Darkblade Protector_An Epic Fantasy Adventure

by Andy Peloquin

  “Forget the boy!”

  The voice in his thoughts startled the Hunter. He'd forgotten about the presence in his mind; it had remained uncharacteristically silent during his conversation with the queen.

  “He is nothing more than a burden that will drag you down. Let him suffer his fate, and embrace your own. Here, you will have everything your heart could possibly desire.” The intensity of his inner demon set his head pounding.

  I will do it, he told the voice. I will stay and learn from her. Let us see what your kind has to offer.

  Exultant triumph radiated through him; the demon believed it had won. The Hunter knew better. He'd learned to hide his true thoughts, to fool the voice in his mind.

  He wanted answers, true, but he longed for peace from the voices even more. They would overwhelm him in the end, and his true nature would be unleashed. He would kill without hesitation or purpose, taking life for the sheer pleasure of feeling the rush of power Soulhunger fed him with every death.

  He had to return for Hailen. The boy was naïve, trusting, and helpless. Because of him, the Hunter had nearly died more than once. The demon spoke truth: the boy was a burden, but one he would gladly bear. Hailen was more than just some child he'd decided to protect; he was the only thing keeping the Hunter tethered to sanity. Only with the boy could he find peace from the incessant demands for blood and death.

  Queen Asalah stared at him, expectant. "What say you, Bucelarii?"

  He'd told Younis he needed another night. He had the time to both learn more of his past and rescue the boy. The queen believed she'd won his trust, so he would use her to find the answers he craved. She would help him get to the al-Malek, so she served a purpose…for now.

  The Hunter smiled. "You say I trusted you long ago. I will trust you now. Teach me what I must know. Teach me the ways of my fathers."

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The Hunter sat cross-legged on the hard stone floor of a dark, windowless room in the bowels of the palace. The only light came from a flickering candle before him.

  Queen Asalah reclined in a comfortable chair Al-Zahar had brought at her instruction. "Prepare yourself, Hunter. This will be neither easy nor painless." She spoke in a low voice. "Focus your attention on the candle, and pour all of your thoughts and feelings into its flame."

  Shadows played tricks with her face, the candlelight twisting her perfect features into a mockery of beauty. The chill of the subterranean room and the sight of the queen—no, the demon—sent a shiver through him.

  He tried in vain to shut out all thoughts and feelings, but he couldn't let go of his fear for Hailen's safety. The problem of how to hunt down this "Sage" who commanded demons nagged at the back of his mind. Worst of all, the demon's voice had degenerated to chaotic, incoherent screeching, and Soulhunger added its demands to the tumult, setting his mind awhirl with a maelstrom of confusion.

  "Relax, Hunter. Deep breaths."

  The pounding in his head grew louder with every heartbeat. A terrible ache formed behind his eyes, and the pressure increased until he felt his skull would explode. He slammed the heel of his hand into his forehead. "I cannot focus like this!"

  The queen raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"

  "I-I…"

  What could he say? She couldn't understand the battle he waged in his mind all day long. Would she believe him to be touched by the Illusionist? He needed her to trust him, and telling her about the driving voices in his thoughts would only make her doubt him.

  He winced as the throbbing rose to an agonizing crescendo. "I am not used to silence and stillness. My focus comes with a blade in my hand." He held up his balled fist. "When I wield a weapon, the world around me fades into the background. That is how I find my peace."

  The queen nodded. "So be it. Captain!"

  Captain Al-Zahar entered the room and bowed. "Yes, my queen?"

  "Bring me the blade of Nasnaz the Great."

  The captain's eyes widened in shock. "My queen, I…"

  "Did I ask a question, Captain?"

  Captain Al-Zahar bowed. "No, my queen." He shouted an order, and the sound of running feet echoed in the hallway.

  The Hunter raised an eyebrow at the queen. "The blade of Nasnaz?"

  Queen Asalah smiled. "A truly marvelous creation, one I have safeguarded against your return."

  The shrieking in his mind rose in pitch and intensity, and his vision swam. Clenching his jaw, he took deep breaths. He wanted to slam his head against the wall—unconsciousness was far preferable to insanity.

  The door opened a moment later, and Captain Al-Zahar strode into the room. "My queen, the blade of Nasnaz."

  Queen Asalah stood and took the blade. "Thank you, Captain."

  Al-Zahar looked ready to protest, but one look from the queen silenced him. With a menacing glare for the Hunter, he retreated and shut the door.

  "Come, Hunter." She held out the sword to him.

  Climbing to his feet, the Hunter reached for the weapon with a hesitant hand. He still struggled with the thought that he had once been Nasnaz the Great, first al-Malek of Al Hani. It seemed impossible, yet the queen seemed to believe it.

  "Take it," she commanded. "After all, it does belong to you."

  The sword slipped from its enameled scabbard without a sound. He hefted the curved blade and marveled at the oiled steel glistening in the candlelight, feeling the blade's weight and balance. Ornamental tassels hung from the hilt, and elaborate giltwork decorated the crossguard. The sword's single edge had been honed to razor sharpness, with a thin blood gutter along the blade's forte.

  "It is truly a beautiful weapon," he breathed. His hand fit the worn hilt perfectly.

  The queen smiled. "I have stored it here in the palace for centuries, always held out hope that you would return, and we would rule the Twelve Kingdoms together once more."

  The queen's words struck the Hunter a physical blow. The blade felt so…familiar. When he moved into the first stroke of his sword form, his hesitation melted like snow in the Advanat.

  He started slow, finding his rhythm with the blade that was both alien and familiar. Slashing, cutting, thrusting, slicing, and parrying, each movement balanced and graceful. He danced through the strokes with the fluency of experience. Though the balance of the blade was unlike the swords he had grown accustomed to, he wielded it with dangerous ease. The darkness of the candlelit room drew him deeper until it seemed he swirled in an empty void.

  Death keened in his head. The perfect sword laid open Il Seytani's throat in a single stroke. Younis died beneath a flurry of blows, and a wicked slash separated the queen's head from her shoulders. The demon in his thoughts screamed as he carved its presence from his mind.

  The Hunter whirled, struck, danced back, and struck again with speed that grew blinding. The blade was an extension of his arm, his will. With every movement, the voices in his head retreated. The thrum of his heartbeat filled his world, until the emptiness of the room infiltrated his mind.

  One final thrust, and the sword form ended. His breath burned in his lungs and his heart beat a staccato rhythm, yet he ached to continue. He wanted to dance and never stop. The stillness left him somehow hollow, empty. He needed that peace of mind only achieved through exertion.

  "Marvelous!" A mix of rapture and astonishment graced the queen's perfect features. "Nasnaz the Great truly has returned."

  Breathing hard, the Hunter lowered himself to a sitting position and placed the scimitar reverently on the floor. He basked in the sensations coursing through him: the quick thump, thump of his heart, the rushing blood in his ears, the twitching muscles in his arms and legs.

  "I am ready."

  The queen spoke in a soft, soothing voice. "Turn your thoughts inward. Search for the part of yourself that is more than human."

  Unconsciously, the Hunter drew Soulhunger from its place on his back. He had no whetstone for the ritual, but the familiar feeling of the blade in his hands calmed him. His fingers traced t
he curves of Soulhunger's edge as they had so many times before.

  "Feel your body. Feel every fiber of muscle, every length of bone."

  The Hunter focused on the muscles in his arms and legs that pulsed in time with the beat of his heart.

  "We must have blood." The queen's voice sounded distant.

  Soulhunger bit into his palm, and the dagger's pulsating voice joined the sensations coursing through him. He breathed deep, tasting the metallic tang of blood on the air. His blood.

  "Focus on a single part of your body. Small or large, it matters not."

  Sweat dripped from his forehead and rolled down his nose. He concentrated on the sensation of perspiration, feeling the heat rushing through him, the air passing through his nostrils, the scents of the room.

  "Now, feel the rush of blood to that area. Feel solid bone and flexible cartilage. Feel every hair and cell of skin, every breath of air touching that part."

  He could feel it. It was as if his nose had a thousand sensitive receptors, all firing at once.

  "Exert your will on that part. Command it to change. Tell it what you want it to do, what you want it to look like. The power of transformation comes from your blood, so use the vessels to shape your body."

  In the space between heartbeats, everything stopped. He floated weightless in the darkness, drifting through an empty void. Something within him shifted. If felt as if he'd been struck by a bolt of lightning, and every cell of his body sizzled. Energy coursed through him, setting his mind ablaze. A thousand knives of molten steel pierced his flesh. Warm wetness streamed down his face. Agony ripped through his head and he cried out, clapping a hand to his nose to stanch the flow of blood.

  The queen's voice reached him. "Fear not! Let the blood flow, and keep your mind focused on flesh and bone."

  A sharp pain between his eyes pulled him from his trance. Something about his nose felt wrong, as if it had been broken.

  He cursed. "Keeper take it! It's not working."

  "Oh no?" The queen raised an eyebrow. "See for yourself." She drew a silver-framed looking glass from within her robes and extended it to him.

  The Hunter's jaw dropped. "I did it!" His own face stared back at him from the mirror, dark eyes, angular chin, hooded brows. But the nose. It was thicker and heavier than his nose. Longer, too. The tip, once rounded, now ended in a point. It looked unusual, comical even, but the laughter that bubbled from his lips had nothing to do with mirth. "As horrible as this damned thing looks, I did it!"

  The queen smiled, her eyes filled with pride. "Yes, you did. Now, let's see what else you can do."

  * * *

  The Hunter rattled off a stream of curses and flung himself to his feet. "This is useless!"

  Queen Asalah shrugged. "You've been at it for an hour, and you're surprised at your lack of results? This is a skill that takes your kind months to learn, not days." She shook her head. "You Bucelarii were ever the impatient sort."

  The Hunter wanted to retort, but thought better of it. He chafed at his lack of success, and lashing out at the queen wouldn't make her more inclined to help him. He'd only managed to return his nose to its regular shape. The rest of his body refused to cooperate. Worse still, the demon's voice had returned. His head ached from both his efforts to change shape and the shrieking in his mind.

  He slammed his fist into the wall. "You said I already knew how to do it! Why isn't it working?"

  The queen shrugged. "Does it matter? What matters is that you can do it, you have done it. It will come with time." Her voice held a note of satisfaction.

  Despite the fact that she was a demon, the Hunter found himself almost liking the queen. She treated him not as a vassal, but an equal. Where the Abiarazi in Malandria and Voramis had accepted him as a willing follower, the queen offered him a place by her side. He couldn't trust her, but if she would help him rescue Hailen, perhaps he could even form a partnership with her—at least until she'd served her purpose. She could give him answers into his past.

  Queen Asalah graced him with a smile. "Come now, Hunter, we've worked hard enough for one morning. Let us have refreshments brought and take our ease." She dropped her voice to a whisper, her eyes darting around the room. "We will have more than enough to keep us occupied this night."

  He fingered the cloth-wrapped bundle in his pocket. "All is in readiness?"

  "Yes. We make our move tonight, under the cover of darkness."

  "Good." The Hunter nodded. The sooner he could complete his mission and kill the al-Malek, the faster he would be free to return and rescue Hailen. "The Sage will be pleased."

  Queen Asalah forced a smile. "Indeed." Her cool demeanor revealed her true thoughts.

  The Hunter scratched his chin. "I find myself wondering why you haven't made your move sooner. After all, you are the queen of Al Hani, and there is nothing stopping you from taking control of the kingdom. So why wait?"

  The queen raised an eyebrow. "So you, too, chafe beneath the Sage's severity?"

  The Hunter shrugged. "Well…" He had to play this just right. He'd shown the queen a chink in his armor, and she would use that to manipulate him. Just as he intended. "When I accepted his offer, I expected there to be a lot less hiding and skulking."

  Queen Asalah sneered. "He promised you power, didn’t he?"

  The Hunter nodded. Almost too easy.

  The queen's lips curled. "He promised us all, and what has that gotten us? Rule over a pitiful human kingdom? That is not the power I seek!"

  "But he is too powerful to disobey—"

  "For now!" Flesh and bone shifted in a grisly wave, revealing the demon's terrible face. "For now, I follow orders, play the willing vassal to the zur-krl-nin who would place himself above us." The face of Queen Asalah coalesced once more as she stood. "Come. I grow tired of this musty room."

  "As you wish, my queen."

  Her haughty expression softened. "You look like you could use refreshments."

  The Hunter glanced at his sweat-soaked, bloodstained clothing. "Look that bad, do I?"

  A smile tickled the corners of the queen's mouth. "Nothing some food, drink, and fresh clothing can't fix."

  He stooped and retrieved the scimitar. "And this? I'm sure Captain Al-Zahar would rather skin me alive than trust me with a weapon."

  Queen Asalah took the sword. "Let the captain continue in his misguided belief that he is protecting me. Every man needs a purpose in life." With a sardonic grin, she slammed the blade home in its sheath.

  At the queen's call, Captain Al-Zahar strode into the room.

  "Captain, we would take refreshments in the sunroom."

  "We?" The captain glared at the Hunter.

  "Yes. And have this brought to the sitting room." The queen handed him the sword, her tone brooking no argument. She sniffed at the Hunter. "And a fresh change of clothes."

  The captain's eyebrows shot up, and the muscles of his jaw twitched. He gave a short, stiff bow. "As you wish, my queen."

  Queen Asalah swept from the room, and with a hateful glare for the Hunter, Captain Al-Zahar followed close on her heels.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Sunlight streamed through the enormous picture window at the far end of the queen's private sitting room. The glow of early evening bathed them in warmth and colored everything a delicate ruby red. The Hunter's stomach turned at the heavy, sickly sweet incense burning in holders around the room. It masked the reek of rot and decay emanating from the demon, but only barely.

  He leaned back in the divan and stretched. Compared to the rough, homespun fabric of the robes he'd stolen from the bandit camp, the simple tunic and breeks were luxurious and soft. After hours spent sitting on the hard stone floor, he welcomed the plush velvet cushions. He toyed with the gilded frame of the couch, running his fingers over the swirls and whorls etched into the wood.

  Queen Asalah waved the servants away, and they hurried from the room, bowing and scraping with every step.

  The Hunter watched the men an
d women depart. "Aren't you worried they'll talk? It's not every day you have a strange man in your apartments, I presume." He smirked.

  Queen Asalah ignored the gibe. "You are doing well, you know." She sat on a couch across from him and took a delicate sip from her goblet. "You've made far more progress than even I expected."

  The Hunter, his mouth full of flatbread and soft goat cheese, shook his head. "It is not enough." He refilled his cup and took a long pull of the delicate, fruit-flavored wine. "There is so much about my past and my kind I do not remember. So much to learn."

  The queen shrugged. "Ever impatient, you Bucelarii. Remember, I warned you it would not be easy. Or painless."

  He snatched a cloth napkin and dabbed at the blood trickling from his nose.

  "Don't worry." The queen sipped her wine. "It will heal soon enough."

  The Hunter scowled. "It is not the pain that bothers me, but the lack of results."

  Queen Asalah waved her hand in a gesture of dismissal. "Give it time. And remember, the blood of your fathers is tainted by that of humans. You will never have the ability to shift your form completely. In fact, you will only ever be able to change small portions of your face or body at a time. Too much, and it will place a strain on you that your blood, diluted by the weakness of humans, will be unable to handle."

  "What of my eyes? Will I ever be able to change them, as you do?"

  The queen nodded. "Yes. With practice, you will learn to shift color as well as shape. Though the change may only be temporary." She eyed him askance. "But remember, they are the proof of your heritage!"

  Not the only proof. The Hunter hid a grin as Queen Asalah's eyes flashed to his torso. He could smell her desire for Soulhunger.

  "It is oft wise to hide my heritage," the Hunter said, and the queen's gaze snapped to his face. "In my line of work, it is necessary to obscure the truth."