Life for a Life

by Andy Peloquin

  Life for a Life

  by Andy Peloquin

  Copyright ©2017 by Andy Peloquin

  http://andypeloquin.com

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  The Hunter clamped a hand over the servant's mouth and pressed the tip of his dagger against her spine. "Make a sound and you're dead."

  The woman went rigid but swallowed her reflexive scream.

  "Good." The Hunter spoke in a growl barely above a whisper. "If you want to live, do precisely as I say."

  She gave a jerky nod.

  "Keep silent, and only speak when spoken to. Got it?"

  The woman nodded again. The stink of fear rolled off her in waves, mixing with her unique scent: cloves, sweat, and something deeper, unfamiliar.

  The Hunter slowly removed his hand from her mouth and stepped back. "Eyes forward, on the door. Don't turn around."

  A tense silence hung in the room—Lord Eddarus' bedchamber, judging by the massive four-poster canopied bed with its silken sheets and eiderdown pillows, soft carpets, oaken armoire and mirrored vanity table, and the lavish bathing chamber through which the Hunter had entered. He'd expected to find the nobleman asleep. The servant girl had simply had the rotten luck to be in the empty, darkened room. The Hunter had had to act, to stop her from raising the alarm, but he had no reason to kill her. He'd come to deliver a message to Lord Eddarus—the slaughter of a hapless servant seemed pointless.

  "Where is your master?"

  "I-In his study." Fear echoed in the woman's voice. "P-Please, sir, don't hurt me! I've just—"

  "Silence. I've only come for your master." He tightened his grip on his dagger. Soulhunger's voice echoed in the back of his mind, pounding, pulsing, begging for blood. It would feed well tonight. "Take me to him."

  "He'll kill me!" The servant's words turned plaintive.

  "You will need fear no reprisals from Lord Eddarus."

  "But his guards—"

  "There must be a way around them." The Hunter hovered over her shoulder. "No one else needs die tonight."

  A shudder rippled down the woman's spine at his breath on her ear. Her protests died unspoken; fear proved a powerful motivator.

  "Show me the way, and you will come to no harm." The Hunter placed the blade's razor edge against the side of her neck. "But cry out or raise an alarm, and everyone in this house will face the Long Keeper this night. Starting with you."

  At the touch of steel, a whimper escaped the woman's throat, but she nodded. "I-I understand."

  The Hunter removed the dagger from her neck. "Good." He placed the tip against her spine again. "Now move."

  The servant woman shuffled forward on slippered feet. The smell of her—a strong, feminine scent even through the sweat of terror—filled his nostrils, set his pulse racing. He pushed down Soulhunger's demands to feed on the woman's lifeblood.

  Lord Eddarus will satiate your cravings soon enough. The pounding faded to a dull ache in the back of his head.

  The servant opened the door and peered out. Dim lamplight glimmered in the hall beyond, but silence met the Hunter's keen ears. After a moment, the woman slipped out into the corridor, the Hunter a step behind.

  Night lanterns seated in silver wall sconces illuminated the opulence of the nobleman's mansion. Portraits of stern men frowned down from gilded frames, with marble plaques beneath displaying the names and histories of Lord Eddarus' ancestors. Praamian frescoes decorated the ceiling of the corridor; a master artist had painted scenes of the War of Gods in bold, vivid colors that made the scenes of death and destruction seem oddly realistic.

  The Hunter snorted. Only a fool believes in such legends. Everyone knew demons never truly invaded Einan, and the stories of the gods battling in the heavens were just that: stories.

  His soft-soled boots moved noiselessly on the plush rugs of royal purple, but the shuffle of the servant woman's slippers sounded too loud. He listened for any sign of another servant approaching. A clink reminiscent of dinnerware on a heavy-laden tray echoed around a corner. Seizing the woman, he dragged her into the shadows behind a fluted marble column.

  "Silence!" he hissed. She trembled, and her tears streamed over the hand he pressed over her mouth.

  Footsteps echoed at the end of the corridor, growing louder with every heartbeat. The Hunter tensed and tightened his grip on the hilt of the utilitarian dagger sheathed beside the ornate, curved blade with its gemstone pommel—he only used Soulhunger to send a message. He had no reason to kill the servant, but wouldn't hesitate if discovered. Nothing would stop him from reaching Lord Eddarus.

  The woman gasped for air, her body shaking like parchment flapping in a hurricane. The Hunter clenched his teeth and cursed his foolish impetuousness. Instead of spending his usual days or weeks studying his targets and their homes, his anger over Lord Eddarus' betrayal had made him impulsive, careless. He'd broken into the nobleman's house with no preparation, which was how he found himself holding this terrified woman captive.

  The Hunter grinned as the clinking diminished and slowly faded in the distance. The Mistress' luck hasn't entirely abandoned me, it seems.

  After a moment, he prodded the servant back into the hallway. She trembled as she led him through one silent, dimly lit corridor after another. The tension in her shoulders grew with every step deeper into the heart of the mansion.

  An unmistakable sound came from around the next corner: the jingle of chainmail, and the shuffling of booted feet. The Hunter's grip on the servant's arm tightened and pulled her to a stop. He placed his mouth against her ear and spoke in a low voice. "There?"

  The servant shivered, swallowed, then nodded.

  The Hunter pulled her down the passage, away from the guards. "Another way in? Around the guards?"

  She shook her head, fear making her movements jerky.

  The Hunter sighed. He'd hoped to get in and out without leaving too many corpses. I guess Lord Eddarus' men will pay for his mistake.

  "Please!" the woman whispered, her voice shaky with panic. "Please, let me go. I won't—"

  The cry of an infant sounded from somewhere in the house. The woman's head snapped toward it, every muscle going rigid.

  The Hunter's jaw tightened. "Yours?"

  The woman nodded. "Haven't fed him since this afternoon." Her expression grew pleading. "I swear, I won't tell a soul."

  "Damned right you won't," the Hunter growled. He turned her roughly to face him. The woman's breath caught in her throat as she stared up at him—no doubt a reaction to his eyes. They were a black darker than the shadows around him, and unnerved even the bravest men. "You will go to your child's room, and stay there, no matter what you hear. Say anything to anyone, raise an alarm, and I will come for him. I'll make you watch."

  Terror contorted the woman's face; a pretty face, with high cheekbones and full lips. She fled the moment he released her arm, her feet shuffling over the carpet as she sped toward her wailing child.

  The Hunter squared his shoulders. The threat should silence her tongue long enough for him to be done with Lord Eddarus, but he had no intention of following through. He'd killed his share of men and women—gender made no difference to him; he killed whoever he was paid to—but never a child. Even he, the Hunter of Voramis, had lines he would not cross.

  He took a deep breath and he checked his weapons a final time. The sword slid from its scabbard with a whisper of steel on leather, and his throwing daggers hung within reach in the folds of his dark grey cloak. Soulhunger's voice urged him onward. He had come for blood, and the dagger would not fall silent until it fed.r />
  He slid through the shadows without a sound and peered around the corner. As he expected, two guards in mail shirts stood at attention before the door to Lord Eddarus' study. Their weapons, harness, and armor were in excellent condition, but their eyelids hung heavy, their shoulders slumped.

  Instead of drawing his sword or daggers, he reached for one of his twin handheld crossbows. The weapon's arms snapped out from within their compartments in the stock of the bow and the string pulled taut with a twang. Reloading proved a laborious task thanks to the intricate spring system that allowed the weapon to fire two bolts in quick succession, but he doubted he'd need more quarrels to handle these hapless fools.

  He raised the crossbow and squeezed twice, sending projectiles hurtling toward the guards. One bolt took the nearest guard in the eye, the impact slamming him against the wall. He slid to the ground, leaving a smear of crimson on the pristine marble. The other guard gurgled and fumbled instinctively for his sword, but the broad tip of the quarrel had severed his spine. He flopped and lay still, blood pumping from the wound in his neck.

  The Hunter moved with the speed and silence of falling night, gliding toward the door and gently turning the handle. The door made no sound as he pushed it open, slipped inside, and pressed it shut behind him.

  Even in the dim light leaking from the fireplace, Lord Eddarus' study radiated opulence—albeit in poor taste. Ivory tusks thrust out from the wall, mounted beside the skulls of exotic beasts of prey. A glass showcase displayed the most prized of the nobleman's collection of gemstones. Shelves of bound books and scrolls dominated the entire western half of the study. The colorful carpet spreading from the enormous bloodwood desk to the stuffed armchairs beside the fireplace could have only come from the kingdoms of the far north and would be worth a fortune. The oaken wall panels and Praamian ceramic tiles added to the garish luxury of the room. Whatever the reason Lord Eddarus had cheated him, it wasn't for lack of coin.

  The man himself sat in one of the lavish armchairs, a crystal snifter held in a careless grip. He swirled the amber liquid—even from across the room, the Hunter could smell the aroma of the Nyslian brandy—and took a sip. A smile tickled at his lips as he met the Hunter's eyes. "I must admit my disappointment, Hunter. I expected you sooner."

  Expecting me? The Hunter' hid his surprise behind a stony expression.

  "You hired me to carry out a contract, Lord Eddarus. Count Irainan lies at the bottom of the Port of Voramis."

  "I take it you've come for payment." Lord Eddarus was a ruddy-faced man with thick lips, heavy cheeks, and a prominent brow that seemed oddly large beneath his retreating hairline. The breadth of his shoulders and heavy chest contrasted with his bulging midsection. He wore no weapons beyond a belt dagger, yet no trace of fear shone in his brown eyes as he flicked a coin at the Hunter.

  The Hunter caught it and narrowed his eyes at the copper bit. "The agreed upon price was—"

  "I know what our terms were," Lord Eddarus snapped in a petulant tone, giving a dismissive wave. "But I decline to meet them."

  The Hunter narrowed his eyes. Lord Eddarus fancied himself a shrewd negotiator; the success of his many business ventures had proven his skill facing down his fellow nobles and business rivals. He had no idea the danger of the game he played tonight.

  "So you decided to send assassins." The Hunter snorted and threw a leather satchel to the floor at the nobleman's feet. "After me?"

  Raising an eyebrow, Lord Eddarus leaned over and twitched open the bag. Severed fingers of varying lengths, skin tones, and thicknesses spilled onto the floor. The nobleman's florid face turned a shade paler.

  "When we spoke, did I not make it clear what would happen if I didn't get paid?"

  Lord Eddarus took a long sip of his brandy but gave a dismissive wave. "A terrifying threat, truly." His face hardened and he leaned forward in his armchair. "Unfortunately for you, I don't take threats kindly."

  "I made no threats, Lord Eddarus, simply a promise. You made a grave mistake by failing to keep your word." The Hunter's fingers tensed, his hand hovered just above the hilt of his sword. "You will find I always keep mine."

  Lord Eddarus leveled an impassive stare. "Your words may terrify the thugs and ruffians of Lower Voramis, but you can't possibly expect them to have any sway over me. I am second cousin to King Gavian himself. If you so much as touch a hair on my head, every Heresiarch in the city will be turned loose to hunt you down like the dog you are."

  "Your words wound me, Lord Eddarus." An icy, dangerous smile twisted the Hunter's lips as he drew Soulhunger. "Like a knife to the heart."

  Lord Eddarus' gaze darted to the blade. He, like all in Voramis, had heard the tales of the Hunter's accursed dagger and its terrible powers. The rational part of him no doubt tried to dismiss them as mere rumors, but a hint of fear flashed in his eyes.

  "A fool makes deals he has no intention of honoring." The Hunter spoke in a low voice filled with menace. "And only a coward hides behind the protection of the king."

  Lord Eddarus stood slowly. "You call me a fool?" He raised his right hand and snapped his fingers. "Here I was thinking you the fool for falling into my trap."

  The wall behind the nobleman slid to one side, and from the darkened room beyond spilled a handful of armored figures. The Hunter whirled to see more men flooding into Lord Eddarus' study. He tensed, hand dropping to the hilt of his sword, but stopped as a trio of guards leveled crossbows at him.

  Lord Eddarus gave him a smug smile. "As I said, I've been expecting you."

  Hard, rugged men with scars of combat surrounded him. Their stony expressions revealed none of the nervous tension the Hunter could smell leaking from their pores. Steel plates reinforced their mail shirts, and all wore steel gauntlets, pauldrons, and greaves. Short swords, axes, maces, and daggers hung from their belts. No mere thugs or sellswords, then. Lord Eddarus had to have paid a small fortune to hire such men.

  Laughter bubbled up from the Hunter's chest. "Really?" He counted the men around him. "Twenty guards? Is that the best you can do?"

  Anger darkened more than a few of the armed guards' faces.

  Lord Eddarus scowled. "There's only one way you get out of this alive, Hunter. Mostly alive, anyway." Despite his nonchalance, the nobleman's grip on the crystal goblet tightened. "Walk away, and never return."

  "Just like that?" The Hunter raised an eyebrow. "How magnanimous of you."

  The nobleman's gaze dropped to Soulhunger. "The dagger stays. It is the price of your life."

  "I'm glad to hear you value my life so highly. Truly, there is nothing like Soulhunger in all of Einan. No one else owns a dagger that can steal the very souls of its victims. A treasure beyond compare." His smile turned wintry. "Unfortunately for you, Lord Eddarus, I'm afraid I must decline your offer."

  The Hunter moved before he finished speaking. Three crossbows swiveled toward him, but the Hunter backpedaled before the bowmen's hands squeezed the trigger. The bolts punched through the heavy armor of the guards nearest the door. One screamed and fell backward, a quarrel protruding from his shoulder. The other gawped at the pair of bolts feathering his chest.

  The deaths of their comrades did nothing to deter the remaining guards from rushing him. The cramped quarters of the office prevented more than five from closing in on him, but they came from all sides, swords, axes, and maces flashing in the firelight.

  The Hunter met them with bared blades. His long sword, made of the best Voramian watered steel, deflected a vicious thrust, turned aside a blow descending toward his exposed head, and laid open a man's throat. He hacked and slashed with impossible speed, his movements precise and controlled yet with a strength even the well-trained guards couldn’t match. The heavy, notched swordbreaker in his off-hand kept the attacks at bay while his long sword sought unarmored flesh of throats, faces, and thighs. Within seconds, two guards lay bleeding from deep gashes in their thighs. A third staggered back, his arm nearly severed at the elbow.

  P
ain exploded in the Hunter's right side as a blow slipped beneath his outstretched sword. His leather armor bent beneath the impact of a spiked mace, his ribs protested. The Hunter staggered backward, his sword arm dropped. The injury that would have stopped a normal man only slowed him. His body raced to repair the damaged bones, muscles, and flesh.

  One eager guardsman sought to take advantage of his momentary weakness. He stepped forward, for a heartbeat blocking his companions. His elation turned to horror and dismay as the Hunter drove his swordbreaker up beneath the man's chin until the tip protruded from the top of his skull.

  The voice in his mind shouted of danger. The Hunter spun, placing the still-dying man between himself and the crossbowmen. The body jerked and twitched, the tips of three crossbow bolts buried into his back.

  The guardsmen arrayed against him hesitated for a moment. The Hunter couldn't fault them. He'd eliminated one-quarter of their force in less than a minute. Armies had broken after sustaining fewer casualties.

  Truth be told, he bore the guards no ill will. Under ordinary circumstances, he'd have retreated and found another way to kill Lord Eddarus. Perhaps killed a few men, but let most escape with shattered bones, dislocated joints, broken noses, and perhaps an amputated limb. He took no pleasure in unnecessary killing.

  But these circumstances were anything but ordinary. He'd come to send a message—to Lord Eddarus and anyone else seeking out his services. The more bodies he left, the clearer the statement. No one would consider cheating him again.

  With a snarl, the Hunter hurled the body at the nearest cluster of guards. The man's dead weight took three to the floor.

  The Hunter moved before Lord Eddarus' men could close in on him, leaping over a nearby settee and rolling beneath a vicious axe blow. He grunted as something carved a line of fire in his back, but he had no time to stop. The crossbowmen had nearly finished reloading.

  He finished his roll with a sweeping slash. The tip of his sword bit into the exposed flesh of the crossbowmen's legs and came away bloody. One actually managed to trigger his weapon, sending a bolt flying over the Hunter's head. The crash of glass echoed in the study, followed by a cry from Lord Eddarus.