Relief scoured away his weariness as he basked in the silence. He allowed his mind to drift. As it often did, his thoughts filled with concern for Hailen.
He's better off in Kharan-cui, he told himself. On the morning he'd left, Hailen had cried and clung to his robes. The sorrow and fear in the boy's eyes twisted his stomach. But he'd had no choice. Hailen would never survive the climb. And I can't let the Sage use him as leverage.
The Hunter had no illusions as to the demon's true nature. He didn’t buy the Sage's friendly, welcoming exterior, not for a single moment. His encounters with the Abiarazi in Voramis, Malandria, and Al Hani had taught him to be wary.
Unconsciously, his fingers traced the scars etched into his chest. He no longer counted, not after what had happened in the Advanat. Three stood out from the rest—one for each demon he had killed since leaving Voramis. They'd all shown their true colors in the end. What they couldn't manipulate or dominate, they destroyed. The Sage, he suspected, favored the subtler approach.
So be it. He would allow himself to be used. He could fake deference, all the while exploiting the demon for his own purposes. Once the Sage's value ended…well, Soulhunger's thirst for blood never ceased.
The water seemed suddenly cold, sending a shiver down his spine. Climbing to his feet, he stepped from the tub and padded on wet feet toward the window. The moon hung at its zenith, casting weak light on the craggy peaks around Kara-ket. For what seemed an eternity, he stood staring out across the Hrandari Plains, basking in the silence, toying with the silver pendant at his throat.
A yawn broke his peaceful reverie, and a wave of exhaustion crashed into him. The bath had washed away the dirt, but his fatigue from the day's exertions remained. The bed beckoned to him with an allure no soft-skinned companion could match. He heeded the temptation.
The simple straw-tick mattress felt like luxury after days of sleeping on hard earth and stone. Woolen blankets covered sheets made of soft linen, and his head sank into the feather bolster. The light leaking from the walls had dimmed to a gentle golden glow that pulled him deeper into slumber. For the first time in memory, he drifted in a soothing haze of warmth, silence, and comfort. The glow slowly faded and died, and his eyelids drooped shut.
* * *
Daylight pounded at his closed eyes, dragging him from slumber. He wrestled with the desire to continue sleeping. He hadn't rested this well in a long time…ever, perhaps. For one delicious moment, he allowed himself to remain at peace.
Then the memories from the previous day swept over him, and he leapt from bed. Fool! He muttered a silent curse. The soothing calm of the temple had filled him with a languor, dulling his resistance to its subtle enchantments. He would not be lulled again.
His eyes fell upon a platter of food on the floor beside the door, and a stab of fear raced through him.
Someone came in the night, and I didn't hear him! The Sage could have had me killed while I slept.
But he hadn't. His belongings remained undisturbed. Soulhunger and his long sword lay amidst the clothing heaped on the floor. The cloth wrapping around the Swordsman's iron daggers looked untouched. The silver platter was the only thing to indicate anyone had entered while he slept.
Interesting. A smug grin spread his lips. So the demon really does see me as a potential ally. Perfect!
He dug a fresh set of clothing from his pack and dressed quickly. The churning of his stomach reminded him he hadn't eaten since the previous morning. He examined the simple meal: cured meat and fish atop a bowl of the sticky white rice that flourished on the Hrandari Plains, accompanied by a colorful assortment of seeds and nuts. Better than the trail biscuits and jerky he'd eaten during his travels. He devoured the food and took a long draught from the pitcher beside the tray. The fermented grain-wine left an oddly sour taste in his mouth.
Hunger satisfied, he buckled on his weapons and cloak and pulled open the door. Two masked guards stood in the corridor. Their iron-tipped staves snapped together to block his way.
"Move," the Hunter growled.
The white and black-clad men remained silent and still, their weapons unmoving.
The Hunter bared his teeth. "If you value your lives, step aside. I am the Sage's guest—"
"The Sage has commanded that you await him," one of the guards spoke in a deep, rich voice. "In your chambers."
The Hunter studied the two men. Iron-tipped staves or no, they couldn't stop him if he truly wanted out. But killing them wouldn't win the Sage's confidence. With a stony expression, he shut the door.
The Sage had suspicions about him; only a fool would take the word of a stranger arriving on his doorstep, especially one extending the hand of friendship as he had. The Hunter had expected the Sage to do something like this. No doubt the demon wanted to keep a close eye on him, at least until he could evaluate the Hunter's trustworthiness. Very well. He could be patient. His confinement gave him a chance to plan his next move.
He drew his sword and settled into an attack stance, moving through the forms with controlled precision. The measured action calmed his mind and brought him focus.
The Sage would undoubtedly dig deeper, to uncover the real reasons he, the Bucelarii who had killed the First and the entire Bloody Hand, had come to Kara-ket. The Hunter had rehearsed it in his head a hundred times as he crossed the Hrandari Plains. He'd give the demon all the right answers; the Sage would never suspect a thing until the Hunter drove Soulhunger into his heart.
Chapter Six
Shirtless, the Hunter thrust, slashed, and parried in the rhythmic pattern of his sword forms. The thin mountain air burned his lungs, but he forced himself to finish. Every movement flung droplets of sweat around the small room. He kept his movements controlled, practicing combat in tight spaces. He was ready for the Sage's next move.
A knock sounded on the door. Right on time.
He ignored it, moving with fluid grace through a complex series of strikes. The knock came again, more insistent. He remained silent until he finished the form and sheathed his sword.
"Who goes?"
"It is I, Hunter." The Sage's voice echoed through the wooden door.
The Hunter yanked the door open. "Do you imprison all your guests? Or am I a special case?"
The Sage held up his hands. "Can you blame me? The appearance of a stranger on my mountain—a Bucelarii, no less, and the one who destroyed the First of the Bloody Hand—warrants a bit of caution."
"Yet somehow you knew I was coming, had your men waiting for me. Certainly you must know enough by now to make up your mind."
The demon inclined his head. "A fair point." He stepped aside. "Now, if you care to join me, we have a great deal to discuss."
"Permit me a moment to change into fresh clothing, and I will join you."
"Very well. I await you in the hall." The door clicked shut behind the Sage.
Drying himself with a cloth from the bathing alcove, the Hunter slipped on a fresh tunic and adjusted Soulhunger's hidden sheath on his back. He left the baldric and sword on his bed. No sense antagonizing the Sage's men. A leather thong pulled his long, dark hair back into a tight tail. Slinging the cloak over his shoulders, he stepped out into the hallway.
The Sage stood in the middle of a squad of purple-eyed guards. His impatience disappeared at the sight of the Hunter. "Stay close, Hunter. The halls of Kara-ket are vast and labyrinthine. I'd hate for you to lose your way."
The Hunter nodded. "I follow your lead."
A smile tickled the Sage's lips as he turned and strode down the corridor. The Hunter's longer legs matched the Sage's precise, clipped stride. The demon's perfume—an earthy fragrance with heavy aromas of oak, verbena, and citrus—did little to mask the Abiarazi's scent of rot and decay. Indeed, the addition of the thick, sweet smells made the scent even more nauseating.
"I find myself returning to the question of why you have arrived, Hunter." The demon didn't meet his eyes as they walked, but he radiated burning curiosity. "Surely y
ou had to know that your actions in Voramis would have…consequences."
"I would expect no less." The Hunter smiled. "If I were to operate as normal, you would send more of your loyal followers to hunt me down. But my coming here presents us both with an opportunity for a fresh start."
The demon stopped and faced him, an eyebrow dancing toward his hairline. "You do not fear that I will order my men to cut you down where you stand?"
"You don't strike me as being that particular brand of foolish. You seem the sort who can overlook past losses for the sake of future profits."
"Well said." The Sage inclined his head and continued walking. "Tell me, what led you to war against the Bloody Hand?"
The Hunter expected this question. "They meddled in my business. After the First tortured me, turned me over to the Heresiarchs, and tried to kill me, I could not let such an affront go unanswered. The name of the Hunter must stand for something, after all."
"But to destroy them so completely, to kill every member of the Bloody Hand, surely there had to be something personal to it."
The Hunter's gut tightened. He'd hoped the demon wouldn't ask this question. He'd pondered how to answer it without revealing the truth. "He killed those I had sworn to protect. Not because they posed a threat to him, but to send me a message." He clenched a fist. "He did not enjoy my response."
The Sage gave a harsh chuckle. "I'm certain." His expression grew somber. "You take your oaths seriously."
"I do." The conversation was going in the perfect direction. "Once I have vowed to protect or to serve, not even the gods themselves can sway me."
A simple statement, yet one he knew the Sage would understand. He could almost see the eager light in the demon's eyes.
"But I do not swear to any man, or Abiarazi. First, I would know more about those with whom I will align myself. As I told you last night, I have come to Kara-ket for answers about my past, my heritage. What can you tell me about my people?"
Confidence echoed in the Sage's voice. "Everything."
Rounding the corridor, they came upon the stone monstrosity that had startled the Hunter the previous night. Though bright daylight flooded the hall, the shadows seemed to deepen around the jade sculpture. Was it just him, or did the corridor feel suddenly chilly near the statue?
The Sage stopped before the silent stone demon. "Beautiful, isn't it? Not a bad likeness, if I say so myself." Pride filled his expression.
The Hunter raised an eyebrow. "That is you?"
The Sage nodded, depthless eyes fixed on the jade creature. "Who else?"
The Hunter studied the statue in silence. Such hubris. "It looks ancient."
"Almost as old as the temple itself." The Sage's unblinking eyes locked with the Hunter's, his gaze intense. "Almost as old as I am."
"How long have you lived here?"
"Since the beginning. Since the War of Gods."
The Hunter struggled to keep his jaw from dropping. "Truly?"
The Sage nodded. "For thousands of years, I have held Kara-ket as a stronghold for Abiarazi and Bucelarii alike. After the fall of the Great Destroyer, when all my brothers scattered across the world, only I retained my power."
The Hunter's mind raced. The alchemist in Al Hani had told him Kara-ket once housed the Adepts, worshippers of the Swordsman. Yet the Sage claimed to have lived here since the War of Gods. Had he once adopted the guise of a priest, like Garanis in Malandria?
Few apart from him could recognize a demon. The Abiarazi masquerading as humans could worm their way into every city and kingdom. As they no doubt had, on the Sage's orders.
"Tell me of the Bucelarii." He'd come for answers. He doubted the Sage could tell him much about his past; Master Eldor had the information he sought. But he could learn a great deal about the history of his kind. More, he fully intended to discover the Sage's plans for the demons hiding around Einan.
The Sage folded his arms. "How much do you know?"
"I know that the Abiarazi sired us during the War of Gods, that we were bred to conquer this world for the Great Destroyer."
The guards tensed as he drew Soulhunger and spun it in his fingers. "I know these weapons were given to us as a proof of our heritage, a way to feed the Great Destroyer."
The Sage's gaze followed the dagger's movements, greed glimmering in his eyes.
The Hunter sheathed the blade. "I also know that after Kharna was defeated, the gods themselves slaughtered us alongside you." Anger boiled within him. He'd relived the memory of nearly being cast into a portal to the fiery hells in Enarium, only saved from death by the Beggar God's pleas for mercy. "I know the humans have hunted us since the War of Gods."
"Indeed." Spite burned in the Sage's obsidian eyes. "The cowards fear that which they cannot control."
"But not only the priests of the Beggar have hunted us. The Illusionist Clerics have had a hand in our suffering. They have taken my memories, my past. I seek to reclaim what is lost."
The Sage shook his head. "I know of what you speak. Long ago, I sent one of my lieutenants to infiltrate the priesthood of the Illusionist. His knowledge of their secret ways and rituals has proven useful."
The Hunter forced a surprised expression. "So you knew? And you did nothing? After what they did to us, over and over?" He'd thought to pretend anger, but found a very real well of rage smoldering in his chest. On more nights than he cared to admit, he woke in a cold sweat, heart thundering. He couldn't escape the terror he'd felt at being helpless against the dancing silver pendant that ripped his memory to shreds. "They stole our memories, erased our very identities, and you allowed it to happen?"
"It was too late." The Sage's voice grew quiet, and a weight seemed to settle on his shoulders. "By the time I learned the truth, your kind had been wiped from existence. In vain, I have scoured Einan for centuries. I believed the accursed Beggar Priests had eradicated every last Bucelarii."
"Until now," the Hunter growled.
"Until now. When the First sent word with his suspicions about you, I so desperately wanted to believe it. But when the Bloody Hand was destroyed…"
"So the First was your creature? He was acting on your orders?" He knew as much, but he had to play innocent to sell his ruse. The Sage couldn't know he'd put together the bits and pieces he'd learned from the demons in Malandria and Al Hani. "You are the reason for—"
"Wait!" The Sage fixed the Hunter with an unblinking stare. "I gave him orders on how to use the Bloody Hand to rule Voramis from the shadows. In regards to you, I instructed him to watch and wait."
The Hunter barked a laugh. "The exact opposite of what he did! The bastard manipulated me, tortured me, and tried to kill me." His fists clenched and relaxed.
"And that is why I hold no anger against you for what you did," the Sage said. "Believe me, had I known, I would have put a blade in him myself! Truth be told, the First was never one to take orders. Even though he ruled the city of Voramis in all but name, he wanted more than just one city. He wanted it all, and thanks to his greed, he has set back my operations in Voramis by generations!"
The Hunter narrowed his eyes. Even after the loss of his underlings in Voramis, could the Sage still have plans for the city? He tucked the tidbit aside for later contemplation. "So you had no part in the First's actions?"
The Sage placed a hand over his heart. "By the Great Destroyer himself, I swear I am innocent of his actions."
"And Tane, the Third? Was he your creature as well?"
The Sage sighed. "He was worse than the First, if you can believe it. Voramis was the only city where his…unique brutality served a purpose."
The Hunter struggled to keep his lip from curling. He speaks of a bloodthirsty murderer the same way a blacksmith speaks of a hammer. The Sage showed no sign of remorse, only frustration at a tool that refused to serve his purposes. Just another reminder of what the Abiarazi are truly like.
He hardened his expression. "I will admit my experiences in Voramis have left me somewhat soured wit
h my ancestors. Yet the First spoke of you with respect, surprising from one such as him. It has given me hope that not all Abiarazi are equally disappointing." Flattery worked wonders when dealing with men of power and means.
Demon or no, the Sage seemed as susceptible to ego stroking as any man. He turned to the Hunter and gripped his shoulder. "And I intend to prove your hopes correct. We have a great deal in common, the two of us. Together, I believe we could do great things." He tapped his temple with one slim finger. "Between my intellect and your skills with that blade of yours"—his eyes darted to the Hunter's back—"there will be nothing to stop us."
Chapter Seven
The Hunter stepped back. "There is no us, Sage. Not yet."
The Sage's face darkened. "I am not a show hound to jump through hoops, Hunter."
"Nor am I." The Hunter crossed his arms. He walked a fine line. Overeagerness would raise the Sage's suspicions, but so would overhesitance. "You sent your Elivasti to test me. Let that be the last time. If we are to be allies, we must begin to trust each other."
The demon's face relaxed. "Agreed."
"As I said, the Illusionist Clerics stole the memories of my ancestors as well as my past. My opinion of the Abiarazi is tainted by my experiences with the First and the Third. I hope you can prove that opinion wrong."
"I fully intend to." The Sage's chin lifted, his expression disdainful. "You cannot measure an entire race by the scum it produces."
The Hunter raised an eyebrow. "Then tell me the truth of the Abiarazi. Tell me of their history on Einan, beginning with the War of Gods."
"I could tell you all," the Sage said with a sly grin, "but I prefer to show you." He swept off down the hallway, never glancing back, as if expecting the Hunter to fall in. Curiosity piqued, the Hunter followed.
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