Darkblade Guardian

by Andy Peloquin

  Rassek sat beside the fire, his back against a boulder and his feet propped up on a small stone. His eyes were red-rimmed with fatigue, but he sat up as the Hunter emerged. "No luck sleepin’?" he asked.

  The Hunter shook his head and took a seat on the opposite side of the little campfire, where he could keep an eye on the tents, the mountain trail, Evren, and Rassek all at once. Years as an assassin had trained him to never turn his back to any potential threats. Though he doubted the three people traveling with him would assault him, he wouldn't take chances.

  Rassek rubbed his angular chin with a stubby-fingered hand. "Mountain air’s known fer playin’ tricks on yer body and mind, I've heard. The thinner the air gets, the more noticeable its effect, see."

  "Will we be climbing high?"

  The mountaineer shrugged. "To reach those cliffs I was talkin’ about, we'll have to be gainin' some altitude, we will." He pursed his lips in thought. "Maybe a quarter of a league above the level of Vothmot. Not the highest spot in the Empty Mountains, but I worry yer boy'll have difficulty."

  The Hunter inclined his head. "He'll manage." A thought crossed his mind. "We'll be doing most of the traveling on foot, right?"

  Rassek gave a little half-nod, half-shake of his head. "More or less. The trail's pretty good fer another day or so—the more popular parts, these are—but as we get closer to that odd spot, things'll get rough. There are a few places where we'll be havin' to do some serious climbin’, we will."

  "Does that mean we'll be leaving the horses?"

  Rassek shook his head. "We've got a solution fer haulin’ them up the cliffs ahead. It'll be a bleedin' lot of work, but it's worth it fer the supplies they'll carry, says I."

  The Hunter nodded. "Good." He lapsed into silence, and Rassek seemed to have run out of things to talk about. "You know," he said after a few minutes, "I'm not going to get much sleep tonight. I can take the watch and tend the fire, so go close your eyes for a few hours."

  "Ye sure?" Rassek shot a glance at the stars. "Dawn’s known fer comin’ early in these mountains, but it's still bein' a few hours off."

  "I'm sure. Besides," the Hunter said with a grin, "how are you supposed to show us the way or keep us alive if you're falling asleep in the saddle?"

  Rassek chuckled. "Ye’re not wrong there. Thankfully, Darillon's the one as does most of the leadin’. I'm the one charged with makin’ sure our clients are happy."

  "I can see why he wasn't assigned that role."

  "He's a good man, Darillon." Rassek's eyes went to the tent where his partner slept. "Solid, steady as a rock, and the best mountaineer in Vothmot, he is. Just not gifted with a clever tongue. Me, on the other hand, well, I've always liked to think I could sell venom to a snake."

  The Hunter smiled. It felt strange, this open, genial conversation. Until now, his life had been fraught with deceit, treachery, and betrayal. People he thought he could trust had turned on him, and he'd faced one danger after another since leaving Voramis. Yet here he was, sitting on a rocky mountain slope, cracking jokes with a man he'd just met that same day. It almost seemed…friendly.

  "Well, if ye’re sure?" Rassek said as he climbed to his feet. “Good news is that ye don’t have to be worryin’ about anythin’ larger than a cliff gopher in this part of the mountains. But, a good night of sleep’s often worth a fortune after a day of travelin’.”

  "Off with you." The Hunter gave a dismissive wave.

  "The fire ought to die down within the next hour or so, so don’t you bother with feedin’ it." Rassek gestured around him. "These mountains are an uncannily beautiful place if ye’re not afraid to be in the dark, says I."

  "I’ll keep that in mind."

  "Night, then." With that, the mountaineer crawled into the small two-man tent he shared with Darillon.

  The Hunter waited until the sound of movement within the tent had stopped before pulling out the Taivoro. He didn’t expect the two men to know its provenance, but he wouldn't risk anyone finding out he'd broken into the Master's Temple. If, for some reason, he ended up returning to Vothmot, he'd rather not have all the Lecterns hunting for him.

  He ran a finger over the spine of the book, tracing the gilded letters that proclaimed the title of the book The Singer and His Muse. He'd always enjoyed reading, though he hadn't dedicated much time to it in the last decade or so. His status as legendary assassin of Voramis had kept him supplied with enough clients to occupy his full attention.

  A smile came to his face as he thought of the last night he'd seen Graeme, back in Voramis. The fat alchemist had been hunched over a Taivoro novel much like this one. At the time, the Hunter had thought Graeme was enjoying the racy contents of the book. Perhaps the man had actually been searching the texts for clues hidden there by the mad playwright. The Secret Circle, the hidden network of alchemists, made a fortune selling information. Who knew what they could uncover by deciphering Taivoro's hidden codes?

  He opened the book as delicately as he could manage. The dim firelight turned the pages an even deeper shade of yellow. The volume was ancient, and he had to be careful not to damage it. He'd have no chance to return to Vothmot to steal another copy.

  A quick scan of the book confirmed that it held none of the illustrations Bardin had used to decipher the secret hidden in the volume. Without the art, the Hunter would have to rely on the text itself.

  Truth be told, he had no idea where or how to start. Nothing leapt out at him from the pages. There was nothing unusual about the text, the layout of the book, or the numeration—not to his eyes, at least. Whatever the Sage had uncovered within these pages, Taivoro had at least concealed it enough for the average reader not to notice.

  I guess I'm going to have to actually read the damned thing. He sighed. The book looked far thicker than he would like; no way he’d get through it all tonight.

  He flipped to the first page and began to read. It proved slow going at first, as he was out of the habit of reading. His mind continually wandered back to the dream he'd had earlier. The memory of Her confused him and left him with too many unanswered questions.

  But I'm never going to get those answers if I can't find the way to Enarium. Which means reading this book. He drew in a deep breath, rubbed his eyes, and returned to the top of the page he'd read three times.

  He struggled to read by the light of the dying embers, but slowly he found his attention drawn into the story. Despite what the Lectern had said about it being one of Taivoro's worst works, the Hunter couldn't help admitting the tale intrigued him.

  The book told of Enmor, a Journeyman bard searching the world for his muse. He roamed around Einan, his hunt for the ethereal figure of inspiration leading him from city to city. Every new setting presented him with a fresh challenge to his skill as a singer and his fortitude of character. Of course, given the fact that it was a Taivoro, story took second place to ribald tales of the bard's sexual conquests. Every third page detailed some new amorous adventure, a new woman or man he took to bed, all in the most explicit language. The Hunter actually found himself blushing at a few of the more licentious scenes.

  Yet, oddly enough, the story intrigued him. He had a good deal in common with the Journeyman bard. Enmor sought a muse he could never find, a promise that lay eternally out of his reach. His quest seemed endless, and every new challenge he faced seemed insurmountable. Yet Enmor out-stubborned each obstacle, ultimately defeating each one to claim his prize—usually in some inventive and lewd form of intercourse. The Hunter had spent his fair share of time in the brothels of Voramis, but more than a few of Enmor’s acts proved unfamiliar to him.

  Eventually, the fire died out, and the Hunter sat alone in darkness, the unfinished book clasped in his hands. He wanted to keep reading, to find out how the bard's story ended. Did he complete his quest and find his muse, or was he fated to travel around Einan until death claimed him? Would his efforts prove futile?

  The futility of his actions wasn't lost on the Hunter. He was trying to
do something no one had done for thousands of years. People called Enarium "the Lost City" for a reason. Was he, like Enmor the Journeyman, destined to wander Einan in search of something he would never find?

  The question gnawed at him as he reclined against a boulder and stared at the stars overhead. Try as he might, he could find no answer.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Hunter's mood hadn't improved by the time dawn lightened the horizon, tingeing the blue sky with breathtaking hues of red, pink, and gold accented by brilliant white.

  Rassek emerged from his tent far too cheery and bright-eyed, and not even Darillon's dour demeanor could put a damper on the younger man’s enthusiasm. He bustled around their little campsite with a surprising liveliness for someone who had slept just a few hours the previous night.

  Evren looked like he'd gotten an hour of rest and spent the rest of the time shivering. He said nothing through their meager breakfast of cold trail biscuits, dried lamb, and nuts. Not even Hailen's high-pitched babble could wipe the scowl from his face.

  The Hunter had worried about Hailen, but the boy seemed no worse for the rough night. He scampered around the rocky hollow, stacking stones, hurling pebbles up the trail, and keeping up a steady stream of conversation with himself. He barely sat still long enough for the Hunter to get him to eat a piece of biscuit before he was up and off again. Before the Hunter had taken three bites of his own food, the boy returned and begged to let him help brush and saddle Ash for the ride.

  Rassek and Evren took down the tents while Darillon checked the mounts. The older mountaineer nodded at the state of Elivast's and Ash's tack, but frowned as he saw the condition of the reins and headgear on Evren's horse. He said nothing, however, simply tightened a few straps and adjusted the horse's bit and bridle.

  Rassek had barely downed his meal when he began badgering them to move faster and get on the road.

  "We've a lot of ground to be coverin’ today," he said in that irritatingly cheerful tone as he mounted up. "T’will be a beautiful ride, but a long one."

  The Hunter helped Hailen onto Ash's back, climbed into Elivast’s saddle, and set off after the mountaineers and Evren. Once again, he brought up the rear. He only occasionally glanced over his shoulders for any sign of pursuit. He'd given Sir Danna the slip back in Vothmot, but how long would that last? Though the chance of the Warrior Priests finding him in the middle of the Empty Mountains was slim, the Cambionari knight had somehow managed to track him down halfway across Einan. Lord Knight Moradiss had spoken of the ability to sense the presence of the gemstone in Soulhunger's pommel. How far did he have to go before Sir Danna could no longer follow him?

  By the end of the first hour down the trail, the steep, brush-covered slopes of the mountain had given way to sheer cliffs and jagged rock walls rising scores of paces above the Hunter’s head. The shades of brown, grey, and red had a stark beauty to it. The Hunter understood why people came from all around Einan to visit the Empty Mountains. Had he not been so pressed for time, he could see himself enjoying the view.

  For the next four hours, the trail continued to rise at a semi-steep incline as it cut back and forth between the sharp, rocky faces of the Empty Mountain peaks. Though the mountaineers’ horses seemed unaffected by the climb, Evren’s nag looked ready to collapse. Elivast’s head had begun to droop as well. Thankfully, the path eventually leveled out for a short distance, then sloped gently downward before curving between two high cliffs.

  Rassek turned in his saddle and shot a grin back at them. "Are ye ready to be seein' the Empty Mountains' second best-kept secret?"

  They rounded a bend in the trail, and through a gap in the cliffs, a truly spectacular sight spread out before them. A vast expanse of unbroken blue stretched for leagues to the north, east, and west. The cool mountain breeze set ripples dancing on the surface of the lake, carrying the scent of water drifting toward them. An ethereal silence gripped the world around them, as if all nature held their breaths in the presence of such beauty.

  "Magnificent, isn't it?" Rassek’s grin widened.

  The Hunter nodded. "It is indeed."

  "Sapphire Lake is known only to a handful of mountaineers, includin’ Darillon and myself." Rassek's face grew serious. "All of us are sworn to be keepin’ it a secret from the treasure-hunters and sight-seers, we are. If all knew of its beauty, too many would make the trip to see it."

  "What's wrong with that?" Evren asked, his first words of the day. "Ain’t beautiful things s’posed to be enjoyed?"

  "They are," Darillon muttered, "but only if the ones enjoying them care about preserving the beauty."

  Rassek nodded. "Let's just say the sort of wealthy people who be comin’ to the Empty Mountains fer a thrill aren't the sort as care about the impact they might be havin’ on their environment. Noble men and women are more like to be despoilin' things than preservin' them, they are."

  "Of course." The Hunter had seen what wealthy, pampered men and women could do to the beauty of nature. The Maiden's Fields of Voramis were one such example. Once, the sprawling greens in Upper Voramis had been the site of revelries and celebrations on a near-nightly basis. Those rich enough to enjoy the comforts of the upper city but not wealthy enough to own a mansion there used the public space to hold all manner of fetes.

  The grass had withered beneath thousands of trampling boots, the trees languished after being inundated with agor, wine, and other strong spirits. The Snowblossom trees had failed to bloom for three years. Finally, fifteen years ago, then-King Darayn had decreed that the Maiden's Fields were under his protection. It had taken nearly eight years for the greens to recover properly. All because of the abuse and neglect heaped on the land by people who cared more about their celebrations than preserving their environment.

  "And those who are fortunate enough to see it must swear an oath never to reveal its location." Darillon fixed them with an intense stare. "Sapphire Lake will only remain beautiful as long as we keep it so."

  "I swear," the Hunter said without hesitation. "The secret of Sapphire Lake will not pass my lips."

  "I swear, too." Evren nodded.

  The Hunter was struck by how young the thief really was. He stared at the lake with the same wonder that sparkled in Hailen's eyes. Life had hardened Evren, but a trace of the innocent youth remained buried beneath his tough exterior.

  "Come," said Rassek as he kicked his horse into motion, "we’ll be enjoyin’ the water later, we will. But there’s lots of ground to cover before nightfall."

  The Hunter raised an eyebrow. It wasn't even noon yet, and already the mountaineer was worrying about night?

  But as they descended down the trail toward the path that ran alongside the edge of the water, the Hunter realized just how enormous Sapphire Lake really was. It had to be at least three or four leagues wide and long and would take hours to circumnavigate.

  The mountaineers kept them moving at a steady trot along the lakeshore trail the rest of the day, pausing only long enough for a quick meal in the first hour of the afternoon. A worried expression crossed Darillon's face as they rested, but Rassek calmed him with a few quiet words. The younger man, however, ate in a hurry and pushed them to mount up as quickly as possible.

  As the sun descended toward the western mountain peaks, the cool mountain breeze changed to bracing gusts edged by a noticeable chill. Two hours before sunset, and the wind had turned positively frigid, piercing even the Hunter’s thick cloak and driving daggers of ice into his flesh. The reason for Darillon's worry became plain as the Hunter took in their surroundings. The trail around the lake offered no shelter from the stinging wind. The nearest place he could see that offered any windbreak was still easily a quarter of a league away around the water’s edge.

  The taste of sleet and snow thickened the air, and the cold sent a shiver down the Hunter’s spine. With a shout, Darillon kicked his horse into a fast trot, and the rest of them did likewise. The wind began to whine in his ears until it deepened to a moanin
g that whipped at his clothing with vicious claws of frost.

  The Hunter had to bend over Elivast’s mane to stay in his saddle. All of the horses seemed to be struggling against the force of the biting tempest. The Hunter kept a close eye on Hailen as they rode. Even though the boy had spent enough time in the saddle to be a decent rider, the effort of maintaining the fast pace would tire him quickly. At the first sign that Hailen was struggling, he'd pull him into his saddle.

  "There!" The gale muffled Darillon's shout, but his finger indicated a dark cave a short distance away.

  The Hunter let out a relieved breath as the horses pounded up the trail and into the cave. The stone walls echoed the clatter of hooves but thankfully silenced the piercing, shrieking wind. He followed Rassek and Darillon's lead as they dismounted to let the horses rest.

  "That was too bloody close!" Darillon muttered.

  Rassek clapped his partner on the shoulder. "What's life without a bit of risk, eh?" He turned to the Hunter. "How's yer boy?"

  The Hunter was already moving toward Hailen. Fatigue pinched the boy's face, and he shivered in his cloak. His eyes had taken on that faraway look that indicated he was lost in his head.

  "He's tired," the Hunter told the two men. "Nothing a bit of rest won't cure."

  Evren dismounted stiffly and rubbed his hands together, blowing on them for warmth. The Hunter felt a stab of pity for the young thief. His tunic, cloak, and boots were as ragged as his blankets, offering little protection from the stinging winds. Had they not reached the cave when they did, Evren would be suffering far worse ill-effects of the cold.

  Rassek shot a glance outside, but his face showed no sign of worry. "Damn nasty the wind is bein’, but t’will pass soon enough, says I."