutes, the Hunter's legs burned, and he gasped in the thin mountain air. The Sage seemed unaffected by the altitude, but thankfully he ignored the Hunter's struggle.

  As they climbed, a new sound reached the Hunter: shouts and cheers. It grew louder with every painful heartbeat. The stairs opened onto a high plateau that stretched dozens of paces in every direction.

  Hundreds of figures clad in scarlet robes formed a loose square around a clearing where two warriors fought. The clacking of their wooden practice swords echoed off the cliffs around them. One—clad in the simple white and black robes of the Sage's men—gave way before his opponent, the largest man the Hunter had ever seen.

  The giant—he stood at least a head taller than the Hunter—wore nothing but a pair of breeches and heavy boots. Sweat glistened on his bald head and dripped from his heavy, protruding brow. His sword looked like a dagger in his enormous hands. "Is that the best you can do?" His booming voice rang over the tumult.

  The Sage inclined his head toward the figure. "Behold, the Warmaster."

  The Hunter went rigid. Bloody, twisted hell! He couldn't take his eyes from the enormous man. Though the crisp air stung the Hunter's nostrils, there was no mistaking the foul odor of rot and decay. Dread twisted a knife in the Hunter's gut. Watcher's teeth! He'd come to Kara-ket to eliminate the Sage. The discovery that the Sage was Abiarazi complicated his plans, but could he kill two demons? This is going to make things damned hard!

  Despite his hulking size, the Warmaster moved with fluid grace. His massive shoulders bunched as he battered at his opponent's sword, sending the warrior staggering. Before his opponent could recover, he cut the man's legs out from under him and smacked the wooden tip into the side of the white and black-clad warrior's neck.

  "Yield, Daemos." His lips pulled back into a snarl, revealing teeth that shone white against the bristling black beard flowing down his hairy barrel chest and musclebound torso.

  The fallen man gasped, "I yield, Warmaster!"

  With a nod, the giant lowered his sword and extended a massive hand to help Daemos stand. He turned to the crowd. "Where was Daemos' first mistake?"

  "Facing you, I believe." An acerbic smile played at the corner of the Sage's lips.

  The Warmaster whirled. "Who dares?" His eyes fell on the Sage, and a scowl deepened his face. "What do you want?"

  The Sage held up his hands. "I have come to observe. I may not be a warrior, yet I am still capable of recognizing a master artisan."

  "So be it." The Warmaster's grimace mutated into a forced smile. "And what have we here? Is this the intruder your men captured yesterday?"

  "Captured?" The Hunter crossed his arms. "I came for an audience with the Sage. These men were kind enough to escort me to my destination."

  The Warmaster snorted. "Bold words from one so small." He cracked his knuckles and turned to the Sage. "Keep your pet on a leash before his barking lands him in trouble."

  The Hunter stiffened. "I am no man's pet. I am the Hunter of Voramis."

  The hulking man narrowed his eyes. "Is that name supposed to mean something, little man?" The last words vibrated with menace. The thick bands of muscle on his forearms rippled as his fists clenched.

  "It should." The Hunter met his gaze with no hesitation. "They were the last words to pass the lips of the First of the Bloody Hand."

  The huge man's face darkened, and he turned to the Sage. "What? Is he the one who—?"

  "Indeed." The Sage inclined his head.

  "And I am Bucelarii." Out of the corner of his eye, the Hunter caught the Sage's wince. No doubt the demon had expected to keep that to himself.

  The Warmaster's eyes widened. "Impossible!" He drew in a deep breath, sniffing the air. "It can't be."

  "And yet it is." He locked gazes with the giant, glaring defiance.

  "Excuse the interruption, Warmaster." The Sage gave a magnanimous wave. "Carry on."

  "Thank you for your permission," the Warmaster growled, voice heavy with sarcasm. He turned his back on the Sage and addressed his men. "As I was saying, who wants to tell me where Daemos made his mistake?"

  A voice rose from the crowd. "Facing you head-on, Warmaster!"

  The huge warrior nodded. "Continue, Erianus."

  Erianus, a rangy man with short-cropped hair and a scar across his forehead, stepped out of the small cluster of black and white-robed men in the sea of scarlet. "When facing an opponent of superior size and strength, one must avoid direct confrontation."

  "Very good." The Warmaster beckoned. "Let us see if you can learn from Daemos' failures."

  Erianus retrieved the wooden sword from Daemos and strode into the ring. Though he barely reached the Warmaster's shoulder, he showed no sign of fear. With a salute of the practice blade, he attacked. Erianus moved wi
th skill and speed far superior to Daemos', yet within the space of a minute, he found himself on the ground, the Warmaster's sword at his throat.

  "Next!" the huge demon roared.

  The crowd of black and white-robed Elivasti shifted, and another challenger stepped forward. This one, a pudgy, pale-faced redhead, lumbered toward the Warmaster, then lunged with a quick-step attack that pushed the giant back. He almost slipped through the Warmaster's guard, but the demon held him off. The sound of his wheezing soon filled the clearing. As he tired, his movements grew labored and lethargic. The Warmaster's wooden sword cracked him on the head.

  The Hunter turned to the Sage. "Where you have the brains, he clearly possesses the brawn."

  The Sage nodded and spoke in a low voice. "Once, long ago, the Warmaster served as general in the legion of the Abiarazi. Even among our kind, he was one to be feared. For his ruthlessness, if nothing else."

  The Hunter didn't miss the poorly-concealed derision in the Sage's voice. "All brawn, then?"

  The Sage gave the Hunter a smug grin.

  "Bucelarii!" The Warmaster's voice thundered toward him. "What say we show these men the true skill of a warrior?"

  Exactly what I didn't want to happen. The Hunter had no desire to face the giant, nor any need to obey the Warmaster's command.

  "Another time, perhaps."

  "Afraid, are you?" The giant roared with laughter, echoed by the warriors.

  The Sage's expression had tightened, his face pinched.

  The Hunter cursed inwardly. The Abiarazi valued strength and ruthlessness above all else, and he'd already shown a hint of weakness when his inner voice nearly overwhelmed him. He couldn't run from the confrontation if he wanted to gain the Sage's trust. He had no choice but to oblige.