“Is this the future you want for them?” Ryat pressed.
“What else is there?” someone called from off to the Hunter’s right.
“Freedom!” the Hunter shouted. He thrust a finger to the west, toward the staircase leading out of the Pit. “A world beyond these walls, a life without fear of being beaten, tormented, or fed to the crystals. A life where you can choose what you do.”
A few of the dull-eyed people exchanged glances, and quiet whispers ran among the men and women in the surrounding shelters.
The Hunter raised his voice. “If you fight, you may die. But if you stay, you will die. A slow death, a death filled with the knowledge that you had a chance for freedom and did not take it. Within this place, you have no hope, no future, no life worth living. But out there, beyond Hellsgate, there is a wide world filled with more marvels than you could imagine. Wide open lands so vast you cannot see from one end to the other. Cities filled with people of every shape, size, and skin color. An ocean bluer than the sky on the clearest day.”
“There is life!” Kiara shouted. “That alone is worth risking death.”
“It is worth the risk.” Ryat’s voice carried to the surrounding shelters. “If nothing else, to simply be free of this place. To step beyond the walls of our prison.” He turned to the Hunter and Kiara. “I remember green grass, tall trees, and colorful flowers. Before I was taken from my home and brought here, I knew the meaning of living. I would have that again, at any cost.”
The Hunter gripped the man’s hand. “Fight with us, and you will have it.” He turned to the men and women that had gathered around. “All of you! Join us in fighting for your freedom. The gates will be thrown open for you, but it is up to you to clear the way. The Elivasti have held you captive here for years. Decades. The time has come for you to stand up and break free.”
Excitement sparkled in a few eyes, and the crowd of people surrounding them swelled. Ryat moved among them, talking in a low voice, gripping the hands of men and women that had suddenly come to life.
The Hunter smiled at the sight. They had a purpose once again, beyond simply existing—they had found a will to live.
Kiara turned him with a grin. “Looks like you have your army after all.”
Chapter Thirty-One
“Come with me,” the Hunter said. “I told the guards at the front I had been sent by the Sage to bring you to him. Evidently he’s taken a special interest in you.”
Kiara’s face twisted in disgust, but she shook her heard. “No, my place is here.” She continued strapping on the suit of blue armor they’d taken from Ardem, the first of the Elivasti the Hunter had killed in the Pit. The armor hung a bit large on her well-proportioned frame, but she wore it with confidence. The months riding beside and training with Sir Danna had changed her.
“Help me with this,” she insisted, motioning to one of the leather straps on her blue breastplate.
“I could use an extra hand at the gate.” The Hunter stepped close to help her, and not even the mud on her skin could fully conceal her unique scent of leather, steel, and lilies. “Once we get them moving, nothing will stop—”
“Listen, we just gave this grand speech about fighting, but you know as well as I that they need us to lead them.” Her words echoed with the same stubbornness she’d used to order him to save Sir Danna from the Stone Guardians. “They’re not going to be strong and fight on their own. They need us. That means it has to be me, because you’re the only one that can get that gate open.”
He grasped her shoulders and turned her to face him. “You know how dangerous it’s going to be, leading them,” he said in a voice pitched low for her ears. “Being at the front of the charge means you’re the first to take a lightning bolt or a spikestaff to the chest.”
She placed a hand on his shoulders. “You remember what I told you the night we met in the Iron Arms?”
The Hunter nodded. “Of course.”
“That hasn’t changed.” Her jaw clenched, and grim resolve shone in her dark eyes. “I don’t need protecting.”
“I’m not trying to protect you. I’d just like to keep you alive.”
“That’s the same damn thing!” Kiara’s eyes flashed.
The Hunter wanted to argue, but he’d seen that stubborn look in her eyes enough times to know he’d have more luck milking a rock than changing her mind.
“If something happens, it happens,” Kiara said with a shrug. “Truth be told, I’m rather fond of being alive myself, so I’ll do everything I can to avoid getting killed. Sound fair?”
After a long moment, the Hunter sighed. “Best I could ask for.”
Kiara reached up, gripped his collar, and pulled his head down for a fierce kiss. A thrill coursed through his body at the touch of their lips.
After a long second, Kiara broke off and shot him a wink. “For luck.” With that, she turned and strode from the shelter.
It took the Hunter a moment to collect himself. She never ceased to surprise him.
When he emerged, he found a small band of forty or fifty men, women, and youths gathered around the shelter. Their tattered clothing hung from gaunt shoulders, but fire smoldered in their eyes. They gripped the crude spears Kiara had improvised, along with rocks, uprooted support beams, anything else remotely weapon-like they could get their hands on.
Ryat stood at the head of the group, wearing a suit of Elivasti armor, a wooden truncheon in his hand. His expression grew grim as he saw the Hunter. “Get the gate open,” he said, thrusting out a hand. “We’ll do the rest.”
The Hunter gripped his forearm. “Your strength lies in numbers. This only works if you get enough people to join.”
“Already I have people spreading throughout the Pit, whispering into the right ears. We’ll be ready.” Ryat gave him a firm nod. “The cruelty of the Elivasti ends this day.”
“There may be some Elivasti that will help us,” the Hunter told him. “Not many, but a few.”
“I can make no promises for the others,” Ryat said, “but if I see any lending aid, I will not harm them.”
“That is all I can ask.”
The Hunter knew how temperamental a mob could be once something got its blood up. The moment these prisoners let loose on their captors, their torturers, nothing short of a miracle would stop it from turning into a massacre. He hated the thought that Elivasti innocents—the children, people like Rothia simply trying to exist—would suffer, yet he had no choice. Too much hung in the balance to hesitate.
“Then let us make our move.” He shot a glance at Kiara.
“We’re right behind you.” She winked. “Watch your own ass for once.”
With a grin, the Hunter turned and strode toward the eastern edge of the Pit.
A marked change had come over the camp. Thousands of pairs of faces turned to follow the Hunter’s movements, and his keen ears picked up the whispers that spread through the camp like a brushfire in a dry forest. Life shone in eyes that had been dull and empty an hour earlier. Men, women, even children clenched their fists and bared their teeth. A low hum began to build around him.
Yes, he did, indeed, have an army.
He caught sight of a trio of blue-armored Elivasti moving through the pitiful shelters a short distance in front of him.
“Ho!” he called out.
They turned to him, and confusion twisted their faces.
“Detrarch Ryken?” one of the men asked. They stopped their roving patrol, turning toward him with questioning glances. “What brings the Blood Sentinels to the Pit?”
“The Sage’s orders,” the Hunter called. He didn’t speed up—no sense warning them anything was amiss—but his eyes narrowed as he closed the distance at a steady pace. Five, four, three, two…
He sprang into action too fast for the foremost Elivasti to even cry out. His mailed fist crashed into the man’s face, snapping his head back and lifting him from his feet. His heavy boot struck the knee of the next Elivasti, and the man sagged with
a cry. The third Elivasti actually managed to raise his truncheon, but the Hunter simply drove the heavy grip of his Scorchslayer into the man’s teeth. Blood spurted from mangled lips as the guard staggered backward. The Hunter leapt toward him, seized his neck in a powerful grip, and yanked hard. A loud snap and the man sagged.
“What--?” the Elivasti with the shattered knee began.
The Hunter cut him off with a kick to the face and the man sprawled backward into the muck, unconscious. The Hunter glanced behind him and caught a glimpse of Kiara, Ryat, and their band slipping through the camp. Kiara gave him a nod—they’d finish off the Elivasti. Three more suits of armor and truncheons could save three more lives, give the prisoners an edge against their captors.
He moved on.
He didn’t slow as he strode toward the eastern side of the Pit, to the stairs leading up to the gate and freedom beyond. The single two-man patrol he came across died before they even realized they were under attack.
More and more captives watched his passing with animated expressions on their once-lifeless faces. The sight of their captors being killed lit a spark of hatred in their eyes. The Hunter met their gazes, nodded, and raised a mailed fist as he strode past. Ryat’s army would grow until it rolled over the Elivasti like a thunderstorm.
The time had come for him to play his most important role.
He plastered a look of wide-eyed fear on Ryken’s features, then sprinted the remaining distance through the camp.
“Help!” he cried. “Help me.”
He slowed just as he reached the end of the sea of shelters and staggered into view of the ten guards stationed at the bottom of the stairs.
“What happened?” the sergeant asked.
“The bitch attacked me!” the Hunter snarled. He cradled his right arm to his chest. “She and two others knocked Iyadar and Engen out with bloody stones and tried to kill me.”
“Bloody hell!” The sergeant turned to his men. “You five, go deal with it. Show them what happens when they lay a hand on one of our own.”
“Aye, sir!” The five men saluted, then ran off in the direction of Kiara’s shelter.
“Do you need help, Detrarch Ryken?”
The Hunter waved the sergeant away with his left hand. “I’m fine!” he snapped. “Just keep your damned prisoners in line. The Sage will hear of this at once!”
The sergeant paled, but managed to spit out. “O-Of course, sir.”
The Hunter stumbled up the stairs as fast as he could go without breaking the pretense of an injured man. By now, the guards would have run into Kiara, Ryat, and the others. The rest of Ryat’s people would be moving through the Pit, eliminating any Elivasti they found. There would be hundreds, perhaps even thousands, surging toward this staircase and the three remaining guards.
It was up to him to get that gate open.
He pounded a mailed fist on the wicket gate. “Open up!” he shouted.
A window in the gate slid open, and a face appeared. “Detrarch Ryken?”
“Open this bloody door at once, or I’ll tell the Sage…”
The sound of a bolt sliding home echoed through the solid wood and the small door swung open.
“You imbeciles!” he shouted as he stepped through. “A handful of men got it in their heads to attack me and my escort. If you don’t get down there now, we could very well have a full-scale riot on our hands!”
The Detrarch’s face paled and his eyes flew wide. He whirled to the nearest Elivasti. “Bar the gate at once!”
“No, you fools,” the Hunter snapped. “Open the bloody thing, get down there, and help them control the situation.”
“But Detrarch Honsul said—”
“I don’t give a rat-licker’s asshole what he says!” The Hunter’s voice cracked like a whip, and the officer winced. He tapped the crossed red fists on his breastplate. “Do you see this? This means I am the one you answer to, above anything your Detrarch tells you.”
“But, sir—”
“NOW!” the Hunter roared at the top of his lungs. “Get down there and squash the bastards like bugs, or I’ll report directly to the Sage about the monumental fuck-up by…?”
The sergeant blanched. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.” He turned and snapped orders to his men, sending all fifteen through the postern gate and down the stairs to reinforce the others. “Yerch, get the men in the barracks here now. We’ll need them handy should things escalate.”
“Good.” The Hunter’s voice had a hard edge. “Perhaps this can still be salvaged and the Sage does not need to hear about it.”
Relief flashed in the man’s violet eyes. “We’ll get it in hand, Detrarch.”
“Maybe you ought to see to it personally?” The Hunter narrowed his eyes. “Unless you’d like me to mention you to the Sage by name.”
“Of course, sir.” The Elivasti snapped a salute, then ducked through the wicket gate.
The Hunter whirled. “You!” He stabbed a finger at one of the Elivasti standing by the windlass. “Is there any way the prisoners can open this gate from within?”
The man gave a furious shake of his head. “None, Detrarch.” He motioned to a metal locking bar that stopped the wooden windlass from turning. “With this in place, not even a giant could turn the wheel.”
“You are certain?” The Hunter frowned as he came to stand beside the man, resting a hand on his shoulder.
“Absolutely, sir.” The man straightened. “The gates are too heavy for even a hundred strong men to lift, and this is the only way they open.”
“Perfect.” The Hunter turned a vicious grin on the man. “You have my thanks.”
With that, his hand moved from the Elivasti’s shoulder to the spikestaff on his back, ripped it from its holder, and drove the spiked tip up into the back of his skull.
The three remaining Elivasti stared at the Hunter in stunned silence. For a moment, none of them moved.
“Well?” The Hunter fixed them with a hard stare. “Aren’t any of you going to try to kill me?”
Chapter Thirty-Two
The Elivasti before the gate seemed incapable of comprehending what had happened. A Blood Sentinel, the special unit serving the Sage directly, had killed one of their own.
The Hunter could see their minds working, registering the bewildering information their eyes were sending to their brains. He sighed. “I gave you a chance.”
He released his grip on the spikestaff, and the Elivasti he’d killed sagged to the floor. His right hand, covered with the blood that had gushed from the man’s skull, closed around the trigger mechanism of the Scorchslayer. The gemstone set into its stock flared bright, runes glowed along its wooden length, and a loud humming filled the air. A moment later, dazzling light split the air in front of the Hunter as the weapon spat a bolt of lightning.
The crackling bolt leapt the distance to the nearest Elivasti in a single heartbeat and slammed into his armor, lifting him from his feet and hurling him backward into the gate. Flesh and bone crashed against solid wood with such force that not even a thick casing of blue armor could cushion the impact. The man clattered to the ground in a limp pile of armor, never to rise again.
Damn! The Hunter stared down at the Scorchslayer. This is bloody awesome. He’d have to work on his aim, though. Not quite like firing a crossbow. More kick, and it pulled higher.
The sight of the lightning bolt seemed to snap the Elivasti from their shock. Anger pierced the surprise numbing their brains, and they drew their spikestaffs to charge him.
“Now we’re talking!” The Hunter dropped the Scorchslayer, picked up the spikestaff—still covered in the Elivasti blood—and whirled it around his head.
Both Elivasti reached him at the same time and thrust their spikestaffs at him with the practical, brutal efficiency of trained spearmen. Unfortunately, they faced a foe far deadlier than a barbarian or desert raider.
The Hunter brought his spikestaff around so fast it whistled as it sliced the air. The solid shaft cra
cked against his enemies’ weapons with enough force to knock them wide. Before the Elivasti could recover, the Hunter brought the reverse end of the staff whipping around. The sharpened steel spike sliced through the throat of the first Elivasti, tore through flesh, and continued traveling across to lay open the second guard’s cheek to the bone.
The first man fell, blood gushing from his lacerated neck. The second fell back with a cry and clapped a hand to his cheek. His eyes never left his blood-soaked hand as the Hunter drove the spiked tip of his staff through the man’s armor and into his chest.
“Now, Garnos!” the Hunter shouted.
A blue-armored figure burst from the shadows of the causeway and raced toward him. Sorrow shone in the man’s violet eyes, a sharp contrast to the blood staining his hands.
The Hunter raised an eyebrow. “You take care of reinforcements?”
Garnos nodded. “The messenger never made it, but the moment they hear the gate opening, they’re going to come running.”
“Then we’d better make our move quickly.” The Hunter turned toward the windlass. “You know how to work this thing?”
“I do.”
Garnos grunted with the effort of pulling the heavy steel locking bar free, then dropped it and set to work rotating the thick handle of the wooden windlass. The Hunter bent to working the crank beside him. Within moments, the first loud, angry grumble of the gate thundered through the stone corridors as the massive construction began to rise slowly.
Shouts of alarm echoed from the barracks behind them.
“Faster!” the Hunter shouted. He whipped the handle around as fast as he could, but the gate rose only a finger’s breadth for every revolution. Sweat dripped down his forehead from the exertion yet he did not slow.
Loud thumps sounded from the building, but no Elivasti spilled out. The Hunter shot Garnos a questioning glance.
“I jammed the lock with a spikestaff tip, but it won’t hold them for long,” Garnos said, his brow furrowed.
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