Darkblade Protector: An Epic Fantasy Adventure (Hero of Darkness Book 3)

by Andy Peloquin

  No! He couldn't allow the demon and Soulhunger to go unchecked. He had to regain control. Enough!

  He pushed back against the red haze washing over his vision, forced it to retreat. The demon's screams of protest rang in his mind, but he imposed his will on the voices as he had on flesh and bone. Iron seeped through his body and slowed his movements, adding to the torment of a dozen gaping wounds. Rage fueled his limbs. He fought on, warring against the internal voices as much as the bandits threatening his life.

  They kept on coming and dying. The Hunter's sword wove a wall of steel around him. Soulhunger's cries echoed in his mind as it fed him power, healed his wounds, and pushed back the iron's poison. His hands grew numb from his death grip on his weapons. Blood soaked his clothing, stained his arms, and splattered his face.

  And still he killed.

  A cry of triumph burst from his throat. He leapt over a dying bandit and bounded toward the remaining handful. His long sword shattered an iron blade and a bandit's forearm. Soulhunger struck again and again, drinking deep and flooding the Hunter with vitality.

  Something struck him from behind, knocking him to the ground. Dazed, his ears ringing, he stumbled to his feet. Darkness swam in his vision as he swung a wild blow and chopped empty air. Acting on instinct, he leapt backward. An iron war axe sliced the air a finger's breadth from his throat. His sword bit into the wooden handle, and the man howled and fell to his knees. Three severed fingers dropped to the sand.

  The Hunter locked eyes with the bandit. "You." This man had held a blade to his throat, had struck him twice. "I told you I'd take something from you." With a growl of rage, the Hunter chopped the man's hands free of his wrists. Wrapping his arm around the bandit's neck, he thrust Soulhunger into his chest. The warrior writhed in his grip, screaming. The Hunter gasped from the sudden rush of power, pain and pleasure washing through his veins with more potency than any narcotic.

  "May the Long Keeper pass by your corpse," he spat, "and your soul rot in the fiery hell!"

  As the whispered words of his ritual passed his lips, memories crashed over him like a tidal wave. The sudden rush of images battered at his mind, threatening to steal his consciousness.

  "Repeat the words for me."

  "Why, Master Eldor? What is the point?"

  The middle-aged man with sun-darkened skin and violet eyes buried the tip of his sword in the soft grass. "Because, young man, it is the only thing that separates you from the thugs and murderers of this world. It's what separates you from your kind as well."

  "I don't understand."

  "Think about the weapon you wield."

  "Soulhunger?"

  The man nodded. "It is a weapon forged for destruction and death. If you allow it, it will drive you to do horrible things."

  "And how will some words help?"

  "They may seem like simple words, but they are more than that. They are a reminder of the cost of your actions. Remember: With that blade, you do more than just take their lives—you steal their very souls."

  "But that's horrible, Master Eldor! Why would I do that?"

  "Because you must." Master Eldor shook his head. "I've taught you to master the voices in your mind, but there may come a day when you will forget what you have learned. Keep these words forever locked in your memory and repeat them with every kill, and they will serve as a link to the things that keep your humanity intact."

  "Why would I forget? I remember everything you've taught me over these last three years. See?" The sword danced and whirled in one of the complex patterns learned from Master Eldor.

  A smile crinkled the corners of the old man's eyes. "Yes, you have learned well. Indeed, you are one of the best to ever pass through the halls of Kara-ket." The grin faded. "But when you first came, you had no memory of who you were or why you carried that weapon. Thanks to the volumes in the Vault of Stars, you have learned more of your past. But who can say your memories will not leave you again? There are some things that can never be forgotten, things the mind clings to when all else is gone. This, young man, is why you must repeat the words over and over until they are burned in your thoughts. They will be your link to humanity if all else fails. Say the words."

  "May the Long Keeper take your body; your soul is forfeit."

  Master Eldor nodded. "Wherever you go, lad, take those words with you."

  "Thank you, Master."

  "It is my honor, young—"

  "Hardwell!"

  Hailen's voice sounded faint and distant. Lost in the memory, the Hunter blinked his unseeing eyes and struggled to return to the present.

  "Hardwell!" Hailen's voice came again.

  "Wh-What?" The Hunter found his throat suddenly dry, his tongue thick and heavy. His eyes finally focused on the tear-streaked, wide-eyed face before him.

  Il Seytani stood within the standing stones, dagger pressed against Hailen's throat. The Hunter's heart sank. He couldn't keep fighting, not with Hailen's life in danger.

  He glanced around. He stood alone in a sea of sand stained crimson. Bodies littered the dune around him, silent and unmoving, staring up at him with empty eyes, expressions stained with horror.

  The Hunter turned back to Il Seytani, his expression grim. "Coward! You left your men to die while you—"

  He bit back his words as the bandit pressed his knife into Hailen's neck. The boy cried out, his hand going to the blood trickling down his throat. He stared at the Hunter with wide eyes. "Hardwell, I'm scared!"

  "Don't be, Hailen." The Hunter never took his eyes from Il Seytani. "He's not going to hurt you. You're the only reason he's still alive."

  Il Seytani narrowed his eyes. "Not the only reason, ytaq. Or do you not care about the other children I stole from your caravan? Perhaps you would wish to know where they were sold? You may be able to save them." He sneered. "Or perhaps you're too late for them as well."

  The Hunter stalked forward. "Tell me what you did with them, and I may let you live." Fire burned in his chest, and his hands shook with rage.

  Il Seytani retreated, dragging Hailen with him. "Clearly you don't understand how this works." He spoke quickly, his eyes darting around for a way of escape. "You do not give the commands, not as long as I have this blade at your boy's throat."

  The Hunter shook his head. "There is no way out, Il Seytani. You know how this will end."

  "So what's to stop me from cutting?" The bandit chieftain pressed the dagger into Hailen's chin. "Why should I…?" His heel struck a depression in the sand, and he stumbled.

  Time slowed. Il Seytani's dagger carved a thin line of red into Hailen's throat, but his grip on the boy loosened. Hailen staggered and fell against the obsidian stone of the monolith. His hand—still stained with his blood—pressed against the smooth black surface.

  Something hummed beneath the Hunter's feet. Midnight stones blazed red hot, ignited by a fire from within. The air around him thickened as the early morning light retreated, and the world grew dim. The stench of decay grew deeper, permeating every fiber of his being.

  What's…happening? Throbbing tension mounted in his head. His arms and legs moved as if through mud. His lungs burned; his chest buckled until it seemed his bones would snap beneath the strain of a single gasp. The cacophony in his thoughts reached a mind-numbing crescendo.

  The pressure snapped with concussive force. A wave of heat and power slammed into him, an invisible hand that lifted him from his feet and hurled him through the air. His head and back struck a monolith, and the impact knocked the air from his lungs. He bit back a cry as his flesh sizzled from contact with the stones. His weapons spun away as his grip loosened.

  Black spots swam in his vision. Dazed, every nerve on fire, he struggled to stand despite the shooting pain that ran down his side. His breath came in short, ragged gasps. He'd cracked a rib, and his knee twinged when he placed his weight on it.

  He shook his head to push back the darkness. Soft daylight bathed them in a warm golden glow. Gone was the darkness, the
mounting pressure, and the reek of ageless, timeless death. From the stones rose a pillar of ashen smoke, and the fire within the stones grew dim. Hailen leaned against the standing stone, eyes wide in shock. Il Seytani lay on the ground, groaning, struggling to rise.

  Ignoring the ache in his knee and ribs, the Hunter staggered forward and hurled himself onto the bandit chieftain. His fingers wrapped around Il Seytani's neck and he squeezed with every shred of his demon-borne strength.

  Il Seytani's eyes went wide in horror. He opened his mouth, but only a weak, choking gasp slipped out.

  "Bastard!" Rage contorted the Hunter's face into a snarl, and crimson-tinged spittle splashed onto Il Seytani's face. Blood rushed in his ears in time with the thump, thump of his heart. The burning force of his rage only lent to the inhuman strength in his arms and hands. Every muscle coiled and tensed, and with a howl of triumph, the Hunter twisted.

  Il Seytani's neck snapped with an audible crack. The muscles in his face grew slack, and the tension drained from his struggling body. The horror and fear in the bandit's eyes faded to empty nothingness as his head lolled. With a shuddering gasp, he lay still.

  The Hunter slumped, his last reserves of fury and energy drained away. The fire of vengeance in his chest dimmed to a low burn.

  Hailen.

  A cold drop of sweat trickled down his back. He half-turned toward the boy, but hesitated for a heartbeat. He'd never wanted Hailen to see him kill, but Il Seytani had forced his hand.

  Would the boy react as Ellinor had? He'd killed a dozen Dark Heresiarchs in Voramis to save her and her young child, Arlo. She'd stared at him with naked horror and fear, and fled, as if from a monster. He dreaded seeing that look on the boy's face. He couldn't endure the same from Hailen.

  "H-Hardwell?" Hailen's voice sounded weak and terrified.

  Slowly, his heart sinking, the Hunter turned. His gaze met Hailen's. A lump rose in his throat, and he nearly wept. The boy's eyes held no fear, no horror at the sight of the blood-soaked Hunter, only relief and worry.

  "Are you hurt?"

  The Hunter didn't understand. He felt nothing but the burning ache in his throat and the rush of battle coursing through his veins. "I-I'm—"

  Agony washed over him with staggering force. The reek of iron reached him a moment before he felt the poison seeping into his veins. He looked down. Il Seytani's dagger protruded from his side, driven there in the bandit's final, desperate struggle.

  His knees gave out, and he slumped to a seat in the soft sand. "I-I'm fine," he said through gritted teeth. "C-Can you bring the…the horses?" Chilling numbness oozed through his veins, filling his arms and legs with lead. Every shred of strength went into drawing the dagger from his side. He bit back a cry as Il Seytani's blade tore free. The iron blackened and burned his fingers, and he hurled it away.

  Hailen nodded, frowning, and trotted from the standing stones toward Elivast and the desert pony.

  Realization washed over the Hunter. So this is how it ends. His eyes fell on Soulhunger, lying where it had fallen. The dagger was useless now. Il Seytani was dead, along with his war band. He'd never make it back to the bandit camp before the iron did its festering work.

  He struggled to remain upright. At least I did something useful. He'd rescued the boy, as promised. He could cling to that one hope.

  A sense of calm settled on him. Somehow, the thought of death no longer terrified him. The voices in his mind faded to a gentle throbbing. A cool breeze washed over him, carrying the fresh scent of a misty dawn. Faces floated before his eyes: Old Nan, Jak, Farida, Bardin, all the others he'd lost. They smiled at him, arms open in welcome.

  Hailen returned, leading Elivast and a skittish desert horse. "Are you ready to go, Hardwell?"

  The Hunter coughed. He felt no pain, only a cold numbness. "A-Almost." A chill seeped into his lungs, and he struggled for each breath. "You know…your horse has…no name. What…will you…call him?"

  Hailen beamed and patted the horse's nose. "He should be called Ash." He wrinkled his nose. "He looks like the ashes after we put out a campfire."

  The grey and white spotted pony snorted in approval.

  The Hunter nodded. "It…is a good name…Hailen." His muscles spasmed, and he collapsed.

  "Hardwell?" Hailen's voice floated toward him. The ringing in his ears and the numbness seeping into his mind drowned out everything else. "What's wrong?"

  "I-I'm…just…tired," the Hunter managed to gasp. "You…have to…go." He'd saved the boy; it had to be enough. His vision darkened, and the world around him faded.

  "I don't want to!" Hailen pounded his little fists against the Hunter's chest. "Don't leave me!"

  Sorrow twisted the Hunter's heart.

  "H-Hailen…I'm…sorry!" He lay back, letting the numbness wash over him. The boy had lost so much in his short life. The Hunter had caused him so much suffering. And now, he was leaving him alone, in the middle of a desert. He'd saved him from a life of misery only to condemn him to a slow death of starvation and thirst.

  The demon's voice came as a faint whisper. “Kill the boy!”

  The Hunter pushed the thought away. The power Soulhunger drew from the boy's death would cleanse the poison from his veins. He would survive, but at what cost?

  His hesitation to kill the boy came not from some innate goodness or mercy. Compassion was not in his nature. He had killed hundreds, perhaps thousands, of men and women, for gold or for vengeance. He was an assassin—death was his stock and trade

  Yet he couldn't bring himself to take this boy's life. Hailen served as a reminder of his humanity, provided him with a connection to the world around him. Through Hailen, he had a glimpse into the life of a "normal" human. The boy gave him a sense of purpose, something beyond his own needs and desires.

  It was more than that, though. He had promised to protect Hailen, even if he'd only made the promise to himself. Though the demon within him often proved the stronger, in this one thing, his human side would always win out. The humanity within him could not survive a betrayal of this one who trusted him so completely. He would not abandon that part of himself, however small, that made him think he could be better.

  No, let it be this way. He'd saved the boy from suffering, had given him a chance, however faint, to survive. That night in the tunnels beneath Voramis, he had clung to life for the sake of the little girl he had lost. Now, he could let go. His fight would end, the voices would fall silent. Peace, at long last.

  His legs twitched as heat seeped into his side and raced through his veins, pushing back the chill of the iron's poison.

  Wh-What's happening?

  The cold numbness retreated before a scorching fire. He lifted his head; it felt so heavy. The darkness gave ground against the rush of sensation, and he groaned with the agony. Yet he welcomed the pain. He was alive.

  His eyes focused on Hailen. The boy hovered over him, face creased with worry. A single drop of blood trickled from the wound in his neck. The Hunter watched it fall, felt it splash on the wound in his side.

  Chaos seethed in his thoughts. Impossible!

  He reached for Hailen's hands. The boy's fingernails reddened, blood welled in the nail beds, and droplets formed at the tips of his fingers. The Hunter held Hailen's hands over his wound. More blood trickled from the boy's hands, dripping onto his side. Where it splashed, the blackness in his veins retreated, and sensation returned to his body.

  How in the twisted hell is this happening?

  He met Hailen's worried gaze, and he nearly dropped the boy's hands in startlement. Hailen's eyes had once been blue. Now, a deep violet stared back him.

  His mind raced, and the memory of the man with sun-darkened skin and violet eyes slammed into him. Somehow, the man from his memories and the boy beside him were connected. But how? And when had Hailen's eyes changed? They'd been normal just a few hours ago, before…

  The stones!

  The Hunter turned to the obsidian monolith. Wisps of steam rose from a
tiny red handprint that stood out against the black stone.

  A maelstrom seethed in his thoughts. The Hunter had felt the ground shaking, been slammed backward by some invisible force.

  But… He swallowed the knot in his throat and gulped air. He couldn't understand it.

  The answer lay in Hailen's blood. He stared down at his wound. Hailen's fingers still dripped crimson onto the tear in his side. The blackness in his veins had all but disappeared, leaving the wound a raw, bloody mess. Already he could feel his body healing itself, flesh knitting together.

  Releasing Hailen's hand, he struggled to sit up. With a cry of delight, Hailen threw his arms around the Hunter's neck. The boy's weight knocked him back to the sand.

  "Easy, Hailen!" He groaned at the ache in his healing torso.

  The boy broke off the embrace and straightened. "I knew you wouldn't leave me!"

  The Hunter smiled, a lump rising in his throat. "Never! I promised to come for you, didn't I?"

  Hailen nodded. "Can I ride Ash now?"

  "Of course." The Hunter climbed to his feet, biting back a curse. His knees trembled, and his legs barely held him up. Somehow, the boy's blood cleansed the iron from his body. But he was still weak—too weak to travel far. He had to rest, at least until nightfall when he could sneak into the bandit's camp for food and water.

  A horse snorted in the distance. The Hunter spun, prepared for an attack. The world whirled in violent circles, and he gritted his teeth against the sudden rush of pain. There was no charge of dark-skinned men, no howled war cries. Only the bright morning sunlight, a warm breeze, and the smell of blood hanging thick in the air. And, down the hill, the bandits' horses.

  A grim smile spread on the Hunter's face. The saddlebags hanging from the horses would contain more than enough for the two of them.

  He extended a hand toward the boy. "Come on, Hailen. Let me help you up."

  * * *

  The Hunter grimaced and clung to the saddle horn. His wounds ached with Elivast's every plodding step, but he could survive a bit of pain. Against all odds, he still lived.