Darkblade Savior

by Andy Peloquin

  Pain stabbed along the Hunter’s side as cold steel punched through the blue armor he’d taken from Setin. He threw himself forward and felt the spiked tip sliding from between his ribs. Warm blood slid down his side, soaking his pants. Growling in pain and anger, he whirled and brought his spiked staff whirling around in a one-handed clubbing blow. The steel tip slashed across the Elivasti’s face, tearing through his left eye, nose, then right eye. The man howled in agony and dropped his spikestaff, still stained with the Hunter’s blood, to claw at his ruined face.

  The Hunter whirled toward the remaining two Elivasti. One held the Scorchslayer in a firm two-handed grip, the hollowed end pointed straight at the Hunter’s chest. A loud humming filled the air and the runes along the stock glowed a bright blue.

  Time stood still as the Hunter spotted the tenth Elivasti sprinting up the street. He had a split second to dodge the attack or stop the fleeing guard. Without hesitation, he hurled the spikestaff in an underhanded cast as hard as he could. The spear hurtled through the darkness to punch through the back of the escaping Elivasti’s skull.

  Before the Hunter could move, light flared white from the end of the Scorchslayer and a bolt of lightning split the night with blinding brilliance. The energy arced toward the Hunter and slammed into him with enough force to shatter mountains. The impact lifted him from his feet and sent him flying twenty paces backward to crash to the street, striking his head.

  The world spun dizzily around him, and agony coursed through every fiber of the Hunter’s being. His chest felt like he’d been kicked by a horse the size of a Stone Guardian. He gasped and tried to draw breath.

  Yet he was alive. How is that possible? The bolt should have torn him apart like it had Neroth.

  He staggered upright in time to lurch out of the way of the next lightning bolt. His shoulder crashed into a stone wall, but he caught himself from falling. The weapon hummed again as the Elivasti prepared to fire. Ignoring the pain throbbing through his torso, the Hunter wound up and hurled the spikestaff. The weapon streaked toward the Elivasti, punched into blue armor, and drove a full arm’s length through flesh and bone beneath. The man let out a weak gasp and sagged to one knee, yet refused to release his grip on the Scorchslayer. He actually managed to raise it in the Hunter’s direction for one final blast. The lightning struck ten paces to the Hunter’s right and five paces in front of him. The Elivasti sagged, his blue-glowing weapon clattering on hard stone as he collapsed.

  The Hunter glanced down at his chest, half-expecting to see a gaping hole. Instead, he found only blackened, scorched, and smoking armor. The impact had put a fist-sized dent in the breastplate, which explained the pain in the Hunter’s chest. Yet somehow, impossibly, it had protected him from the lightning.

  Bloody hell! What is this stuff made out of?

  The armor looked and felt like simple steel, but lighter and with greater flexibility. Was it the handiwork of the Serenii, just like the Scorchslayers, the Keeps, and so many other things in Enarium? Why would the Serenii fashion human-sized armor?

  Right now, the mystery of the armor seemed far less important than getting away from the scene of carnage as quickly as possible. Though he’d stopped the man from escaping and summoning reinforcements, chances were high another patrol of Elivasti would stumble upon the bodies at any moment. Better for him to be nowhere in sight when that happened.

  His chest, neck, and the back of his head ached, but he couldn’t spare the concentration to speed up the healing process. He’d have to let his body recover on its own; he would get what he came for and disappear into the night.

  He found his pack precisely where Kiara had said, tucked between the open gate and the stone wall, as far back as she could reach. He tugged the straps open and breathed a sigh of relief as his searching hands found the solid shape of the daggers. The crawling sensation in his fingers and palms told him these were the Swordsman’s iron blades.

  A glimmer of hope surged within him as he slung the pack over his shoulder and turned away from the gate. With the Swordsman’s blades, he could bring down the Sage while Taiana kept Soulhunger to search for Jaia.

  He felt tempted to leave the bodies where they’d fallen, but something stopped him. Taiana and the other Bucelarii could use the weapons, and that lightning-resistant armor would come in handy when it came time to confront the Sage. Thought it would cost him a few minutes, he decided to drag the bodies of the dead Elivasti outside the gates of Enarium. The shadows of the city walls would conceal them from view, and Taiana could send one of the other Bucelarii to fetch them later.

  He hesitated before stepping through the gate into the lands beyond Enarium. The Serenii had cast a spell over the Empty Mountains that would drive any demon mad. During his trek up the mountain, the demonic voice in his mind had nearly shattered his mind with its incessant, incoherent shrieking. After a day of peace from that terrible presence, he dreaded its return.

  Gritting his teeth, he gripped the Elivasti’s corpse and forced himself to move. To his surprise, he felt nothing as he hauled the body down the trail a short distance and tucked it behind a large stone. Yet the moment he made to return to Enarium, the voice struck him with full force. He nearly cried out from the intensity of its shrieking. With effort, he pushed past the screeching, wailing in his mind and staggered the few steps up toward Enarium.

  Again, the moment he stepped through the gates, the voice fell silent. He gasped as blessed silence echoed in his mind, and leaned against the wall until the hammering in his chest slowed.

  What in the fiery hell was that? The spell hadn’t tried to stop him leaving Enarium, only returning. Was that the Serenii’s plan, then? Force the demons out of the city and prevent them every coming back?

  That certainly explained how the Warmaster had been in Enarium to capture Taiana and lock her in the Chambers of Sustenance. If he’d remained hidden inside the city, he, like the Hunter, would have been unaffected by the spell—which seemed to start outside Enarium’s walls. Once he’d left, he had been unable to return.

  The Hunter steeled himself for the pain and set about dragging the remaining Elivasti corpses outside the city. It took five trips to get the last bodies out of sight, and every one sapped his strength more. Relief flooded him as he entered the city for the last time and the shrieking in his mind fell silent.

  As he leaned against the wall to gather his strength, he cast a glance down the trail. Night concealed the body of Sir Danna Esgrimon, Knight of the Order of Piety. A momentary pang of guilt stabbed through him at the thought of her corpse, which lay just a few hundred paces below him.

  The Sir Danna that died the previous day bore little resemblance to the red-haired knight he’d met on the road to Malandria. She’d wallowed in her grief over the loss of Visibos, her apprentice, and Lord Knight Moradiss, her mentor and the man she’d never been able to admit she loved until it was too late. That had driven her to obsession, causing her to dedicate the last months to hunting him across Einan. Her hatred and rage had cost the lives of nearly thirty Cambionari and Warrior Priests—both to his hand and to the Stone Guardians.

  Yet in the end, she’d found the thing he wanted above all else: peace.

  She’d fallen helping him fight off the Stone Guardians, protecting Hailen. Though he’d given her a chance to flee to the safety of Enarium, she had refused to abandon him to fight alone. That choice had cost her life, but she’d found a moment of clarity before her death. She’d gone to the Long Keeper with the knowledge that she had left the world better than she found it.

  In the end, it was all anyone could ask for.

  For what it’s worth, he told the darkness silently, I’m sorry, Sir Danna. You deserved far better than this.

  The familiar burden of guilt settled on his shoulders once more. Another death added to his tally. Another life snuffed out because of his actions.

  His steps were slow as he strode up the street. Every muscle in his body ached, his head throbbed, an
d he felt suddenly tired. The distance to Taiana’s base seemed suddenly so vast, and it felt as if he had to cross an entire world to return home.

  At least I’m not leaving empty-handed. The familiar weight of his pack reassured him, and the knowledge that he now had another weapon that could kill the Sage. The three spikestaffs he carried balanced awkwardly on his arm, but he’d keep them anyway. To confront the Abiarazi, they’d need all the weapons they could get.

  Now, he thought, glancing down at the Scorchslayer he cradled in his right arm, if only Arudan could figure out how to get these working, we’d have a way to strike at the Sage from afar.

  The weapon could put an end to the Abiarazi as surely as it had disintegrated Neroth’s head and chest. That was the sort of advantage he could use right now.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Where’ve you been?” Cerran asked as the Hunter climbed up the ladder into the building where they’d made their base. His nose wrinkled in disgust. “Bloody hell! Been rolling in shite, have you?”

  The Hunter shook his head. “Took a jaunt through the Pit.”

  Cerran’s bushy red eyebrows rose in surprise, then shot straight toward his hairline as he got a good glimpse of the Hunter in his blue armor, covered in blood, carrying the weapons he’d looted from the dead Elivasti. “Seems you’ve had quite a night of it.”

  “More than you know,” the Hunter said. He dropped the spikestaffs beside the staircase and glanced up at the door to the room where he’d seen Arudan earlier. “Any progress unlocking these things?” he asked, hefting the Scorchslayer. “Or did I lug this all the way across the city for nothing?”

  Cerran shrugged. “Last I checked on him, Baldie had his nose buried in one of those stone tablets. Whether it was the right tablet or not, I couldn’t say.”

  The Hunter cocked an eyebrow at the man.

  “What?” Cerran threw up his hands. “I’m a bloody soldier, not a wet nurse. I never asked for idiotsitting duty.”

  The Hunter growled. “Think what we could do if we could actually use these things.” He shook the weapon in the man’s face. “I saw what they did to Neroth. If we could do that to the Sage—”

  Cerran snorted. “Like every other thing in this bloody place, it’s accessible only by the Serenii and their descendants. Us being Bucelarii means this is about as useful as a sharpened stone or wooden club.” He flicked a disdainful finger at the weapon. “Less so. At least you can throw a stone or swing a club.”

  “It’s foolish to discard something that could prove of use,” the Hunter snapped. Years as an assassin had taught him that even the most innocuous of items could come in handy when fighting to the death. He’d killed men with letter openers, charcoal sticks, hell, even one with a snapped paintbrush.

  “Then you keep an eye on Baldie.” Cerran gave a dismissive wave. “His brain’s got more holes than a soldier’s sock after a year-long march, so good luck getting him to focus on anything.” He looked the Hunter up and down with a sniff of disgust. “Though you might want to bathe first. Your smell alone’ll lead the Sage right to us.”

  The Hunter thrust the Scorchslayer into the man’s hand. “Just see if you can get him back on track with his research. If there’s anything he can find—”

  “I don’t take orders from you.” Cerran shoved back, hard enough to throw the Hunter off-balance. “I barely tolerate Taiana’s commands, and that only because—”

  “What’s this about barely tolerating Taiana?” came a woman’s voice from behind them.

  Cerran’s face turned a shade of red to match his hair and beard as he caught sight of Taiana. “Nothing,” he said, a hint of embarrassment in his voice. “Just telling your man here I’m not the sort to be ordered around.”

  “None of us are.” Taiana stepped into the light of the glowglobe that lit up the chamber, and deep frown lines etched her face. “But if we’re going to stand a chance of defeating the Sage, we’ve got to work together. How’s Arudan doing on his research?”

  Cerran scowled. “He’s…making progress. I was just about to take him what your man brought us.” He snatched the Scorchslayer from the Hunter’s hand, turned on his heel, and stomped up the stairs.

  Taiana studied the Hunter from head to toe, and her expression tightened. “Upstairs. Now,” she snapped.

  The Hunter was surprised to hear the edge in her voice. Anger glittered in her black eyes, and her right fist gripped Soulhunger’s hilt so tightly her knuckles were white. He followed her upstairs, and from the rigidity of her spine and precise way she placed her feet, he could tell she struggled to hold back barely-restrained fury.

  She strode into the room and flung her cloak onto their bed. When the Hunter closed the door behind him, she whirled.

  “You went into the Pit, didn’t you?” Fire flashed in her eyes.

  “I did.” The Hunter spoke in a flat voice. He didn’t understand her anger.

  “Even though I specifically told you not to put yourself in unnecessary danger?”

  The Hunter set down his pack and folded his arms. “Yes. I had to see it for myself.”

  “And what if you’d gotten caught?” Her voice rose to an angry shout. “What if the Elivasti had captured you and locked you away? Or if they’d tortured you to find out where we’re hiding.”

  “I’ve been tortured by the best,” the Hunter said. “I doubt these could come close.”

  “So that makes it worth the risk? Because you can withstand a bit of pain, it’s okay to risk everything I’ve worked hard for these last five years?” She stalked toward him, and once again he was struck by the fact that she loomed a full hand’s breadth taller than him. She stabbed a finger hard into his chest. “You’ve no idea what it’s like, working every day for years in the hopes of seeing your child, only to have that hope ripped from your chest when you find another husk of a corpse or an empty Chamber. You’ve no idea the pain of knowing your child is out there, somewhere, waiting for you. And all your efforts are for nothing!”

  The force of her anger shocked him. “Listen, I gave you Soulhunger so you could—”

  “So I could face the agony of opening Chamber after Chamber, never finding our child!” Her voice rose to a shout, and furious tears glimmered in her eyes. “Alone, as alone as I have been for my entire life!”

  Suddenly, her outburst made sense. He imagined himself in her place: wandering the streets of Enarium alone, empty-handed, living with the knowledge that she’d betrayed her husband and lost her child. Toiling day after day in an effort to find that child, only to have her hopes shattered time and time again. He pictured her tonight, filled with optimism now that she had Soulhunger to help her open the Chambers far faster. How many Chambers had she opened, how many times had she had her soul crushed when she failed again?

  “Where is she, Drayvin?” Her tear-rimmed eyes sought his. “Am I truly so terrible a mother I cannot find my child?”

  “No!” The Hunter’s voice was firm, but held none of her anger, only the emotion that welled within him. “It’s not your fault. It’s the Warmaster’s, who took her from you.”

  “Why can I not remember?” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Why can I not remember where my baby is?”

  A lump rose to his throat, and though he desperately ached to offer her words of comfort, he knew anything he said would only ring hollow. All he could do was go to her, held her as she wept.

  “I am here,” he whispered in her ear. “You don’t need to carry this burden alone.”

  She clung to him, her arms holding him tight as she buried her face in his chest. Sobs shook her shoulders—heartache she had carried around for all these long years finally let loose in a great wave of emotion.

  Finally, her tears slowed as the well of her sorrow dried up. She pulled free of him and wiped the moisture from her cheeks. “I-I’m sorry. I should not have—”

  The Hunter gripped her hand tight. “There is no need for apology. I can only imagine what you’re feeling,
but I swear I will do everything I can to help you find our daughter.”

  “You do not blame me?” Her eyes scanned his face. “My betrayal of you…”

  “Was done out of love for our child.” The Hunter kissed her gently. “I do not blame you, Az’nii.”

  She let out a long, slow breath, and her shoulders relaxed, as if releasing a burden. She leaned her forehead against his and closed her eyes. Her scent—cinnamon, berries, jasmine, and honey—filled his nostrils. He held her hand, leaned against her, and for a few moments, forgot the world around him.

  “Ugh.” Her grunt broke the peaceful silence. “You stink.”

  The Hunter chuckled and glanced down at his mud-stained hands and face, his blood-covered armor, clothing, and boots. “Adventure is messy, so they say.”

  “To the baths at once, Drayvin.” The commanding tone returned, but with a hint of humor.

  “Ah, there’s the nagging wife I’ve missed all these years.” He hid a grin.

  “If you don’t get off my bed with your foul-smelling,” she snapped in mock anger, “filthy clothes right now, you’re going to find out just how sharp-tongued I can get!”

  “Promises, promises.” The Hunter rolled off the bed to evade the boot she threw at him. “Any chance you’ll join me for my bath?”

  “Smelling like that?” Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “I’d sooner join a pig in a mud puddle.”

  “Let’s talk to Cerran, see what he can arrange.” The Hunter chuckled. Her glare revealed an utter lack of amusement, so be beat a hasty retreat to the small bathing chamber attached to their room. A tub of the same blue stone as the Keeps occupied half the space, complete with the fixtures he’d found in the Serenii temples in Kara-ket. Within minutes, he was luxuriating in the tub while hot water streamed from the spigot set into the tub.

  He emerged from the bathroom half an hour later, naked as the day he was born, dripping wet but free of the muck of the Pit and Elivasti blood. She raised an eyebrow, her eyes tracing his body, and gave an approving nod of her head.