"The blade," Reverentus said, his words slow, pain written on his face, "as with all demon-forged weapons, hungers for blood. It ever seeks to quench its thirst with the souls of its victims." The old priest turned blazing eyes to the Hunter. "In the tongue of demons, it is named Thanal Eth' Athaur. Loosely translated, the name means 'Gateway to Undying Decay'. These weapons fueled Kharna with power in his fight against the gods."
"That sounds a bit far-fetched, Priest," the Hunter said. "It's just a weapon, after all."
"Is it?" Father Reverentus asked, his gaze piercing. "You've heard its voice in your mind, haven't you? Whispering for blood…" His voice trailed off, and his eyes glazed. Long moments passed with the priest lost in his thoughts.
"How did you know?" the Hunter asked. His words seemed to snap the cleric back to reality.
"That you can hear its voice in your mind?" Reverentus asked, and the Hunter nodded. "Because it tried to speak to me, too." The priest shuddered at the thought. "And because my order has been hunting this blade—and all like it—for thousands of years."
"Your order?" the Hunter questioned. "The Beggar Priests? Aren't you just a lot of do-gooders helping those in need?"
"Aye, many of us are." Father Reverentus’ eyes flashed at the Hunter's mocking words. He hesitated, as if weighing the decision to reveal more.
"If you want my services," the Hunter said, "you'll need to tell me whatever it is that you're considering holding back."
"There are," the priest said in a reluctant voice, glaring at the Hunter, "a select number of Beggar Priests chosen, initiated into a secret order."
"Secret order?" the Hunter demanded.
"Yes," the priest replied. "We serve the Beggar God, and are charged with preventing the return of the Destroyer."
He stood tall, and pride filled his voice.
"We are the ones who hunt down the unseen threats, who protect mankind from the atrocities that would tear their minds apart with horror. We are the last line of defense against the darkness. We are the ones who forever watch, to prevent the return of demons to this world."
Fire burned in his eyes. "We are the Cambionari."
Chapter Twenty-Three
"Cambionari?" The Hunter echoed the unfamiliar name. Soulhunger's protests grew strident, and the pounding in his head rose to a painful crescendo. It seemed the dagger had heard it before, though the Hunter had no memory of it.
"Yes," said Reverentus, his voice somber. "You have not heard of us, but we are the only reason that the world as we know it still exists. We have killed creatures of nightmares, slain thousands of hellspawn, and hunted down Bucelarii. We have stopped the demons from returning to this world time and again."
That explained Soulhunger's anger at the presence of the priest. Something about Reverentus' words made the Hunter curious.
"Wait," he asked, disbelief filling his voice, "demons returning to the world? You speak madness, Priest!"
"You don't believe me?"
The Hunter snorted. "Demons are creatures of legend, of myth. They were sent back to the hells during the War of Gods."
"Can you truly believe that just because the demons were cast out by the gods of Einan, they would stay away forever? They terrorized this planet, feeding on the flesh of humans. They ruled this world under the Destroyer. Is it so hard to believe that they would do anything to rule once more?"
The Hunter nodded, acknowledging the priest's words. "But if they were cast out, is it even possible for them to return?"
"It is," said the priest, shuddering, "and the things they would do to achieve it will make your skin crawl and your blood freeze. I have seen what they do…" He trailed off, the memory of horrors reflected in his eyes. When he spoke again, his words held a chill.
"The creatures of the hells have long sought a way back to Einan, and there have been times when they very nearly succeeded. We have managed to block their passage to the world, but still they try."
"You say we, Priest, but aren't you a bit old to be protecting anything?"
"There are many of us who have been given the burden of this secret task, including Brother Securus." The old man gave the Hunter a meaningful look.
"The priest I killed," the Hunter said, understanding dawning. "He was one of you. He was Cambionari."
"Aye," Reverentus replied.
"The rapist?" sneered the Hunter. "A Beggar Priest?"
"Rapist?" Father Reverentus asked, anger flaring in his eyes. "Is that what they told you when they hired you?" At the Hunter's nod, the cleric shook his head in disbelief. "Can you truly believe that a priest of the Beggar God is capable of doing something so horrible?"
"I've seen priests do far worse than raping the daughter of a nobleman," the Hunter said, his voice harsh. Memories of watching priests lie with whores, girly-boys, and children twisted his stomach. "I know what priests are capable of."
"I'm certain you have seen horrible things," the priest replied, snarling, "but no doubt you've done things far worse as well." The two men locked eyes, and the Hunter saw genuine outrage written in the old priest's expression.
"I tell you this," Father Reverentus said, his voice solemn, "Brother Securus was innocent of any crime. He was a good, honest man, which is why the Beggar God chose him to carry out the task of hunting demons. Only those of pure, righteous blood are accepted into the Cambionari."
"I'll take your word for it," the Hunter replied, skeptical. Curiosity got the better of his temper, and he motioned for the priest to continue. "What were you saying about Brother Securus?"
The old priest swallowed hard and, visibly struggling, unclenched his gnarled fists. "He masqueraded as a minor priest in our order. This allowed him the freedom to focus on his real task: hunting down demons wherever they may be found."
"Demons? I thought you said you had stopped them from returning to the world?"
"So we thought," Reverentus replied, "but over the last few years we have received sporadic reports of demon sightings across Einan. Most have turned out false, but we could take no chances."
"So Securus was hunting down demons, and he believed he had found some in Voramis?"
The old priest nodded. "Aye, or so he told me when last we spoke."
The Hunter stared at the priest in expectation. "And?" he snapped when Reverentus remained silent. "Where did he find them?"
"He didn't say," the cleric said in a slow voice, "and I didn't press him. He was a very private man, Securus. All he said was that he believed demons had been living in Voramis for some time, beneath our very noses."
"So your demon-hunting priest failed to notice demons living in your own city," the Hunter mocked.
"Or maybe he had," retorted the priest, "which is why you"—the priest punctuated his words by stabbing a finger at the Hunter—"were hired to kill him."
"But why have me kill the priest?" he asked. "What would the death of just one Cambionari accomplish?"
Reverentus shook his head, his expression grave. "The Cambionari are spread throughout the world, each charged with their own task. Brother Securus was the only able-bodied member of the Cambionari in Voramis, the only one capable of fighting. With him out of the way, there are no more of us to hunt down and stop the demons." He motioned to his frail, withered frame with his gnarled hands. "Look at me. My strength lies not in my skill at arms, but in the knowledge I have accumulated over my long life. The thought of me fighting demons is as ludicrous as it sounds."
The Hunter shrugged by way of agreement. He expected the priest to say more, but Father Reverentus remained silent. Instead, the old cleric hobbled over to the table to refill his cup with the fragrant, but now fully cooled tea.
Suddenly, the Hunter understood the meaning behind the priest's silence. "So, with all of the Cambionari gone and Brother Securus dead, you want me to hunt down the demons for you?"
The priest nodded, not looking at the Hunter. "Yes."
"And what makes you think that I would? Why would I do anyth
ing for you?"
Reverentus turned to the Hunter, his eyes flashing. "Because we saved you from death. It is thanks to our ministrations that you lie in that bed, not thrown in some unmarked grave."
"Isn't it the duty of all Beggar Priests? To minister to the needy, no matter who they are?"
"Aye," growled the priest, clenching his jaw, "our god commands us to give aid to those in need. But," he held up a warning finger, "remember who we are." His stare pierced the Hunter. "We are Cambionari, and you are demonspawn. We are sworn to wipe your kind from the face of Einan, and yet you still draw breath."
"So you let me live," snarled the Hunter. "How gracious of you. That isn't enough reason for me to agree to kill for you."
"You want a reason?" Reverentus demanded, his voice rising to a shout. "After we've brought you back from the brink of death, you ask for a reason?" The priest placed his face dangerously close to the Hunter's, fire burning in his eyes. His voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "You. Owe. Us."
"What?" the Hunter demanded, the timbre of his voice rising to match the priest's. "I owe you nothing!"
"You fool!" the priest retorted, unperturbed by the anger in the Hunter's eyes. "It is thanks to you that we are in this mess. You and your accursed dagger killed the one man who could stop this from happening. You do not need a reward or a reason to fight. It is atonement for your actions."
"Atonement," spat the Hunter. "I have killed hundreds of men, all far more important than some nameless priest of a weak god. I care nothing for atonement."
"So you would have the name of the Hunter forever reviled as the man who brought about the destruction of the world."
The priest's words hit the Hunter like a slap. He sat in stunned silence, at a loss for words.
"Aye, Hunter," Reverentus said, "your actions have undone thousands of years of protecting the world from the unknown. With a single thrust of your Kharna-accursed blade"—the priest stabbed a finger at Soulhunger—"you have become the cause of humanity's plummet toward extinction."
The priest's eyes hardened, and he spoke in a low, harsh voice. "You will do this thing—not because you carry a burden of guilt for killing a 'nameless priest', as you put it—but because somewhere inside that cold lump of stone you call a heart, you care."
"Care?" the Hunter snarled. "For you? For your foolish priests?"
"For those around you," the priest retorted. "For this city."
"This city?" demanded the Hunter. "What has Voramis ever done for me?"
"It has given you a home," Reverentus replied, his voice quiet. "It has given you purpose."
"Purpose? What purpose?"
"To protect those who cannot protect themselves," the priest said.
The Hunter opened his mouth to retort, but the priest spoke first.
"Farida."
The single word hit the Hunter like a blow, cutting off his protests. He stared wide-eyed at the priest.
"Aye," said Father Reverentus, "the child you brought to us so many years ago." Seeing the shock on the Hunter's face, he nodded. "We know it was you, and we know you still keep watch on her. You visit her often, always in disguise."
How did they know? The Hunter's mind raced. So many years ago…
As if reading his thoughts, Father Reverentus smiled. "We know much more than you'd think."
The Hunter stared into the priest's eyes, saw the cleric's stern glare soften.
"If you were the heartless killer you pretend to be," Reverentus said, "you would have left her to die in the cold, or abandoned her on our stairs. You would never have seen her again, and yet you continue to visit. You care about her."
The Hunter tried to speak, but the lump rising in his throat stopped him.
"And the beggars with whom you share your home," the priest persisted. "Every one of them ignored—even reviled—by the world, yet you protect them."
"You've been watching me?" he demanded, his mind racing. They know where I live? What else do they know?
The old priest nodded. "It is our duty."
"For how long?"
"Not long," Reverentus admitted. "A few years, perhaps."
"And if you knew what I am," the Hunter asked, "why have I not yet shared the fate of the rest of my kind? Why not send Brother Securus to kill me?"
"Because he watched you, first." The priest's voice softened. "He saw you with those weak, helpless beggars, the outcasts of Voramis."
Sorrow welled within the Hunter at the thought of Old Nan, Jak, and the others he had offered the shelter of his home. They were dead, and the pain of their passing burned in his chest. What hurt even more, however, was the memory of the horror that had filled Ellinor's face. Her terrified gaze would haunt him forever.
"He saw humanity, Hunter," Reverentus said. "That humanity is stronger than the demon within you, the thing driving you to kill."
"And that is the only reason I live?" the Hunter demanded.
"Yes," the priest said, nodding. "The others of your kind gave in to their demonic heritage, seeking power and wealth, bringing only death and destruction. You, Hunter, are the only Bucelarii who has proven to be more human than demon."
Something inside the Hunter snapped. His anger faded, leaving only heartache. Tears threatened to fall as he saw the lifeless faces of the men and women he called friends, and he swallowed hard. He had to hide the signs of what he considered weakness.
"They're all dead," he said, looking up at the priest.
"What?" the priest asked, his eyes wide. "What do you mean? Who is dead?"
"The beggars," the Hunter said, then corrected himself. "The people…the people who shared my home. They're dead."
"How?" the priest demanded. "What did you do?" Reverentus' eyes grew hard for a moment, as if expecting the Hunter to admit to killing the beggars as well. However, upon seeing the sorrow written on the Hunter's face, his expression softened. "What happened?" His voice was surprisingly gentle.
"The Bloody Hand is what happened! And the Dark Heresy." Rage burned in his chest as he stared up at the priest. "They killed every one of those innocent wretches." His voice cracked, but he refused to allow the tears to flow. "And for that, they will pay."
"But what about the demons?" the priest asked. "If you get yourself killed taking on the two most powerful organizations in Voramis, you will not be able to hunt them down."
"I have not agreed to help you find these demons," the Hunter retorted. "Besides, if, as you say, I am the spawn of these creatures, why would I hunt my own kind?"
"For the same reason you still live," the priest said, returning his hard stare. "Because if you do not, everyone you know and love will die at their hands."
"They are already dead!" shouted the Hunter.
"Not all of them," the priest said, his voice gentle. "There is still one."
Farida.
"Is it not enough to protect a single child?" the priest asked. "Is that not sufficient reason to hunt down the demons?" His earnest, piercing expression drilled into the Hunter.
"I have yet to see evidence of these demons, Priest." The Hunter spoke quietly, still struggling to sublimate the sorrow threatening to overwhelm him. "You have told me much, but with little to corroborate your testimony."
"Here is your proof, Hunter," Father Reverentus said, reaching beneath his robes. He drew out a small knife, and before the Hunter could react, the priest grabbed his wrist. The Hunter tried to snatch away his arm, but the old man's grip surprised him. Anger had sapped his strength, and he could do nothing but stare wide-eyed at the dull, rusty weapon in the priest's hand.
Iron! The old bastard is trying to kill me.
"Watch," the priest said, his voice harsh as he raised the knife high, "and I will prove it."
Pain raced up his arm as the priest placed the knife's edge on his hand. The veins of his hand began to blacken upon contact with the metal.
"Enough!"
The old priest released his hand, and the Hunter jerked it back. The pain fa
ded in an instant, but an angry welt had already formed on his skin.
"Now do you believe?" the priest demanded.
"What in the Keeper's name are you trying to do?" snarled the Hunter. Rage filled him as he stared up at the priest. "Is that how you convince me to do your bidding? Through torture? I can tell you, Priest, I have endured far worse before."
"No torture," replied the priest, "just evidence that you will believe." He looked down at the Hunter's hand, and pointed to the welt, which had begun to fade. "The touch of iron is poison for you, is it not?"
The Hunter said nothing, but glared sullenly at Reverentus. His mind, however, was a seething maelstrom of conflicting thoughts.
Iron was poisonous to the Hunter, the only thing that could kill him. In the priest's story, iron swords had been used by the Watcher to trap the Destroyer long enough to imprison him.
"Why?" he demanded. "Why iron?"
"Iron is a pure metal, given to us by the gods as a means to drive the demons from the face of Einan. Its purity burns the demon blood in your veins."
"Given to you by the gods?" the Hunter snorted. "You and your foolish gods, Priest."
"You do not believe in the Thirteen? Not surprising, I suppose. A man like you has no need for the gods."
"The gods are nothing more than the creations of humans who require something to blame for their problems," the Hunter scoffed.
The old man gave him a slow smile. "An interesting concept," he said, nodding his head, "and not entirely untrue."
This took the Hunter by surprise. He had expected the priest to answer with angry words, as had so many others. Instead, Father Reverentus had agreed with him, cutting off his argument.
"The gods are but aspects of an unknowable divine power. Humankind has given them faces and names in an attempt to understand the power, and thus we have created the gods as we now know them. What was once something vague and indefinable is now rationalized into a concept humans can grasp. In our worship of the various aspects of the gods, we have transformed those aspects into the gods themselves."
Darkblade Assassin: An Epic Fantasy Adventure (Hero of Darkness Book 1) Page 21
