Aimless, he wandered, his feet carrying him away from the place of death.
Water coursed cool and fresh over his wounds, washing away blood. Forcing exhausted feet through the fast-flowing river, he walked on.
Gut-wrenching scents filled his hazy mind. Decay, rot; ageless and timeless.
His eyes focused. A ring of towering stones standing atop a hill beckoned.
'Come,' it seemed to say.' Come and find peace in your final moments.'
His legs quivered, his body ached, yet still he stumbled on. Bleeding, falling, gasping painful breaths, he refused to stop moving.
The stench of millennia-old corpses washed over him. A thin patch of grass covered the ground. Within the ring of stones, there was horrible sense of finality. Of death.
'Hunter.'
A whisper echoed in the silence. The man saw nothing.
'Hunter.'
It came again. A ghostly face appeared from the shadows beneath the stones.
'Remember who you are. Remember your purpose.'
'I…am…'
Who was he? He couldn't recall his name, could think of nothing save for the agony filling his world. He longed to lay down and die.
'You are Bucelarii,' another voice whispered, 'offspring of nightmare made flesh.'
Something in the man's mind fell into place.
'I am Bucelarii,' he repeated. 'I am the Hunter.'
'You are.' More voices joined in the chorus. Hundreds, thousands of faces danced before him. 'Sired by demons, fated to kill your fathers.'
He had to hunt. He had to protect the ones who needed him.
'We are innocent.'
A child's face floated before his eyes.
'Farida? How?'
The face broke into a smile. A weight settled on his shoulders.
'In this place,' the child said, 'the lament of the fallen can be heard. Hunter, you know what you must do.'
'I know, but I cannot. I have lost Soulhunger, everything that I own. I am dying.'
'Will you give up so easily? If so, you are not truly the Hunter.'
A voice from deep within his memory echoed among the stones. 'Will you give up your search for me?'
He remembered the face floating before him. The one he had seen in the flashes of his past. Her scent drowned out the odor of decay surrounding him.
'You! Are you—?'
A smile, one that brought a new sort of ache to his heart. 'Dead? Perhaps. Or, perhaps your mind simply shows you what you wish to see.'
The man remained silent, memorizing every feature of the beautiful face before him. He ached to see Her again.
'I ask you again, Hunter. Will you cease your search? Will you lay down and die?'
'No.'
The little girl he had loved and lost appeared once more.
'Will you fail to drive out the demons that would bring death and destruction to this world?'
'I will not fail,' he told her. 'Not again.'
'Then rise, brave Hunter. Find your feet, and leave this place.'
His legs shook and blood flowed anew, but he stood and stumbled from the ring of stones.
The woman's voice echoed in his mind.
'Find me, Hunter.'
Chapter One
A dull, throbbing ache in his ruined eye pulled the Hunter reluctantly into consciousness.
Wh-What? Where?
Tiny shards of glass rubbed against the inside of his eyelid. His head felt stuffed with wool. Disoriented, his tongue thick and heavy, he groaned and tried to sit up. The world spun around him, and he squeezed his eye shut until the whirling slowed.
His whole body ached. He felt every bruise, every cut, and every wound from his encounter with the Savage Three. But what had happened after that?
Bardin. He wasn't at the shelter. The haze in his mind retreated, slowly. He remembered. The wizards…they took him! And me.
He cursed himself for trusting the dead. His inner demon had been right. The dead deceived, and he was foolish enough to follow. They had led him into a trap.
Hot anger flooded his body. With the rush of blood came the full return of his senses. The smell hit him like a wall: stale air heavy with dust, reeking of decaying flesh and withering bones. An odor of rotting meat assaulted his nostrils, accompanied by the coppery tang of gore—both long dried and freshly spilled.
Acid surged into his throat. A wave of nausea washed over him, he swallowed to stop his stomach from emptying. He reached out a hand to steady himself, and slowly the dizziness passed.
The Hunter climbed to his feet, wincing at the throbbing in his side. Every shred of willpower went into staying upright. The polluted, reeking air set his lungs burning. Taking deep breaths inured his senses to the smell. His head still spun—whether from the lingering effects of the suffocating fog or the miasma of scents in this place, he didn't know.
Where in the twisted hell am I?
Darkness surrounded him on all sides, save for a flicker of light in the distance. The steady, green-hued brilliance beckoned to him. He stumbled forward, his feet leaden, legs numb. A solid wall loomed to his left. Leaning on it for support, he staggered toward the light.
That fog. It couldn't have been natural. The way it knocked me out. The wizards must have conjured it. His mind worked sluggishly, trying to piece together his fractured thoughts. What have I gotten myself into?
He kept his eye firmly fixed on the light. He followed the wall, moving slowly to allow his body time to recover. He regained feeling with every step—a mixed blessing. He had not dressed his wounds properly; now, every limb felt stiff and every movement sent pain shooting through his body. Clenching his teeth, he stumbled forward, letting the sensations propel him onward. Pain was the only sign he still lived.
Nearer the light, he could make out more details. Solid stone walls, ceiling, and floors surrounded him. He walked down a hall—though how far the darkness stretched on behind him, he couldn't see.
His groping fingers encountered grooves and notches in the passage walls. Closer examination revealed curious symbols etched into the stone. They looked suspiciously like the markings he had seen beneath the House of Need in Voramis.
Had he been captured by the Cambionari? Did he wander endless corridors beneath the Beggar Temple? Was this how they killed Bucelarii? Left to die of starvation and thirst; a miserable ending, made worse by his stubborn refusal to die.
Not likely. The Cambionari preferred a direct approach. They would put a blade in him and be done with it. No, this reeked of subtlety and cunning.
Definitely the wizards, he decided. They have proven insidious enough to pull this off.
Another thought flashed through his mind.
Are the wizards just priests in disguise? Could the Order of Midas really be nothing more than the Beggar Priests?
Leaning against the wall, he pondered the thought. The wizards had shown their power—the lights, the horrible wolf-like creatures, the noxious fog. What he knew of the Beggar Priests told him they wouldn't possess that kind of power. If they had, the events in Voramis would have unfolded in a very different manner.
No, the wizards cannot be priests. But then, who in the Keeper's twisted beard are they?
When no solution presented itself, he shrugged the thought aside. He had more pressing concerns to occupy his attention. If he didn't find a way out, it wouldn’t matter who had thrown him here.
Something squelched underfoot, and his foot slipped on a patch of slime. Looking down, he saw an odd shape at his feet. It took him a moment to realize the shape had once been a human body. Grinning white bone showed through the blackened flesh of a face burned beyond recognition.
Watcher's taint!
The bloated, leaking corpse lay propped up against the wall. Foul-smelling fluid dripped from its abdominal cavity, mixing with the blood and slime on the floor. The stench of rotting blood, flesh, and guts filled his nostrils, overlaid with the reek of urine, feces, and the maggots that had made the
ir home in empty eye-sockets.
The Hunter grimaced at the sight. He rifled through the tattered remnants of clothing. Perhaps he could find something to use as a weapon…
The moment his fingers touched the shirt, a vision flashed before his eyes.
He gasped for air, his eyes darting around, searching the darkness. Running for his life, terror slowed his mind.
'It's coming', he thought. 'That demon is coming to get me. I have to find a way out of this maze!'
Slipping in the muck, he threw out an arm to catch himself. The arm folded with a sickening 'crack'.
Screaming, the man pulled himself to his feet. He swallowed the pain and sprinted down the hall. He moved with purpose, knowing it was hopeless. He couldn't outrun the demon. He had wandered in the maze for hours. It was only a matter of time before—
A horrible creature leered from the darkness. Fire blazed before him, filling his world with pain for a brief moment. Then, nothing.
The Hunter jerked backward, falling hard.
What in the frozen hell was that?
He scrambled to his feet, planting his back against the wall and studying the empty corridor around him. He half-expected the demon to leap out at him from the darkness. His eye lighted on the corpse slumped against the wall. Its right shoulder protruded at a horrible angle.
Almost as if it had been shattered by a fall…
The pain of the shoulder. The agony of the fire. The terror of inevitable death. It had all been so real.
Did I just see his final moments of life? How is that possible?
An ethereal shape hovered beside him, and a voice whispered in his thoughts. Only the Bucelarii hears the lament of the fallen. Only he can bring justice for the dead.
The Hunter pointed to the corpse at his feet. This is you? You died in here?
The ghost nodded. It is. I ran through this Keeper-forsaken nightmare in search of an escape, but I failed. As you can see.
The Hunter studied the corpse. His eye fell on the blackened, scorched flesh of the man's face.
That thing that killed you, what was it?
The phantom shuddered, its face twisting in a paroxysm of fear. A terrible creature, a thing of nightmares! A demon of the darkest hell.
His heart leapt into his throat. A demon? Here? Are you certain?
A translucent finger pointed to its body. I was one of its victims. As you will be soon.
I refuse to be a victim. I am the Hunter, not some human to be slaughtered like cattle.
The Hunter reached beneath his cloak for the gutting knife.
Keeper take it! Whoever dumped me here must have taken it. He clenched his fists. If only I had a weapon…
He realized the folly of the thought immediately. Without the Swordsman's iron blades or Soulhunger, he had little hope of hurting the demon, much less killing it.
He turned to the ghost and held up empty hands. I have no way to fight this demon. No weapon. How am I supposed to carry out your revenge on these wizards?
If any could survive the demon, the ghost spoke into his thoughts, it is you. You must avenge us, Hunter.
Us? How many of you are there?
The fallen are countless, Bucelarii. Be wary, lest you join their ranks.
The Hunter's lip curled into a snarl. These wizards will find that they got far more than they bargained for when they took me for their rituals!
Fare you well then, Hunter. Avenge us, and bring peace to the fallen.
The incorporeal figure dissolved into the darkness, leaving the Hunter alone in the tunnels, with only a corpse for company.
The Hunter clenched his fists. He would give the demon and its masters a fight, to his last breath if need be. He would have vengeance for Bardin, and for himself. The dead would have their revenge.
He strode toward the light at the end of the hall, ignoring the squelching beneath his boots. The foul odors filling the maze no longer discomforted him; instead, they fueled his anger and his desire to hunt down whatever monsters were responsible for this horror.
He reached the source of the light: a small alchemical lamp set in a wall sconce. The lamp resisted his efforts to pry it free from the sockets. With a growl of frustration, he stepped back.
So, I have no light and no weapons. If I am to believe the dead, I am in a maze with no way out. What to do?
He studied his surroundings. Identical passages branched off to the left and right. Darkness lay in both directions, with only small pinpoints of light to mark the ends of the corridors.
Which way to go? He scratched his chin and tried to come up with a clever solution for escaping the maze. After a minute, he shrugged. He had no idea where he was, so it wouldn't make a difference which way he went.
I'm not going to get out of here by standing still.
Something about the passage on the left drew his attention. As he walked, he tried to keep track of the twisting corridors in his head, but soon gave up. He focused on the more immediate problem: the demon in the maze.
If a demon really did that, I could be in serious trouble.
The horrible grinning face had been the dead man's last sight—that and the fire spewing from its mouth. He had no desire to meet the same fate, but without a weapon, what could he do?
A faint noise reached him.
What in the Watcher's name is that?
It came again: a click, click, click. The sound of clawed feet on the stone floor.
Faint at first, it grew louder with each passing second. Whatever the thing was, it drew closer at an incredible speed.
Fire blossomed at the end of the corridor. Scorching heat filled the passageway, but the sight of the creature behind it sent a chill down the Hunter's spine.
The thing stood as high as the stone ceiling overhead, its bulk filling the entire passageway. Its horrible rictus grin revealed row after row of sharp fangs. Massive horns sprouted from its head, and fire spewed from its gaping mouth.
A demon!
Animal terror lent wings to the Hunter's feet. He sprinted through the passageways, heedless of direction. Every muscle in his body protested, his wounds throbbed, and his head pounded, but the agony went ignored in the face of the danger behind him. He couldn’t stop; he had to escape.
To slow meant death at the demon's hands, and he'd be damned if he went out like this!
Chapter Two
Exhausted and out of breath, the Hunter threw himself to the floor. He heard nothing save his panting and the rush of blood in his ears. The clicking had fallen silent, but the stillness of the corridor seemed eerie now that he knew what awaited him in the darkness.
Keeper take it!
Corpses littered the maze around him, in various stages of decay. Slime pooled beneath a pair of bodies beside him, the sweet scent of rotting flesh assaulting the Hunter's senses. His heart raced, more from fear than fatigue. He had seen that thing before—in the Serenii tunnels beneath Voramis. It had filled him then with the same irrational, uncontrollable terror.
He searched for any sign of the creature, straining to hear the ominous click, click, click. Silence. Ominous, eerie, looming silence.
I have to find some kind of weapon. I will not face that thing with empty hands!
The bodies gave him an idea.
He seized the thick leg bone of a skeleton long decayed. Ignoring the grinning skull staring up at him with empty eyes, he ripped the bone from the pelvis with a loud snap. He hefted the grisly trophy, feeling its weight and balance. It would have to do.
'A pitiful weapon', the demon mocked.
He ignored the voice. What else could be found here in the maze? Time was not on his side. Already, the hunger and thirst had begun to creep up on him. He studied the bone, testing its strength. It resisted his efforts to bend and crack it. Now he had a club—better than nothing.
I've got to find a door, a window, anything. The wizards had dumped him in here, somehow. If there's a way in, there has to be a way out.
Only the
sound of his boots splashing through the gory muck broke the silence of the maze. How much time passed in the darkness, he knew not. He focused on finding his way out. Action kept at bay thoughts of food and water, and concern for Bardin.
He moved slowly, painting a picture of the maze in his mind. Long hours spent wandering the twisting streets of Lower Voramis had honed his sense of direction. Reaching an intersection, he pondered which way to go.
He heard it then, that horrible click, click, click. The sound twisted the knife of dread in his gut.
Not that damned thing again!
The sound grew louder with each passing second; he had moments before the demon reached him. Closing his eyes, he listened to the approaching noise.
Click, click, click…
He gripped the bone tighter. If I can surprise the thing, perhaps I can cripple it.
Click, click, click…
The feeling of the bone in his hands comforted him. He crouched, every muscle tense in anticipation, his aches and pains forgotten.
Click, click, click…
The tunnel filled with the heat of the demon's fire.
Just a little closer, you bastard…
The Hunter leapt. He hurtled around the corner and swung the bone hard. It slammed into something unyielding, shattering with a loud crack. The demon bowled him over, hurling him backward into the wall, and he collapsed with a grunt.
The impact saved his life. The demon's mouth gouted flame over his head. The massive form of the demon loomed behind him—it had barreled right past him.
Not giving the creature time to turn and pursue, the Hunter sprinted down the passage—in the direction from which the demon had come. Perhaps the demon's own scent would confuse it long enough for him to escape.
The Hunter ran for his life, his feet pounding on hard stone, skidding on crimson muck, and splashing through puddles of offal. His back and head protested with every step, but he ignored the pain. His nose filled with the stench of death and fire all around him.
I've got to find a way to sneak up on the damned thing!
The Last Bucelarii Book 2: Lament of the Fallen Page 24
