The captain's eyebrows rose further, but he held his peace. "As you wish, my queen." He inclined his head and turned to the Hunter. "Follow me, qattala."
The Hunter couldn't contain his smile. Proud and intelligent, this Captain Al-Zahar. He is stubborn, yet knows his place.
"Lead on, Captain." He strode toward the door, but the queen's voice stopped him on the way out.
"Where can I find you, Hunter? I may have need of you in the coming days."
"I am at The Shouting Sword, my queen."
"Expect to hear from me soon." With an imperious wave, the queen dismissed him and returned her attention to the young woman beside her.
Chapter Thirty
Captain Al-Zahar and his company led the Hunter through the corridors. The palace was emptier than it had been an hour ago, and they passed not a soul on their trek through the enormous complex.
"So," the captain said, his voice nonchalant, "the queen has need of your services, does she? How fortunate that you show up at precisely this moment, is it not?"
The Hunter refused to rise to the bait. "I follow my orders."
"Of course you do." Captain Al-Zahar smiled without a hint of humor. "As do I." His hand hovered near his sword, as if he expected to draw it at any moment.
The Hunter hid a smile. If only the captain knew how ineffective his steel sword would be. Somehow, he doubted Captain Al-Zahar knew the truth of his queen—or the demon who wore her face.
The captain stopped beside an enormous tapestry which portrayed a vivid battle scene. With a glance in both directions, he reached behind the drapery. At the faint click, a blank section of wall slid aside, revealing a dark corridor, heavy with the scent of dust and stale air.
One of the guards stepped forward and extended a lamp. The lamp burned with no candle or flame, but some alchemical liquid brewed by the Secret Keepers. The priests of the Mistress guarded the formula with fanatical zeal, never hesitating to kill those who sought to discover its contents.
Captain Al-Zahar pointed down the tunnel. "The private entrance."
"Where does it lead?"
"Outside the palace, into a deserted residence. The front door will be guarded, so exit without being seen. It's hard enough to explain your presence to my men. They all expect me to order your arrest and execution at any moment."
The Hunter grinned at the guards. "I'd hate to make your job difficult." He pushed past the guard offering him an alchemical lamp and strode down the passage.
The entrance to the passage rumbled closed behind the Hunter, and he immediately regretted not taking the alchemical lamp. Bright Lady, it's darker than a taxman's heart in here! The darkness around him was almost thick enough to cut with a knife. He stumbled forward, guiding himself by feeling the walls on either side of him.
Though the passage was as wide as the span of his arms, the stale air pressed in around him. For a moment, his hands trembled with the panic of being trapped in a tight space. He drew in a deep breath, then another, and ground his teeth, pushing back against the part of his mind that shrieked in terror.
His mind raced. What have I gotten myself into?
“Once again, you find yourself in the right place at the right time.” Exultation coursed through his mind. “Thrz-kha-url would have you by her side, as was meant for you Bucelarii since the day of your creation!”
So you know her?
“When first we came to this earth, the Thrz-kha-url I knew was always the schemer, the spider in the shadows. Though he wears the form of a pitiful human woman, his mind remains as sharp as ever.”
And you think I can trust her? Him? It?
“You can never fully trust Thrz-kha-url, but as long as you serve his—or her—purposes, you will find that she is a valuable ally.”
I have never truly trusted any of your kind, Abiarazi.
“Perhaps it is time to start.”
You expect me to believe she really wants me to serve at her side? That she will accept me with open arms, just because she knew me hundreds of years ago? Even now, months after learning the truth of his past, he still struggled with the idea that he had lived for centuries…if not millennia. It felt too unreal.
“That is what you were created for. Perhaps you have found the place where you can finally carry out your destiny.”
My destiny. Of course. It always came back to that. My fate of bringing back your precious Kharna.
Thousands of years ago, the god Kharna, Destroyer of Worlds, had summoned the demons, the Abiarazi, to fight in his war against the other twelve gods. The demons had bred with human women, and they called their offspring Bucelarii—a name that meant "forgotten ones" in the tongue of the Serenii.
The Bucelarii had served their forefathers in the War of Gods, and been all but wiped out when the gods banished the Abiarazi from Einan. Yet a few demons had escaped the purge and remained in hiding to this day. Over thousands of years, they had plotted to return Kharna to the world. They'd given the Bucelarii accursed weapons that fed the Destroyer with every life they took. Soulhunger, the dagger at his side, was one such.
Impatience radiated from the presence in his mind. “You continue to fight it, Bucelarii, but know that it is inevitable. Every time you use Thanal Eth' Athaur, you feed the Destroyer. No matter how hard you try, you always succumb in the end. Eventually, the balance will be tipped in our favor, and the day will come when you take that final soul.”
The Hunter shuddered at the thought. He'd fought against his inner voices before and lost every time. His actions had consequences, he knew. He hated what he was doing to the world, but he could only ignore the demands for blood and death for so long. Though he'd tried to stop, something had always forced him to take a life. Only Hailen's presence could drown out the screams, pleas, and demands that assailed his mind and threatened to shatter his sanity.
The demon crowed in delight. “It is inevitable in the end, Bucelarii. Cease your struggle, and let fate take its course.”
After all this time of living in my head, how little you know me, Demon. I will never stop fighting the hand of fate. I am servant to no man, nor god, nor destiny. I am the Hunter!
“Keep telling yourself that, Bucelarii. If it helps you feel you are the one in control, delude yourself all you want.”
Mocking laughter filled his thoughts, dissolving into incoherent wailing. The horrible, gut-wrenching sound tore at his consciousness, far worse than the demon's derision or insistent demands for death. A throbbing ache developed behind his eyes. The voice would not leave him until he killed. Only in death would he find peace—his death or another's.
Blood rushed in the Hunter's ears. A roar of fury burst from his mouth, and he slammed his fists into the passage wall. His knuckles cracked beneath the impact. The pain pushed back the voices, yet though they retreated, they remained present far in the rear of his mind.
He would never truly be free.
* * *
After the stale, close air of the tunnel, he welcomed the biting wind whipping across the rooftops of Aghzaret. Pulling his cloak tighter about his shoulders, he leapt from house to house. Once he'd put sufficient distance between himself and the palace to feel safe, he descended to the ground. The streets were silent and empty, but a torment raged in his mind.
He had to rescue Hailen, that much he knew. But to do so, he needed the al-Malek's ring. The demon had promised to help him, but her aid only complicated matters. She would expect him to kill the king, as commanded. Could he find a way to avoid it?
He was at a loss. He needed the boy to keep the voices at bay. The demon's shrieking and Soulhunger's incessant demands for death would overwhelm him or drive him to kill. He refused to be controlled by anyone or anything.
But if the king died, the demon wearing Queen Asalah's face would rule Al Hani. The Hunter knew how far the Abiarazi would go to achieve their ultimate objective. War, death, and destruction would wash over Al Hani and the Twelve Kingdoms, all to sate the bloodlust of the demon
. He couldn't serve her, that much he knew.
Smug satisfaction radiated from the demon in the Hunter's mind. “What to do, what to do?”
The Hunter welcomed the mocking voice. Anything was better than the ceaseless screeching. Any suggestions?
“Kill the al-Malek, leave Hailen to his fate, and join the queen. Take your place, and bask in the glory that the Great Destroyer will bestow upon his faithful servants when he returns.”
He expected no less from the demon. The creature in his head would be of little help. It wanted the queen's plan to succeed.
An inkling of an idea flitted through his head. Elusive, elaborate, and near-impossible, he knew it had little hope of success. Unfortunately, I don't have too many options at this point.
“What are you doing?” Unease echoed in the demon's voice. “What are you going to do?”
The Hunter grinned. Watch and see!
In the weeks since Malandria, he'd grown adept at sectioning off the different parts of his mind. He could hide his thoughts from the demon, though with great effort. Its rage made his smile grow.
If I am to carry this out, I'll need a few things first. Thanks to Graeme, I might just be able to procure said items.
A pang of sorrow stabbed through him at the thought of his old friend from Voramis. Graeme had been more than just his supplier of argam, a poison so potent the king had banned it. He'd also been a member of the Hidden Circle, a group of alchemists practicing outside the strictures of the Secret Keepers, servants to the Mistress. They dealt in potions and poisons, but their true power came from the information they collected, hoarded, and sold for a price.
If anyone has what I need, it will be the Hidden Circle.
Though Graeme had only admitted to being a member of the Hidden Circle on threat of torture, the Hunter had long known him to be one of the finest non-clerical alchemists in Voramis. On a number of occasions, Graeme had hired the Hunter to travel to other "bookstores" to obtain sensitive items. These trips had taught the Hunter a few tell-tale signs to search for.
Even if the Hidden Circle has no influence this far north, I have little doubt I will find what I need. After all, there is always someone looking to turn a profit, no matter how illicit the trade.
The Hunter knew very little of the Secret Keepers and their ways, but he did know they guarded the secrets of their alchemical arts viciously. The Mistress' clerics had hired him on more than one occasion, always to kill someone who had discovered something they preferred remain hidden. That was how he'd found Graeme. His target had been Graeme's master, but the Secret Keepers had had no knowledge of an apprentice. The Hunter kept Graeme alive, and in return, Graeme had provided him with everything he needed. For a price, of course.
But in truth, Graeme had become his friend. Over the years of their dealings, the Hunter had grown fond of the rotund man, though he would never have admitted it. Though he'd left Graeme unconscious and bleeding at their last encounter, he never had any desire to harm the man.
Be well, my friend.
His sensitive nostrils searched for the scent of tanneries. He recognized the foul odors of wood ash, potash, and tannins—the chemicals used to treat leather. These horrible, all-permeating smells covered the noxious aromas of the concoctions brewed by the secret alchemists. He would find what he sought close by.
He smiled as he saw the small sign hanging over a grimy window. Warped and faded letters proclaimed the shop The Circle of Gods, offering palm readings, fortune telling, and divine elixirs.
Could there be a more perfect cover? Only the truly foolish and desperate believed in such nonsense. Those who wanted their future foretold visited the temples and offered a sacrifice to the gods. Or God, in the case of the people of Al Hani.
Chimes tinkled as the Hunter pushed through the door. He grimaced at the pungent odors of the sweet, spicy smoke that hung thick in the gloom of the unlit shop.
A wizened man with a perfectly bald head popped up from behind the counter. His eyebrows rose at the sight of the Hunter. "What brings a man of the south to my humble establishment?"
The Hunter stabbed a finger at the sign. "I've come to have my fortune read."
"Strange." The old man pursed his lips. "You are the first southerner to step inside these doors since I opened them fifty years ago." He showed no sign of recognition or understanding at the Hunter's request to "have his fortune read"—the code used to identify Hidden Circle members.
This has to be the place.
"Tell me," he said in a conversational tone, "if one was looking for alchemical mixtures, where in Aghzaret would one have to look?"
The old man's eyes lit up. "The practice of alchemy is forbidden in Aghzaret, you understand. But I may have a few elixirs and tonics lying about." He gave a dismissive wave. "Nothing too potent, of course."
"Of course." The Hunter understood perfectly. The man wouldn't admit he belonged to the Hidden Circle, not to someone he'd just met. But he couldn't pass up on a chance to make a sale. Judging by the decrepit state of the store, business hadn't flourished for the better part of a decade.
He turned and shot the bolt, locking the door. The old man stared at him, eyes wide.
"I know you belong to the Hidden Circle."
The old man frowned. "Hidden what now?" He gave a quizzical expression that was more pathetic than convincing. "I've no idea what you're talking about."
The Hunter shook his head. "Your secret is safe with me. But you have something I need…"
Chapter Thirty-One
The demon's shrieking pulled the Hunter from a fitful sleep. Groaning, he pushed himself upright and tried to ignore the ache in his head.
A voice sounded from behind him. "Up with the morning sun, I see."
Startled, the Hunter whirled and scowled at the bandit leaning against the wall. "What do you want?"
Younis grinned. "I take it you had no success entering the palace?"
"I got in well enough," the Hunter growled. He had little desire to deal with the bandit this early in the morning. The wild cries in his mind only made things worse. "I've learned some of the layout."
The bandit nodded. "Good. So when will the al-Malek join his fathers?"
"Soon."
Younis raised an eyebrow. "Need I remind you what will happen to your boy if you dawdle?"
The Hunter tightened his grip on Soulhunger. He ached to plunge Soulhunger into the man's chest. Younis' death would silence the shrieking in his mind. But if the Hunter killed him, Hailen would suffer. He slid his dagger into its hidden sheath and forced his face to betray nothing.
"No, that much is clear." The Hunter shrugged. "But, if you want the job done right…"
The bandit sneered. "Just get it done, man of the south. Know that Il Seytani's patience has its limits. As does mine."
"Why thank you. Now tell me, have you come to join me for breakfast or just to watch me sleep?" The rich aroma of mint tea drifted down the stairs.
Younis shook his head. "While lazy qattala are still abed, the devout rise and pray."
The Hunter snorted. "Well then, I'll be off for some food, if you don't mind." He made no effort to hide his scorn.
"Eat well, ytaq. You'll need your strength to kill the al-Malek. I will be seeing you later." Younis made to climb the stairs.
"Not tonight, you won’t."
Younis stopped and stared at the Hunter. "Why?"
"I plan to explore the palace again after dark, and I must sleep the daylight hours away. It will take me two more nights to learn the rest of the palace and find a way into the king's chambers. The night after next, it shall be done."
Younis raised an eyebrow. "So long? You walk a dangerous line, ytaq." He narrowed his eyes, and his hand stroked the hilt of his sword.
The Hunter met his gaze without hesitation, hiding a grin. Such an easy lie, but it buys me a whole day. He would have more than enough time to deal with the al-Malek and track down Younis' hiding place.
"Very w
ell." Younis nodded. "You will have your three nights, ytaq. But no longer."
"Where will I find you? To inform you of the al-Malek's death."
Younis smirked. "I will find you."
Damn it! The bandit wouldn't be tricked into revealing his hiding place that easily.
With a shrug to hide his annoyance, the Hunter shouldered his way past Younis and climbed the stairs. Pretending to ignore the bandit, he took a seat at the common room table and waved for food to be brought. Younis paid him no heed, but slipped through the noisy room and out the front door. After a moment, the Hunter followed.
The Hunter tied his headcloth around his face and hunched to hide his height. Though the Hunter had Younis' scent—a mixture of iron, cloves, and wood smoke—he doubted his sensitive nostrils would be enough to keep him on the man's trail. He had to get close enough to the man to cut a scrap from his robe. One small piece was all Soulhunger needed to lead the Hunter straight to him.
Soon, however, the myriad odors of the city around him overwhelmed his senses. Everywhere he turned, he encountered some new smell—the odor of refuse piled in the street, unwashed people, unfamiliar spices and herbs, and animal droppings. Men and women in bright-colored clothing jostled him, making it difficult to keep his eyes on his target. The crowd provided him cover, but the press of people made it hard to follow. Younis looked like every other person in Aghzaret, with the same height, coloring, and clothing. In a single moment of distraction, he lost the bandit in the crowd.
Watcher take it! The Hunter ground his teeth in frustration. He had no way to find Younis now, not without Soulhunger to guide him. His sensitive nostrils would be no help here; the overpowering aromas of the city made it hard to follow one scent among so many.
Now what? Thoughts whirling, he traced his steps back to the inn. He threw himself onto the bench in the inn's common room, not caring that he elbowed a fellow patron aside to make space at the table. With a growl for the man beside him, the Hunter poured lukewarm tea into a cup and dashed it back. He tore at the flatbread without restraint. His head throbbed from the demon's incoherent wails. He needed to find someone to kill and soon. Without Hailen, he was at the mercy of his inner voices.
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