Darkblade Slayer

by Andy Peloquin

  The Hunter reached for his sword hilt as he studied the slinking shadow. He couldn't be from another party of travelers; only someone with ill-intent moved with such stealth. And that dagger. Only one explanation made sense.

  The man was one of Sir Danna’s.

  But how had the Cambionari and her Warrior Priests scaled the cliff? It had been a difficult climb even for him and Darillon, an experienced mountaineer. It seemed impossible that the heavily-armored knight and the priests of Derelana made it. Yet he could think of no other answer.

  He knew the man couldn't see him; his dark cloak concealed him in shadow. He watched in silence as the stealthy figure slipped up the trail toward his campsite. It didn't matter how Sir Danna and her entourage had made the climb. She had, and she was coming for him. He'd lost his lead. Time had run out.

  He slithered out of the shadows and pursued the figure creeping up the rocky trail. Was this man a scout sent to assess the Hunter's position or an assassin sent to strike him down while he slept? Or, worse still, was he simply the first of the many warriors that would soon be flooding up the path toward his camp? Toward Hailen.

  The Cambionari couldn't sense him, but they tracked the presence of Soulhunger. The gemstone in the dagger caused a buzzing in their heads that grew in intensity according to their proximity. If this man was a Cambionari, he would be seeking the presence of the dagger. He moved with stealthy caution, but his gaze remained fixed on the trail ahead. The man's senses had to be telling him Soulhunger—and the Hunter with it—waited ahead and above.

  The Hunter's lip curled upward into a furious snarl as he slipped up behind the sneaking Cambionari, his eyes fixed on the hand that held the iron dagger. But instead of a rush attack, he crouched, picked up one of the many stones that littered the trail, and hurled it toward the trail ahead of the man. The Cambionari tensed at the clatter of rock, pausing in his advance.

  The Hunter charged then.

  He closed the distance to the Cambionari in four long strides. His left arm snaked around the man's throat and his right hand gripped the man's sword arm. Muscles corded as he tightened the chokehold, cutting off the man's airway. The Cambionari gave a strangled gasp and tried to lash out with the dagger, but the Hunter's grip on his wrist held the hand immobile. The man bucked and tried in vain to slip free of the arm encircling his throat. His left elbow drove backward, aimed for the Hunter's ribs, but the blow glanced off his leather armor.

  The Hunter shifted his stance to avoid a stamping attack that would have shattered the little bones of his foot. He drove his knee into the back of the man's kneecap, throwing his opponent off-balance. His right hand squeezed hard until he felt the man's wrist bones crunch beneath his grip. The man let out a choking cry of pain, and the dagger clattered to the rocky trail.

  The Cambionari's left hand came up to the arm around his throat and slid upward, an attempt to snap the Hunter's fingers and break the chokehold. The iron blade no longer a threat, the Hunter released his grip on the man's right arm and drove a vicious punch into the man's side. Bone cracked beneath the impact and the Cambionari let out another cry of pain.

  The Hunter's right hand flashed toward the Cambionari's chin. With a vicious yank, he wrenched the man's head hard to the side. A loud snap echoed in the darkness and the Cambionari sagged in his arms.

  The Hunter released his grip on the man, and the body crumpled to the ground in a limp heap. He kicked the iron dagger into the ravine then crouched and fumbled through the man's clothing. He wore no armor, bore no insignia to indicate where he was from or who had sent him. But the iron dagger was all the marking the Hunter needed.

  His mind whirled. Sir Danna's company had been nearly half a day's ride behind him when he caught sight of them by the lake. She had to have pushed the horses hard to reach the cliff. Somehow, she'd gotten her men up the cliffs—or at least one man—and followed him up the trail. Perhaps this fellow had removed his Cambionari armor so he could cover ground faster to make up the distance.

  Shit!

  Indecision warred within him. He knew he should head down the trail and scout Sir Danna's position. Perhaps she hadn't yet brought all of her Warrior Priests up the cliff face—it had taken him and Darillon close to an hour to haul up five horses and three people. If he destroyed the pulley-crane as he'd originally intended, he might be able to eliminate those of Sir Danna's company at the top of the cliff.

  But that would cost him precious time. He'd have to hurry to reach his camp, and it would still take close to an hour of uphill climbing. Descending toward the hoist would add at least two hours each way. His gaze went back to the corpse on the rocky ground.

  Another impossible situation, another gamble against terrible odds.

  With a growl of frustration, he seized the body by the wrists, lifted it to his shoulders, and hurled it into the ravine after the iron dagger. Scavengers would dispose of the dead Cambionari sooner or later. One enemy fewer to deal with when the time came.

  He hesitated a long moment before turning and scrambling up the steep incline. He'd take the risk that Sir Danna hadn't managed to get all of her men up the cliff before dark, or that they'd made camp somewhere below. Thankfully, the climb to the hollow where he was camped would take a toll on the heavily-armored knight and her Warrior Priests. They couldn't ride, so they'd have to haul all the weight of their heavy plate and splinted mail on foot. That should slow them down enough and give him a bit of time.

  But time for what? He had no way out of that little bowl. If his desperate hope proved unfounded and they couldn't find a way through those cliffs, they'd have to flee along one of the paths that intersected with the trail. Perhaps they could skirt the high cliffs until they found another way in.

  Is there another entrance? If so, where? The Serenii runes had to point the way. He had to be on the right track. But if so, why couldn't he find it?

  He ignored the burning in his legs and spine and forced himself to climb faster. Right now, his only hope lay in deciphering whatever message Taivoro had hidden in his book. If the Sage had found it, surely he could, too.

  It took him the better part of an hour to reach the top of the trail. Relief flooded him as he caught the faint glow of the campfire within the rocky hollow. He hurried toward the place where Rassek and Darillon had pitched the tents. Only a single figure was visible in the dim light. Evren sat beside the guttering campfire, his brow furrowed in concentration as he squinted down at the book in his hands.

  The Hunter's stolen Taivoro volume.

  Anger flared hot within the Hunter. His hand went to his sword as he strode toward the thief.

  Evren's face went white as he glanced up and caught sight of the Hunter. "Wait, wait!" He slammed the book shut and held it up like a shield before him. "I can exp—"

  The Hunter snatched the book from the thief.

  Evren scrambled backward, fear filling his eyes. "Don't kill me!"

  The Hunter clenched his fists. "Give me one good reason why not," he growled. "You stole from—"

  Evren's eyes flashed. "I didn't steal it! I just…" His cheeks went red, and he dropped his gaze. "…borrowed it."

  "Well, that makes it so much better, doesn't it?" The Hunter half-drew his sword.

  "Wait!" Evren cried. "Let me explain."

  The Hunter fixed him with a hard stare. After a long moment, he slid his blade back into its sheath, but didn't release his grip on the hilt. "You have one minute to convince me."

  Evren swallowed, and his eyes went to the book in the Hunter's hand. "Th-that book," he stammered, "when I saw you readin’ it last night, I knew that was why you gone into the Master's Temple. All day today, I couldn't understand why you'd risk so much to get it. It ain’t even one of his good stories."

  The Hunter's eyes narrowed. "You've read it?"

  Evren froze, his mouth hanging open. "I-I…"

  The Hunter gripped the young thief by the collar and hoisted him off the ground to stare in his eyes. "How?" He'
d known a few thieves that could read, but not the ones that picked pockets on the streets. Yet how could a thief have access to a book only available in the Vault of Stars? "Speak, now. Your minute's running out."

  Evren's face went white as he stared into the Hunter's eyes. "I was a Lectern-in-trainin’!"

  The thief's answer caught the Hunter by surprise. It was the last thing he'd expected, yet it made complete sense. How else would he know his way around the interior of the Master’s Temple?

  Words seemed to tumble from his mouth beyond his control. "The older apprentice Lecterns told us about his stories, said some of the books even had illustrations. We used to sneak into the Vault of Stars and get into the Taivoro section for a bit of fun. You know, some of his stories, the good ones at least, can be entertainin’. And the pictures are very…" He trailed off, his cheeks flaring bright red. "Most of us avoided this one. Ain’t got no pictures, you see. But some of the descriptions are creative. One of older boys said some women like what he does with Princess Saria on page…"

  The Hunter grimaced. "I get the point." He'd rather not picture what the young men did to enjoy the erotic works of the mad playwright. He shook the book in front of Evren's face. "That doesn't explain why you borrowed this."

  Evren swallowed. "Like I said, I didn't know why you wanted that book, but when I saw them glowin’ symbols earlier, it set me thinkin’. There's a scene in that book that always stuck out as strange to me. I read over it a few times before but ain’t never understood it. I thought…" He hesitated. "I thought maybe it’s got somethin’ to do with this."

  The Hunter's eyebrows rose. He set Evren on the ground and thrust out the book. "Show me."

  The boy flinched, as if in expectation of being struck. When he realized what the Hunter wanted, he hesitantly took the book and opened it. "There's this odd bit with the bard and his muse." He flipped through the pages as he spoke. "Right here." He held out the book.

  Excitement gripped the Hunter as he took the tome from Evren's hands and read the passage the thief indicated.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Her regal eyes of radiant azure

  Like floating stars below

  Thus revealed

  The muse

  My heart’s deepest ambition

  Within her soul concealed.”

  The Hunter narrowed his eyes. Something about the words used and the choice of phrase truly did seem off to him.

  “Floating stars below,” he mused aloud.

  "Ain’t like the rest of his stuff, right?” Evren asked. “It’s what stood out to me when I was thinking about it.”

  The Hunter nodded and pointed toward the sky. "Wrong direction."

  "But what if Taivoro ain’t actually talkin’ about no stars?" The fear in the thief's eyes had faded, replaced by excitement. The Hunter recognized the look—he'd seen one much like it in Graeme's eyes as his fat alchemist friend worked on a particularly complex riddle or chemical formula. "What if he's talkin’ about—"

  Realization dawned on the Hunter. "The plants in Sapphire Lake!"

  "Exactly." Evren smiled.

  The Hunter read the passage again. "Her regal eyes of radiant azure like floating stars below." It could be referring to the glowing plants from the bottom of Sapphire Lake. "And if they show the way to the muse concealed in her soul…"

  "Maybe that really means it shows the way to Enarium!" Evren's eyes sparkled.

  The Hunter rummaged in his pack and produced one of the plants. The blue light was faint against the firelight, but grew brighter as he strode into the darkness toward the section of cliff where he'd found the runes. When he held up the plant to the stone, the symbols flared to life.

  "What else does it say?" he called to Evren.

  With a red-face, the young thief read aloud.

  “My hands on soft skin

  Triangular mounds of slouching flesh

  Squeezing, pressure

  Until the delight

  Of my glorious Queen slender

  Set the darkness echoing with the sounds of pleasure.”

  The Hunter grimaced at the truly terrible quality of the writing as he scanned the glowing runes in the cliff. "Here!" He pointed to a symbol set level with his head that looked like two oddly-shaped, elongated triangles that only a madman could picture as breasts.

  Evren continued.

  “Downward, ever lower

  Among soft folds

  Skin pale and pulpous

  Like sun-streaked mountains

  For my lips

  Begging to be kissed.”

  The Hunter studied the runes, and excitement filled him as he found one at chest-level that could match the description. The rune had three diagonal lines floating above overlapping triangles—the sun shining on the mountains.

  "Keep going!" he called.

  "What's all the ruckus about?" Darillon's voice drifted from within his tent.

  Evren ignored the question and continued reading the passage.

  “I roamed through rising hips

  Slender and fair

  O’er mountains of velvet softness

  Betwixt lofty knees

  The way to her soul

  At the golden touch of my caress.”

  The Hunter’s mind raced as he studied the glowing runes. A pair of symbols to his left could be the right one, but they didn’t match the descriptions as closely as he’d like. When he moved a few paces along the wall, his heart leapt as one flared to life at his waist level. The glyph resembled two inverted “Vs”, like raised knees.

  "What else does it say?"

  Evren continued reading the passage.

  “Bright, radiant kiss of morn

  Sparkling like sapphire lilies

  In her eyes

  The way to pleasure

  A path to the muse’s heart

  Unveiled disguise.”

  The youth’s forehead wrinkled. "That one make any kind of sense to you?"

  The Hunter scanned the glowing symbols. None matched the description in the book. Nothing looked like a circle that could in any way resemble the sun. His mind worked at the problem, trying to find a solution.

  "Wait, radiant kiss of morn!" Evren's voice grew excited. "What if ain’t one of the runes? What if it’s talkin’ about sunrise?"

  The Hunter whirled as he heard a tent flap being pulled aside and boots crunching on the ground behind him. A sleepy-looking Darillon emerged from his tent wearing a simple pair of breeches, a light tunic, and an expression of extreme irritation.

  The Hunter spoke before the mountaineer could. "Which way is east?"

  Darillon paused, mouth hanging open, face twisted in displeasure.

  "Which way?" the Hunter repeated. He pointed toward the single opening where the trail cut through the cliffs. "Is that east?"

  Darillon nodded, his brow furrowing. "Yes, but what does that have to do with…"

  The Hunter stopped listening, his mind racing as he thought about the passage. The first light of the rising sun would stream through the opening and shine directly on the section of cliff where he stood. When he met Evren's eyes, he saw the thief had come to the same realization.

  "What if sunrise…" he began.

  "Does somethin’ to those runes!" Evren turned his attention back to the book, and his mouth worked silently as he re-read the sentence. "It has to be."

  The Hunter turned to Darillon. "How long until dawn?"

  "An hour, maybe," the man replied after a few moments of staring at the stars.

  "Did ye find it?" Rassek had appeared from the tent, and he stood shirtless behind Darillon, his eyes fixed on the Hunter, the glowing plant—sapphire lilies, according to Taivoro—and the runes in the stone wall. "Did ye find the way in?"

  The Hunter nodded. "Perhaps."

  "Damn right we did!" Excitement echoed in Evren's voice as he thrust a finger toward the cliff. "It's right there."

  "Well, what are ye waitin’ fer?" Rassek demanded. "Ope
n it, says I!"

  The Hunter shook his head. "Sunrise."

  Rassek looked crestfallen. The Hunter understood the man's reaction. He, too, hated the idea of waiting when they were so close.

  "Let's break camp," he told the two men. "We’ll pack up and be ready to leave the moment the sun comes up."

  Darillon looked skeptical, but Rassek moved without hesitation. His eyes had the same gleam that sparkled in the eyes of the men and women flooding Vothmot’s Prime Bazaar hoping for a chance of finding the treasures of the Serenii in the Lost City. Darillon's no-nonsense attitude hadn't completely dimmed the dreams of adventure that gripped the younger man.

  Evren stiffened as the Hunter strode toward him, but this time he didn't flinch when the Hunter held out a hand for the book. "For what it's worth, I ain’t never intended to steal the book. Not after you let me come with you." He straightened and held his head high. "I ain’t the sort to do a man like that."

  "Is that so?" The Hunter raised an eyebrow. "So why are the Wardens after you about a dead Lectern?"

  Evren's expression froze, and his face grew unreadable as his eyes grew cold and hard. "They think I did it."

  "And did you?"

  Evren said nothing, just fixed the Hunter with a blank stare.

  "The truth, Evren." The Hunter spoke in a low, harsh voice. "Now."

  "Why?" Evren retorted. "So you can hand me over to the Wardens like everyone else I ever trusted?"

  The Hunter snorted. "You know what I am, what I do. Do you really believe I have any love for the law?"

  "So you'll just kill me yourself." Evren's eyes blazed. "After all, I did in a priest, right? Ain’t that oughta be some sort of blasphemy, right there? Ain’t no one gives a damn about the why—all that matters to anyone is that a priest is dead."

  "I care." The words came out before the Hunter realized it. More surprising, he found he actually meant it. "There are times when the reasons justify the actions."

  Evren stared at him, his gaze searching. Pain cast a shadow over the young man's eyes. The Hunter recognized the look all too well: it spoke of a deep-rooted suffering that never went away, no matter how far you ran.