Darkblade Guardian

by Andy Peloquin

  Just one more question he needed answered.

  He settled back against his pack and stared up at the stars. The lights glimmering high overhead brought back the memory that had plagued him since leaving Malandria.

  She lay in bed beside him, smiling down at him with love in Her eyes. The scent of jasmine and honey, cinnamon and berries.

  She leaned in to kiss him. Her skin warm on his, Her lips rich and sweet.

  "My love," She said. His heart leapt at the sound of Her voice, so silky and beautiful. "This must be goodbye."

  "But why?" he asked.

  "Because it will mean death for the both of us if ever we are to meet," She said. "It is not to be."

  "We have braved death before," he told Her. "There is nothing to fear."

  "I am sorry," She told him. "You have brought this upon yourself."

  "What—?"

  Steel glinted in the light of the candles. Her face contorted into a mask of rage, and the dagger plunged toward his heart.

  Beyond the hunt for the Sage, beyond his need to protect Hailen, the mystery of this nameless, faceless woman drove him to search for Enarium.

  His wife. Mother of his son—Rivan, we called him. His returning memories had shown him that much.

  Yet they'd also shown Her betraying him to the demon-hunting Cambionari, turning him over to the Illusionist Clerics to have his memories erased. He needed to know why. She had insisted that he leave Her and their unborn son. He needed to know why. Deep in his heart, an unknown longing beckoned him toward Her. He could sense Her presence far to the north.

  In Enarium.

  She'd mentioned the Serenii city, the same place where the Sage intended to enact his plan to free Kharna, where he would find the secrets to freeing Hailen from the curse of his blood.

  All roads lead to Enarium.

  It wasn't called the “Lost City” for nothing. No one knew where to find it. He had only the Sage's heartbeat thumping in the back of his mind to guide him. He would follow it until—

  He frowned and sat up. Something was wrong. He delved deep into his mind, seeking out the presence. It had been growing fainter all day, but surely it should be…

  He gasped. The Sage's heartbeat was gone!

  He fumbled in his pack for the strip of cloth he'd taken from the demon in Kara-ket. Slicing his palm with Soulhunger, he dripped blood onto the blade and repeated the ritual of seeking. His keen senses hunted the demon's presence just as he always had sought out his victims in the past. Yet the harder he tried to concentrate, the more his panic grew.

  The dagger couldn't find the heartbeat.

  Cold dread seeped into the Hunter's bones. He'd crossed the Whispering Waste using the Sage's presence to guide him. After all, the Sage would certainly go straight to Enarium—he knew the way.

  Something the Sage had told him echoed through his mind. "To enter Enarium, I must become human."

  He'd learned of the curse that kept the Abiarazi from returning to the Lost City. The curse twisted them into mindless monsters. But humans could enter without suffering ill-effect, or so the legend held.

  That was the only explanation that made sense. The Sage had sacrificed the last of his power to become human. That meant he had already reached the Empty Mountains and would arrive in Enarium long before the Hunter.

  Damn it! The Hunter ground his teeth. What could he do now?

  The one time he'd brought it up to the Sage, the demon had spoken of an ancient work of the playwright Taivoro. Bardin, the former Illusionist Cleric in Malandria, had said Taivoro was the founder of the order of priests serving the Illusionist. If the demon had uncovered the secrets in that work, that meant the Hunter could find them as well.

  He'd need someone to guide him through the Empty Mountains, and he'd need to get his hands on that book. And he had to do it quickly. With every day wasted in search of answers, the Sage would come one step closer to carrying out his plan.

  If the Hunter failed, the Great Destroyer would be freed to unleash death and suffering on the world.

  Chapter Three

  Dust covered the Hunter from head to toe as he and Hailen rode toward the city of Vothmot. The last leg of their journey across the Whispering Waste had gotten progressively worse. The flatlands lived up to their names, the voices carried on the wind growing louder as the voices in his mind did. It had become nearly impossible to keep out their screeching, wailing, and insistent demands for death. If Hailen hadn't been there to keep them at bay, the Hunter would have gone mad.

  He cast a worried glance at Hailen. The boy sat slumped in his saddle, exhausted from half a day of riding. His eyes had the faraway look the Hunter had come to dread. He was lost in his thoughts, withdrawing deeper into himself with every passing day. The Irrsinnon dragged him farther into its clutches.

  The tightness in the Hunter's shoulders increased with every passing league. He had to get Hailen to Enarium soon, or the boy would be lost to him forever. He needed to find a guide to lead him through the Empty Mountains, as well as the book that would guide him to the Lost City of the Serenii. He'd find both of those, he hoped, in the city before him.

  Vothmot was a city as weathered and rugged as the nearby mountains. A solid wall of stone—the same grey as the jagged peaks in the distance—rose forty paces high, and all the traffic into the city funneled through the two city gates to the south and east. The guards on duty at the gates wore a form of plate armor made of round metal mirrors atop coats of chain mail, with flowing white cloaks that marked them as Wardens of the Peak, the lawkeepers of Vothmot. They waved the Hunter and Hailen through with little more than passing interest. The city saw all manner of traffic—wagons laden with goods to sell, whole companies of guards surrounding wealthy noblemen, commoners on aging mounts or making the journey to the city afoot. A man and his boy would draw little attention.

  The first thing the Hunter noticed as he rode through the gate was the enormous temple rising in the distance. People flocked to Vothmot on pilgrimage to pay homage at the Master's Temple, the largest on Einan. The building stood nearly twice the height of the city wall, with a dazzling blue glass central dome surrounded by seven towering minarets. The voices of the Lecterns, priests of Kiro the Master, echoed across Vothmot as they called out the midday prayer.

  The rest of the city lacked the splendor of the temples. Stone and brick buildings bordered the broad paved stone avenues, with decorative flourishes of smaller semi-domes and horseshoe-shaped arches supported by ornately-carved stone columns. It reminded the Hunter of the city of Aghzaret, but where the people of Al Hani decorated with bright hues of blue and green, Vothmot preferred various shades of white and red. Even through the layer of dust that covered everything, the city seemed to sparkle with a fiery intensity that only added to the feel of permanence, agelessness. The very buildings seemed as old as the mountains in the distance.

  The Hunter turned away from the broad avenue that cut through the city toward the Master's Temple in the north, and instead led Elivast and Ash down a smaller road that ran east. He had gotten directions to the place he believed Hailen would be safe for their short stay in Vothmot.

  Safe, what a cruel joke.

  Every time he thought he kept the boy out of danger, something had happened to pull him back in. The bandit raid on Sirkar Jeroen's caravan in the Advanat Desert had led to Hailen's capture and imprisonment. The boy had nearly died at the hands of Il Seytani, chieftain of the desert raiders, and again in the flight from the raider camp. When he left Hailen in Kharan-cui to conceal him from the Sage and the Warmaster in Kara-ket, the demons had brought the boy to manipulate him into doing their bidding.

  He shot a glance toward the enormous Master's Temple and the smaller structures surrounding it. Perhaps he ought to take Hailen to the House of Need and turn him over to the Beggar Priests. The boy had once had what passed for a normal life among the priests in Malandria. Until the Hunter turned the temple into an abattoir, that was. Just being ne
ar the Hunter put Hailen in more danger than he'd ever face in the safety of the temple.

  The burden of guilt and worry had grown with every step closer to Vothmot. The Beggar Priests at the House of Need would take the boy without question. But every time he looked into the boy's odd purple eyes, any thought of leaving him fled. The boy had been changed because of him. He had suffered loss and pain because of him. He had to find a way to undo the damage he'd done. That meant dragging the boy through the Empty Mountains toward Enarium in the hope of uncovering a cure for the Irrsinnon. A cure that wouldn't end in Hailen's death.

  He couldn't forget the Sage's wide-eyed shock at seeing the boy. He'd called him "Melechha". Real fear had shone in the demon's eyes when he saw the blood dripping from Hailen's fingertips. Another question the Hunter intended to answer in Enarium.

  For now, the Hunter needed to find a place to keep the boy out of harm's way. The boy's purple eyes would stand out among the people of Vothmot—people anywhere, really. He'd have to keep Hailen out of sight and off the streets.

  In Kharan-cui, he'd made the mistake of thinking a tavern would be the safest place to hide Hailen. Not only had Master Uqio done a poor job of caring for the boy, he’d allowed the Sage to take him. When the Hunter had returned, he'd discovered the tavernkeeper offering Ash and Elivast for sale. The Hunter had made his displeasure clear in no uncertain terms; the inn would need to find new management.

  No, if he wanted to keep a child safe, there was only one place to go.

  His eyes fell on the brightly-colored wooden signs lining the narrow avenue that ran through the Ward of Bliss. Each displayed a ceramic mug filled with a dark liquid, with the feminine outlines of nude bodies—male and female—depicted by the lines of rising steam.

  These were the famous kaffehouses of Vothmot. People as far away as Praamis knew of Northern Kaffe, a drink that stirred up the blood and stimulated the body's internal juices. The bitter brew was a favorite among the nobility of Voramis, though the Hunter had never gotten the taste for it.

  But the kaffehouses of Vothmot offered more than just steaming cups of kaffe. The staff of scantily-clad women served the brew to wake men up and provided other services to keep them up.

  The Hunter searched the signs for the one he'd heard mentioned by the travelers at the oasis. The Divinity House was a three-story building of red brick and black stone, taller than the other kaffehouses beside it. The men and women who sat around the small metal tables out front wore fine clothing, and more than a few had jewelry sparkling in their ears, on their hands, and at their throats and wrists. Clearly the kaffehouse appealed to a clientele of higher economic standing than the others.

  The doors to the establishment remained shut, preventing passersby from seeing the activities that occurred inside. Yet one look at the serving women made it abundantly clear what manner of entertainment was offered. The large trays of kaffe mugs they carried offered far more protection than their fine garments. All wore tight, skimpy dresses of made of bright-colored silk and velvet, heavy with decorative flourishes like peacock feathers, ruffled lace, and beaded tassels.

  The Hunter pulled Elivast to a halt in front of Divinity House, dismounted, and helped Hailen down from Ash. The boy paid him little heed, his eyes glassy and unfocused. He muttered words the Hunter couldn't understand.

  Gritting his teeth, the Hunter led the boy toward an unoccupied table on the wooden seating area outside Divinity House. Moments after they took a seat, a serving woman bustled toward them.

  "Hello, dearies. What can I get you?" She spoke in a lilting Praamian accent. "How's about a Ghandian choclat for the boy."

  The Hunter nodded. "Yes, thank you."

  "And for you, hmm?" Her finger traced the outline of the Hunter's shoulders. "A kaffe with a bit of body in it?" She gave a little pop of her hips to accentuate the graceful form barely hidden by her scant outfit. "Big, strong man like you, you look like you enjoy something extra strength."

  The Hunter made no attempt to hide his approval of the woman's figure. He was keenly aware of the near-overpowering rose smell of her perfume and the whisper of her curled hair on his face as she held his gaze. His eyes wanted to roam downward, across her bare shoulders to where her bosom threatened to spill free of her bodice. The tight corset did wonders to accentuate her shapely waist, curving hips, and long legs. Though she had the lighter skin of a Praamian, the sun of Vothmot had turned her skin to a rich golden brown.

  "Thank you," he said with great effort, "but just the choclat for the boy. And I'll need to speak to the proprietor of the house."

  The woman raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

  The Hunter met her questioning gaze. Beneath the sultry act, he saw sharp intelligence sparkle in her green eyes. "Better yet, point me in the direction where I'll find her." He drew out a golden imperial and pressed it into her hand. "It's important."

  The woman's other eyebrow rose in surprise. "Seems important enough, aye." Her flirtatious grin returned. "Madame Aioni ought to be interested."

  The Hunter nodded and stood. "Keep an eye on the boy, and I'll throw in an extra half-drake for your trouble."

  "You got it, dearie." Her eyes brightened and her smile widened. "Back in two shakes of a lamb's tail. Just gotta put in the order for your lad's choclat." She flounced across the veranda and through the shuttered doors into Divinity House. When she returned a moment later, she slipped into the seat beside Hailen. "The Madame's expecting you. Trust me, you won't miss her."

  "Thank you." The Hunter hesitated, casting a glance at Hailen.

  "Off with you," the woman said with a cheery wave and a wink. "He'll be safe with me." Her saucy tavern wench routine faded, replaced by a motherly air as she brushed the dust off Hailen's clothing.

  The Hunter strode through the shuttered doors and into Divinity House. The outdoor seating area was intended for those who wanted a kaffe, but the interior was reserved for those who wanted something more. Rich velvet cushions littered bright-colored carpets made by the finest craftsmen in Al Hani. Candles and dim lamps let off a soft glow that seemed to make the ornate patterns on the wall tiles come alive. Images of men and women in various erotic poses hung from every wall. Oil burners hung above the lamps, filling the air with the scents of rose, jasmine, fennel, and cedarwood. The heady mixture threatened to set the Hunter's head spinning.

  The Hunter ignored the entwined couples lounging on the plush carpets as he strode through the main area and down a narrow hallway toward the rear of Divinity House. At the end of the hall stood a woman that could only be Madame Aioni. The first lines of age did little to diminish the beauty of her wide almond eyes, long eyelashes, narrow face, high cheekbones, and full lips. The deep blue silk robe cinched at her waist only accentuated the shapeliness of her figure. Her deeply tanned skin and black hair marked her as a native of Vothmot.

  "Madame Aioni, I presume?" Her unique scent—a mixture of the fragrant oils around him with just a hint of chamomile and violets—piqued his interest.

  The woman raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow. "That would be me." She spoke the common tongue with the odd accent the Hunter had heard more and more as he approached Vothmot. "How might Divinity House provide your pleasure, Mister…?"

  "Hardwell, of Praamis." The name came easily to his lips after so many months of using it. "I need to avail myself of one of your more…unusual services."

  The woman's lips twitched into a curious smile. "Indeed? We pride ourselves on delivering anything you could desire." She dropped her voice to a breathy whisper. "For a strong, handsome man like you, I’m certain we could come to a mutually pleasurable arrangement. You have but to ask."

  The Hunter had no doubt the madame had heard every request throughout her years of running the kaffehouse. He'd seen all manner of strange and sometimes perverse acts that twisted even his stomach. The sexual appetites of the Voramian nobility ran to some distasteful places. But he doubted she'd be expecting what he wanted.

 
"I'd like you to care for my boy."

  "Say what now?" The polished madame façade cracked in her shock, and her voice took on the harder edge of a street-born woman. "You having me on for a laugh?"

  The Hunter hid a smile at her shock.

  "My boy." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "I need him safe. Something tells me there's nowhere safer in Vothmot than right here."

  Madame Aioni pursed her lips. "And why, pray tell, do you think that's a service we offer?" She'd recovered from her surprise, her lace-sniffing aristocratic persona restored.

  The Hunter gave a dismissive wave. "Because I've got good coin to pay." He met her gaze. Women in this profession took care to avoid unwanted pregnancies, but occasional slip-ups always occurred. Many of the women working in Divinity House would be mothers, though most would have been forced to give up the child to relatives or to the House of Need.

  On top of it, high-class brothels and pleasure houses like Divinity House depended on their reputation for discretion and privacy. Once coin exchanged hands, they guarded their clients' secrets with a zeal that would make any Secret Keeper proud. As long as he paid them enough, they would keep Hailen safe until he returned. They wouldn't let anything happen to the boy, and he wouldn't have to worry about Hailen's wellbeing. That was more than he could say for Master Uqio in Kharan-cui.

  "Name your price." The Hunter folded his arms over his chest. "A fair price, mind you."

  A calculating look flashed in Madame Aioni's eyes. "How long?"

  "A day, maybe two. Add in a stable and feed for the horses." The Hunter had expected a bit of greed. Life in Voramis had taught him the value of cold, hard coinage.

  The madame pondered the question. "With food for the boy and yourself?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.