Darkblade Slayer

by Andy Peloquin

  The Hunter narrowed his eyes, and his hand dropped to the dagger at his belt.

  "I ain't pissin' off the Lecterns." The words tumbled from Evren's mouth. "But I seen lots of the apprentices sneakin’ out of the Master's Temple this way. They've some rope ladder they use to get up and over. Ain'tcha got somethin’ you can use, too?"

  The Hunter removed his hand from his dagger. He did, indeed, have a grappling hook and rope in his pack. He drew out the rope and, checking to ensure the narrow alleyway truly was empty, hurled it up and over the wall. The grapple caught with a clink of metal on stone. The Hunter gave it a quick tug to secure it in place, then turned to the boy.

  "What's on the other side?"

  "Secret back entrance." Evren's eyes dropped away, and he quickly added. "I think."

  The Hunter could think of many reasons the priests would need a way to get in and out of the temple unseen. He’d seen the appetites of the Lecterns, which most “normal” people would find repulsive. The priests would definitely want to indulge in their revolting pleasures in secret.

  "Ain’t no one guardin’ this side," Evren said in a matter-of-fact tone. "No one knows it exists, so there ain’t no need to guard it."

  "And once I get inside?" the Hunter asked. "How do I get to the Vault of Stars?"

  Evren scrunched up his face in thought. After a moment, he said, "The back way ought to bring you toward a set of stairs that go up and down. You’ll want to go down as far as you can. The Vault's on the lowest level, I think."

  The boy sounded too confident in the information to have just obtained it from a drunken Lectern. Perhaps he, being the clever thief, had found a way to break into the Master's Temple and get his hands on the priests' valuables. To most people, such an act would be sacrilege, and doubtless they would fear the wrath of Kiro. However, when it came to a choice of starving today or being smitten by the gods ten minutes from now, most people would risk divine retribution.

  "This book you're lookin’ for," Evren said in a slow voice, "it ain’t got anythin’ to do with the path to Enarium, does it?"

  The words sent a jolt of surprise through the Hunter. His hand went instinctively to the dagger's hilt as he turned to the boy. "What makes you think that?"

  Evren shot him a scornful look. "People come to Vothmot for one thing, and it ain't the good food and mild weather." The young thief gestured at the arid flatlands that surrounded the city. "Everyone's here to find the Lost City and claim its treasures. I ain’t quite sure why an assassin’d want to find the way, but I thought I'd ask."

  The Hunter narrowed his eyes. The boy was proving a tad too clever for his own good.

  "I don't mean nothin’ by askin’," Evren said, and a hint of fear flashed across his face. "I was just thinkin’ I could come along. I always wanted to explore the mountains myself."

  This surprised the Hunter even more. "You…want to explore the Empty Mountains?" It seemed an odd desire for a thief. Most thieves cared only about gold or loot to be sold. People who lived with the uncertainty of where their next meal would come from tended to develop a much more short-sighted worldview.

  "Even a thief can dream, can't he?" Evren said in a hard voice. "Just because you think I'm gutter shite, that don't mean—"

  "Easy." The Hunter held up a placating hand. "I didn't mean anything by it. Just a bit strange, is all."

  "Well, it ain't as strange as you think." The boy's eyes shifted up and down the street. "I lived in the shadow of the mountains my whole life. I figure it's about time I get a chance to actually see them. And, maybe, if you actually do get what you're lookin’ for from the Vault of Stars, I'll be one of the ones who found the Lost City. That's enough to bring me all the fame and fortune I could ask for, ain't it?"

  Yes, the request was odd, but understandable, and the Hunter could relate. Evren wanted more than just the day-to-day drudgery. He, like everyone else, yearned for something spectacular and life-changing.

  "Look, I'll even pay my way myself," the young thief said as he produced the golden imperial the Hunter had given him. "Two ladies ought to be more than enough for a few days in the mountains. It'll give me a chance to see what's what and get a taste of the adventurer's life."

  The Hunter pondered the boy's request. He'd hired Darillon because he needed someone to lead the way into the mountains, but he'd never considered bringing anyone along. But Evren had proven clever and resourceful. Short though he was, he had broad shoulders, a lean build, and strong hands. He looked like he could take care of himself. He might even prove useful if the Hunter had to leave Hailen alone on the journey.

  The Hunter surprised himself by nodding. "I'll consider it, but first I need you to do something for me."

  "What's that?" Evren's eyes went hard and flat, his body tensing.

  "Keep a watch on the street for me while I get a look over the wall."

  The young thief relaxed, and a small smile spread his lips as he nodded. "Right."

  The Hunter checked up and down the street and, finding it abandoned, scaled the rope. He made the climb in a matter of seconds, his strong arms hauling him up the wall with ease. He gripped the stone lip with one hand and wrapped the rope around his right foot with the other. Pressing his feet together made the loop hold beneath his foot, acting like the rung of a ladder to support his weight as he peered over the wall.

  The rear of the Master's Temple proved as grand as the front. Decorative arabesques swirled across marble walls that gleamed in the bright sunlight. But unlike the front, this section of the temple had few visitors.

  The wall stretched along the perimeter of the open space, which was easily thirty paces long and three hundred wide. In contrast to the arid city of Vothmot, the ground within the walls was covered in lush green grass. Fruit trees dotted the expansive lawn, and bright flowers lent a cheerful color to the garden and filled the air with their sweet smell. Two stooped, aged men wearing the robes of Lecterns moved around the plants with watering cans.

  Fountains bubbled merrily at the northern and southern corners of the lawn. A small pool occupied the northwestern section of the walled area, while a stretch of grass on the Hunter’s side of the property held an assortment of stone benches, wooden tables and chairs, and canvas recliners. The Lecterns of Vothmot knew how to live in luxury. The Master’s Temple in Voramis had been a far more austere, severe place than this opulent homage to pomp and splendor.

  A single broad thread of white cut through the lush sea of green. A hundred or so paces from the south wall on which the Hunter hung, a paved marble walkway descended in a gentle incline toward the northern wall, disappearing into an arched entrance below ground level.

  He looked down at Evren, who stood leaning casually against the wall, watching the street.

  "Is that an underground passage?" he asked.

  Evren nodded. "Like I said, secret ways in and out of the temple."

  "Where does it lead?" It could prove a useful escape route should he get caught in the Master's Temple.

  "From what I hear, it's got exits in lots of spots around the city." Evren's expression grew thoughtful. "It runs all the way outside Vothmot, in fact. A hidden entrance somewhere half a league or so northwest of the city. For visitin’ priests who’d rather not get seen."

  A sound inside the temple caught the Hunter’s attention, and he turned back toward it just in time to see a horse appearing from the secret tunnel.

  The man who rode the horse had to be the thinnest person the Hunter had ever seen. He resembled a scarecrow clad in bejeweled robes, all long arms and legs, a narrow face, and a pointed nose. He rode clumsily yet somehow managed to look dignified. From his gaunt frame hung the unmistakable, elegant garments of the Illusionist Clerics, cut in a style the Hunter had encountered as he passed through Drash.

  A heartbeat later, another rider appeared from the passage behind him. This one had a crisscrossing network of facial tattoos and wore the shining splinted mail of a Warrior Priest of Derelana. The
Hunter's eyebrows rose at the strange sight, but his curiosity doubled when a swarthy, grey-haired woman in the muted brown robes of a Secret Keeper emerged from the tunnel.

  The procession of priests continued for long minutes. A Swordsman Adept in full Legionnaire armor rode beside four white-robed Arch-Ministrants of the Sanctuary. Three women in the soft blue tunics of Servitors, servants of the Lonely Goddess, whispered wide-eyed and moved their horses away from the somber-faced men clad in the blood-red garments marking them as Trouveres, servants of the Bloody Minstrel.

  More and more priests poured from the tunnel until the open space within the wall was filled with snorting horses, grumbling camels, and even a donkey, ridden by a man wearing the grey robes with the blue collar of a Beggar Priest. Wagons, ox-drawn carts, palanquins carried by dark-skinned slaves, and even a two-wheeled conveyance with long wooden handles clustered around the marble pathway leading into the Master's Temple.

  Lecterns and apprentices rushed from the temple to greet the newcomers, lead the animals away, and restore some order to the chaos. Yet the stream of priests arriving through the underground passage continued unabated. The Hunter counted fully a hundred clerics and still more arrived.

  An idea struck him. He pulled himself higher to get a better view of the grounds below. As he'd hoped, thick hedges lined the grassy expanse within the walls. Only the top two or three paces of the wall were visible. If he could get into the temple grounds, the chaos within could provide him ample cover to sneak inside the building itself. He'd have to get his hands on a priest's robes, but that shouldn't prove too difficult. He had an awful lot of potential targets to choose from.

  He slithered back down the rope, his boots thumping on the dirt of the alleyway, and turned to Evren. "Why are there so many priests?"

  "So many priests?" Evren's eyebrows rose, and he slapped himself on the forehead. "Of course, it's the Enclave!" He spoke, as if to himself. "I knew it was this year, but I didn't think it’d happen for another—"

  "What's the Enclave?" the Hunter demanded, frowning.

  "Every ten years," Evren said in a low voice, his eyes darting up and down the alley, "the upper priests of the orders come from all over Einan for some secret meetin’. I never found out what, but there ain’t no doubt it’s important, whatever it is."

  Once again, the Hunter had to wonder how the boy knew this. If it really was as secret as he said, no common thief would have that information. The revelation only added to the Hunter's curiosity about Evren. It seemed there was more to him than met the eye. Perhaps that explained why the Hunter actually considered letting him tag along on the journey to Enarium. One more oddity like himself and Hailen for company.

  Evren frowned. "With the priests arrivin’, it'll be chaos. There ain’t no way you’ll get in unnoticed."

  "You let me worry about that," the Hunter said.

  The young thief fixed him with a curious expression. When the Hunter said nothing, he shrugged. "Fair ‘nuff. But I kept my end of our deal. Now's your turn."

  The Hunter drew out the promised imperial and held it out to the youth. "As promised."

  Evren's face fell as he saw the coin. "No, me comin’ with you to the Empty Mountains."

  "Sorry, kid, but you don't have the gear, the horse, supplies, anything."

  "And if I could get it?" Evren asked. His voice had taken on a desperate edge. "If I got my hands on everythin’ I need, you'd take me with you?"

  The Hunter shook his head, but Evren cut him off before he could speak.

  "Please." The boy's expression turned pleading. "I need to get out of Vothmot for a while, but there ain’t nowhere else I can go. If I don't leave…" He trailed off. "I'll work hard, earn my way, I swear."

  The Hunter didn't need a vivid imagination to understand the boy's desperation. Even the best thieves could find themselves hunted by the law, a rival thieving crew, or someone they'd pissed off. He knew how dangerous things could get; hells, he'd had the entire Bloody Hand after him not long ago. Evren either had to flee or hide, else he'd end up on the wrong side of a dagger or dangling from a hangman's noose.

  With a sigh, the Hunter tucked the coin away and nodded. "So be it. Meet me outside the gate an hour before dawn."

  "Got it!" Relief shone in the young man's eyes, and the tension in his posture faded. "I'll be there. You ain’t gonna regret it." With a jaunty salute, he dashed down the alley and disappeared around a corner.

  "You should have killed him," the demon snarled in his mind. "He'll slow down your search."

  Maybe, the Hunter replied silently. Or maybe he'll actually prove useful.

  "He'll prove your death!" Fury radiated from the presence within. "What if he turns you over to the Wardens or tells the priests—"

  Shut up! The Hunter had no desire to hear the demon's nonsense. You said the same thing about Hailen, but it’s only because of him that we're still alive. Hailen had saved his life first in the Advanat Desert, and again in the tunnels beneath Kara-ket.

  The inner presence grew sullen but went thankfully silent, though its irritation set his head pounding and made his head ache. He gritted his teeth against the throbbing ache. The demon’s voice had become harder to ignore. It alternated between demanding death and filling his head with incessant, chaotic shrieking. If he didn't reach Enarium soon, he feared the voice would drive him mad.

  He clambered up the rope and gripped the lip of the wall with one hand, using the other to tug the grappling hook free. Tucking one of the hooks into his belt, he pulled himself up to peer over the edge. The chaos within the Master's Temple had only increased as more priests arrived. There had to be nearly three hundred people filling the open space. Add to that the wagons, carts, draft animals, servants, slaves, and apprentices, and he had a good chance of slipping in unnoticed.

  He drew in a deep breath. Here goes.

  His powerful muscles flexed as he hauled himself up and over the wall in one smooth motion, then dropped to the ground on the other side.

  Chapter Eight

  The Hunter hit the grassy lawn hard, but his legs absorbed the impact with only a slight twinge in his knees. The rope fell into a pile beside him, and he quickly coiled it around his waist before ducking into the shadow of the hedges. The thick foliage concealed him from those on the opposite side without blocking his line of sight. Heart pounding in excitement, he watched the confusion filling the Master's Temple and waited for his opportunity.

  His gut clenched as he saw a familiar dark grey robe, and caught the glint of sunlight from the silver pendant hanging around the Illusionist Cleric's neck. The Hunter's hand went to the pendant he'd taken from Bardin's body. The memory of what the Illusionist Clerics had tried to do to him in Al Hani left him wary of encountering them again. He'd have to stay well away from the man and his entourage of laughing, babbling madmen.

  One Reckoner, a heavy-set, red-cheeked priest of the Apprentice, stumbled toward the hedge. His hands fumbled with the thick cord belt holding his elegant grey robes in place, and he moved with a spring in his step that could only come from a terribly urgent call of nature.

  The Hunter grinned. Such a small body part, but it truly is the cause of most men’s problems, isn’t it?

  The Reckoner had just dropped his trousers and straightened with a sigh when the Hunter reached through the hedges and snagged his collar. He clapped a hand to the priest's mouth as he hauled him through the thick branches and leaves. Before the priest could cry out, the Hunter hurled him to the ground and drove the hard toe of his boot against his temple. The man went limp, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

  The Hunter quickly stripped off the Reckoner’s bulky outer robes. All priests of the Apprentice wore the same elegant grey finery, but these were cut in the style popular among the Praamians: a long overcoat worn over a vest, with a sash to tie the outfit together. Not the most practical or comfortable outfit, but it would serve his purposes today.

  He got the priest’s clothes of
f not a moment too soon. Before he could remove the priest's pants, the man's over-full bladder lost its internal war for control. The Hunter leapt back as the ground around the man's crotch darkened and the acrid stench of urine filled the air.

  The Hunter grunted in disgust. He had the man's overcoat, vest, and the priestly cloak of office that completed the outfit. He'd just have to hope no one noticed his pants were the wrong color.

  He shrugged into the robes, grateful his victim had been a heavy-set man. The overcoat fit over his leather armor, and the priestly cape concealed his sword and daggers. It would be bloody difficult to get at his weapons in the stuffy garments, but he doubted he'd have call to use them within the temple.

  Just one thing left to complete the disguise. He crouched beside the man's head, well away from the spreading puddle between his legs, and studied the man’s features.

  The Reckoner had a face that could only be described as corpulent, with a thick nose, a broad forehead, puffy cheeks, and a ruddy complexion that bespoke a life of comfort. The Hunter memorized every detail of his face, even the red, thread-like veins on his nose that marked him as a connoisseur of wine.

  Closing his eyes, he drew his focus inward and concentrated on the sensations running through his body as the Sage had taught him. He felt the blood pulsing through his veins, the energy flowing to and from his muscles, the way his stomach gnawed at the food he’d eaten earlier. The tiny hairs on his skin tingled from the cool breeze across his hands or the sweat rolling down his spine. A thousand sensations, each one magnified a thousandfold by his consciousness.

  He exerted his will on the flesh, bone, muscles, and nerves of his face, commanding them to shift to match the face of the man at his feet. Lightning arced through his nose, his cheeks, his eyes, his chin as he forced his features to change. He held the image of the unconscious Reckoner’s face in his mind until he could feel the shape of his face match it.

  He opened his eyes and felt his new features gingerly. Even the slightest touch sent tiny spikes of lightning shooting through his head and his face throbbed with the pain of holding the shape, but he had grown accustomed to it. He'd practiced shifting his features every night on the journey from Kara-ket. It was getting easier, though he doubted he'd ever get used to the utter strangeness of feeling another man's face in place of his.