So how had the demon done it? Only one answer explained it. The Blood Sentinels.
A shudder of revulsion ran down the Hunter’s spine. Garnos had told him the Blood Sentinels lived with the knowledge that they would sacrifice themselves when the Blood Sun, the Withering, arrived. While only a few drops of Hailen’s pure Melechha blood was required to activate the Keeps, all of the Blood Sentinels’ watered-down Elivasti blood would be needed. The Sage could have shared the knowledge of activating the Keeps, and they could have done it without him needing to be present. Twenty-one Blood Sentinels had died in service to their master’s schemes and taken the secret of Enarium with them to their graves.
But if the Blood Sentinels took care of the Keeps, where is the Sage? With the threat of the Hunter, Taiana, and the other Bucelarii, the demon would have fortified himself in the place where he would put his final plan into action. The fact that he’d abandoned Hellsgate meant the fortress wasn’t his final destination.
There’s only one place he’d go now.
The Hunter’s eyes went toward the Illumina, the massive tower at the heart of Enarium. It alone remained dark, its stone inert. Twenty-four shining towers sloped toward that single structure, their tips like spotlights pointing him in the direction he needed to go.
The Hunter glanced at Kiara. “I’ve got to go there.” He pointed to the Illumina. “That’s where I’ll find the Sage, and Hailen.”
“Then quit talking and let’s get going.” Kiara made to stride past him, but the Hunter stepped in her way.
He shook his head. “I can’t let you do this.”
“You’re not letting me do anything,” she snapped and batted his hand aside. “Haven’t you learned that by now?”
The Hunter threw up his hands. “You know what I mean, Kiara. I’m going to be walking into the belly of the beast, right into the middle of a pack of Elivasti to confront a demon face to face. I can’t take you with me.”
“Why not?” Anger flashed in her eyes, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “You think because I’m a w—”
“Because I can blend in with the enemy, get through their lines unseen, but you can’t.” The Hunter gestured to his features—the features of Ryken, the fallen Blood Sentinel. “One look in your eyes and they’ll know you’re not one of them. They’ll cut you down without a second thought.”
She scowled, but had no reply. The look in her eyes told the Hunter she knew he spoke the truth.
“I’ve got to do this without you,” the Hunter said. “You are one of the most capable women I have ever met, Kiara, but this is one thing you can’t do.”
“You know we don’t like being told ‘can’t’, right?” Kiara growled. “Just makes us all the more determined to prove you egotistical, phallocentric jackasses wrong.”
The Hunter couldn’t help a smile. “Knowing you, that’s not even a little surprising. But this isn’t about you or me, man or woman. This is about saving Hailen and stopping the Sage from destroying the world.”
“So what do I do while you’re off playing hero?” Kiara’s eyes darkened. “Sit around twiddling my thumbs like a simpering noblewoman?” She sneered and imitated the snobbish mannerisms of a Voramian lady at tea, extended pinky finger and all.
“No.” The Hunter shook his head. “If you want to do something, keep Ryat’s angry horde from murdering the Elivasti trapped on Hellsgate’s rooftop garden.”
Kiara’s eyebrows rose.
The Hunter quickly recounted his conversation with Garnos and Rothia, and what the gardener had said about trying to save as many people as possible.
“You want me to protect those purple-eyed bastards?” Kiara snarled. “The ones that locked me and all those other people up in that gods-forsaken Pit?”
“And the opia,” he told her. “You can’t let the mob destroy it.
“The what?” Kiara’s brow wrinkled.
“The opia. Grape-sized purple berries growing in a huge glass dome in the heart of the garden. Hailen needs it, as do all the Elivasti here.” He fixed her with a hard stare. “If it’s destroyed, Hailen dies, and any Elivasti that survive today are doomed.”
“Good!” Kiara snapped. “Einan would be far better off without them.”
The Hunter shook his head. “They’re people, just like you and me. People who chose the wrong master to serve, and made the wrong choices—choices that hurt people.” He shot her a meaningful look. “Sound familiar?”
Kiara’s scowl deepened.
The Hunter pressed on before she could retort. “We’ve both done things we regret, Kiara. Things that will haunt us for the rest of our lives. Perhaps we deserve death for what we’ve done. Yet someone gave us a chance to live again. Call it the gods, call it luck, call it whatever the bloody hell you want—we had a second chance, a hope of redemption.”
He thrust a finger toward Hellsgate. “The man that died back there, the one you found me kneeling beside, he was an Elivasti, one of the ‘purple-eyed bastards’ that locked you and all those others in the Pit. For eighty years, he worked as a Pit guard alongside all the cruel men like Setin. But in the end, he gave his life to set you free. He proved there was something within him worth saving.”
Her expression softened.
“If there is even a shred of decency among the Elivasti, isn’t that something you’d want to protect?” the Hunter asked. “Children like Hailen or Farida who never hurt anyone, but who were simply born into this life. Men and women who have spent their entire lives simply trying to survive in a world where they don’t belong.”
He searched her gaze. “Saving them does more than give them a second chance; it proves that we are better than we were before. Me, an assassin, and you, the Fourth of the Bloody Hand. For the sake of our own humanity, Kiara, we have to hope there is a bit of good in people. Because if there is good in them, there may be a shred of good in us as well, no matter what we’ve done.”
The words sounded so foreign coming from his mouth, yet he found himself actually believing them.
“Please, Kiara,” the Hunter said in a quiet voice. “Protect those people. Not for their sakes, but for yours. For ours. Let us be better.”
For a long moment, Kiara said nothing but simply held his gaze. Finally, she shook her head and threw up her hands. “Damn, Hunter, you’re getting good at these rousing speeches. Who knew you’d be as good with your words as you are with a blade?”
Laughter bubbled from the Hunter’s chest. It felt good to laugh, after everything he’d been through in the last few days.
“I’ll do it,” Kiara said with a sigh. “I’ll try my best to keep the mob at bay. For Hailen’s sake, if nothing else.”
“Thank you!” The Hunter took her hands in his and squeezed them hard.
She returned the grip, meeting his eyes. “You stay alive, you hear? You wind up dead, I’ll kick your ass all the way back to Voramis.”
He nodded. “Deal.” With a little smile, he turned and hurried down the street. When he glanced back, she was watching him go.
He let out a long breath as he turned to climb the hill to the Second Echelon. She’d still be in danger—possibly more, facing that violent mob—but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about her getting killed as he fought his way through the Elivasti guarding the Sage.
The first rays of golden sunlight appeared over the eastern horizon. Day dawned bright, filling the sky with deep browns and golds shot through with lines of fiery orange. The Hunter’s eyes went to the billowing red cloud. It nearly filled the entire northern half of the sky. He had only a few hours until noon—until the Blood Sun and the end of the world.
Urgency lent speed to his steps. His armor clanked as he ran and the pounding of his boots on the white stone streets echoed from the surrounding buildings. The city was empty, not a single patrol in sight. His gut tightened as he realized why that was: any Elivasti not in Hellsgate would be protecting the Sage.
His eyes fixed on the Illumina. He would f
ind the demon in the heart of Enarium, and Hailen with him, so that was where he needed to go.
Ice froze in his veins as he reached the Prime Echelon. The uppermost level of Enarium was devoid of all stone buildings, all constructions save for the eight Keeps and the massive tower at its heart. On the broad stone square surrounding the Illumina, an army of Elivasti, easily two or three hundred strong, blocked his path to the Sage.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The Hunter ducked back down the slope toward the Medial Echelon and out of sight of the army. The rising hill had revealed them when only the top of his head had poked above the street level. He crept upward and peered over the hill to study the forces arrayed between him and his target.
The Illumina was easily fifty paces in diameter, with massive open archways set into each of its eight mirrored gemstone sides. It was a poorly defensible position, which likely explained why the Sage had brought more than half his Elivasti to hold it. They ringed the building in ranks five deep. The foremost ranks held long spikestaffs, and the Blood Sentinels brought up the rear with their Scorchslayers. The Elivasti scanned the streets with wariness written in their tense postures, the white-knuckled grips on their weapons, and their ever-roving eyes. They couldn’t know what was happening within Hellsgate, but likely the Sage had warned them to be ready for anything. The Abiarazi knew the Hunter was in Enarium, which only added to the ranks of enemies working against him. He wouldn’t take any precautions this close to his endgame.
The Hunter glanced up at the sky. The sun hung barely above the tops of the eastern mountains, so it couldn’t be later than the seventh or eighth hour of the day. If the Withering took place at noon, he had at least four hours to get into the Illumina, find the Sage, and put an end to the Abiarazi before he could enact his plans. Easier said than done, of course. He had to get through that army alone, then deal with whatever Blood Sentinels the Sage had kept to guard his body.
Worse, the disguise of Detrarch Ryken might not work. A handful of Blood Sentinels had survived his attempt on the Sage, and Elivasti reinforcements had been present when Ryken fell. Explaining his resurrection would prove no easy task. Even the slightest suspicion could turn the Elivasti against him—unlikely he’d be able to fight his way out any more than he could fight in.
Good thing I don’t need to fight.
Over the years that he’d worn the alchemical disguises, he’d discovered that people rarely paid attention to less important details. A nobleman was far less likely to notice a hidden dagger when gold coins sparkled before his eyes. A wary guard tended to find a beautiful woman in scant clothing far more interesting than a ragged beggar. Soldiers fearing for their lives would look at a man’s armor and weapons before they examined his face too closely.
The Hunter didn’t need to cut his way through—he just needed to take the focus off of him.
Without hesitation, he slipped back down the hill toward Hellsgate. The ascent had taken him fifteen minutes, but he didn’t need to go far to find what he sought. The mob flooding out of the underground causeway from Khar’nath hadn’t only stormed Hellsgate. Lean, ragged, hard-eyed men and women surged through Enarium by the hundreds, perhaps thousands. They moved with single-minded purpose: vengeance on their captors, the purple-eyed warriors that had imprisoned and tormented them.
The Hunter gave them just what they sought.
He shifted his face to Setin’s—few in the Pit had known of the Elivasti’s death, but many would recognize the thick, rounded cheeks and fleshy lips of their jailor. The universally-hated Setin would be just the Elivasti to rouse the ire of the freed prisoners. The sight of him would turn them from an aimless, wandering pack of men and women into an angry mob out for vengeance.
“Oi!” He waved his arms to get the attention of the mob climbing the hill to the Medial Echelon. “Get back in your prison right now or, by the Sage, I’ll come down there and beat every one of you senseless!”
Faces turned up toward him, expressions darkened, and hatred flashed in dozens of eyes, then scores, then hundreds. Men and women that had suffered a lifetime of abuse at Setin’s hands saw him standing alone in the street, weaponless. They looked at each other, at him, then back at each other. With a roar of rage, they raised crude spears, makeshift clubs, and spikestaffs wrenched from fallen Elivasti and charged.
The Hunter waited for them to close the distance—they needed to see the object of their hatred. The horde reached the Medial Echelon, crossed the broad avenue, and swarmed up the hill toward him. The Hunter retreated slowly, walking backward to keep an eye on the approaching mass of men and women. He needed to be certain the throng had the numbers to survive the inevitable clash with the Elivasti. He needed them whipped into a frenzy, for only a mindless, bloodthirsty mob would survive what came next.
The stream of shouting, raging humans didn’t slow. They seemed like an army of dragonfire ants marching toward a threat, with the fury and numbers to match. He estimated their number to exceed two thousand, then three, then five. And still they came on.
When they were within fifty paces of him, the Hunter turned and jogged up the hill. The exhausted, starved humans couldn’t match his full speed. Though the hill was steep, the fire of their fury goaded them on. Like a starving greatcat stalking a lone stallion in the vast expanse of the Advanat Desert, they hunted him. Just as he needed them to.
Just before he crested the hill to the Prime Echelon, the Hunter shifted his features to Detrarch Ryken’s thick nose, sloping forehead, and a square jaw. Enough of the Elivasti would recognize the Blood Sentinel that they wouldn’t immediately be wary of him. The raging horde behind them would push any questions from their minds.
Once he was certain he had the features right, he poured more speed into his run. He pounded up the hill and across the broad avenue that spanned the Prime Echelon, straight toward the army surrounding the base of the Illumina.
“Where is he?” the Hunter shouted in the rough, brutish voice he’d settled on for the Ryken disguise. “Where is our master?”
Eyes flew wide all along the Elivasti line as they saw him—armor stained with blood, holes in his side and shoulder where the spikestaffs had punched through the blue breastplate and pauldrons, his hands empty of weapons.
“Detrarch Ryken?” someone in the ranks called out. “What’s going on?” The speaker was a sergeant in the second row of the Elivasti line. The men before the officer parted as the Hunter pounded toward them.
“The Sage! Where do I find him?” The Hunter didn’t slow until he reached the sergeant. He grabbed the man’s gorget and shook him, plastering a look of panic on his face. “The prisoners…he has to know!”
“What about the prisoners?” the Elivasti demanded. “What’s happened?”
The Hunter fairly screamed in the man’s face. “Where is he?”
At that moment, the first of the mob crested the hill and spilled onto the First Echelon. All around the Hunter, Elivasti gasped as more and more of the ragged, filthy men and women rushed onto Enarium’s upper level. When the horde caught sight of the ranks of Elivasti, they let out a howl of mingled rage and delight. They had found their enemy.
“By the gods!” Blood drained from the sergeant’s face.
“The Sage!” the Hunter shouted, shaking the man again. “Where is he?”
The Elivasti couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the charging mob. “He is…above.” He thrust a distracted finger toward the top of the Illumina behind him.
The Hunter released the man and pushed through the ranks of Elivasti that stood between him and the nearest archway into the Illumina. For what seemed an eternity, the only sound he heard was the roaring of the freed prisoners. It took the Elivasti officers long seconds to find their voices and begin issuing orders to prepare to meet the charge. None of their training could have prepared them for this.
The Hunter cast a glance backward before entering the Illumina. The front ranks of blue-armored warriors knelt, their s
pikestaffs held like spears to meet a cavalry charge. Behind them, thirty Blood Sentinels raised Scorchslayers and a loud humming filled the air as glowing blue runes sprang to life along the stocks. A moment later, thirty bolts of lightning sizzled over the heads of the kneeling Elivasti.
The Hunter’s stomach clenched as the lightning cracked into the heads, chest, and limbs of the charging men and women. The ragged front of the line simply disintegrated in a mist of blood, bone, and guts. People fell screaming and bleeding, only to be trampled to death by those charging behind them. Others sagged without a sound, gaping holes where their chests had been, nothing remaining of their heads.
Five seconds after the first lightning bolts struck the crowd, the second wave struck. Scores more men and women fell, the arcing energy simply punching through them to drive through those following on their heels.
The Hunter’s gut churned, and acid burned the back of his throat. Years spent killing people couldn’t prepare him for carnage on such an immense scale. The pile of emaciated, rag-covered bodies mounted as the Scorchslayers laid waste to flesh and bone. Casualties among the horde numbered in the scores, then quickly mounted to hundreds.
But hundreds of deaths could not slow the thousands of furious humans hell-bent on vengeance. The blue-armored warriors standing before them had been the cause of their suffering for years, decades. For every one that fell, fifty more pounded toward the ranks of the Elivasti.
The Hunter turned away without a backward glance. The outcome was inevitable.
The interior of the Illumina was like nothing the Hunter had ever seen. At its core was a massive pillar of blue gemstone that disappeared into the floor and ceiling—almost as if the tower had been built around it. The ground level was empty of any furnishings or adornments, but simply bare stone floors and ceiling, with walls of the mirrored gemstone that gave the Hunter full view of the carnage outside. Within the tower, the humming that permeated Enarium rose to an almost tangible crescendo, setting the Hunter’s bones vibrating.
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