Darkblade Slayer

by Andy Peloquin

  The priest regarded him with surprise. "For a killer, you seem remarkably well-educated on ancient lore."

  The Hunter's lip curled into a sneer. "Even killers have to have hobbies." He pointed at the crack in the image. "Explain."

  The Lectern squinted at the bas-relief and scratched his angular nose. "Well, I must admit these ancient works of art are more Lectern Kariman's area of expertise. He would be better-suited to—"

  "You're the one trapped in here with me," the Hunter growled. "You'll have to do."

  The priest sucked in a breath and spoke quickly. "From what I understand, this work dates back to the War of Gods. This temple is built upon the ruins of a Serenii tower, and the Vault of Stars is believed to be of Serenii design, as is evidenced by the use of resonator stones instead of keys."

  "What are resonator stones?" the Hunter asked.

  "Stones that vibrate at a certain frequency." The priest's tone made it sound like the simplest thing in the world. "When it comes in contact with other stones that resonate at a specific frequency, there is a reaction."

  The Hunter's struggled to grasp the concept. "Like how the voice of an aria singer can shatter a glass goblet?"

  "Precisely." The bespectacled man seemed surprised that the Hunter understood. "But the resonator stones harmonize. The Serenii used that harmony to create many marvelous devices, including the locks that seal the Vault of Stars."

  The Hunter nodded. "But what do these stones have to do with the image?"

  "Nothing." The Lectern shook his white-haired head. "But it is proof that the vault is of Serenii design, meaning the artwork has to date at least that far back. And, as we've seen in all the Serenii works of art and architecture, they never did anything without good reason." He pointed at the crack in the image. "Which means that crack was included in the image on purpose. But what that purpose was, I cannot truly say."

  The Hunter stared at the bas-relief. Something about Kharna's pose had struck him as odd back in Kara-ket. The god, believed mad and bent on world destruction, seemed oddly peaceful as he lay on what appeared to be a sacrificial altar. The Hunter knew how he would react if he was being bound for eternity. So why would Kharna be so accepting of his endless damnation? Could it be because he knew he would one day be freed by the Abiarazi and Bucelarii still living on Einan? Or was there another reason?

  Chapter Ten

  The question nagged at him as he followed the priest through the Vault. He paid little heed to the titles on the bound volumes or the odd-looking assortment of items stacked on the shelves as he tried to understand the true meaning of the image.

  The Lectern muttered to himself as he scanned the signs posted along each row of brass shelving. The Hunter didn't understand the odd glyphs—they reminded him of the Illusionist Cleric script, just more confusing—but the priest seemed to know his way around. He led the Hunter down one row and ran a finger across the metal plaques welded to the brass shelf frames.

  "Tairadon, Taithan, Taius, Taivash, ah, here we are!" He tapped on one of the bronze plaques. "Taivoro, Karannos."

  The Hunter scanned the books on the shelf and was surprised by the sheer number of volumes in the Taivoro section. He'd known the mad playwright was prolific, but there had to be at least fifty books to his name. His mind boggled at the thought of all the secrets Taivoro had concealed in that many pages.

  With a triumphant grin, the priest lifted a book carefully from the shelf. "The Singer and His Muse. It is said to be one of the earliest works of Taivoro." He gave a sad shake of his head. "Sadly, also probably his absolute worst."

  The Hunter raised an eyebrow.

  The priest opened the book and cleared his throat. "I imagined the ribbed flesh, the supple rings of muscle, the soft warmth of her as I moved inside her," he read in a surprisingly strong voice. "Flowers of green and blue danced behind my closed eyelids, their delicate petals drifting downward to join our entwined bodies in our pursuit of pleasure." He shook his head. "Absolute rubbish, this. He's fortunate he got better over time, else he'd have been Einan's least successful playwright as well as its most insane."

  The Hunter couldn't help rolling his eyes at the terrible writing. Lucky for me I don't care about the story.

  He snatched the book from the priest, eliciting a cry of protest. A hard glare silenced the Lectern long enough for him to glance at the pages. His heart sank as he flipped through the book. It lacked the artwork he'd seen in the Taivoro he'd stolen from Lord Apus in Malandria—the artwork Bardin had used to decipher the hidden message.

  He ground his teeth in frustration. What now? The Sage had mentioned finding the key to reaching Enarium within the pages of this book. Perhaps there was another Taivoro work about a journeyman bard.

  "No, this is the one you're looking for," the Lectern replied to his question. The man's owlish face took on a curious expression. "Perhaps if you told me precisely why you were interested in this volume, I might be able to—"

  The Hunter cut him off with a slashing gesture. "My business is none of your concern."

  "I could beg to differ." The Lectern had found a modicum of courage at last. Well, indignation more than anything. "It's my life you're threatening, and if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not die because you don't give me the information I need to find what you're searching for."

  The Hunter stifled a grin. The man's tone reminded him of Visibos, the apprentice Cambionari he'd met on the road to Malandria. Visibos had been far more of a warrior than this priest, but his scholar's curiosity had superseded everything else. Men like these tended to want to know the answers to everything—it was why they dedicated their lives to study and research.

  "How much do you know about Taivoro?" the Hunter asked. "The truth of the man, not what is accepted as common knowledge."

  "You mean the rumors that he was the founder of the Illusionist Clerics?" The Lectern raised an eyebrow, a movement that made his dark eyes appear even larger behind his spectacles.

  The Hunter nodded. "Precisely. A…friend of mine told me that every work of Taivoro concealed ciphers and coded messages."

  "Of course!" The Lectern nodded. "But many of the messages are lost in the copying of his manuscripts." He tapped the book in the Hunter's hand. "Every time the scribes copy the books for the purpose of preserving the originals, they make minor changes to the wording and syntax. For the sake of readability, of course."

  "Indeed." The Hunter tried not to show his surprise at this new tidbit of information.

  "So you need this book not for its words, but for the cipher it contains?" the priest asked. He seemed to take the Hunter's lack of response as an affirmative. "May I ask what message you are searching for?"

  "You may, but you will have no answer from me."

  The priest's face fell, as if disappointed at being left out of the discovery of some new mystery. Scholars lived for that sort of thing.

  The Hunter tapped the book with the tip of his dagger. "But if, as you say, the messages are lost during the copying process, I will need the original manuscript of The Singer and His Muse."

  The priest's face hardened, and he folded his arms across his slim chest. "You will not have it."

  The Lectern's defiance came as a surprise. "You refuse me?" the Hunter asked, arching an eyebrow.

  "I do." The man's face grew stubborn. "The Vault of Stars is the repository of all the knowledge on Einan. Some of the written works here date as far back as the vault itself, to the time of the Serenii and the War of Gods. These books," he thrust a finger toward the volume in the Hunter's hand, "are copies created for use by the Lecterns and the other priests. But fewer than a dozen souls are permitted to access the originals."

  "Better make an exception for me." The Hunter hefted his dagger to emphasize the threat.

  The priest's eyes filled with fear, but his expression was no less resolute. "Threaten me all you want, but it will do you no good. There are some things worth dying for. The knowledge our order has spent
five thousand years collecting is far more valuable than my life."

  The Hunter studied the man. He'd met enough religious fanatics to know that the Lectern really would lay down his life to protect the manuscripts. Everyone had a breaking point, but as the priest had said, there were things worth dying for. Even he, a half-demon assassin, had things he would sacrifice himself to protect.

  The priest flinched from the fiery intensity of the Hunter's gaze. "That book in your hands is as close to the original manuscript as possible," he said, the words pouring out of his mouth in a fearful rush. "Whatever message is hidden within those texts should be sufficiently intact for you to decipher it."

  The Hunter loomed over the man. "You are certain?"

  "Yes!" The Lectern cringed. "I swear it on the Master's name!"

  The Hunter glared at him for a long moment, then shrugged and nodded. "Fair enough."

  The priest seemed to deflate, and he sagged in relief, leaning on the shelf and mopping at the sweat staining his brow.

  As the Hunter tucked the book into a pocket inside his robes, an idea struck him. He was standing in the world's most comprehensive source of information. Surely he could find answers about the Bucelarii somewhere among these shelves.

  "Tell me," he asked the Lectern, "where would I find information on the Abiarazi?"

  The priest's expression went from relieved to confused in a moment. "Abiarazi? I've never heard that term before."

  "Demons," the Hunter said. "From the time of the War of Gods." He hesitated. "Or their offspring with humans."

  The Lectern's face went stark white. "O-Offspring…with humans?" He seemed utterly floored by the notion. "S-Surely you can't be serious. Such a thing would be profane, not to mention impossible."

  The Hunter bit back a frustrated curse. Clearly the Vault of Stars didn't contain all the information floating around Einan. The Cambionari must not have shared their knowledge of the Bucelarii with the Master's priests.

  He tried a new approach. "What of the War of Gods? Are there any writings of what transpired? Perhaps one of the works of Eshendun, or—"

  "Eshendun?" The Lectern seemed to recover from his shock, and he shook his head. "No, you'll want the Prophet Mehmet. Eshendun was born some two hundred years after the War of Gods. The works of Mehmet are the only true eyewitness accounts of those days."

  Now it was the Hunter's turn to be confused. "You are certain?" he asked. According to The Numeniad, the book of Eshendun, the historian had been transported by Kiro, the Master, to Khar'nath to watch the Bucelarii and their demon ancestors cast into the portal to the fiery hell.

  "Absolutely." The priest nodded. "Eshendun was a disciple of the Prophet's teachings, but long after Mehmet had died. As far as we know, Mehmet was the only one to transcribe the events of the War of Gods."

  "Then take me to the works of Mehmet," the Hunter said.

  "We…do not have them." Shame flashed across the priest’s face as he dropped his eyes.

  "I thought this was the largest collection of knowledge on Einan." The Hunter's words had a sardonic edge.

  "It is," the Lectern snapped. "The works of Mehmet were destroyed a century after the War of Gods, and with them all knowledge of what truly transpired. Which is precisely why the Enclave is meeting." His eyes flew wide and he clapped a hand over his mouth, as if just realizing what he'd said.

  The Hunter fixed him with a hard glare. "What are you talking about?"

  "Nothing." The priest gave a dismissive wave, trying hard to be nonchalant. "Forget I said anything, and depart in peace."

  "Tell me," the Hunter growled.

  The Lectern set his jaw and shook his head. "I have said too much already."

  "Speak, Priest." The Hunter took a threatening step forward, but once again, the look in the priest’s eyes told him his threats would not cow the man into breaking. After a moment, he nodded. "So be it. I have what I came for. The time has come for me to leave."

  Fear flashed across the priest's expression, and he threw up his hands. "Please! You promised—"

  The Hunter's hand flashed up and out in a blur, slamming the rounded pommel of his dagger into the base of the priest’s skull. The Lectern sagged to the ground in an unconscious heap.

  He crouched to check for the priest's pulse. His blow had been hard enough to render the man senseless, but he'd wake in a few hours—with the worst headache of his life, but alive.

  "Don't just leave him like that," the demon shrieked. "Kill him!"

  The Hunter shook his head. It’s not necessary, he told the voice. I promised I would let him live.

  "You are losing your edge." The presence in his mind radiated fury and disgust. "That boy is making you soft."

  A low growl rumbled in the Hunter's throat. I do not grow soft. I simply refuse to give you what you desire. The harder you push, the more I will fight you. I kill when I choose to.

  "Pathetic human," the demon snarled. "You think yourself strong, but it is the act of a willful, stubborn child. You waste your strength denying the truth."

  And what truth is that? The Hunter's fists clenched. You seek to turn me into a mindless, savage beast like you.

  "A predator, born to hunt, to kill! Even your name bears witness to who you really are. When you deny it, you only deceive yourself." The force of the demon's rage had set his hands trembling.

  Enough!

  The Hunter closed his eyes and focused on constructing the mental barrier, fighting against the relentless assault of the presence within. He steeled his will and forced the wall in his mind to rise and lock the demon’s voice away.

  The throbbing in his head receded to a dull ache as the last brick fell in place, and he drew in a deep breath to calm himself. It took a moment for the rush of blood to subside and his heart to return to its steady rhythm. With one last glance at the unconscious Lectern, he hurried back toward the stairs and the way out of the vault.

  He paused at the bas-relief of Kharna the Destroyer. “Entombed against the return of the Devourer” the Sage had called it. The more he looked at it, the odder it seemed. Something about the image felt …off.

  The weight of the book tucked into his robes brought a grim sense of satisfaction. He'd gotten what he came for. Sure, he still had to find the instructions in the book, doubtless well-concealed by the Illusionist Clerics' codes. But the first step, getting his hands on the tome, was complete.

  Now to get the hell out of here and back to Hailen. They'd depart Vothmot with Darillon at dawn. He and the boy could both use a good night's rest before beginning their arduous trek through the Empty Mountains tomorrow.

  Relief filled the Hunter as he reached the entrance to the Vault of Stars and found it empty. He dove head-first through the opening, landed in a roll on the bare stone floor, and came to his feet in one smooth movement. He didn't bother closing the wall panel behind him as he hurried up the stairs.

  He'd learned a lot in the Vault, more than his mind could digest at once. He would have to go over everything later, once he had a few moments of peace. For now, he had to focus on getting out of the Master's Temple.

  He climbed the six floors to the main level and paused at the entrance to the staircase. The confusion of the arriving priests had diminished, but apprentices, Lecterns, and other visiting clerics filled the halls of the temple. With a grin, he slipped out into the hall and into the commotion. He should have no problem leaving in all the chaotic flow of men and women. Hells, he could probably walk out the front gate, and everyone would be too busy to notice him.

  His path led across the main basilica, and he marveled at the breathtaking beauty of the crystal dome high overhead. It filled the room with dazzling sunlight that seemed to set the white marble aglow with an ethereal light. For a moment, it almost felt like he stood in the heavens, with the power of the Thirteen humming through the stone around him.

  The feeling passed as he moved through the colonnades and into one of the temple’s aisles. He hurried toward
a corridor that looked like it would lead him south, toward the front of the temple. He walked with his head bowed to hide his features, his hands concealed in the voluminous sleeves of his green-and-silver velvet Lectern’s robes.

  When he stepped into the Chapel of Radiance, he couldn’t help pausing at the sight. The light of the afternoon sun streamed through the enormous stained glass window that covered the entire southern wall of the chapel. The Master stared down at him, an expression of noble dignity on the white-bearded, kind-eyed face. The yellow stained glass filled the air with a golden glow, accentuated by the reds, blues, and greens of the Master’s divine robes.

  It truly was as beautiful as people said.

  But enough. No time to dawdle. Daylight faded fast, and he still had to cross the entire city to get back to the brothel. He'd spent enough time enjoying the view.

  He turned to leave the Chapel of Radiance and collided with a short, slim priest entering. He mumbled a hurried apology, then his eyes went wide as he recognized the man—a man he thought he'd left far behind him with the shattered remnants and haunting memories of his past.

  "Forgive me, Lectern, I didn't see you there," said Father Reverentus, Beggar Priest, and Cambionari of Voramis.

  Chapter Eleven

  There was no mistaking it. He would recognize the man’s lined and weathered face, the liver spots dotting his bald scalp, his long white beard, the stooped back, and the sharp, intelligent eyes anywhere. The scent of vellum, dust, and arthritic joint balm confirmed what his eyes told him.

  "Are you well?" Father Reverentus' brow furrowed in concern. "You look like you've seen…" He trailed off, and his eyes narrowed.

  Time slowed as the Hunter stared at the emaciated, age-worn man who had set him on this fateful journey. Until the day he'd met Father Reverentus, he'd been ignorant of the Abiarazi, his demonic heritage, Soulhunger's true purpose, and the threat of Kharna’s return. This man, this forceful, vengeful priest, had recruited him into his war against the demons as penance for killing Brother Securus, the only able-bodied Cambionari in Voramis.