The Last Bucelarii Book 3: Gateway to the Past

by Andy Peloquin

  The Hunter looped the lead rope around his arm and clambered into the saddle. Clicking his tongue, he touched his heels to Elivast's ribs, and the horses galloped away from the burning camp.

  The Hunter drew in a deep breath. We can make it!

  ***

  The Hunter glanced back, his heart sinking. We're never going to make it. Hours of riding hadn't put enough distance between them and the bandit camp.

  He'd never taught Hailen to ride, and the boy clung to his saddle like a sack of potatoes, bouncing and jolting with every step.

  Damn it! If the Hunter tried to push the pace, Hailen would certainly be thrown or slip from the saddle. Only one thing to do.

  He pulled Elivast to a halt and swung down from the staggering beast. The desert horse slowed beside him, sides heaving. The long trek across the Advanat had sapped their strength as much as his, and the recent exertion left them exhausted. They couldn't go much longer without water or food. He doubted Hailen could either, but he couldn't stop so close to the camp. He'd have to find a way to get supplies later.

  "Here, move forward." He pushed Hailen onto the horse's neck and climbed into the saddle. "Hang onto his mane. Nice and tight."

  Hailen grabbed a handful of the desert pony's white mane. "Like this?"

  The Hunter nodded and wrapped an arm around Hailen. "Now hang on!" The desert horse shuffled to a pounding canter. Wind whipped the Hunter's hair, kicking sand and dust up into his face.

  A war cry broke the silence of the night. Seconds later, dozens of throats joined in the chorus.

  The Hunter's chest tightened. Il Seytani's war band.

  His chances for escape grew narrower with every passing second. The bandits knew the desert far better than he. His wearied horses couldn't outrun their fresh mounts. They had nowhere to hide in the dunes, and in the open desert, the bandits could attack from all sides. He couldn't fight with one eye watching Hailen. He would need every shred of concentration to survive against the iron weapons.

  Damn it!

  He scanned the darkness, searching for anywhere to hide. Where, in the endless ocean of sand, could he go? He didn't need to look back to know his horses had left a clear trail for the experienced bandits to follow.

  A desperate idea formed in his mind. The standing stones! Four enormous monoliths, silent guards watching over the Advanat. The bandits believed it to be a place of evil. Perhaps fear or superstition would keep them at bay.

  The Hunter held Hailen tighter and drove his heels into the desert horse's flanks. "We'll make it," he muttered to himself. "We have to!"

  Chapter Fifty

  The Hunter cast a glance over his shoulder at the cloud of sand kicked up by Il Seytani's war band. Damn it! False dawn had come and gone, drowned out by the Hunter's racing pulse and the horses’ thundering hooves. The first rays of sunlight peered over the horizon to reveal the band had gained on him in the last hour.

  He fixed his eyes forward, seeking the four enormous monoliths of pure obsidian that stood guard over the desert. Would they make it? The featureless desert played tricks on the eye; he couldn't tell if the stones stood beyond the next dune or a league away.

  Hailen clung to the desert horse's mane, sobs shaking his shoulders as he bounced up and down on the desert horse's back. Only the Hunter's arm held him in place. A stab of pity flashed through the Hunter. The pounding pace had to be torture for the boy. But he had no time for Hailen's frailty. He would strap the lad to his back if it hastened their flight.

  Hope filled the Hunter as they crested the sandy rise, and the reek of decay drifted on the wind. There they are! He dug his heels into the desert pony's flanks, and the beast charged down the incline. The Hunter gritted his teeth, his heart thundering in his chest. He kept his eyes locked on the standing stones. He'd have to push the horses harder if he wanted to reach the stones ahead of them, but they had to make it.

  Images of Farida and Bardin danced through his mind. He'd failed them, and they'd died because of him. He wouldn't let Hailen share their fates. He would kill every damned one of Il Seytani's men before he let them touch a hair on Hailen's head.

  He let out a long breath as the desert horse raced up the gentle incline, hurtling toward the standing stones at a full gallop. Though the stench of decay and rot left a sour tang in his mouth, he forced himself onward. The monoliths were his only hope of survival. He couldn't deter Il Seytani's men from attacking, but he'd be damned if he'd let them surround and overwhelm him. They would fight on his terms.

  The horses skittered to a halt outside the ring of stones. They snorted and danced, unwilling to approach the obelisks. The Hunter leapt from the saddle and held out his arms for Hailen. The boy all but collapsed from the horse's back, and he wailed in pain and fatigue, tears streaking his dusty face.

  "Hailen!" The Hunter squeezed the lad's shoulders. "I need you to listen to me."

  Hailen wailed. "B-But it hurts!" When the Hunter set him down, he crumbled.

  "I know it hurts, Hailen." A knife of remorse twisted in the Hunter's gut. "But I need you to go. See that mound at the heart of the stones? You have to stay there. No matter what happens, you must not move!"

  "B-But—"

  The war cry echoed across the desert and grew louder with every passing heartbeat. The ground beneath them trembled under the impact of thundering hooves.

  "Do it, Hailen! Please."

  Lip quivering, Hailen staggered toward the standing stones. The Hunter's heart ached as he watched the boy go. Hailen had been through hell, and things were about to get worse.

  He turned his back on the boy and, drawing his sword, backed slowly up the hill. Sunlight streamed through the standing stones, bathing the Hunter in a soft golden glow. A gentle breeze wafted across his face. For a moment, the wind washed away the nauseating stink of decay that emanated from the stones behind him.

  The shouts and cries of Il Seytani's war band shattered the fragile calm. The cloud of dust coalesced into the shapes of dozens of mounted figures that crested the rise, a bright-colored wave that swelled and crashed upon the golden shore. Iron and steel glittered in the morning light. Il Seytani himself rode at the heart of his warband.

  The Hunter glanced over his shoulder at Hailen, who sat amidst the ring of stones, too exhausted to stand. I won't let you down.

  A bestial roar bubbled in the Hunter's chest and ripped from his throat. He howled with all the force of his rage, pouring every shred of hatred and contempt into the cry. "Come and get me, you bastards!"

  Something dark streaked through the air. A spear, moving as if in slow motion, hurtled up the hill toward him. The Hunter twisted to the side, and his hand darted out to snatch the missile mid-flight. The impact jerked his shoulder, sending him staggering. Regaining his balance, he reversed his grip on the shaft and launched it. The spear hurtled toward a bandit at the forefront of the warband, slamming into his chest. The man jerked backward and toppled from his saddle. The warband all but trampled their lifeless comrade in their mad rush up the dune.

  More spears streaked toward him, but he spun out of their path. The dune hissed beneath the impact of a half-dozen iron and steel heads.

  The bandits spurred their horses up the rise, cresting the ridge and thundering toward the obsidian monoliths. Brilliant sunlight leaked through the stones, blinding men and horses alike. The bandits shielded their eyes, and more than a few paused in their headlong charge. Il Seytani's enraged shouts galvanized the reluctant to follow their less-hesitant comrades.

  Seizing the momentary distraction, the Hunter scooped up three spears and hurled them in quick succession. Two found their marks; two men fell from their saddles, lances buried in their bellies. The third grazed the shoulder of a charging horse, and the beast reared and plunged, knocking its rider from its back.

  More bandits thundered up the hill, waving swords and shouting their war cry. The Hunter ducked beneath a sweeping sword, rolled out of the path of a charging horse, and lashed out with a
two-handed blow that sheared through the upper thigh of a horse. With a horrible scream, the beast tumbled end over end, crushing its rider.

  Fire flared in the Hunter's back, and his muscles corded in panic. He had moments before the iron seeped into his body and slowed his movements. Whirling, he buried his sword deep into the thigh of the bandit who'd gotten a lucky blow and drove Soulhunger into the warrior's chest. The man shrieked and dropped his war axe to clutch at the blood spurting from the severed artery in his leg. As power coursed through his veins and healed his wounds, the Hunter's eyes darted to the fallen weapon. A steel axe head.

  A charging horse slammed into him, knocking him from his feet. Grunting, he tucked himself into a ball and rolled with the impact. His fingers closed around the haft of a spear embedded into the sand, and he spun, thrusting upward at his next attacker. The butt of the spear dug into the ground, and the charging bandit impaled himself upon the leaf-shaped blade.

  The Hunter whirled to meet the next charge. It never came. The bandits' horses reared and plunged, the whites of their eyes visible.

  Mocking laughter bubbled from the Hunter's chest. "Come on, then!" He lifted his bloody arms into the air. "Come and face the Watcher's justice!" He raised his face to the sky and howled.

  His cry added to the horses' terror, and the beasts refused to approach him and the monoliths. The bandits—some two dozen of them—leapt from their horses. Their eyes darted to the corpses staining the sand crimson. Five dead in the space of a few heartbeats. The foremost bandits hesitated, muttering amongst themselves.

  Il Seytani's voice drifted up the hill. "You surprise me, ytaq! How foolish I was to believe Younis and his band sufficient to do away with you."

  The Hunter spat. "Here I stand, you bastard! Come, and let me show you how your man died." A vicious grin broadened his face. "Screaming and crying like a rutting back-bedder!"

  A patterned headcloth covered Il Seytani's face, but the Hunter had to hope his words had the desired effect. An angry warrior would make mistakes a level-headed one would never make.

  "Surely you can count, qattala? The odds do not favor you. But, I am eternally a businessman, so I will offer you a bargain. Your life, in exchange for your boy's."

  The Hunter glanced over his shoulder. Hailen watched the exchange, eyes wide in horror.

  "I turn myself over without a fight, and you let the boy live?"

  Il Seytani nodded. "It is as you say."

  "Why not simply let us walk away? Wouldn't that be easier than losing your entire warband chasing me?"

  Il Seytani shrugged. "You killed my men. I must make an example of you, ytaq. If not, how many more will believe they can attack the Whirlwind of the Desert with impunity?"

  The Hunter laughed. "The fearsome Il Seytani, bested by a mere assassin? No legend survives such a blow for long."

  Il Seytani tilted his head. "So you understand."

  The Hunter grinned and stalked forward. "Of course." His grin faded. "But I promised you a painful death if you harmed a hair on the boy's head. I always keep my promises."

  With a howl of rage, he charged. Soulhunger throbbed in the back of his mind, and the demon added its voice to the whirling chaos. The Hunter didn't drive them away; he needed their bloodlust if he was to survive.

  The bandits raced up the hill, swords and axes flashing in the brilliant sunlight. He dodged the first attack, and his sword laid open the throats of the two to his right. The two dropped their iron blades to clutch at the gaping wounds in their necks.

  He grunted at a sudden burst of fire in his right arm. A steel blade sliced through his shoulder, and his grip on his sword loosened. Soulhunger flicked in like a snake's tongue as he sank the dagger to its hilt in one bandit's belly. Crimson light flared from the gem in Soulhunger's hilt. Power surged within the Hunter, washing away his fatigue. The pain in his arm faded as the wound healed. Strength returned in time for him to raise his sword to ward off a thrust at his midsection. An iron scimitar arced toward him, and his long blade sheared the man's arm at the elbow.

  He retreated as a half-dozen bandits charged at once. His long sword wove a wall of steel before him, fending off multiple strikes. He thrust and cut whenever he found an opening, but it was all he could do to keep the bandits at bay.

  One lucky thrust pierced his guard, and the cold, numbing burn of iron pulsed in his veins. With a curse, he staggered backward to open space between himself and his attackers, but the yielding sand dragged at his heels. He barely managed to keep his feet. Already he could feel his body slowing as metal seeped into his veins. He poured all his inhuman strength into a sweeping blow that knocked the bandits' weapons aside. Two iron swords bent and cracked from the impact. The men stared at their useless blades with dumbfounded horror.

  The Hunter darted forward, and Soulhunger screamed in delight as its eager blade laid open a bandit's throat. Energy swept through him, pushing back the iron's poison. He hacked the heads from the men carrying the shattered blades. Two more fell beneath a flurry of powerful sword strokes, and Soulhunger drank deep from the last bandit to face him.

  The demon crowed in his mind. 'Yes! Let there be death and destruction! Let us drown in a river of blood!'

  The Hunter's body thrummed in response to the song of war. He whirled and spun, his blades like the teeth of a whirlwind. Though he retreated beneath the onslaught, he took a toll in blood for every step.

  And still they came. He ducked under a sweeping sword and disemboweled the bandit foolish enough to charge ahead of his comrades. A trio of spear-wielding bandits rushed him. He managed to evade two thrusts, but the third tore a hole in his side. Agony slammed into him as the poison rushed through his veins. His arms and legs felt leaden; his grip on his sword loosened as numbness spread down his arm. He didn't have to look down to see the blackness seeping from his wounds.

  Another spear punched through his right shoulder and shoved him backward. His back collided with cold, hard stone. Spears still embedded in his flesh, the bandits hesitated for a heartbeat as their eyes traced the dark contours of the obsidian monolith.

  A cry of terror sounded behind him. Hailen!

  The Hunter gritted his teeth. He could retreat no further.

  Stand or die.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  The demon wailed in his thoughts, its terror bouncing around his skull. He screamed as the bandits ripped their spears from his flesh. A fresh wave of pain washed down his sword arm, and his grip loosened.

  I'm not finished yet, you bastards!

  Pushing off the obelisk, the Hunter launched himself atop one of the spear-wielding bandits and drove Soulhunger deep into the man's chest with his remaining strength. The torrent of power thrust back the iron's numbing bite. Releasing his grip on Soulhunger, the Hunter lurched upright to hack down his startled opponents. He reveled in the power coursing through him as he wrenched the dagger free of its latest victim.

  Hailen cried out again, and something within him snapped. Gone was his rage, his frustration, his fear for Hailen's safety or his own. It was replaced by something else, something darker. A red haze tinged his vision, and his blood sang with the joy of death.

  He rushed forward, laying about him with his long sword. A spear laid open a burning wound along his back and shoulders. Before the iron could take effect, he drove Soulhunger deep into a bandit's neck. Even as the power healed his wounds and purged the poison from his body, his sword removed the man's head from his shoulders.

  Time and again, his body recoiled beneath the impact of an iron weapon, but he felt no pain. He felt nothing but the fire coursing in his veins. Something had taken control of his body. Soulhunger and the demon in his mind swirled in perfect harmony. The two joined together in a whirlwind of crimson gore—the demon controlling him, Soulhunger feeding him power. He danced like a marionette on strings, his limbs seeming to move of their own accord. Death and destruction followed in his wake.

  He reveled in every life stolen at the
tip of Soulhunger's blade, felt the power feeding the Great Destroyer, but he was beyond caring. A numbing ache washed over him, filling him with a lust for blood. Every last one of them would die, then he'd hunt down everyone in Il Seytani's camp. He would kill until Soulhunger had taken enough lives to…

  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. Darkess 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.