Darkblade Protector_An Epic Fantasy Adventure

by Andy Peloquin

  A troop of armored guards clattered into the road, spears held at the ready, but the Hunter didn't slow. Elivast barreled through their ranks, hurling them to either side. A spear whistled past the Hunter's shoulder and embedded itself into a nearby post with a solid thunk.

  Damn it! He hunched to present as small a target as possible. So much for making a quiet escape.

  The blood-red city walls beckoned to him. The gate stood open, and the city guard lounged on comfortable chairs in the shade, clearly preferring the title of "protector of Aghzaret" without doing any of the work.

  His heart leapt. Yes! If he could get out before the gate closed, he had a chance. If not, he'd have to find another way out, kill his way through, or abandon the horses to travel on foot. He'd never reach Thalj Pass in time.

  A horn sounded behind him, shattering his hope. The guards leapt to their feet, staring around with confusion plain on their faces. As one, their eyes turned toward him and flew wide. A few hands reached for sword hilts, but none of them moved toward the gate. Then, a single figure rushed from the small room beside the wall—the guard Younis had spoken to upon entering the city. The man's shouts galvanized the lethargic guards into action.

  Everything seemed to move in slow motion. The guards turned and sprinted toward the gate house. Younis' man was in the lead. The Hunter tried to gauge the distance to the gate. If the guard reached it before the Hunter escaped, it would all be over. He had to act.

  Releasing Elivast's reins, he reached beneath his cloak and drew Jemdara's dagger. The blade was well-balanced but crafted for fighting, not throwing, but he had no other choice. He whipped his arm up and forward, and sunlight glinted off steel as the knife hurtled through the air. The pommel struck Younis' man in the back of the head. The guard staggered and dropped to one knee, caught himself, and stumbled on.

  Keeper take it!

  He was so close to the gate. Two more seconds, and he'd be…

  One of the gate guards thrust his spear at the Hunter. The clumsy attack struck wide, and the Hunter seized the wooden shaft. His momentum ripped the weapon from the guard's hands, and without slowing, he reversed his grip on the stolen spear and hurled it. The weapon streaked through the air and slammed into the running guard's lower back, punching through armor and muscle, severing his spine. The man flopped to the ground on useless legs.

  Yes! With an animal howl of triumph, the Hunter galloped through the gate and down the hill beyond. He'd made it. Now, only one obstacle lay between him and rescuing Hailen. He'd be damned if he let anything stop him! Even if he had to ride the two horses into the ground, he'd reach the mountain camp before Il Seytani's deadline. His plan was simple: leave no bandits alive.

  * * *

  The Hunter peered around an outcropping of rocks, heart thundering as he studied the narrow pass. A few dozen paces up the trail, a pair of dark-skinned bandits reclined against the cliff face. Bared swords lay across their laps, but they paid more attention to their conversation than the deserted mountain byway.

  Damn it! He couldn't get close enough to kill them before they raised an alarm. The dozen bandits waiting in the cave above would hear the cry.

  He pondered his next move. A direct frontal assault would be foolhardy at best, suicidal at worst. The bandits' iron weapons put him at a serious disadvantage, and even if he managed to overpower the lookouts here, there was no guarantee he could eliminate the others before one escaped to bring word back to Il Seytani's camp.

  Once again, stealth is the best option. He ran a hand over the cliff beside him. Definitely the smarter way to go.

  He retreated down the Thalj Pass, rounding a bend to where he'd left the horses. Elivast stood panting, exhausted after the ride up the mountain, face buried in a nosebag of oats. The sure-footed desert horse waited placidly beside him, barely winded.

  The Hunter glanced to the west; the sun hovered a mere hand's breadth above the horizon. First, he had to get above the bandits watching the path ascending into the pass. Then he had to find a way around them and up to the cave where the rest of the bandits made camp. He'd be fortunate to make it before the sun set, in just under an hour.

  Don't have much of a choice, do I?

  He rolled his head, loosening his neck, and flexed his hands. He climbed at a steady pace, digging his fingers into the stone. Cracks and crevices provided him with decent foot- and hand-holds, but more than once loose sandstone crumbled in his grip. Every time he wiped stinging sweat from eyes, the moisture turned his hands slick, making the ascent even more precarious. Though his arms and legs trembled from the effort, he forced himself on. He couldn't help casting occasional glances up at the setting sun.

  Pushing his anxiety to the back of his mind, he climbed. He had a long way to go.

  * * *

  The Hunter's fingers trembled from his tenuous grip on the cliff face. His lungs burned, and every muscle ached. He crouched on a rock shelf to give his body a moment of rest.

  Below him, a half-dozen of Il Seytani's bandits sat around a small fire. They shared quiet conversation, their weapons sheathed, postures relaxed. Clearly, they trusted the two on watch to alert them of any approaching danger.

  That means the other seven are in the cave. He could only hope they, like all experienced warriors, took advantage of any opportunity to rest. In the precious seconds it would take them to wake, realize what was happening, and rush from the cave, he could deal with the men below. He had surprise on his side.

  This isn't going to be easy. Even with his inhuman speed, strength, and skill, the Hunter faced thirteen well-trained warriors. Fifteen, counting the two on watch further down the pass. Against standard blades, he wouldn't have hesitated despite the odds, but these bandits carried iron axes, swords, and spears as well as steel. A single cut from one of those could weaken him, slow him down, and the raiders would overwhelm him with their superior numbers. Worse still, the iron's poison would kill him unless he purged it from his body.

  But what other choice did he have? He couldn't outrun them. Elivast was strong and sure-footed, but the bandits rode horses bred for desert travel. If even one slipped past him, he had little hope of catching them before they alerted Il Seytani. The bandit chieftain would kill Hailen at the first sign of betrayal.

  That meant he had to fight. He had a chance, albeit a small one. If he could place himself between the bandits and their horses, he could cut off their escape. None would try to flee toward Al Hani; instead, they would use their numbers to overwhelm him.

  Keeper take it! He tightened his grip on the hilt of the long sword he'd taken from a dead caravan guard. It seemed a lifetime ago. He'd enjoyed traveling with Sirkar Jeroen and his crew. Bristan, Graden, Kellen, and all the rest. A part of him actually missed the interaction, the connection with others. In Voramis, he'd tried to tell himself he was better off alone. Trust no one, and no one could betray him. But the time he'd spent on the road with Visibos and Sir Danna, living in Bardin's pathetic hovel, and traveling with Hailen taught him the truth: isolated, with only the voices in his head for company, he would go insane.

  Enough. He was stalling for time. The men below could kill him, and a part of him was…afraid.

  His sword slid from its sheath with a whisper, and the blade glinted in the fading afternoon light. He had no clever plan to sneak past, no way to divide and conquer. His only hope lay in his skill and speed. For Hailen to live, every one of these bandits had to die.

  For Hailen. He leapt.

  His long sword crunched through the skull of a seated bandit, spraying blood. The fire hissed and sizzled, and the smell of burning flesh filled the air. Hardly had his feet touched the ground before he was on the move, ripping his sword free of the man's skull to carve open the throat of the next man. Soulhunger screamed in triumph as he plunged it into the eye of a third.

  Adrenaline coursed like fire in his veins. Laughter burst from his throat, the sound of a predator mocking its prey. For so long, he'd told himself he kill
ed only out of necessity. Vengeance for Farida and Bardin, to save Hailen from a terrible fate. Yet he could no longer deny the truth, a truth his human half would never understand: he needed this. Abiarazi blood coursed in his veins, and it filled him with the glory of death, a thrill of battle that made him feel truly alive.

  A bandit toppled backward in shock as the Hunter's boot slammed into the side of his head. Another opened his mouth to cry out in alarm, and Soulhunger's razor edge sliced through cheek and tongue, thrusting out the back of his head. The remaining raider gasped in horror and, choking out a faint cry, fumbled for his axe. The Hunter drove his sword through the man's belly and slammed Soulhunger into his chest. The bandit's terrified shriek reverberated from the cliffs even as ruby light brightened the hollow.

  With a curse, the Hunter whirled to face the cave. The sleeping men had to have heard the cries, and would rush him at any moment. He backed away from the campfire, pausing only long enough to retrieve a fallen bandit's spear. He'd chosen that ground for a reason: they could only fight him two or three at a time. Iron weapons or no, he'd face those odds any day. He gambled that the bandits wouldn't try to ride him down, but they'd attack on foot before endangering their horses in a charge down the narrow mountain trail. He couldn’t allow any of the seven bandits within to warn Il Seytani of his betrayal. He had to hold the pass.

  He waited, heart thundering, stolen spear at the ready. Every muscle in his body twitched with power and life. Blood dripped from his long sword, but Soulhunger's bright steel blade absorbed every trace of crimson. Demon and dagger added their cries of eager anticipation to the whirling chaos of his thoughts.

  A figure burst from the cave with an ululating war cry. The Hunter's spear hurtled across the open space, and the bandit's ribs cracked with an audible snap. The force of the impact threw the man backward and into the pair behind him. Three more raiders advanced with slow, cautious steps, weapons gripped in steady hands. The one in the center wielded a long leaf-bladed spear, while the two on the outside carried long, curved swords. They moved with confidence, spreading out like desert greatcats stalking wounded prey.

  The Hunter was no prey. He darted forward, chopped the head from the spear, and leapt back before the bandits could react. Not a moment too soon. Scimitars flashed at him from both sides. The bandits fought in concert, moving with the grace of experienced warriors. The one on his right hacked at him with an iron blade, while the one on his left thrust and slashed with bright Drashi steel. He retreated, desperate to open space between himself and his opponents.

  Acting on instinct, he dropped beneath a high slash, parried a low strike, and pivoted to avoid a thrust at his midsection. He couldn't let the iron blade touch him, but the steel-wielding bandit was the better swordsman. He grunted as the Drashi cutlass carved a gash in his left shoulder, barely managed to block the iron sword aimed at his head.

  Roaring, the Hunter suddenly leapt to the left, leaving the bandit on the right lurching. His sword took the other man in the bicep, and the bandit's weapon fell from nerveless fingers. He dropped beneath the sweeping iron sword and plunged Soulhunger into the wounded bandit's leg. Even as the dagger consumed the man's soul, he drove his sword up under the other bandit's chin until the tip punched through the top of the man's skull. The iron-wielding bandit stared at him through eyes wide with horror, mouth gaping soundlessly. With a wet, gurgling cough, he sagged.

  The weight of the falling man tore the bloodstained sword hilt from the Hunter's hand. He couldn't fight with Soulhunger alone. He dove forward, seized a fallen steel blade, and rolled to his feet. Something slammed into the back of his head, sending him staggering. He whirled and lashed out with the curved sword, but a massive axe swept the strike wide. An enormous bandit pressed him with powerful sweeping blows. The Hunter threw himself to the ground and rolled out of the way of a descending chop, and the iron axe head sparked off the stone.

  He leapt to his feet and backpedaled to avoid a decapitating strike. The bandit wielded the axe with immense strength; each of his blows could crush bone and sever limbs. Yet the Hunter knew the enormous warrior couldn't sustain the effort. He had only to avoid the swinging axe and let the brute tire himself out.

  Sure enough, the huge man soon gasped and wheezed, and his attacks slowed. But before the Hunter could seize the opportunity, the man's companions joined the fray with thrusting spears and hacking swords.

  Agony blossomed in his shoulder as a bandit buried his iron sword deep into the muscle. He staggered backward, ripping the blade free, and his legs sagged. He fell to his knees, crying out at the pain of the poison coursing in his veins. He barely managed to block a spear thrust, and a wild swing of his sword crunched through the bone and cartilage of the spearman's knee.

  The enormous bandit shoved his howling companion aside and raised his axe high overhead. Time stood still as death descended toward the Hunter.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  As if watching from outside his body, the Hunter watched the blow descend, and an eerie calm filled him. He couldn't move, couldn't hurl himself out of the way. The iron in his veins rendered him immobile. There was nothing he could do. He'd…

  Hailen's face flashed before his eyes. The boy stared at him with trusting innocence.

  No! It can't end like this.

  Hailen had believed the Hunter would rescue him. If he fell, the boy would die. He couldn't let that happen.

  With excruciating sluggishness, his body crumpled to the ground. The enormous axe struck sparks on the stone a finger's breadth from the Hunter's head, spraying iron shards. Mustering the last of his failing strength, the Hunter drove Soulhunger through the shoulder of a fallen bandit. The rocky hollow amplified the man's screams, and crimson light distorted his features as power flooded the Hunter.

  The axe froze over the head of the muscle-bound bandit, and the man's eyes flew wide in disbelief. He stared at the Hunter's shoulder, mouth agape as flesh and bone re-knit, and color returned to skin blackened by the iron's poison.

  Vicious laughter burst from the Hunter's chest as he leapt to his feet. He hacked at the axe haft, intending to sever the bandit's fingers. The huge raider dropped the weapon and stumbled backward, fumbling behind his back for another weapon. Another bandit thrust a spear at the Hunter's face, but he slapped the weapon aside and brought his fist crunching down on the man's fingers. With a cry, the man dropped the weapon. Before the Hunter could press his advantage, the enormous bandit rejoined the fray, swiping at him with twin knives.

  The reek of iron assaulted his nostrils as he darted out of reach of simple, unadorned daggers. The Swordsman's blades!

  The Hunter retreated with a curse. The daggers were holy relics of the Beggar Priests, worth a fortune, yet the bandit hacked at him as if they were crude bread knives.

  His inner demon's fury set his head pounding. The creature in his mind hated the iron blades, which had been created to kill Abiarazi, and, by extension, Bucelarii. It didn't understand. It couldn't understand why he kept them. Truth be told, he didn't either. They served as weapons in his war against the demons, but it was more than that. A part of him knew he needed them. Which meant he couldn't allow them to suffer harm in the thick-fingered hands of the bandit before him.

  He feinted left, twisted aside from the expected thrust, and followed up with a savage strike with his off hand. Soulhunger's razor edge traced a thin line of red across the bandit's forearm. The brute choked out a scream, his movements slowing as the dagger sapped his strength. The Hunter's long sword bit through his forearm. The huge bandit staggered, and his eyes bulged as his right hand fell away. Fury fueled the Hunter's arm as he slammed his fist into the bleeding giant's throat. The force hurled the bandit backward to collapse in a moaning heap onto his fallen companions.

  One left. With a shout, the remaining bandit thrust his spear at the Hunter. It seemed the long blade danced in the crimson light of the setting sun, almost too fast for his still-sluggish mind to anticipate. He s
tumbled backward, parrying and blocking the blows with muscles slowed by the iron's poison.

  Suddenly, the bandit leapt backward, whirled, and raced toward the cave. The Hunter, caught off guard, reacted too slowly. By the time he moved, the bandit had crossed the small clearing and disappeared into the cave.

  Damn it! He couldn't let the man escape. If anyone got past him to warn Il Seytani…

  The sound of clattering hooves echoed from the cavern. The bandit burst from the cave, riding low in his saddle, mouth set in a grim line.

  In desperation, the Hunter seized the enormous iron-headed axe and hurled it at the rider. The heavy head—twice the weight of a traditional war axe—slammed into the bandit's side with a wet crunch. The impact flung the man from his saddle. Brilliant drops of crimson splattered dull stone as his head collided with an outcropping, and he lay still.

  Only the sound of the Hunter's panting broke the grim silence of the clearing. The setting sun bathed the rocky pass in an eerie glow, staining the cliffs as red as the blood dripping from his right arm and sword.

  His eyes darted around. Thirteen bandits, thirteen bodies. Just two left to get rid of.

  He crossed the clearing in a few steps and took up position at the trail toward Aghzaret. The sounds of combat—clashing steel, war cries, and the shouts of pain—had no doubt alerted the men below, but the battle hadn't lasted for more than a minute. He had a few moments until they reached him.

  He tested his shoulder. The wound had closed, but the iron slowed his healing, and every movement sent a throb of pain racing down his arm. He would survive.

  The sound of war cries echoed up the mountain pass, and the remaining bandits charged around a bend in the trail, naked blades glinting in the fading light.

  The Hunter roared. "Come on, then!"

  The two rushed him as one. Their wicked, curved swords slashed and hacked, but the Hunter moved with the speed and grace of a predator. His long sword slammed aside one bandit's blade, and he kicked the other in the fork of the legs. The man fell to his knees, clutching himself, his eyes widening with shock and scrunching in pain. Even as he deflected a return strike from the first bandit, the Hunter slammed his boot into the kneeling man. Clawing at the air, the man toppled backward over the cliff's edge, and his cries grew faint.