With deliberate slowness, the Warmaster repeated the process with the Hunter's remaining arm and his legs. The Hunter's body struggled to repair the lacerated flesh. He felt the muscle of his right arm knitting around the steel rod. "Look what I have for you, Hunter. I'm returning what belongs to you."
Soulhunger's presence throbbed in the back of the Hunter's mind. He opened his too-heavy eyelids to see the Warmaster holding the blade above him, its tip a hand's breadth from his bloodstained chest.
The temple amplified the dagger's pleas to a plaintive frenzy. Feed me!
"Don’t you want it? Come and take it." Mocking laughter burst from his throat, and the grin that broadened his face held a sadistic edge. "Here, I'll make it easy for you."
His massive hand closed on the Hunter's fingers, squeezing them tight around Soulhunger's hilt. The Hunter cried out as muscle and bone ground against the steel rod.
"There, now you can heal yourself!" Malicious glee shone in the Warmaster's eyes.
The Hunter's hands trembled, a spasm setting his fingers twitching. Soulhunger clattered from his weak grip. The metal running from lower to upper arm prevented him from bending his elbows.
"Oh no? Such a shame. And to think, you were so defiant just a short while ago."
The Hunter met the Warmaster's gaze. The Abiarazi's midnight eyes stared down at him with a cold vindictiveness, like a hunter studying a fox caught in a steel trap.
The Warmaster spoke in a low whisper. "This could all be over. The pain, the suffering, it will end. Your journey to being reborn as my loyal servant begins by you telling me what I wish to know."
"I…told you…the truth!"
"So you say, but I can see when you are lying. You Bucelarii were ever the devious sort. Nothing to rival the great Abiarazi, but in your own minds, you were clever enough to deceive us. There is no way I will believe your lies. You only inherited your deceit; we perfected it!"
It's useless! The Warmaster refused to believe him. What could I tell him that he would believe? He so blinded by his belief that I'm in league with the Sage that he refuses to listen to reason.
"Speaking of inherited, I'm sure you've wondered about these weapons passed to you by your ancestors. They truly are a marvelous creation."
Soulhunger's joyous cries pounded in the Hunter's mind as the Warmaster ran his fingers over the blade.
The Abiarazi gave him a sly smile. "I've learned a great deal about these blades over the years. About the stones, particularly." He thumbed the multi-faceted gemstone set into Soulhunger's hilt. "Did you know the stones are actually the souls of your ancestors?"
The Hunter grunted. "Lament…of the…Fallen." The words came out in a weak, hoarse voice.
The Warmaster nodded approval. "Very good! What else do you know about it?"
The Hunter shook his head. Even the slight movement drove daggers into his nerves.
"Would you like to hear a wicked little secret I've discovered? I think you'll find this quite…enlightening."
He gestured, and one of the Masters of Agony placed something into his hand. He held it up. "See this?" The transparent gem—identical to the stone in Soulhunger's hilt—twinkled in the torchlight. "This is where the true power comes from. The daggers are just the conduit for the power, drawing it to the stone. But this is the truly marvelous element."
He placed the stone on the Hunter's chest. It seemed to drink the blood staining his flesh, and faint traces of crimson threaded the crystal.
"The Serenii truly were master craftsman. Their rituals were responsible for the creation of these stones." He reached for the short-bladed knife, and steel sliced into now-clean skin. "But the stones alone do nothing."
The Hunter tensed in anticipation of pain, but nothing happened. The gemstone sat on his chest, slowly soaking up the blood leaking from the fresh wound.
A hideous grin twisted the Warmaster's lips, and he chuckled. "Do you want to know what activates the stone's power? A scream of raw, pure terror!" He threw back his head and laughed, a morbid, repulsive sound.
The demon drove a fist into the Hunter's bandaged arm, eliciting a cry.
"See? Nothing! Just a scream of pain doesn't do the trick. It has to be one of gut-twisting, mind-numbing fear." One of the Masters of Agony placed a long, thin spike in his hand. The Hunter jerked against his bonds as the Warmaster set the tip against the side of his head, just above his temple. "Watch what happens when the spike stimulates the part of your brain that responds to terror."
A gentle tap sounded, steel ground against bone. The Warmaster spoke in a guttural whisper. "Scream for me!"
Suddenly, the pain disappeared and all rational thought fled, replaced by an all-consuming terror. Screams of abject, animal fear burst from his lips, and the gemstone flared to life.
The Warmaster's torments paled in comparison to the torment wracking his body. Blood seemed to ooze through the very pores of his skin, pulled from his blood vessels and into the gemstone. It seemed as if he were being torn apart from the inside. Something deep within the Hunter screamed, and he felt the tug to the core of his being, as if it clawed for his very soul. An eerie crimson glow bathed the room as the stone drew strength and life from within him, ripping his spirit to pieces.
The Hunter returned to his mangled body with a shudder. The physical sensations of his suffering flooded him, but they were almost a relief after the overwhelming torment of the gemstone.
"See what I mean?" Delight painted the Warmaster's face. "That sound of terror is completely unique. It is rougher than a normal scream, and its unique reverberation does something to the stone—makes it come to life! Delicious, isn't it?"
Acid bubbled from the Hunter's throat and spilled over his chest with a weak gasp that brought up blood.
The Warmaster held up Soulhunger. "The addition of the blades was sheer genius on the part of the Serenii. What could be more terrifying than knowing you were about to die?" He chuckled to himself. "Not all of our cousins were peace-loving people. Some of them were vicious bastards."
A Master of Agony slipped up behind the Warmaster and spoke in a low voice. The Hunter caught the words "Sage" and "audience". A scowl deepened the Warmaster's face. He turned to the Hunter. "Your master has come calling. Let us find out what he wants." He muttered as if to himself, and his huge hands gripped Soulhunger's hilt tighter. "He thinks he can make a fool of me by sending his lapdog after me. I'll show him…"
The door banged shut behind him, leaving the Hunter alone with the Masters of Agony and the screams of his fellow victims. The reek of blood filled his nostrils. He closed his eyes, wallowing in the stinging, biting, burning, freezing that coursed through every fiber of his being.
"Leave him, Rhian," said one of the Masters of Agony. "He is no threat. Let him recover for the Warmaster's next visit."
He drifted in a haze of suffering. Every breath was a struggle, every sluggish beat of his heart sapped what little strength remained. Even the cries of his inner demon failed to penetrate the fog in his mind.
Please, just let me die. Death was far preferable to the suffering.
The smiling face of a child floated in his mind. Hailen will be fine, he told himself. He will no longer be a pawn in the demons' games. The Elivasti will look after him. He is one of their own. A poor rationalization, but he could no longer fight the pain.
A new sound broke through his stupor—the clash of steel. He couldn't summon the energy to open his eyelids more than a fraction. For a moment, he thought he saw a white and black-masked face hovering over him.
It's just a hallucination. In his desperation, his mind was conjuring images.
The pressure on his wrists and ankles diminished. His arms sagged, his shoulders protesting at the sudden movement.
What's happening?
He forced his eyelids open. Violet eyes met his gaze. A momentary flash of relief washed over him, and darkness claimed his mind.
Chapter Forty-Three
The Hunte
r jerked upright with a gasp. Agony lanced his arms and legs. But instead of hard wood and steel restraints, he found soft pillows and smooth satin sheets. The light of dawn filtered through an enormous picture window. The scents of lavender and vanilla greeted him in place of the coppery tang of blood that had permeated the Warmaster's dungeon.
"Where…?" His words came out in a weak croak.
"Easy, Hunter." The stench of ancient rot—the reek of demons—accompanied the Sage's words. "You're safe now." The Abiarazi pressed a cup against his lips, and chilled wine slipped down the Hunter's throat.
Blood soaked the bandages swaddling the Hunter's limbs. "What…happened?"
"We had to cut the steel bars out of your flesh. Not an easy task, even for Sanctuary-trained physickers." He returned the cup to the tray and placed a chunk of bread in the Hunter's mouth.
The Hunter wanted to protest at being fed like an infant, but the bandages held his arms immobile. He could do nothing but lie back and allow the Sage to minister to him.
"The Warmaster's cruelties took quite a toll on your body." He shook his head. "I've seen some of his victims, but never in the state you were in. You came dangerously close to the Long Keeper's embrace."
The Hunter spoke in a low growl. "He did his worst. He failed." Doubt nagged at his mind. "How did you know I was captured there? And how did you know the Warmaster had taken me in the first place?"
The Sage rolled his eyes. "My Elivasti are everywhere, Hunter. Can you truly expect that I was not informed the moment the Warmaster had you in his clutches? Though I find myself wondering why you were caught on the Warmaster's side in the first place."
"Studying the bridge. What else?" The Hunter kept his voice level. "I always study my route before a job. It is my way."
"Well," the Sage said, a hint of derision creeping into his words, "your way alerted the Warmaster to our plans. He had placed a guard on the bridge. The secret entrance is secret no longer. Now we are forced to find another way in."
"You'll forgive me if I'm more concerned about my life than your plans," the Hunter snapped. Tendrils of heat seeped into his veins. "Given how vital I am to your schemes, I have to question why you didn't rescue me sooner. Why allow him to torment me for days before your men came for me?"
The Sage met his gaze with icy calm. "All things take time, Hunter. I had to ensure that only my Elivasti were on guard the day you were rescued. I needed something convincing to draw the Warmaster away from his play."
The Hunter gritted his teeth. "Play?"
"I knew you could survive it, Hunter. You are, after all, Bucelarii." The Sage sounded so callous, so dismissive. "The Warmaster wouldn't kill you outright. He wanted to turn you, as he has so many others." He raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps you should be grateful I rescued you in the first place."
The Hunter clenched his jaw and swallowed the surge of anger. "You're right. You have my gratitude."
The Sage accepted this with a slow nod.
The Hunter wanted to wipe away the demon's smug, contented expression with a sword blade, but restrained himself. He felt nothing but rage at the demons—both of them—but unleashing it now would accomplish nothing. He needed time for his body and mind to heal. As if to underscore the point, he coughed, and blood spattered the white bedsheets.
The Sage eyed him with a curious expression. "Still a while before you're back on your feet." He crossed his arms. "His torments must have weakened you considerably. If not, you would have accelerated your healing process by now."
The Hunter turned his attention inward, finding his body drained of life and vigor. He could do little more than slow the bleeding. Even this little exertion left him exhausted and gasping.
"Rest, eat, recover." The Sage's unblinking eyes locked on to him. "Regain your strength. The time to make our move against the Warmaster approaches."
"When?" The Hunter struggled upright, ignoring the misery in his limbs. "Give me a few hours to rest, and I will show the Warmaster the meaning of suffering. He must pay!"
The Sage pressed him back into bed. "Easy, Hunter. We cannot move yet. Your captivity threw my plans into disarray. We must make another opportunity to strike at the Warmaster without his Masters of Agony present. Give me two days to make final preparations. It will give me time to sway the remaining Elivasti to my cause." He lowered his voice. "And for you to root out the traitors."
The Hunter nodded. "Before my capture, I was close to unmasking the dissidents in your ranks."
"We must find them before we move on the Warmaster."
"It will be done. I've learned a trick or two from the Masters of Agony."
"Good." A vicious light filled the Sage's eyes. "Find them, Hunter. Root them out so we can bring peace to Kara-ket, free of the Warmaster's cruelty."
The demon fixed him with his unblinking stare. "There are things that must be set into motion to guarantee the Warmaster's downfall. But the time for vengeance will come. You have my word."
Heat flared in the Hunter's chest. He didn't want to wait two days. But he could use the time for his final preparations. And to heal. He couldn't face the Warmaster in his present condition. When the time came, he would be ready.
"Mine will be the hand that puts an end to the bastard once and for all. My blade will drink deep of his blood."
Panic surged in his mind. Soulhunger! The last time he'd seen the dagger had been in the Warmaster's clutches.
"Where is it?" His eyes darted around the room. "Where is Thanal Eth' Athaur?"
The Sage shook his head. "He has it still. It was tucked in his belt when I spoke with him."
The Hunter had a faint memory of the Warmaster being called away for a meeting with the Sage. Soon after, the Elivasti had come for him.
"You called him away!"
The Sage nodded. "It was the only way my Elivasti could free you."
"But the Masters of Agony—"
"Dead." Something wicked glinted in the Sage's eyes. "Not all of them, of course. Even the best of the Elivasti couldn't kill hundreds of torturers without raising alarm. But enough paid the price to satisfy your thirst for vengeance."
"Surely the Warmaster will suspect."
"He must know without a shadow of doubt. But my Elivasti left no witnesses to identify them. Without proof, without knowing who attacked him, the Warmaster can do nothing. Unless he brings a formal accusation against me, he is powerless." A sly grin twisted his lips. "Though from what I hear, his rooms look like a hurricane ripped through. He did not take your…disappearance and the death of his torturers with dignity. Even now, the remaining Masters of Agony scour his temple. A fruitless attempt when he knows full well you are beneath my walls, but it will placate his knife-wielding wretches."
"Why go to all the trouble? Why rescue me and risk his wrath?"
The Sage smirked. "His wrath?" He gave a dismissive wave. "The Warmaster is blinded by his lust for power and battle. He only remains alive because some of the Elivasti remain loyal."
"Which is where I come in." The Sage had rescued him because the demon needed him to eliminate the Warmaster.
"Precisely. Once the Warmaster is dead, even the Elivasti loyal to him will serve me. But for that to happen, you must heal."
The Sage rang a bell, and a pair of servants rushed into the room. One carried a tray laden with steamed vegetables, a bowl of broth, thick grain porridge. The other bore a tray upon which sat two silver goblets and a bottle of chilled wine.
The Sage stood. "I will leave you. I have much to do if we are to be prepared. But when you are rested, seek me out. There are things we must discuss."
The Hunter inclined his head, a movement that felt awkward and sent spasms of pain along his spine. "I will."
He didn't move until the door closed behind the demon and his servants. Sitting upright proved near-impossible, but he managed with much grunting and straining. His bound arms were stiff, his fingers clumsy as he fumbled at the food. With great effort, he managed to scoop some
of the bland porridge into his mouth. He'd never tasted anything so good. The wine helped to dull the pain and loosen the rigidity in his healing body.
He had fought until the limits of his endurance, but the demon had broken him. With terrible precision, the Warmaster had sliced him apart one piece at a time until he begged for death. A wave of hopelessness surged over the Hunter, amplified by the effects of the wine. His defiance and anger before the Sage had been nothing but a show. He had nothing left.
With these dismal thoughts in the forefront of his mind, the images of horror and torment floating before his eyes, the Hunter drifted out of consciousness.
* * *
The daylight had changed from the crisp bright of dawn to the gold of midday when the Hunter awoke. He moved without thinking, rolling to his feet and reaching for his daggers. Too late he remembered the bandages restraining his movement. He grunted as he hit the floor, his head striking the stone wall.
Pain lanced through his arms and legs, but it was a duller ache than he remembered. When he finally managed to climb onto the bed, he found he could draw his attention inward without being overwhelmed by the sensations of his recovering body. The food, drink, and sleep had restored some of his energy. Gritting his teeth, he willed muscle, bone, skin, and blood vessels to re-knit.
The effort left him exhausted, but the pain faded to a muted throbbing. He devoured the remnants of the tray left by the Sage's servants and repeated the healing process. Removing the bandages, he found he could move his arms and legs without discomfort. Pink flesh showed where the Warmaster had carved long, jagged gashes into his legs. The wounds had all but healed—only the scars left by Soulhunger remained—but a bone-deep weariness settled on his shoulders.
He'd half-turned to search for Soulhunger when he remembered. The Warmaster had the dagger. He bit back a curse. So how am I to kill him without it? His eyes dropped to his bags. At least he still had the Swordsman's iron blades. They would suffice until he recovered Soulhunger.
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