Darkblade Guardian

by Andy Peloquin

  “Hunting you bastards!” the Hunter growled. “You fill your city with crime and vice, but you have crossed a line.”

  “D’ you know who we are?” The scruffy man in ragged clothing stepped forward, his knife leveled at the Hunter. “We’re the bleedin’ Night Guild, we are. This is our city, and—”

  “I care not.” The Hunter shook his head. “Your reign of terror has come to an end. As I did to the Bloody Hand, so I will do to you.”

  He slipped Soulhunger from its sheath and held it in his left hand. The dagger’s voice no longer echoed in his mind—a blessed side effect of the truths he’d learned during his time in Enarium—but he could still feel its eagerness to feed, to drain the blood from his victims. Once, the dagger had been the force that drove him. He’d killed to silence its incessant demands. Now, Soulhunger served as a means to an end.

  With every life he took, he fed power to Kharna, the Serenii that fought to keep the Devourer of Worlds from destroying Einan. That thought once held him back from killing—after all, he’d believed he was hastening the end of the world. Now, his attitude had changed. Any who deserved death would die on Soulhunger’s blade—a way to balance the scales for all of the villainy and wickedness that permeated the world.

  And if anyone deserves this death, it’s the Night Guild!

  He leapt forward before his opponents had time to do more than recoil in surprise. His sword flicked out toward the brute, a slash that would open the huge thug’s throat, while his dagger drove toward the assassin’s gut. Once he took care of those two, the others would fall easily.

  The assassin, the only one not caught off-guard, moved a heartbeat after the Hunter did. He drew his sword in his left hand and slapped aside the Hunter’s thrust even as he slipped out of the path of Soulhunger’s eager blade. His right hand dipped into his coat and came out holding steel a moment later. His underhanded throw buried the dagger into the Hunter’s gut.

  The Hunter stumbled backward, blood seeping down the front of his tunic and staining his breeches. Pain radiated through his stomach as he reached for the dagger. He tore it free, and his nostrils flared at the stink of guayoc poison—a weaker, less effective form of the argam he’d once used on his crossbow bolts.

  “Graaah!” A roar of rage tore from the Hunter’s lips as he hurled the blade back at its owner. Quick as a serpent, the assassin slithered aside and flicked out his sword to deflect the thrown dagger. His eyes fixed on the Hunter, expectant.

  Black dots swam in the Hunter’s eyes as the poison did its vicious work. He could feel the numbness seeping into his arms, his legs, his throat, his face, even slowing the beating of his heart. The world blurred in and out of focus. His breath caught in his lungs and he felt himself beginning to fall. Only a supreme will of effort kept him upright.

  The assassin’s lips pressed into a disbelieving line when the Hunter didn’t fall. He reached into his cloak and produced another throwing dagger. The Hunter knew he couldn’t block the throw, not in his current state, so he did the only thing he could—he waited until the last second and dropped to his knees in the muck. The dagger sailed a hand’s breadth over his head.

  The assassin nodded, satisfied, and lowered his sword. “Go.” He tore his eyes from the Hunter long enough to look at the youth. “Tell Master Gold we have found our murderer, and he will kill no more.”

  “You…speak…too soon.” The Hunter’s voice was raspy, each breath burning. Yet he climbed to unsteady feet and stood upright. “I do not…fall so easily…as so many other…killers and monsters have learned in the past.”

  Even as he spoke, he pushed his focus inward and felt for the poison coursing through his veins, the wound in his gut. His body’s natural healing abilities would repair the damage in minutes, but he commanded his flesh to repair faster. He’d learned the secret, another gift of his Bucelarii heritage, from the Sage, the demon that had come within a heartbeat of destroying all of Einan. The Hunter’s pursuit of the Sage had led him to discover much: the secret of Hailen’s bloodline, the purple-eyed descendants of the Serenii known as the Elivasti, the city of Enarium, his wife, and finally the god Kharna.

  This nugget of truth, however, had proven the most effective in his line of work. He could heal from wounds, poisons, and burns that would put even the strongest men into the grave. He had one weakness, iron, and the assassin had made the same mistake so many others had in the past: they’d faced him with bared steel.

  The scruffy, knife-wielding man’s eyes flew wide. “What the hell?”

  “Impossible.” The man’s jaw set as he stared at the Hunter. “That was enough Black Malice to kill an ox. You should be dead.”

  The Hunter snorted. “If I had a copper bit for every time I’ve heard that, I’d have a fortune larger than that of Aegeos.”

  The assassin stepped forward, interposing himself between the Hunter and the rest of his comrades. “Go, Orleth!” he shouted. “Tell Master Gold it’s the Hunter of fucking Voramis.” His face grew solemn, his expression grim. “Tell her to send all of House Serpent. We will hold him here as long as we can.”

  The youth whirled around and raced off down the tunnel, disappearing from sight a few seconds later.

  “Perhaps your legends are true.” The assassin spoke in a quiet voice. “But none of those legends speak of the Hunter of Voramis as being a child-killer. Or have you simply grown tired of killing men and women?”

  The Hunter’s eyes narrowed. “You accuse me of killing children? After all these years of snatching them off the streets and forcing them to become murderers, thugs, and thieves like you?” He spat. “The Bloody Hand learned all too well what happens to those who kill the innocent, the helpless.”

  “And now you’ve come for us?” The assassin raised an eyebrow. “You are not content to rule Voramis, so you seek to do what they did not and claim this city for your own?”

  The question took the Hunter by surprise. Voramis had been rife with gossip during the Bloody Hand’s heyday, but it had never included any attempt—successful or otherwise—to invade Praamis. One look at the assassin’s face made it clear the man believed his words.

  “I and the rest of House Serpent have trained in preparation for this day.” The assassin drew a forearm-length steel stiletto from a hidden sheath. “We always knew you would come for us, either out of desire to do your bloody work in Praamis unhindered or because another master pulled your strings. Yet never did I imagine you would stoop to murdering random citizens in an effort to turn the Crown against us. The legends always spoke of your ruthlessness, yet hinted at an innate sense of honor, nobility even. To find you little better than the Bloody Hand, that is a disappointment, indeed.”

  Again, the Hunter found himself at a loss for words. He wasn’t surprised to find this House Serpent, whatever the hell that was, had trained to face him—after all, every assassin knew the danger of their profession. There was always someone better, faster, smarter, more cunning.

  But that last part, about murdering random citizens, that struck him as odd. Since arriving in Praamis, he’d only killed one person, the assassin that had confronted him on the rooftops.

  So why in the bloody hell does it sound like he’s accusing me of killing those children I discovered?

  Before the Hunter could speak, the assassin raised his sword in salute. “The legend of the Hunter ends here.” With a flourish of his blade, he charged.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Daytin’s face went a shade of pale to match the corpse in front of him. “N-Night…Guild?” Terror echoed in his hoarse whisper. “Oh, sweet Mistress!”

  Ilanna straightened and folded her arms. “The gods can’t save you in here. Down here, you are at my mercy.”

  The apothecary began to shake, his eyes darting between Ilanna and the body on the table. “W-What do you want from me?” he stammered.

  “An answer.” Ilanna gave him a sweet smile. “One, little tiny answer. Certainly that couldn’t be too difficult.�
��

  “Yes!” Daytin half-shouted. “Ask, and I will tell you anything!”

  “Excellent.” Ilanna leaned forward. “Tell me who bought the Flaming Tansy from you.”

  Daytin’s eyes flew wide.

  Ilanna held up a warning finger. “Before you think of lying to me, let me paint a picture for you. You are deep, deep underground, where no one can hear you scream. Surrounding you are the cleverest minds of House Scorpion, men responsible for brewing poisons that could burn through your skin, char your organs, yet keep you alive for decades of agony. You find yourself in this precious position because I know beyond a shadow of doubt that you are the one who sold the Flaming Tansy that was used to murder a child.” She indicated the child on the table in front of him. “This child.”

  The man’s face turned a sickened grey.

  Ilanna’s too-sweet grin returned. “Now that your circumstances are abundantly clear, I await your answer eagerly, apothecary.”

  Daytin swallowed, his eyes once again flicking from Ilanna to the opened corpse and back. Droplets of sweat sprang from his forehead.

  “Oh, gods!” he wailed. “I knew it was a mistake, I knew it! But he offered me so much gold for it.” Words poured from his mouth in a jumbled mess. “A man’s got to feed his family, and times have been hard of late. When I saw the gold, I knew…I knew I couldn’t afford to turn it down. And it was so old, it had to be useless, I couldn’t imagine—”

  Ilanna slapped him, hard. “Speak plain, Daytin. Your next words could be your last.”

  Daytin swallowed again, twice, and shook his head to clear the tears streaming down his cheek. “That bottle of Flaming Tansy was old when my father was running the store. It sat on a shelf in the basement collecting dust. With you lot controlling all the poisons in the city, no one came to us for such things anymore. For thirty years, I’ve been scraping together a living from selling love potions and healing draughts.”

  Master Scorpion snorted from his chair. “A decoction of whiskey and anis to fortify a man’s courage, and fermented juniper berry to speed up healing?” He shook his head. “Perhaps you might supplement your stores with snake oil. I hear it’s marvelous for returning the dead to life.”

  “Mock as you will.” Daytin shook his head. “But how else am I to feed my family?”

  “The poison,” Ilanna snapped. She gripped his jaw and turned his face toward the child’s body. “How did the poison in your store end up killing this child?”

  “I don’t know!” wailed the apothecary. “Th-The one who bought it from me, he was an older man, showing his age, you know?”

  “What did he look like?” Ilanna demanded.

  “I never saw his face.” Daytin tried in vain to shake his head, still locked in Ilanna’s vise grip. “He wore a hood—”

  Ilanna bared her teeth. “So how do you know his age?”

  “The hands! The hands never lie.” Daytin twitched in his bonds, as if he’d forgotten for a moment that he was tied up. “They were covered with liver spots, his knuckles twisted by rheumatism. I tried to sell him an unguent that would soften his calluses, but he ignored me. Instead, he told me he’d come for the Flaming Tansy. Called it by name, he did.”

  “And you, of course, sold it to him.” Ilanna released his head, but fixed him with a hard glare.

  Daytin nodded. “When a man offers you enough coin to be free of debt and feed your family for a month, you give him what he wants and thank the gods for your good fortune!”

  “And this mysterious benefactor, what can you tell me about him?” Ilanna leaned over the apothecary. “Think carefully. Your life depends on it.”

  “He wore dull-colored clothing,” Daytin spat. “Simple cloak, a dusty brown, I think. I didn’t get a good look at his clothes, but his boots. Yes, his boots!” His eyes flew wide. “Too fine to be any ordinary man’s boots. The sort of thing only the men of The Gardens and Old Praamis wear.”

  Ilanna’s eyes narrowed. “He was a nobleman?”

  “Or a majordomo or trusted servant.” Daytin fixed her with a pleading look. “Please, that’s all I know about the man. He came just after dark, as I was closing up my shop.”

  “And you were too busy staring at his gold to notice his features,” Ilanna snarled.

  “Yes, but had I known what he intended to do with it…” The man’s eyes went to the child on the table beside him, and he shook his head. “I’ve children of my own. I’d never want anything to happen to an innocent like them.”

  “For their sakes, you had best be telling the truth.” Ilanna placed her face close to the apothecary, close enough to smell the anis he chewed and see every whisker on his unshaven cheeks. “If I find you’ve been lying to me—”

  “I swear to the Mistress, and all the gods,” Daytin nearly shouted. “I’ve told you all I know!”

  Ilanna straightened and stared down at the man for a long moment. “We shall see.” She moved away from Daytin and motioned to Keltor. “Put him to sleep and leave him on the front steps of his house.”

  “Yes, Guild Master.” Keltor gave her a little bow, then turned to one of the shelves and rummaged among the bottles.

  As Ilanna strode from the room, she found Tyman shuffling along beside her. She slowed her steps to match his pace and offered her arm.

  “Oh, pish posh!” Master Scorpion waved her away. “I’m not that old yet.”

  “What do you think?” Ilanna asked.

  “He told you everything he knew, that’s for certain.” Tyman gave her a little grin. “I’m just surprised he didn’t wet himself in his terror.”

  “And his story? What do you make of it? A bottle of poison decades old.” She shot a glance at the Scorpion. “Would its effects last that long?”

  “Some poisons, yes.” Tyman nodded. “I couldn’t tell you about Flaming Tansy specifically, but I can consult with my Journeymen to find out. It wouldn’t surprise me, however. Some of the ingredients we use in our experiments date back hundreds of years.”

  Ilanna raised an eyebrow, curious.

  “House secrets,” Tyman said, and waved her away. “Suffice it to say, such a poison could exist.”

  “We have to assume it did, then.” Ilanna frowned. “And what he said about the boots, being too fancy for a commoner. Not many noblemen would make the purchase in person, but I could see them sending a trusted bodyservant to do it.”

  “Trust is only built over decades.” Tyman pursed his lips. “It would, indeed, be an older man, one who has served the same family for more than one generation.”

  “And to come up with the amount of coin Daytin was speaking about, enough to feed him and his family for a month, that speaks of deep pockets.”

  “Very deep,” Tyman emphasized.

  “So we’re looking for someone from The Gardens or Old Praamis, then.” Ilanna blew out her cheeks. “That narrows it down somewhat. Now all we need to do is find a noble or wealthy family that has an elderly servant working for them.” She snorted. “Sound like every noble house you know?”

  Tyman shrugged. “I have never once envied you the role of Guild Master. Yet if anyone can find the solution, I have faith that it will be you.” He grinned. “I, however, have a bottle of Nyslian port waiting for me back in my chambers. Perks of being House Master, I suppose.”

  Ilanna stopped and laid a hand on the aging Scorpion’s arm. “Thank you, Master Tyman.”

  “At your service, as always.” With a little bow, Master Scorpion turned and hobbled off in the direction of his chambers.

  Ilanna barely paid attention as she strode through the Nest, out the double doors, and into the tunnels beyond. Her mind was busy working at the problem of this new discovery.

  If it’s a noble family poisoning children, it’s going to be even harder to find them. Puffed-up lords and ladies have the Duke’s protection to shield them.

  Well, that wasn’t entirely true. While many in the nobility paid Duke Phonnis for the services of his Arbitors, his priv
ate guard force, Ilanna had her ways of convincing nobles to do what she wanted. It would require the right application of leverage, but with time, she could find out anything.

  Time simply isn’t a luxury we have. No more bodies had turned up since the one in Old Town Market that morning, but she had no desire to wait until another did. We’ve got to find a solution now.

  No solution had presented itself by the time she reached her chambers, and her mood had gone from sour to downright rotten. She nearly bit Darreth’s head off when he cleared his throat in that irritating way he did when he wanted her attention but knew she was in a foul temper.

  “What?” she snapped.

  Her tone rolled off Darreth like water over a raincloth. His position as aide put him in the unfortunate position of being close at hand on days when the burdens of Guild Master grew overwhelming. “Master Serpent and young Kodyn await you in your office.”

  Ilanna nodded and strode past him to the door of her office. Kodyn and Errik stood within, and one look at their faces told her they hadn’t brought good news.

  “Damn!” Ilanna shook her head as she strode around her desk. “Nothing at all?”

  Errik’s face drew into a tight frown. “A handful of Serpents and Hounds are still out searching, but I’m not hopeful.” He gestured to Kodyn. “Even with his help, we only tracked the trail of blood a few more paces until it disappeared.”

  Ilanna bit back a curse and banged a fist on her desk. “We keep coming up empty-handed!” She told the two of what she’d learned from Daytin. “So all we have to do is find an aged manservant in one of the noble houses of Praamis.”

  Errik snorted. “How hard could that be?”

  Ilanna was about to retort when a knock sounded at the door. She recognized the strong, rhythmic tapping instantly.

  “Come in, Ria.”

  The Ghandian women pushed the door open and strode in, Aisha at her heels.

  Aisha hesitated as she caught sight of Kodyn, but she managed to keep her composure and follow on her House Master’s heels. Ilanna stifled a smile as she saw Kodyn straighten, square his shoulders, and thrust his chest out ever so slightly like a preening peacock. He smiled at Aisha, but the dark-skinned girl’s eyes focused on Ilanna.