The Last Bucelarii Book 3: Gateway to the Past

by Andy Peloquin

  So what now?

  The Hunter glanced at Hailen, and a pang of sorrow ran through him. When he first encountered the boy, he knew Hailen would never lead a life of quiet normalcy. The Illusionist had touched his mind, for good or ill, and the boy's unique temperament and naivete made him ill-prepared for an unsheltered life. The Hunter had taken him out of guilt over Father Pietus' death.

  He'd tried and failed to protect Hailen. For a short while, he'd come to believe the the boy would be better off without him. He had decided to leave Hailen at the nearest House of Need. It was the only way to keep him safe. He'd resigned himself to enduring the shrieking, screaming voices in his mind if it meant the boy would be protected.

  But he couldn't abandon the boy now. In his short life, Hailen had suffered far more than any "normal" child ever would. His torments in Il Seytani's camp had chipped away at his pleasant, cheerful temperament. Whatever happened in those standing stones completed the change. The unnerving color of his eyes couldn't be the only repercussion.

  The Hunter's chest tightened with dread. What would happen to the boy in the days to come? How deep did the effects run? He needed answers. Not only about his own forgotten past, but now he needed to know the truth about Hailen. He had to find out what was happening to the boy, and what, if anything, he could do to prevent the change from taking hold. But where to find them?

  He had to start somewhere…

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  The Hunter ground his teeth in frustration and fumbled at his silver pendant. Sweat drenched his undertunic and soaked the leather armor he wore beneath the flowing robes. The line of carts, wagons, and pedestrians shuffled forward at an infuriating pace, and the scorching afternoon heat added to his impatience. He gripped Soulhunger's hilt in the hidden sheath and took a calming breath.

  'You're a fool!' The demon raged in his mind. 'Coming back here, after what you did?’

  I need answers. There is only one place I know to find them.

  The city guards beckoned him forward. With relief, he shambled into the shade of the walls of Aghzaret. The guards glanced at him, then Hailen. The boy paid no heed, his eyes vacant and unfocused as if lost in thought. He'd been thus for half an hour. Just one more symptom of whatever change had occurred in the standing stones.

  After a cursory examination, the guards waved him through. Hailen served as the perfect camouflage. No one would think to look for an assassin traveling with a child. Especially not one so clearly touched by the Illusionst.

  He pulled up the hood of his cloak and hurried through the streets. He'd deposit Hailen someplace safe—though not The Shouting Sword. Too many palace guards had seen him there. After a meal and a night of rest, they would depart.

  East.

  The presence in his mind—Her presence—beckoned him to the north and east, but She could wait. The memory of Her betrayal remained fresh. She had delivered him to the Illusionist Cleric. Perhaps She wasn't as important to him as he'd thought.

  No, first he had to find the man from his memories—the man with deep violet eyes and skin darkened by the sun. That same man had found him at the bottom of the Endless Canyon, had saved his life, nursed him back to health, then let him go—all without saying a word.

  Master Eldor, I called him. He has to know about my past. The fragment he'd glimpsed on the Illusionist Cleric's table had belonged to his past.

  Then there was the matter of the Sage, the mysterious figure who commanded demons. His reach seemed to extend to every corner of Einan. First the demons in Malandria, now here in Aghzaret. Queen Asalah had asked the Hunter if he returned to Kara-ket. It stood to reason he would find this 'Sage' there. If he could kill this mysterious figurehead, perhaps he could put an end to the Abiarazi's plans on Einan for good.

  But before they could leave, he had to get Hailen someplace safe and search for answers. And he knew exactly where to go.

  ***

  The old, bald-headed alchemist backed away from the counter. "Not you again!"

  The Hunter locked the door behind him, drawing the shutters. "You have something I need."

  "Something more than the poison you used on the al-Malek? No doubt you were the cause of the fire that burned down half the palace."

  The Hunter grinned. "The al-Malek still lives, does he not? Those who sought his death have been dealt with. After you answer my questions, I will have no further need of your service. Whether you live beyond my departure depends on you, alchemist."

  "How many times have I told you? I'm not an alchemist. I don't know of this Hidden Circle of which you—"

  Soulhunger flashed from its hidden sheath. The Hunter pressed the dagger against the man's throat until the edge broke the skin. The alchemist's voice shrilled loud in the cluttered store. He struggled in the Hunter's unyielding grip, his expression contorted by desperate terror. When the Hunter finally released him, he gasped and scrambled backward, clutching at his throat.

  The Hunter held up his dagger. "You know what this is?"

  The alchemist's eyes widened as he watched the dagger consume his blood, and he nodded.

  "Then tell me what I wish to know." He toyed with the blade. "Unless you'd like a repeat performance."

  "No," the alchemist cried. He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "There is no need for that! Sheathe your accursed blade, and you will have your answers."

  "Kara-ket. Enarium. Surely the Hidden Circle has records of these names."

  The alchemist opened his mouth to protest.

  The Hunter bared his teeth. "Do not think me a fool. Only a member of the Hidden Circle would dare to practice alchemy outside the strictures of the Secret Keepers. Add to that your knowledge of this"— he raised Soulhunger again—”and you will understand why I insist you spare me your nonsense. You are an agent of the Hidden Circle, acquisitors of secrets and hidden knowledge. Now speak, or the blade will drink of your blood."

  The man's shoulders sagged, and he gave an imperceptible nod.

  The Hunter sheathed the dagger and crossed his arms. The alchemist—well beyond his seventh decade, judging by the dark sun spots on his face and hands—rubbed his throat and returned the Hunter's impassive stare with an ugly glare.

  "Well?" the Hunter snapped. "I'm waiting."

  The alchemist scurried through the door behind the counter. A moment later, the sound of rustling parchments came from the room beyond.

  The Hunter's eyes traveled over the dusty bookshelf, the velvet-covered table with the crystal ball, the heavy curtains, and the dim lantern hanging on the wall. The place resembled a fortune teller's shop, as the sign outside declared. He knew better. The alchemist's back room held a wealth of information.

  "Here we are," the man said. In his hands, he carried a heavy, leather-bound tome filled with indecipherable scribbles. "You wish to know about the lost city of Enarium?"

  "And Kara-ket."

  "The name Enarium is well known to me, though I can do little more than point you in the right direction. Are you familiar with the city of Vothmot, far to the northeast?"

  The Hunter nodded.

  "Well, it is said you can hire guides to lead you through the Empty Mountains in search of the city."

  "I knew that," the Hunter snapped. "Have you no more useful information to offer?"

  The alchemist glared. "The impatience of youth. Always wanting everything in a hurry." He flipped a few pages, moving his lips and nodding as he read. "All it has here is a warning to beware the Stone Guardians."

  "What in the bloody hell are the Stone Guardians?"

  The alchemist shrugs. "No mention here. Just the warning."

  The Hunter slammed his fist onto the counter. "That's it? That's all you can find?"

  "We make it our point to collect information of actual value," the alchemist snapped. "Rumors and stories of a lost city are nothing more than that. If there was any truth in the tales, we would have discovered it. This volume dates back fifteen centuries, and if that is all i
t has to offer on the subject, that is all there is to know." He slammed the book shut and glared at the Hunter, defiance written in his eyes.

  The Hunter swallowed his anger and frustration. "Fine. Then tell me of Kara-ket." When the alchemist hesitated, the Hunter dropped his hand to Soulhunger's hilt.

  "Kara-ket, you say?" The alchemist hurried to open the book, and flipped through the pages. "The name sounds familiar, though I cannot say why I…ah…" His face grew pale, and he licked his lips. "Of course."

  "What?" The Hunter had little patience.

  The alchemist eyed the Hunter's dark robes. "I assume one in your…profession would be familiar with the Masters of Agony."

  The Hunter had heard that name before, but where?

  Lord Jahel's grating voice flashed through his head. "I myself studied under the Masters of Agony, and one of the Grand Masters has taken up residence here in the city upon my request. He can perform on the human body with the skill of a virtuoso playing his instrument of choice. The things he can do…"

  He nodded. "I am."

  "The twin temples of Kara-ket were once home to the followers of the Swordsman. Thousands of years ago, they were overrun by a mysterious organization that called themselves the Wanderers. After centuries of living in Kara-ket, some unknown schism in their ranks led them to form two groups, each inhabiting one of the twin temples. One group became known as the Masters of Agony."

  "Professional torturers."

  "Sadists," the alchemist spat. "Monsters. Demons in human form."

  The Hunter grinned. That may be more true than you realize.

  "And the other group?"

  The alchemist shrugged. "No one knows. Few of our spies have ever tried to penetrate the walls of Kara-ket. None lived long enough to return."

  "Where can I find this Kara-ket?"

  The alchemist's eyes widened. "Are you mad? That would be paramount to suicide. Unless you plan to offer the Masters of Agony a fortune in gold for their services, it is folly to travel to the twin temples of Kara-ket."

  "Yet it is there I must go." There, he would find the answers he needed.

  Greed filled the alchemist's eyes, and he licked his lips. "Should you live to tell the tale, the Hidden Circle will pay you handsomely for any information you gather."

  The Hunter stifled a retort and nodded. "I will consider it. But first you must tell me how to get there."

  "East." The alchemist bent closer to study the book. "East, through the lands of the Hrandari, and up the frozen slopes of the Yathi Mountains. There, nestled between the sun and sky, you will find Kara-ket."

  "Nestled between sun and sky? What in the frozen hell does that mean?"

  The alchemist rolled his eyes. "Bright Lady, you are a fool!" The Hunter dropped his hand to Soulhunger's hilt, and the alchemist held up his hands. "At the top of the mountain."

  "East. Hrandari. Yathi Mountains. To the top." The Hunter nodded. "You have my thanks, alchemist. Forget that you ever saw my face, and I will return the courtesy."

  The alchemist sighed in relief and mopped at his brow. "I have had no customers this day." He rubbed his throat.

  With a wolfish grin, the Hunter turned on his heel and strode toward the door. The bell jingled as he pushed it open.

  "But why?" The alchemist's voice rang out behind him. "Why face certain death at the hands of the Wanderers?"

  Why indeed? The question raced through his head, but he knew the answer. It was a simple one. Because it is the only way I will get answers.

  In Kara-ket, he hoped to find Master Eldor, the violet-eyed man from his memories. Surely the man would know about Hailen's malady. The Hunter had to learn more about the Illusionist's touch on the boy's mind and the sudden change that had come over him. Perhaps he would also know of the Hunter's past, provide him with a clue as to where to find his mystery woman. Her presence grew ever stronger as he traveled northward. His detour to the Yathi Mountains would solve both his and Hailen's problems at once.

  Yet another purpose drew him to Kara-ket: There he would find the Sage, the spider sitting at the heart of the demonic web. The Abiarazi would give him answers before he met the same fate as Queen Asalah, Garanis, and the First of the Bloody Hand. By eliminating the Sage, he'd throw the demons' plans for Einan into chaos. His encounters with the Abiarazi in Voramis, Malandria, and Al Hani had shown him that they operated like a spy network. Only the one who pulled all the strings knew the overarching plan. Once he cut the head off the snake, the body would wither. He could take his time to hunt down the other Abiarazi, and he'd be free to find Enarium and his Az'nii.

  He no longer wrestled with the question of "why me?" Once, he'd believed he could leave the task to those trained to do it. He knew better now. The Cambionari were weak, disorganized, clueless of what went on under their very noses.

  No, there was no one else to stop the demons from bringing death and destruction. Thus, it fell to him. His fingers traced the scars etched into his chest. Their number had multiplied in recent weeks. Too many had suffered and died at the hands of the Abiarazi. Farida, Bardin, and countless more. The weak, the helpless, the innocent. He would allow it no longer.

  I am the hand of the Watcher. I will bring justice for the forgotten.

  The Hunter's journey continues…

  Here's a look at what comes next:

  Chapter One

  The Hunter danced on empty air. Only his tenuous grasp on the cliff averted a plunge to certain death. He clawed at the craggy precipice, desperate for a handhold. His heart pounded a furious beat against his ribs. His right hand quivered, his grip threatening to give way. Numb fingers felt for any crack or seam in the stone, no matter how small.

  There! He thrust two fingers into the crevice. Sharp rock carved furrows into his flesh. Blood--his blood--trickled down the cliff face, but he felt nothing. The cold and wind had stolen all feeling from his hands hours ago.

  His soft-soled boots found purchase on a narrow ledge. The Hunter clung to the rock face for dear life, every muscle in his body trembling with exhaustion and fear.

  That was too close!

  He swallowed the acid bubbling up from his throat and willed his stomach to stop its terrified cavorting. He'd survived many deaths; he had no desire to find out if a fall from this height could kill him.

  He glanced over his shoulder. The sun hung low in the sky, the daylight fading fast. He had to find a place to camp for the night. He needed rest, out of the biting, shrieking wind that whipped through the Yathi Mountains after dark. The gale would rip him from the rock face and send him plummeting to the valley hundreds of paces below.

  Gritting his teeth against the agony of his exhausted muscles, he continued the ascent. Of course the Sage would be at the top of some impossibly high mountain. Bastard demon!

  He cursed the day he heard the name of "the Sage". That was the day Bardin, the Malandrian beggar who'd become his friend, had died at the hands of the demon Toramin.

  When first he encountered the Demon of Voramis--masquerading as both the First of the Bloody Hand and Lord Jahel of the Dark Heresy--he'd thought it ill fate. But after meeting the Toramin and Garanis, the Abiarazi wearing the form of an Illusionist Cleric, he'd begun to fear the infestation was more widespread. Queen Asalah, the demon queen of Al Hani, had confirmed his suspicions. All three demons had spoken of the Sage's plans for Einan, and the role he had assigned them.

  So this Sage was the head of the snake, the marionette artist pulling strings behind the scenes. His plans would lead to chaos, death, and destruction on Einan. The Hunter could not allow that.

  True, humans had shunned him, inflicted cruelties on him, and endeavored to eradicate his kind. Yet a few individuals had proven mankind a cause worth championing. Farida, his little flower girl killed by the demons in Voramis. Bardin, the madman who had shared his pitiful food and shelter when the Hunter had nothing. And Hailen, the guileless child incapable of understanding why anyone would want to hurt him. These, and o
thers, had shown him the bright side of human nature. He couldn't allow those like them--the weak, helpless, and innocent--to suffer in the Abiarazi's bloodthirsty campaign to conquer Einan and return Kharna, the Great Destroyer, to the world.

  Which is how he found himself clinging to a frozen cliff face, far too high above the Hrandari Plains. If demons did this Sage's bidding, the Hunter had no choice but to hunt him down and put an end to his shadowy plans. Without the Sage to give them commands, the Abiarazi around Einan would prove much easier to deal with. Permanently. Einan would be free of demons, once and for all.

  But finding the Sage meant scaling Shana Laal, the highest peak in the Yathi mountain rage. Right now, the Hunter found himself regretting his decision. Is it too much to ask for a quiet lake or forest?

  He kept up a steady stream of curses as he climbed, both to ward off the chill and his trepidation. Atop Shana Laal, he would find Kara-ket, the twin temples occupied by the Masters of Agony and…

  And who? Therein lay the source of his anxiety.

  Torturers, he could face. He'd first encountered whispers of the Masters of Agony, virtuosos of the sanguine arts, over a decade earlier. Even Lord Jahel, the Demon of Voramis, had spoken of them with reverence. One particularly popular tale—of questionable veracity, but impressive nonetheless—told of a victim they'd kept alive for years. And that was after they'd severed his limbs and flayed the flesh from his bones.

  The Hunter had little doubt he could face the Masters of Agony. He spoke the language of violence as fluently as any on Einan. But the torturers only held one of the temples. What would he find in the other? In absence of facts, his mind conjured images beyond the bounds of reality.

  The cliff crumbled beneath his right boot, and shards of stone tumbled free. The Hunter's stomach churned as he watched the rocks disappear into the mists below.