A quiet gasp sounded behind the Hunter. He turned to see Kiara staring wide-eyed at the two corpses on the floor, then up at him.
He shifted his features back to his own and smiled at Kiara. “I told you I’d be back.”
Chapter Thirty
“Well, that’s one way to announce your presence,” Kiara said. A hint of relief flashed through her eyes, and her shoulders relaxed.
The Hunter raised an eyebrow. “Should I send flowers next time? A nice fruit basket, perhaps?”
Kiara twitched aside the blanket to reveal a dagger gripped in her left hand. “This feels appropriate, given our surroundings.”
He extended a hand to her, and she pulled herself to her feet. She was shorter than him, but she radiated surprising strength, even covered in mud and wearing tattered clothing.
“Remember when I said I’ll find a way to get you out?” he asked.
She nodded. “Remember when I said you’ve got more important things to deal with, and that I’ll handle this?”
The Hunter grinned. “I’ve got a way to do both at once.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What’ve you got in mind?”
“First, we get rid of the bodies.” The Hunter glanced down at the two Elivasti he’d just killed.
“Ryat!” Kiara called.
A moment later, the tall man he’d met the previous day shuffled from the tent. To the Hunter’s surprise, he found a hint of life in the man’s dull gaze. He still had the same vacant look as he’d had the previous day, but now a spark of something—purpose, hope, life—shone in his dark eyes.
“Got two more for the shit pile.” Kiara motioned to the bodies.
“Aye,” Ryat said in a slow, heavy voice. “I’ll see it taken care of.”
“Good.” Kiara nodded. “Strip their armor, clothing, and weapons first, then dump them. We’ll add their gear to our pile.”
“Pile?” the Hunter asked.
Kiara grinned and jerked her head toward the shelter. “This way.”
She’d somehow managed to improve the shelter, rigging up a series of blankets to offer cover from the elements and a modicum of privacy. She had even expanded it by adding four extra poles she’d scrounged up from Keeper-knew-where.
A small pile of wood shavings lay heaped on the muddy floor on one side of the room. Beside it, a filthy, tattered blanket covered something that hadn’t been here the previous day. Kiara pulled the blanket aside to reveal a pile of long, straight poles with sharpened tips.
The Hunter shot a glance at her. “You’ve been busy, I see.”
Kiara shrugged. “You told me not to do anything stupid with those daggers. I didn’t listen.” She grinned. “Ryat’s been helping me, him and a few others. We’ve got close to fifty.”
The Hunter studied the makeshift spears. They looked to have been made from the wooden poles holding up the shelter. “Keeper’s beard, Kiara! That’s brilliant.”
“I know.” She gave him a self-satisfied grin. “We got busy the minute you left. I wasn’t going to wait until you decided to grace us with your presence again”—her words had a teasing edge—“so I figured I’d break myself out of this place. Me, and as many others as I could convince to come along. The first problem to solve was the lack of weapons. As you can see, we’ve got that covered.”
“I’ve got a way to get you out.” He glanced around. “But it’s going to take all of them. We need everyone if we’re going to defeat the Sage and his Elivasti.”
Kiara’s expression grew grim. “I don’t know, Hunter. I’ve spent the last day talking Ryat and a handful of others into just helping me sharpen these sticks. I’ve got maybe twenty keeping watch on the purple-eyes, keeping us covered so we can work without being caught. But even if we had twice that number, we couldn’t fight our way free. Not with wooden sticks and three sets of armor against fifty Elivasti.”
“Seventy.” The Hunter shook his head. “There are thirty on watch outside the gate.”
Kiara swore, a stream of curses that made even the Hunter’s ears burn. “I’ve seen what you can do, Hunter, but I don’t think even you can carve your way out of this.”
“The vote of confidence is appreciated.” The Hunter shot her a droll look, then his face grew serious. “But you’re right. There are too many for me to take on alone, and even with your twenty, that’s not enough. The Sage has Hailen, and he’s surrounded by his Blood Sentinels and more than a hundred Elivasti. I can’t stop him alone. Our only hope is to get everyone in Khar’nath to fight with us.”
Kiara’s jaw dropped. For a long moment, she stared at him in stunned silence. “The First always said you had an impressive pair on you. But this dances right along the line of impossible. You’ve seen for yourself how downtrodden these people are. Most have spent their lives locked up, beaten and ground into the dust by their captors. We’re talking years, Hunter. Decades. An entire life of suffering and death. They’ve watched the Elivasti kill their parents, siblings, friends. That’s the sort of thing that breaks the spirit and wears away at the will until nothing remains.”
The Hunter clenched a fist. “I can’t believe that. Glass may shatter and steel may bend, but no man is broken beyond repair.” He met her eyes. “When you told me the story of how Sir Danna found you, you said you were ready to give up and die, yes?”
Shame flashed in her eyes. “Yes,” she said in a quiet voice.
“But what stopped you? What brought you back from that edge?”
“She offered me a chance to atone.”
“She gave you a purpose,” the Hunter said, nodding. “Something to keep you focused on, to push you forward.”
Kiara’s expression grew thoughtful.
“I almost gave up, you know.” The Hunter had never said it aloud—he’d never had anyone to say it to. “I almost accepted death as inevitable. I came within a heartbeat of welcoming it. Anything to put an end to my pain.”
Kiara seemed surprised. “Really? You?”
The Hunter nodded. “That night, before we fought the First in the tunnels, I had battled the Third—a battle that very nearly killed me—then got caught in a cave-in. I lay buried beneath the rubble, my body shattered, too weak to move.”
Kiara’s brow furrowed. “It’s hard to imagine that.”
“The thing that stopped me was the knowledge that if I didn’t get up, if I didn’t keep fighting, the First would be free hurt more people.” A lump rose to his throat with the return of the painful memory. “As I lay there, I saw Farida’s face as clear as I’m seeing you now. Not covered in blood as she lay dying, but the happy, bright-eyed girl I had loved. She didn’t blame me for her death, didn’t use guilt to drive me on. Instead, she…thanked me.”
His voice cracked, and tears slid down his cheeks. He had tried to push back this memory for so long, tried to avoid the pain for fear it would overwhelm him. Yet, suddenly, he knew that he had to face it. He had to feel that pain so he could understand the suffering of the people around him. Not their physical suffering—not even the Warmaster’s cruelest torments could compare with a lifetime locked in a hellhole like this—but the emotional and mental anguish they endured every day of their lives.
He swallowed hard and wiped the tears away. “She said that my life had meaning to at least one person.” He smiled, and a wave of happiness surged in his chest. “I saved her life, and that was excuse enough for me to keep living. So I could save more lives, lives like the people trapped in this place.”
Kiara seemed at a loss for words.
“For decades, I felt so alone,” the Hunter continued. “No one knew the truth of who I was. Even those I called my friends, even Farida, they never knew the truth.” His eyes met hers. “But you know. Hailen knows. I am not alone. You are not alone.” He gestured around him. “They are not alone.”
The words pouring from his mouth surprised the Hunter. He’d never been one for grand speeches, yet a change had come over him, beginning back in Voramis the night he acce
pted the Beggar Priests’ quest to kill the demon.
For decades, he’d told himself he didn’t care. He killed without hesitation, confident that all men and women deserved death for some reason. Yet since leaving Voramis, he’d discovered that life wasn’t truly as black and white as he’d wanted to believe. Some people truly were worth saving.
In saving Farida’s life that night so long ago, he’d proven—both unconsciously to himself and to the Cambionari watching him—that he had more humanity than he realized. Bardin had saved him in Malandria and in doing so had led him to discover a truth about himself: he was a protector of those who could not protect themselves. With Hailen, he’d found a purpose beyond simple existence. The boy had given him something worth fighting for, something worth dying for. Kiara, Taiana, Sir Danna, Evren, Visibos, Rassek and Darillon, Master Eldor, and all the others in his life—they had shown him the goodness that existed in the hearts of mankind. Goodness that he could not ignore, could not turn away from. Goodness he could not allow the Sage to destroy by returning Kharna to the world.
He had come a long way from the assassin of Voramis, indeed. Everything he’d endured had brought him to Enarium, in time for the Withering, putting him in the place where he was needed most. Made him the man, the Bucelarii, he needed to be.
“You and I will fight for them,” he told Kiara in a firm, confident voice, “and in doing so, help them to fight for themselves. We will show them to stand strong, together.”
“Together.” She nodded.
“Together.” A quiet voice echoed from behind them.
The Hunter whirled to see Ryat standing in the opening. He’d been so consumed by his conversation with Kiara he hadn’t heard the man’s approach. How much did he hear?
“You are right,” the tall man said. His voice had lost its dull edge and new life sparkled in his dark eyes. “We are neither glass nor iron. We are not broken beyond repair.”
He stepped into the shelter, and two more men entered behind him.
“For years,” Ryat said, “we have sat by and done nothing as the Elivasti did their worst. We could do nothing. Their cruelties are created to shatter our will and our minds, until only empty husks remain.” He raised a clenched fist. “Yet we are more than husks. We are men.”
“And women.” A fourth figure, this one a stocky, matronly woman with a child on her hip, stepped into the shelter.
“You have strength in numbers,” the Hunter said, as he turned to the people that had entered. Through the open blanket, he saw more figures standing out. He strode from the tent and raised his voice so all nearby could hear him. “Do you know how many enemies stand between you and freedom?”
Few of the people in the shelters around Kiara’s even bothered to look up, but one or two cast dull-eyed glances his way.
“Not thousands, not hundreds.” He shook his head. “Seventy. Seventy Elivasti in solid armor, with wooden clubs. They may look fearsome, but how many of you are there?”
A few more faces turned his way as Ryat, Kiara, and the others emerged from the shelter behind him.
“Six hundred and eighty-four thousand.” He remained silent for a moment to let the words sink in. “Nearly seven hundred thousand against seventy. If even one in a hundred of you fight, you still outnumber them one hundred to one!”
“They may have weapons and armor,” Kiara added her voice to his, “but they cannot stop us all. We are more powerful than they are. We have the might to roll over them like a thunderstorm over the mountains.”
Ryat stepped up beside him. “Think of your families.” His voice rang out with surprising strength. “Your children.”
All around, men and women looked down at their emaciated, muck-covered infants, toddlers, infants, and youths.
“Is this the future you want for them?” Ryat pressed.
“What else is there?” someone called from off to the Hunter’s right.
“Freedom!” the Hunter shouted. He thrust a finger to the west, toward the staircase leading out of the Pit. “A world beyond these walls, a life without fear of being beaten, tormented, or fed to the crystals. A life where you can choose what you do.”
A few of the dull-eyed people exchanged glances, and quiet whispers ran among the men and women in the surrounding shelters.
The Hunter raised his voice. “If you fight, you may die. But if you stay, you will die. A slow death, a death filled with the knowledge that you had a chance for freedom and did not take it. Within this place, you have no hope, no future, no life worth living. But out there, beyond Hellsgate, there is a wide world filled with more marvels than you could imagine. Wide open lands so vast you cannot see from one end to the other. Cities filled with people of every shape, size, and skin color. An ocean bluer than the sky on the clearest day.”
“There is life!” Kiara shouted. “That alone is worth risking death.”
“It is worth the risk.” Ryat’s voice carried to the surrounding shelters. “If nothing else, to simply be free of this place. To step beyond the walls of our prison.” He turned to the Hunter and Kiara. “I remember green grass, tall trees, and colorful flowers. Before I was taken from my home and brought here, I knew the meaning of living. I would have that again, at any cost.”
The Hunter gripped the man’s hand. “Fight with us, and you will have it.” He turned to the men and women that had gathered around. “All of you! Join us in fighting for your freedom. The gates will be thrown open for you, but it is up to you to clear the way. The Elivasti have held you captive here for years. Decades. The time has come for you to stand up and break free.”
Excitement sparkled in a few eyes, and the crowd of people surrounding them swelled. Ryat moved among them, talking in a low voice, gripping the hands of men and women that had suddenly come to life.
The Hunter smiled at the sight. They had a purpose once again, beyond simply existing—they had found a will to live.
Kiara turned him with a grin. “Looks like you have your army after all.”
Chapter Thirty-One
“Come with me,” the Hunter said. “I told the guards at the front I had been sent by the Sage to bring you to him. Evidently he’s taken a special interest in you.”
Kiara’s face twisted in disgust, but she shook her heard. “No, my place is here.” She continued strapping on the suit of blue armor they’d taken from Ardem, the first of the Elivasti the Hunter had killed in the Pit. The armor hung a bit large on her well-proportioned frame, but she wore it with confidence. The months riding beside and training with Sir Danna had changed her.
“Help me with this,” she insisted, motioning to one of the leather straps on her blue breastplate.
“I could use an extra hand at the gate.” The Hunter stepped close to help her, and not even the mud on her skin could fully conceal her unique scent of leather, steel, and lilies. “Once we get them moving, nothing will stop—”
“Listen, we just gave this grand speech about fighting, but you know as well as I that they need us to lead them.” Her words echoed with the same stubbornness she’d used to order him to save Sir Danna from the Stone Guardians. “They’re not going to be strong and fight on their own. They need us. That means it has to be me, because you’re the only one that can get that gate open.”
He grasped her shoulders and turned her to face him. “You know how dangerous it’s going to be, leading them,” he said in a voice pitched low for her ears. “Being at the front of the charge means you’re the first to take a lightning bolt or a spikestaff to the chest.”
She placed a hand on his shoulders. “You remember what I told you the night we met in the Iron Arms?”
The Hunter nodded. “Of course.”
“That hasn’t changed.” Her jaw clenched, and grim resolve shone in her dark eyes. “I don’t need protecting.”
“I’m not trying to protect you. I’d just like to keep you alive.”
“That’s the same damn thing!” Kiara’s eyes flashed.
&nbs
p; The Hunter wanted to argue, but he’d seen that stubborn look in her eyes enough times to know he’d have more luck milking a rock than changing her mind.
“If something happens, it happens,” Kiara said with a shrug. “Truth be told, I’m rather fond of being alive myself, so I’ll do everything I can to avoid getting killed. Sound fair?”
After a long moment, the Hunter sighed. “Best I could ask for.”
Kiara reached up, gripped his collar, and pulled his head down for a fierce kiss. A thrill coursed through his body at the touch of their lips.
After a long second, Kiara broke off and shot him a wink. “For luck.” With that, she turned and strode from the shelter.
It took the Hunter a moment to collect himself. She never ceased to surprise him.
When he emerged, he found a small band of forty or fifty men, women, and youths gathered around the shelter. Their tattered clothing hung from gaunt shoulders, but fire smoldered in their eyes. They gripped the crude spears Kiara had improvised, along with rocks, uprooted support beams, anything else remotely weapon-like they could get their hands on.
Ryat stood at the head of the group, wearing a suit of Elivasti armor, a wooden truncheon in his hand. His expression grew grim as he saw the Hunter. “Get the gate open,” he said, thrusting out a hand. “We’ll do the rest.”
The Hunter gripped his forearm. “Your strength lies in numbers. This only works if you get enough people to join.”
“Already I have people spreading throughout the Pit, whispering into the right ears. We’ll be ready.” Ryat gave him a firm nod. “The cruelty of the Elivasti ends this day.”
“There may be some Elivasti that will help us,” the Hunter told him. “Not many, but a few.”
“I can make no promises for the others,” Ryat said, “but if I see any lending aid, I will not harm them.”
Darkblade Guardian Page 100
