"Easy, Hunter." The Sage held up a restraining hand. "I'd caution restraint when it comes to dealing with the Warmaster. As you saw, he is quick to anger, and woe to the man—or Bucelarii—who is the object of his fury."
A knock sounded at the door, and the Sage turned. "Speaking of…"
The Warmaster's hulking frame filled the door. Unlike the Sage, he wore no perfume, made no attempt to mask his unearthly reek.
The Hunter sat up in bed, instantly aware of the fact he wore only a simple pair of breeches. He searched the room for Soulhunger, his sword, anything.
"Be at ease, Bucelarii," the Warmaster rumbled. "I have come to explain my actions."
The Hunter crossed his arms. "Speak." This ought to be good.
The Warmaster clasped his hands behind his back. "I acted rashly, out of anger."
The Hunter snorted. "And that is your apology?"
The Warmaster stiffened, massive hands flexing. "I am sorry that you were hurt, and I regret that my anger got the best of me." His face showed no remorse, no emotion at all. Cold fire burned in the depthless void of his eyes, and he stood rigid, his back ramrod straight.
The Hunter suppressed a sneer. With all the sincerity of a wolf apologizing to a stag. He took a deep breath and struggled to rein in his fury. Had he faced any normal man, he would have leapt from the bed and snapped the bastard’s neck. He’d have to make an exception in this case. He couldn’t afford to antagonize the enormous, powerful warrior—one whose skill, strength, and speed surpassed even his own. Not yet.
The Hunter clenched his jaw. "I…accept."
The Warmaster's expression relaxed, and he nodded. "Allow me to make amends for your injuries. Let me hold a feast in your honor tomorrow night." His eyes darted to the Sage. "I can offer you certain…entertainments you will not find elsewhere."
The Sage made no attempt to hide his scorn.
The Hunter spoke before the Sage could. "So be it. We will attend your feast."
The Warmaster's eyes blazed at the mention of the word “we”, but he managed a stiff bow. "Until then, Bucelarii." His gaze avoided the Sage as he strode from the room.
The Sage curled a lip at the closing door. "Vicious bastard!" He pitched his voice low so only the Hunter could hear. "You have no idea how many of my men have died at his hands. 'Necessary training', he calls it." He rattled off a string of vitriol in a language that jarred the Hunter's ears.
The Hunter closed his eyes and leaned back against the headboard. He was more tired than he cared to admit, and his efforts to heal himself had sapped his energy further.
"Though, I must admit I find his apology—such as it was—something new." The Sage gave a wry grin. "Clearly, he wants something from you badly enough he’s willing to pretend humility."
The Hunter nodded. Of course he does. But so do you.
"I trust your new accommodations are satisfactory?"
"They are." The Hunter opened his eyes to meet the Sage's inquiring gaze. "Though I find myself wondering why I’ve been moved."
"I told you I wanted you somewhere I could keep an eye on you, to be certain you could be trusted. The way you handled yourself with the Warmaster—let’s just say, if you’d wanted me dead, I would be." The Sage folded his hands delicately in his lap. "Here, there are fewer…restrictions on your movement."
The Hunter suppressed his scorn. So there won't be guards posted outside my door.
"On the practice field," the Sage said, his face a mask of perfect calm, "he tried to entice you to join him, didn't he?"
The Hunter raised an eyebrow. The Sage couldn't possibly have heard the conversation. "He did."
"And?" The Sage fixed him with a piercing stare. "What did you say?"
"I told him I wouldn't." The lie came easy. "Why else do you think he got so angry?"
"Indeed." The Sage toyed with the hem of his robe. "A step closer to trusting each other, I believe."
"I hope so," the Hunter said, adding a hint of earnestness to his voice. "Now, if you will forgive me, I desire rest."
The Sage bowed. "Foolish me, of course!" He stood. "Healing can sap your energy far faster than any exertion. After all, you are forcing your body's internal functions to work at an accelerated pace."
"Thank you for understanding."
"If you feel up to it, I would have you join me for dinner this evening." The demon gave the Hunter an inquiring look. "I, too, have questions to ask of you."
The Hunter nodded. "Of course."
"Excellent!" The Sage beamed. "I will send an escort the second hour after dark." He held up a hand at the Hunter's scowl. "Not a guard, mind you. Someone to show you the way through the halls of Kara-ket."
"I will be ready."
With a half-bow, the Sage strode from the room.
The moment he was alone, the Hunter leapt from his bed. His exhaustion had been a pretense; he'd wanted to be rid of the demon, and he needed time to explore his chamber and to ponder the latest setback.
Besides the bed, the room held a simple four-tiered shelf, an oaken set of drawers, and a chest of the same. His gear lay in the bottom of the chest, still untouched by whichever of the Sage's servants had transported them. Opening the drawers, the Hunter found a collection of tunics, robes, britches, and more formal outfits of a surprisingly costly and stylish cut.
Next to the shelf stood a door that led to an even larger and grander bathing chamber than the one in his previous room. The copper tub had ample space for him to stretch to his full length. Fresh towels lay in a neat pile beside the tub, and an ivory basin sat atop an ebony washstand.
A picture window dominated the far end of the room, stretching from wall to wall. One of the windows swung outward, leading onto a balcony overlooking the Yathi Mountains. The Hunter peered over the railing; he was at least ten stories above the ground floor.
His gaze was drawn down, toward the base of the cliff upon which Kara-ket sat. An entire city spread out far below in the shadow of the twin temples. His curiosity burned; he resolved to ask about the settlement.
For now, he contented himself to study the exterior of the temple. The elements had worn away the stone, providing him modest hand and footholds. He could escape his purple-eyed escort this way, though it would be no easy climb.
Returning inside, he settled into a comfortable sitting position on the bed and drew out Soulhunger and his whetstone. He ran the stone across the edge of the blade. The familiar sound and grinding helped him to think.
The Warmaster complicates things. Dealing with one demon was going to be hard enough, but two? And such a formidable one that that?
What the Sage had in brains, the Warmaster more than made up for in brawn and skill. The Hunter had gotten lucky on the training field. Had he faced the Warmaster with bared steel, the demon would have hacked him to pieces.
That made his task of eliminating the demons that much harder. He doubted he'd survive a direct confrontation with the huge Warmaster. His skill, strength, and speed wouldn't help him win a fight with this particular demon.
He had to attack the problem from a different angle. He couldn't defeat the huge Abiarazi one-on-one, but perhaps he had no need to. There was little love lost between the Sage and the Warmaster; it wouldn't take much to pull the two into open conflict. If the Sage's Elivasti could eliminate the huge demon for him, he'd only have one Abiarazi to kill.
Which begged the question: why use the Sage against the Warmaster? The Warmaster outclassed the smaller demon physically. It wouldn't be a contest if the two ever faced in battle.
But the Abiarazi who ruled Einan from the shadows would never be drawn into a physical battle. He'd have others do the killing—and the dying—for him. The Warmaster could kill hundreds with his bare hands; the Sage could kill thousands by crafting a war in a kingdom halfway across the world.
No, the Sage was clearly the better choice in this endeavor. The demon would also be easier for the Hunter to kill. If he could win the Sage's trust, he c
ould maneuver into the right position when the time came.
When would the time come? Three days had passed since he’d left Hailen in Kharan-cui. He could afford another two or three days before the innkeeper noticed the supply of gold running low.
Three days to start a war between two demons. He snorted. That ought to be easy.
He'd need those three days to find out the Sage's plans for Einan. The invitation to dinner had come at the perfect time. He would take the chance to scope out the demon's chambers. Surely the Abiarazi kept his most sensitive information close at hand.
If nothing else, he could continue plying the Sage with questions. The more he asked, the greater the chance the Sage would inadvertently reveal a nugget of information the Hunter could use. Already he'd learned much about the temples of Kara-ket, the history of the Serenii and the Abiarazi, and the Sage's disdain for the Warmaster. It would prove challenging, but he was confident he could get what he wanted from the Sage in time.
He could almost hear his inner demon's mocking, “And if not? What then, oh mighty Hunter?”
What then? As long as the demons were dead, he'd be content. He had managed to find demons on his own in Malandria and Al Hani. He could do so again. The task would be long and arduous, but he had immortality on his side.
Of course, there was the matter of the purple-eyed man from the training field. The same man he'd seen in his memories.
Master Eldor.
He had to find the man, but where? He couldn't come out and ask the Sage—no sense revealing any personal connection that could be used as a weakness. He'd have to ask the Sage about the Elivasti in general, then use the information the Sage gave him to track down the man he'd known so many years ago.
Setting aside Soulhunger and the whetstone, he went into the bathroom and set the tub to fill. He had a long few days ahead; he'd take advantage of this particular luxury one last time.
Chapter Twelve
The Hunter was ready when the knock sounded at his door. Two black and white-masked Elivasti awaited him. Beckoning for the Hunter to follow, the silent escorts marched through the halls of Kara-ket.
The Hunter kept his posture relaxed, but his eyes darted in every direction, scoping out every dark corner and connecting passage of the temple. The long, straight halls would prove challenging to slip through undetected, though the occasional statue provided some cover. If only the walls didn't glow so brightly, he thought. The soft brilliance emanating from the stone drove back the shadows of night.
The Elivasti led him up a set of stairs and down a long hall, toward an ornate door. Counting his steps, the Hunter realized they were almost directly above his room. Was the placement a coincidence? Knowing the Sage, it couldn't be.
"Come," sounded the calm, assured voice of the Sage when the Hunter knocked. A servant swung the door open, and the Hunter entered the Sage's chambers.
Once again, he couldn’t help marveling at the wealth in the Abiarazi's room. The bloodwood furniture alone cost more than many of the richest Voramian nobles would see in a lifetime. The crimson-colored wood lent an air of mystique and wonder to the lavish quarters, further enhanced by the glowing walls.
The Sage sat at a dining table, a crystal goblet of wine in his slim fingers. "Ah, Hunter. Just in time for dinner." His face broke into a smile. "I see your clothing is a good fit."
The Hunter glanced down at the formal outfit he'd selected from the robes sitting on his shelf: a long black jacket over a simple blue shirt, with black pants and boots to complete the ensemble. The cut was fashionable—a tad too much for his tastes—of the style worn in the noble courts of Voramis. The Sage wore similar garments, but the exquisitely tailored silk reeked of opulence to match the rest of the room.
"Thank you." He gave a stiff bow. "For the clothes."
The Sage gave a dismissive wave. "You wear them well, though judging by your expression, you'd be more comfortable in a plain vest and trousers."
The Hunter shrugged. "I've had cause to dress up from time to time, but never by choice." He stretched his arms. "Too tight to swing a sword in."
"Of course." The demon motioned to a chair across from him. "Join me. All is in readiness."
As the Hunter sat, the Sage snapped his fingers and three servants appeared through a door at the far end of the room. Delicious aromas of roast wildfowl, spicy broth, and fresh bread rose from their trays. A fourth entered bearing a crystal goblet for the Hunter, which he filled from the pitcher in his other hand.
The Hunter sipped the chilled wine. If nothing else, the demon had good taste in liquor. He picked at the meal, eating just enough to satisfy propriety without filling up.
His gaze roved the room, taking in every detail. An open doorway at the far end of the room revealed a plush sitting space, shelves filled with books, and thick sofas. He studied the closed door to his left; perhaps it led to the Sage's office. As far as he could tell, there was only one way in and out of the demon's room. He'd never get in unnoticed, not with the Elivasti guarding the Sage's door. He'd have to find a way in when the demon was away.
"There is no danger here."
The Sage's words caught him off guard. His head snapped back to the demon, who gave him a knowing smile.
"You have the look of a caged animal. The way your eyes never stop moving, always drinking in your surroundings as if you are on an eternal quest for answers. It is like you are seeing everything for the first time."
The Hunter remained silent, pondering his next move. The demon was clearly more insightful than he'd expected. A lie is always more convincing when wrapped around a grain of truth.
"Assassins learn to be wary no matter where they are. Even in the company of friends."
The Sage's smile grew at the word. "Indeed?"
"A man once told me, 'The outstretched hand of friendship often distracts from a hidden dagger'."
"Ah, of course." The Sage nodded. "When one has spent a lifetime mistrusting others, it can be difficult to let your guard down. But you have my word, no one will leap out at the shadows to murder you." He chuckled. "Not tonight, at least."
The Hunter pretended to find this amusing and returned the Sage's chortle. "Tell me, the city built into the base of the temple, who lives there?"
The Sage sipped at his wine. "The Elivasti."
"All of them?"
The Sage shook his head. "Those who live here on Shana Laal." He didn't expound.
The Hunter pondered that for a moment. He'd met the purple-eyed people in the Chasm of the Lost. Were there more spread around Einan?
"And what do they do, the Elivasti?" He thrust his chin at the closed door. "Aside from serve as your honor guard and greeting party."
The Sage pursed his lips. "They live lives of peace and plenty, in return for service to me." His expression deepened to a scowl. "And the Warmaster."
The Hunter raised an eyebrow. "They serve both of you? How is that possible, given your…" Open hostility seemed the appropriate term, but he finished with, "…mutual distaste?"
The Sage sighed. "The Elivasti are sworn to serve the Abiarazi. They have been for generations, since the days their ancestors betrayed them and tried to murder them."
"Ancestors?" The Hunter's eyes narrowed. Surely he can't mean…
"The Serenii."
The demon's matter-of-fact tone contrasted with the gravity of the revelation. The Serenii had died out or departed Einan thousands of years before. And yet the Sage had an army of their descendants serving him.
"And how did you convince the descendants of the Serenii to serve you?"
"We did not convince them." An aristocratic hauteur crossed the Sage's face. "They sought us out."
The Hunter reached for his wine and sat back. "This is a story I must hear."
"As you wish." The Sage reclined in his chair, his eyes taking on a faraway look. "The history of the Elivasti goes back to the War of Gods, to the days when the Serenii still strode the earth. What many today do not
know is that most of the Serenii were isolationists, preferring to keep themselves apart from the weak, young human race. However, some—a handful of outliers, in truth—actively sought to integrate the two races. For the good of Einan, they claimed. They allowed their bloodlines to mix with that of humans. Thus, the Elivasti were created."
The Hunter wanted to protest. It sounded absurd—the Serenii, mating with humans? Yet his existence proved anything was possible. He held his tongue as the Sage spoke.
"When it was discovered what these renegade Serenii had done, they were destroyed by their brothers. But they had bred in secret for hundreds of years, and their offspring numbered in the thousands. Try as they might, the isolationists could not eliminate all of the Elivasti. The surviving few fled to the only place they could find safety from the wrath of their ancestors."
"The Abiarazi."
The Sage nodded. "They swore themselves in service to us in exchange for safety. Not even the Serenii dared challenge the might of the Abiarazi horde." His eyes glazed over, taking on a faraway look. "You should have seen us, Hunter. Tens of thousands of the mightiest warriors ever to tread Einari soil. A truly breathtaking force. We would have conquered this realm!"
"Until the gods intervened, of course."
The Sage scowled, clearly displeased at the reminder.
The Hunter grinned inwardly. "But I thought the Abiarazi went into hiding to escape the notice of the gods."
"So we did. We gave up our power so we might live." He stared down at his hands. "Even if it meant we had to occupy these weak, pitiful forms."
"If you hate the guise of mankind, why remain hidden? Why not reveal yourselves as Abiarazi and conquer Einan by brute force? Surely that is easier than clever schemes and subterfuge."
"It would be, but that would risk the ire of the gods. We have escaped their notice thus far, but what will happen when we throw off our guises? Who can protect us from them?"
Whatever they are, the demons are no fools. During the War of Gods, the Abiarazi horde had served Kharna. Without the Destroyer to protect them, the demons—well, most of them—had been cast out of Einan.
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