Darkblade Savior

by Andy Peloquin

  As he climbed, he studied the enormous gate. Easily the height of four men and five paces across, the solid steel-banded wooden door looked strong enough to withstand even a charging Stone Guardian. The only weak point within its construction was the wicket gate designed to allow men to enter and exit without requiring the entire gate to be opened. However, the wicket gate seemed as solidly built as the rest of the massive door.

  There was no way the Serenii had built the gate, that much the Hunter knew. The Serenii architecture and design spoke of elegance and grace, but this was solid, unwieldy, and brutally efficient. Human or Elivasti hands had crafted it, without a doubt.

  He banged on the wicket gate. “I’m coming out!”

  A window slid open and a pair of violet eyes regarded him. The Hunter’s heart stopped—he had no idea if there was a password to get out, but he’d simply assumed they’d let him leave. Every heartbeat without a response from the guard added to the nervous tension in his gut.

  Finally, the wicket gate was pulled open with a groan of hinges. The blue-armored Elivasti guards within greeted him with lazy grunts, not even bothering to stand from their wooden stools. The Hunter responded with a nod, but his eyes roamed over the internal mechanisms of the gate.

  The mechanism proved that the design and construction was human. A wrist-thick steel chain ran through a single wagon wheel-sized windlass. Only one Elivasti lounged near the mechanism, but the Hunter suspected it could take two strong men to open it. Though, perhaps the intricate system of counterweights and balances constructed around the gate could make it easier.

  Solid stone walls surrounded the gate on both sides, running down a hall toward a door that led to what the Hunter guessed was a barracks of some sort built into the stone of Hellsgate itself. Flickering torches hanging from wall sconces provided enough illumination for the Hunter to count at least fifteen blue-armored figures lounging around the gate, doubtless with more inside the barracks.

  The Hunter strode off down the tunnel, and the scent of fresh air kept him moving in a straight line. The interior of Hellsgate, at least the tunnel around him, was more dark grey and red rock, with the same black, unbroken stone road as the rest of the city. The tunnel was fifteen paces wide and ten tall, more than ample for horse-drawn vehicles to come and go with ease. Oddly enough, the passage from the gate led straight through Hellsgate all the way toward the front. He could see the darkness of nighttime at the far end. Almost as if whoever built the fortress—human or Elivasti—had designed it to make bringing more prisoners to Khar’nath as easy as possible.

  He kept his pace unhurried as he marched down the tunnel toward the darkness of Enarium beyond the front of Hellsgate. He passed a few locked and barred doors, but didn’t want to risk a detour to explore more of the fort. Right now, he needed to get out of Hellsgate and back to Taiana.

  He let out a long sigh of relief as the first gust of cool wind drifted across his face. Another minute, and he’d be free of Hellsgate and its horrors.

  “Hey!” A voice called from behind the Hunter. “Setin!”

  Keep moving, no matter what, he told himself. He was so close to freedom, he wouldn’t let anything stop him.

  “Heptarch Setin!” The call came again, this time with a commanding tone. “Stop!”

  The Hunter didn’t turn, didn’t slow or speed up his pace, didn’t give any indication he’d heard. He simply kept walking steadily toward the unguarded exit thirty yards ahead.

  The thump, thump of heavy boots and the clatter of armor echoed behind him, growing closer with every second. The Hunter risked a single glance over his shoulder. Six Elivasti were running toward him. Five wore the plain blue armor of the rest, but one’s breastplate bore two crossed fists painted in white—the mark of an officer, perhaps?

  “Damn you, Setin!” shouted the man with the white-painted armor. “Stop at once or face the Council of Elders on charges of insubordination!”

  Well, that breaks it.

  Abandoning all pretenses, the Hunter sprinted the remaining distance down the tunnel. A shout of fury sounded behind him and the clatter of pursuit echoed off the stone walls. With a burst of speed the Elivasti couldn’t hope to match, the Hunter raced out of the passage and into the night air.

  The tunnel from Khar’nath let out of the southern side of Hellsgate. To his right, in the center of the massive dark grey fort, another gate led into the main building. More blue-armored Elivasti stood watch at that gate, with a pair of burning braziers to keep out the cold. They seemed not to see him, but the Hunter knew that would change the moment they heard the shouts from the tunnel.

  The Hunter turned and raced south, away from the Elivasti clustered around the braziers. He was halfway down the street by the time the pursuing guards emerged from the tunnel. Their shouts were answered by the men guarding the gate, but he disappeared around a corner before either group could give chase.

  The Hunter grinned. Let them try and catch me now. The clatter of his blue Elivasti armor echoed in time with the pounding of his stolen boots, but he had no doubt he could outrun his pursuers. He had only to worry about any Elivasti patrolling the streets.

  He ran for a full ten minutes without stopping. Even with the weight of his Elivasti armor, he felt no fatigue. He welcomed the exertion—anything to clear his mind of the horrors he’d seen in Khar’nath.

  Once he was certain he’d put enough distance between himself and those behind him, he slowed his pace to a confident stride. A lone Elivasti could look suspicious, but he’d be far more likely to attract attention running at a full sprint.

  His steps led southward, circumnavigating Enarium’s Base Echelon. Trying to cut straight across the city from east to west would involve a lot of climbing, which would prove just as time consuming and far more strenuous than the flatter, longer route. Besides, he could use the time to think.

  He pushed aside his revulsion for the Elivasti, and his hatred of their actions. He poured cold logic over the emotions flaring through him. He needed to utilize the analytical thinking that had made him such an effective assassin what felt a lifetime ago.

  Hellsgate had been designed to keep the prisoners from getting out, not stop others getting in. Though there were a few hundred Elivasti within the fort, only twenty or thirty stood between him and that gate. Perhaps he could convince Taiana and the other Bucelarii to sneak in with him, throw open the gate, and let out the prisoners. It would be risky, but none of the guards had carried the Scorchslayers, only spikestaffs and wooden batons.

  Yes, he decided, it’s worth the risk. Once the Sage had been dealt with, he would do something about the poor wretches trapped in Khar’nath.

  The sight of the blue-glowing Southeastern Keep sent his thoughts to Taiana. Somewhere in the darkness of Enarium, she was using Soulhunger to open the Chambers of Sustenance in the hopes of finding their daughter and any Bucelarii that survived the centuries of imprisonment. With even a handful of his kin beside him, they could overwhelm the Elivasti and free the humans in the Pit.

  But Taiana had seemed hesitant to go near Khar’nath. She hadn’t been afraid of the Pit itself, so perhaps her fear had been for the Elivasti. No, she’d killed two blue-armored warriors without hesitation to save him. So why had she given him that strange look when he spoke of the Pit?

  Was she afraid for me?

  His memories of her had only returned in the last few months, yet her memories of him and the life they once shared had never been erased. She had lived the last five years knowing he was somewhere on Einan, yet her search for their daughter had kept her in Enarium. If the knowledge of what she’d done to him a lifetime ago had turned to guilt, could that guilt make her want to keep him close? He could understand that. Now that he’d found her, he wanted to stay with her. Perhaps they could pick up where they’d left off millennia ago. She was proof that he could truly have a life—not the life of an assassin, a killer-for-hire, but a life like any normal human on Einan. For the first time, he
had a chance at love, a family, a home.

  Yet I cannot sit by and let everything crumble around me. Hailen needed him, the Sage needed killing, and the Destroyer could not be unleashed upon the world. Those things kept him from Taiana’s side and would keep them apart until he dealt with them.

  So be it. Deal with them, he would.

  The moment Garnos sent word, the Hunter would be ready to move against the Sage. He’d have Soulhunger at his side, but he’d arm himself with the Swordsman’s iron blades as well. Together, the twin daggers could kill the demon as surely as Soulhunger. Perhaps Taiana would help him, and they could take down the Abiarazi side by side, as they once had.

  First priority was keeping Hailen safe, but he had to eliminate the Sage. Only death would put an end to the demon’s plans. The Withering could come and go as it had before, and Einan’s existence would continue. Without the Sage to unleash Enarium’s power, the Devourer would remain trapped forever. Perhaps, if he had the time, he could even find a way to use the Serenii magick gathered in Enarium to seal Kharna in his tomb forever.

  And what of his daughter? With the threat of the Sage eliminated, he could help Taiana in her quest to find the Chamber of Sustenance where the Warmaster had locked her away. When they found her, they could be reunited as a family.

  Family. The word brought a lump to his throat. He’d never imagined he could have anything like it. He had no memories of a father or mother, brothers, sisters, even others of his kind. Until yesterday, he’d believed himself the last Bucelarii in existence.

  Now, he had a wife and a daughter—if only they could find her.

  He allowed himself the luxury of imagining what life would be like. He’d seen happy families walking through Divinity Square or playing among the Maiden’s Gardens in Upper Voramis. Would that be his future as well? It seemed so…unreal to picture himself living such a mundane life.

  Yet after everything he’d endured, a bit of placid mundanity would be a welcome change. Years of blood and death could be left behind for peace.

  Yes, I could definitely get used to that.

  Reality shattered his pleasant dream as his keen ears caught the sound of boots coming from ahead and around a corner. He ducked quickly behind a two-story stone building, pressing his body against the shadows, and watched the troop of Elivasti marching up the street toward him. They showed no sign of alarm or suspicion at his presence, but simply moved through the city at a steady pace. Likely they were meant more as a deterrent for Taiana and her comrades than a real hunting party. Any Elivasti tasked with finding the Bucelarii would move with far more caution and stealth than these.

  That thought pushed away the last of his musings. He had nothing but the wooden baton he’d taken from Setin, and he’d be hard-pressed to fight a full ten-man company of blue-armored Elivasti with their spikestaffs and Scorchslayers. Better to move with caution and be aware of his surroundings; daydreaming could lead to him winding up face to face with another patrol.

  He waited until the Elivasti disappeared up the street before moving on. The clanking of his armor and the tromp, tromp of his heavy boots sounded loud in the empty darkness of the night. His eyes searched the shadows of Enarium, as if expecting armed men to jump out at him from behind every corner.

  Anxiety tightened his shoulders into knots, but the sight of the west gate caused him to relax. He recalled Kiara’s instructions of where to find the pack she’d hidden beside it. Though he’d rather a steel sword or Soulhunger any day, the twin iron daggers would come in handy for taking down the Sage. And, if it came to all-out war between Taiana’s crew and the Elivasti, sharpened iron blades were far more effective than spikestaffs dulled by digging.

  His relief died as he rounded the corner of the final street and nearly ran into the blue-armored back of an Elivasti warrior.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Hunter leapt backward and ducked around the corner. His heart hammered against his ribs as he listened for any sign he’d been spotted. Silence met his ears; the Elivasti hadn’t noticed him.

  Now what?

  Once again, he found himself tensing against the voice of the demon in his mind, grimacing in expectation of its shriek as it insisted he kill the Elivasti. It took him a moment to remember that it had fallen silent since reaching Enarium. The absence of the demon’s voice felt strangely unnerving.

  He peered around the corner and studied the Elivasti before the gate. Ten blue-armored men and women stood between him and the gate where Kiara had stowed his pack. They were arrayed in a loose formation, with a handful of men clustered together and speaking in low voices. Nine of them carried the long steel spikestaffs—the Hunter felt a flash of relief that none of these bore iron-tipped weapons like their kin on Kara-ket, though he couldn’t help wondering why their weapons differed—and the tenth held a Scorchslayer in a relaxed two-handed grip.

  The massive wooden gate that hid his pack with the two iron blades was just thirty paces from where he crouched. There was no way he’d get past or around them unnoticed. He had to choose: abandon his pack and risk the Elivasti finding it, or fight.

  He glanced down at the wooden truncheon in his hand. It made a pitiful weapon against the Elivasti’s spikestaffs and Scorchslayer. If he’d had Soulhunger or even a sword handy, he wouldn’t hesitate. He’d taken down an entire troop of Steel Company mercenaries—he and Soulhunger could handle ten Elivasti armed with nothing more than sharp-tipped staves. But with nothing more than a pitiful club?

  Dare I risk it? If he left the daggers in his pack tucked in the shadow of the gate, there was a chance the Elivasti would find them. He could kill the Sage with Soulhunger, but that would leave Taiana without the means to find their daughter.

  No, he decided, I need those iron blades. With them, he could take down the Abiarazi while Taiana searched the Keeps.

  He drew in a deep breath and hefted the club.

  No time to think, he told himself. Just move.

  He slithered around the corner and up behind the first blue-armored Elivasti before he could reconsider. The man didn’t hear him, didn’t know he was there until he grasped the man’s chin and the side of his head and gave a sharp twist powered by all the strength in his arms. The Elivasti’s neck snapped with an audible crack and he collapsed, limp, dead before he hit the stone street.

  The Hunter was already moving as the body sagged. His hand snapped out for the spikestaff in the dying man’s nerveless grip and, snatching it up, he took two quick steps and drove the spiked end into the throat of the Elivasti holding the Scorchslayer. The tang of copper filled the air as he pulled the sharpened end free and whirled the staff above his head, spraying blood. He brought the steel-capped end crunching into the temple of a third Elivasti, who had half-turned toward him. The man sagged, the side of his face crushed by metal and wood.

  A shout of alarm echoed behind the Hunter, and he spun to face the man attacking from behind. The Elivasti held his spikestaff raised to drive the sharp tip into the Hunter’s back. The Hunter lashed out with desperate speed, and wood cracked against wood as his staff crashed against the Elivasti’s. The force of the blow threw the man off-balance. His weapon swung wide, and the Hunter drove the sharpened steel through his eyeball, pushing until he felt the tip strike bone. He ripped the staff free and spun toward the next man, just in time to deflect two thrusts aimed at his stomach. He leapt backward to avoid a third driving low at his leg, though the spike carved a line of fire into the Hunter’s thigh.

  “Setin?” one of the Elivasti asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you--?”

  The Hunter hurled his spikestaff, and it punched through the man’s throat. The Elivasti sagged, three feet of bloodstained wood and steel protruding from the back of his neck.

  “That’s not Setin!” shouted another Elivasti. “It’s one of the accursed Bucelarii!”

  Ignoring the pain in his leg, the Hunter paused only long enough to scoop up one of the dead men’s spikestaffs be
fore he charged the next man. The Elivasti thrust the spikestaff at the Hunter’s head, and only the Hunter’s quick reflexes saved him from losing an eye—again. He twisted to the side so hard a twinge ran down his neck and the steel spike carved a deep furrow across his left cheek.

  He gritted his teeth against the sudden flare of pain in his face and threw himself backward to dodge a whirling spikestaff. His staff knocked aside a strike from a second opponent, then he rammed the spiked end of his staff into the first man’s groin. The man let out shrill cry of pain and collapsed, hands clasped to the gushing wound between his legs.

  Ducking a high whirling attack, the Hunter dropped his staff and rushed another Elivasti. His shoulder drove into the blue breastplate as he lifted the man from his feet, took two long steps, and slammed him hard into the street. The man’s neck gave a sickening crack and he lay still.

  A loud humming sounded behind the Hunter. He acted on instinct and hurled himself to one side. A moment later, a bolt of lightning sizzled through the air above his head and struck the side of a nearby building with enough force to shatter stone. The Hunter didn’t pause to see the destruction, but rolled to his feet and charged the next Elivasti bare-handed.

  The purple-eyed man’s jaw clenched and his body tensed as he prepared to meet the Hunter’s charge. The Hunter noted the way he crouched slightly, right foot shifted backward, and the muscles of his right arm coiled with the force of his thrust. Instead of trying to dart to one side to evade the thrust, the Hunter struck out, his hand a blur as he slapped the spiked tip away. Before the man could pull back the weapon for a follow-up, the Hunter’s right hand was around his throat. He squeezed with all the strength in his arms until he felt cartilage crumple beneath his grip. His left hand snatched the staff from the choking man, who collapsed to the street, wheezing pitiful breaths.