"You…filthy…creature!" Jemdara's voice was weak and raspy, but hatred blazed bright in her eyes. She coughed and drew in deep, shuddering breaths. Climbing to her feet, she stumbled toward him. Her boot slammed into his ribs and knocked the air from his lungs. Blood spurted from the wound in his side, leaking life into the muddy ground. Face down, he scrabbled in the dirt, searching for Soulhunger. He had to get the dagger before…
He cried out as the blade ripped free of his side. A sudden weight slammed into his back, and white hot fire blossomed in his spine. Jemdara drove a knee into his neck, grinding his face into the dirt. "You bastard," she hissed in his ear. "When I'm done with you, you'll wish you could die. I'll carve you into so many tiny pieces that—"
His scrabbling fingers closed around Soulhunger's hilt. The voice in his mind cried in eager anticipation as he dragged the blade free of its sheath and drove it up and over his head.
Jemdara screamed, a horrible, wild sound of torment and terror. The reek of fear mixed with the sudden stench of her loosening bowels. Crimson light flared from Soulhunger's gem, and power washed over him in a glorious torrent, bathing his wounds and washing away his hunger and thirst. Soulhunger cried in ecstasy, the demon adding its howls to the whirling maelstrom in his mind.
He lay there a long moment, gasping for breath, Jemdara still atop him. A single drop of blood trickled from the wound in her eye, splashing on his face. With a groan, he twisted, and her lifeless body toppled to the side, hitting the floor with a thump. Her wide eyes, once so beautiful in life, stared back at him with terrible emptiness, her final expression a deformed mask of fear and desperation.
He rose to his knees and placed a hand on her head and chest. May the Long Keeper have mercy on your body; your soul is forfeit.
He stumbled to his feet on still-numb legs and he scooped up Soulhunger's scabbard. The blade's voice had fallen silent, as had the demon's.
Peace, if only for a time. He strapped the sheathed dagger in place at his back, tugging his loose tunic over the weapon. He glanced at Imperius, who still lay unconscious where he'd fallen. Good. No more delays.
His heavy cloak lay in a heap on the floor. Slipping it on, he patted his pockets. At least I have the al-Malek's ring to show Il Sey…
His eyes widened. What? His movements grew frantic, and he all but ripped his clothing in his search. Impossible! The ring is gone!
Chapter Forty-Four
Damn it! The Hunter's mind raced. Where is it?
He'd hidden the ring in a secret pocket in his cloak. Jemdara must have found it when she took Soulhunger! He cursed inwardly. Her corpse couldn't help him now.
A groan sounded behind him, and the Hunter whirled, Soulhunger at the ready. Imperius clutched his bloody face, moaning and blinking back tears as he dragged himself upright. The Hunter crossed the room in two quick steps, seized the Illusionist Cleric by the collar, and slammed him against the wall.
"Where is it?"
Imperius winced, but showed no sign of fear. "Where is what?"
"The ring!" The Hunter shook the man. "The ring of the al-Malek. What did you do with it?"
"Ring?" Imperius' gaze lost focus and his voice dropped to a murmur. "What is he talking about? Clearly, he's lost his mind. Can't help himself, what with the demon in his—"
The Hunter slapped him, hard. "Tell me now, cleric. Or you will follow your companion to the Long Keeper's embrace." He gripped the man's chin and twisted his face toward the lifeless woman on the floor.
"He did that?" An insane giggle burst from his lips. "He hurt her! Poor Jemdara. All she ever wanted was to be a dancer in the co—"
The Hunter ground his teeth. Fiery hell! I don't have time for this.
"Tell me what you did with the ring, damn you!"
Imperius fixed his eyes on something over the Hunter's head. "You'd have me tell him that, mighty Illusionist? But he'll be angry…" He ducked his head, his expression chagrined, and nodded. "As you wish, my god."
His eyes focused on the Hunter, and he giggled. "She returned it to the palace."
Damn it! He couldn't go back to the Palace. The Royal Guard would be on high alert after the assassination attempt. He could get in, but he doubted he could reach the al-Malek, steal the ring, and escape again. He clenched his fists in frustration. All his time and effort wasted. He had nothing to show Il Seytani. Hailen would die, all because of the priest and his servants. What now?
The Hunter slammed a fist into the cleric's belly. Imperius doubled over, and the reek of vomit permeated the small room.
Stooping, the Hunter seized Jemdara's dagger, his blood still glistening on the bright steel blade. "I don't make a habit of killing priests, not if I don't have to. I just wanted to be left alone, by you and all your kind. But you insisted on your accursed ritual, and now you've forced my hand."
Seizing the huddled priest by the collar, he dragged Imperius to his feet. He shook the man, "How long have I been here?"
The cleric giggled and stared off into the distance, his head cocked. His unfocused eyes darted around the room, his lips moving in an inaudible conversation. His expression held no fear, only deranged amusement.
He has no idea what's happening. The touch of the Illusionist had not been kind to Imperius. The cleric seemed incapable of rational thought beyond his ardent service to his god. Bardin, his friend from Malandria, had suffered a similar malady, cursed to fear even his own shadow. Imperius, however, had far fewer periods of lucidity than Bardin, and his delusion stole all fear from him. The cleric was insane, but his insanity could be dangerous. He had a single-minded focus: track down the Hunter and complete the ritual. He would keep coming, no matter how far the Hunter ran. Somehow, the cleric had followed him across the Advanat, had found him in a city the size of Aghzaret. However, he did it, he'd find the Hunter again and again until he'd fulfilled his mission and erased the Hunter's memories.
He leaves me no choice.
"I am truly sorry, priest. Had you only listened, none of this would have been necessary." The dagger slipped between the priest's ribs with a whisper of steel slicing flesh. Imperius' eyes widened, and his mouth opened.
The cleric tried to speak, but no words came out. He giggled, spraying blood, and his eyes drew inwards to focus on the Hunter's face. The cleric's wild-eyed look had gone, replaced by a calm emptiness.
"Go to the Long Keeper, priest. Your time is done."
With a last weak chuckle, Imperius slumped. The Hunter released his grip on the emaciated body, and it crumpled into a heap of ragged cloth and wild hair. Crouching, he closed the man's eyes. Be at peace.
Silver glinted in Imperius' lifeless fingers. "That is mine." The Hunter pried the pendant free and stuffed it into his shirt. It was all he had left of Bardin.
***
When the Hunter stepped into the crisp, cool air of Aghzaret, the first rays of false dawn showed over the rooftops to the east.
Damn it! How much time have I lost? He had no idea how long the cleric had held him captive. Had he passed Younis' deadline? If so, the bandit would alert his companions. Even now, they could be riding for their camp, carrying word of his betrayal—or failure—to Il Seytani. Hailen would die or face a life of slavery, all because of the Illusionist Cleric.
No! He couldn't allow himself to think like that. He couldn't lose hope.
Wrapping the headscarf around his face, he rushed through the streets of Aghzaret. The morning breeze slapped him with the foul stench of tanneries, yet he welcomed the smell. It meant he was on familiar ground.
He glanced up at the sky. I can make it to The Shouting Sword before sunrise, if I hurry.
His thoughts whirled in a seething maelstrom. What could he do? He'd lost the ring, and had no way to get it back. But there was a chance Younis hadn't sent a message to his companions. The bandit might be searching the city for him. If he left now, perhaps he'd have enough time to reach the Thalj Pass. He could make it before dark if he pushed Elivast hard. Once he
dealt with the bandits on the mountain, he'd return to Il Seytani's camp for Hailen. An inelegant plan, but what choice did he have?
A troop of guards tromped down the street, their armor clattering in time with their clanking weapons. He ducked into a side street, cursing the delay. The city of Aghzaret was on high alert, the streets empty save for a few early morning merchants, but guards seemed to be stationed at every intersection. He couldn't risk being noticed; his height and pale skin would mark him an outsider. His experience with city guards had taught him strangers were always suspected. If they tried to detain him, he'd have to kill them, which would only make things worse. No, better to avoid detection.
The sky lightened with every passing minute, and the Hunter grew frustrated at his slow progress. He ground his teeth, his clenched fists turning white. His need to bypass the main avenues forced him to slog through the muck and detritus of the side streets and back alleys. He had no choice but to endure the revolting odors; Hailen's life hung in the balance.
The sun had risen over the eastern hills by the time he reached The Shouting Sword. He rushed into the courtyard, shouting for the stablehand. The youth stumbled from the stable, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"Bring me my horse!"
The groom stared at him with a dumb look on his face.
"Now!"
Though he didn't understand the Hunter's words, there was no mistaking the command in his voice. The stablehand all but tripped over himself in his hurry to comply.
The Hunter pushed through the inn's front doors and nearly collided with the innkeeper's daughter.
"Sorry," he mumbled.
"What happen?" She rubbed eyes still heavy with sleep.
"I must go," the Hunter said. He pressed a gold coin into her palm. "Here. It should cover the cost of my stay."
Her eyes went wide and she rattled off a few sentences in the language of Al Hani. When the Hunter shrugged, she tried in Einari. "Food and drink for travel?"
The Hunter nodded. "Thank you."
The woman rushed off to the kitchen, shouting instructions. The Hunter barreled down the steps to his room. Everything was as he had left it. He pawed through his pack. Nothing looked out of place, and he could find nothing missing. He tugged off his blood-stained tunic and pulled a fresh one over his head. It felt wonderful to wear clean clothing after days without changing.
He stuffed his belongings into his pack, heedless of the mess. Buckling on his sword, he hurried up the stairs and into the common room. He had to hurry if he was to reach Hailen before…
He stopped, shocked. A familiar figure sat at a common room table, a steaming mug in his hands.
The Hunter's heart leapt. He's still here!
Younis motioned for him to sit, and the Hunter slipped into the chair beside him.
The bandit spoke in a low voice. "The news is all over the city. An assassin attacked the king and queen in their chambers, and smoke rises from the al-Malek's palace. You succeeded?"
The Hunter nodded.
"You have the proof?"
Again, he nodded.
"Show me."
The Hunter forced a calm expression, but his mind raced. What could he do?
"Not here," he whispered. "Downstairs. Can't risk someone seeing it."
Younis narrowed his eyes. His gaze dropped to the Hunter's sword.
Rolling his eyes, the Hunter unbuckled the blade and placed it atop the bar. With a nod, Younis motioned for him to lead the way. Heart thundering, the Hunter descended the steps to his room, the bandit a step behind.
"Easy, ytaq." Younis pressed the tip of a dagger into his side. "Hands away from your weapons. No sudden moves."
The Hunter turned a glare on the bandit. "Before I show you, tell me: What's to stop you from killing me and taking it?"
Younis grinned. "Do you not trust me?"
The Hunter rolled his eyes.
Younis chuckled. "Il Seytani has given his word that you are not to be harmed until you have retrieved the al-Malek's ring as proof of his death."
"So the minute I hand it over, you can put a dagger in my back."
The bandit stroked his chin, pretending thoughtfulness.
Judging by the look in his eye, that's exactly what he intended.
"So? What guarantees do I have that I will be safe, that Hailen will be safe?"
Younis narrowed his eyes. "You have Il Seytani's word."
The Hunter ground his teeth. "Not good enough. I need your word. Swear to me that the boy lives. Swear that once I turn over the ring, you will not send word to your men to ride back to your camp to kill the boy."
"So suspicious!" Frowning, Younis shrugged. "Very well. I give you my word. But no more delay. We must reach our mountain camp before the sun sets. My men have orders to return to camp—with or without us."
Until sunset. He'd have to push Elivast nearly to death to make that.
"So be it. Your word will have to be enough." He reached into his cloak.
Younis stepped forward, dagger resting under the Hunter's chin. "Easy, ytaq. Remove it slowly."
With exaggerated movements, the Hunter drew his balled fist from his cloak. "Behold, the ring of—"
He seized the bandit's naked blade and his knee shot up, striking the man between the legs. Younis dropped, mouth agape, and the Hunter drew Soulhunger and plunged it into Younis' chest. The impact slammed the bandit back against the wall, and his mouth gaped in shock and horror. The Hunter clapped a hand over Younis' mouth to stifle his screams.
Soulhunger's delight echoed in his mind, and the gemstone bathed the room in crimson light. Power washed away all traces of fatigue. The bandit's movements grew slower and weaker, until, with a final shudder, he sagged in the Hunter's arms.
The Hunter ripped Soulhunger free, and Younis' lifeless body crumpled. Without hesitation, he slung his bags over his shoulder and rushed up the stairs. He barreled through the inn and out into the courtyard, pausing only long enough to snatch his sword from the bar.
Elivast stood in the yard, saddled, groomed, and ready to ride. The horse stared at him with the same sleepy-eyed look the stablehand had given him, as if protesting the early hour. The groom jabbered at him in Al Hanese, but the Hunter threw him a silver drake and waved him away. As he tied his gear behind Elivast's saddle, his eye fell upon the horse tethered to the hitching post.
The creature was smaller than Elivast, but with longer, leaner muscles, a deeper hip, and a laid-back shoulder. Spots of white dappled its grey coat, and a bulge between the beast's eyes widened its nose. The Hunter recognized the breed— the long, lean horses had carried Il Seytani's bandits, running for hours without tiring.
He had until sunset to reach the Thalj Pass. With only Elivast, he'd never make it in time.
The proprietress hurried up behind him, a weighted sack slung over her shoulder.
The Hunter pointed at the horse. "How much?"
She shook her head. "Not for selling."
"Here." The Hunter drew from his purse a single red ruby. "Will this do?"
The woman's eyes widened in surprise. Not waiting for an answer, he snatched the sack from her and thrust the gemstone into her hand.
He leapt into into Elivasti's saddle, drew his sword, and hacked at the lead rope holding the desert horse bound. Winding the rope around his saddlehorn, he nudged Elivast into a gallop. The beast bounded forward and raced from The Shouting Sword, his new desert horse a step behind.
Chapter Forty-Five
The cool morning breeze whipped at the Hunter's cloak, but fire burned in his veins. The streets of Aghzaret rushed by in a blur. Carters shouted and tried to calm their agitated beasts, merchants cried curses at his retreating back, and terrified pedestrians leapt out of his way. Ignoring them all, he dug his heels into Elivast's flanks and urged the horses to greater speed. The sun had nearly reached its zenith, and he had only until sundown to reach the Thalj Pass—a half day's ride away—and kill the bandits.
A troop of
armored guards clattered into the road, spears held at the ready, but the Hunter didn't slow. Elivast barreled through their ranks, hurling them to either side. A spear whistled past the Hunter's shoulder and embedded itself into a nearby post with a solid thunk.
Damn it! He hunched to present as small a target as possible. So much for making a quiet escape.
The blood-red city walls beckoned to him. The gate stood open, and the city guard lounged on comfortable chairs in the shade, clearly preferring the title of "protector of Aghzaret" without doing any of the work.
His heart leapt. Yes! If he could get out before the gate closed, he had a chance. If not, he'd have to find another way out, kill his way through, or abandon the horses to travel on foot. He'd never reach Thalj Pass in time.
A horn sounded behind him, shattering his hope. The guards leapt to their feet, staring around with confusion plain on their faces. As one, their eyes turned toward him and flew wide. A few hands reached for sword hilts, but none of them moved toward the gate. Then, a single figure rushed from the small room beside the wall—the guard Younis had spoken to upon entering the city. The man's shouts galvanized the lethargic guards into action.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion. The guards turned and sprinted toward the gate house. Younis' man in the lead. The Hunter tried to gauge the distance to the gate. If the guard reached it before the Hunter escaped, it would all be over. He had to act.
Releasing Elivast's reins, he reached beneath his cloak and drew Jemdara's dagger. The blade was well-balanced but crafted for fighting, not throwing, but he had no other choice. He whipped his arm up and forward, and sunlight glinted off steel as the knife hurtled through the air. The pommel struck Younis' man in the back of the head. The guard staggered and dropped to one knee, caught himself, and stumbled on.
Keeper take it!
He was so close to the gate. Two more seconds, and he'd be…
One of the gate guards thrust his spear at the Hunter. The clumsy attack struck wide, and the Hunter seized the wooden shaft. His momentum ripped the weapon from the guard's hands, and without slowing, he reversed his grip on the stolen spear and hurled it. The weapon streaked through the air and slammed into the running guard's lower back, punching through armor and muscle, severing his spine. The man flopped to the ground on useless legs.
The Last Bucelarii Book 3: Gateway to the Past Page 31
