Chapter Fifty-Two
Steel pierced flesh and bone, and fires of agony coursed through the Hunter. He coughed weakly, spraying blood. His arms and legs jerked as he struggled to draw breath.
The Warmaster held him suspended with one hand, as if he weighed nothing. A vicious grin spread the Abiarazi's lips. "Pathetic, just like the rest of your kind!" He pulled the Hunter closer, shoving the blade deeper until the hilt cracked against bone. "You and your pitiful rabble never stood a chance. And now, I get to watch you die!"
The massive hand released its hold on his throat, and the Hunter slumped to his knees, blood pouring down his chest and back.
The Warmaster's eyes held no pity. "More than a few of your kind have graced my tables. You're not quite as immortal as you might think." His eyes darted to the Swordsman's iron blade where it lay far out of reach. "There's always iron, of course. But for more…normal ways to kill you, I've found that drowning works wonders. Even if it's in your own blood."
Fear seized the Hunter in a vise grip. His brain screamed for oxygen, but try as he might, he couldn't breathe. Blood poured through gaping tears in his lungs. Every attempt to struggle only increased the damage done by the Warmaster's blade.
The Warmaster threw back his head and laughed. "It is over, Bucelarii. You have failed your master. Be thankful you won't live long enough to suffer the same fate as I will visit upon him."
In his panic, the Hunter struggled to pull the blade free. Blood loss left him weak, unable to lift his arms. A terrible realization sank home. He was going to die.
The voice of his inner demon, sensing his peril, shrieked in terror. “Heal yourself!”
In his desperation, the Sage's words from that morning echoed in his mind. "Command your flesh to be whole. Instead of shifting bone and muscle, you simply will it to mend itself."
Can…I…do it? The lack of oxygen rendered his brain sluggish. Have to…try.
He turned his thoughts inward. The agony in his chest intensified a thousandfold, but he pushed past it. If he allowed himself to focus on the feeling of suffocating or the terror coursing through him, he would die. He ignored the drip, drip of his blood gushing from his wounds, and silenced the shrieking of his air-deprived brain. He concentrated only on the flesh of his lungs and the beating of his heart.
Thump…thump. His pulse sounded so faint. The loss of blood had slowed it to a fraction of its rhythm. If he didn't stop the hemorrhaging, there would be nothing left to pump. Thump…thump.
With every shred of willpower, he commanded the flesh of his chest and back to heal. Lightning crackled through his body as skin and bone shifted. Blood vessels sealed off, and the flow of crimson trickled to a halt. He turned his attention to the gaping rents in his lungs. A thread of air slipped past the liquid, giving him one tiny sliver of hope to cling to. He willed the flesh of his lungs to heal around the sword.
Wounds sealed, the Hunter coughed, expelling the blood that filled his lungs. He drew in a faint, ragged breath, barely getting enough oxygen to retain a grasp on life. He twitched and jerked with the energy coursing through him. The movement re-opened the wound as the sword, still embedded in his chest, sliced into soft lung tissue once more. With effort, he forced muscle to retreat from the blade's edge.
Tendrils of power sizzled beneath his flesh, and blackness threatened at the edge of his vision. He stared up at the Warmaster, watching with unseeing, uncomprehending eyes. The Abiarazi's triumphant grin sent a stab of rage through him.
You…haven't won…yet!
Another cough, another spurt of blood, and another cut in his lungs. His last shred of willpower went into healing the wound one last time. He had nothing left.
A scream echoed faintly in the distance. He watched with dull eyes as the Warmaster whirled, eyes blazing. One of the Elivasti lay behind the huge Abiarazi. The massive wound in his gut would kill him in a matter of minutes, but he'd summoned one final effort and thrust the iron tip of his shattered staff against the exposed flesh of the Warmaster's ankle. The final "fuck you" from a dying man.
It did little more than anger the demon. The shriek of pain turned into an enraged howl. The Warmaster turned to the Hunter and, placing a foot on his chest, ripped the sword free. The Hunter toppled to the floor as the Warmaster hacked the dying Elivasti to pieces. Blood leaked anew from the gaping wounds in his chest and back, filling his lungs.
But the violet-eyed man had given him a chance. The Hunter summoned one final effort to heal the wounds in his back and chest. He drew in a thin, wheezing breath, and a glorious burst of air flooded his lungs. With the return of oxygen came a trickle of strength. Life returned to his limbs, and his heart pounded a staccato rhythm against his ribs. Against all odds, he still lived.
Not for long if I don't move.
He struggled onto his back, coughing blood. The Warmaster turned, his gaze falling on the Hunter.
"Not dead yet? You should have drowned by now." He bared his teeth. "No matter. A problem soon remedied."
Stooping, the Warmaster collected Soulhunger. The dagger's voice shouted in the Hunter's mind. Joy at the presence of an Abiarazi mixed with anger over what the Warmaster had done to him. Soulhunger begged for blood—the Warmaster's, the Elivasti's, even the Hunter's. It wanted to feed, and would not fall silent until sated.
The Warmaster crouched over the fallen Hunter, running a thumb along Soulhunger's edge. "Not even you can survive this, boy!"
He raised the dagger, ready to plunge it into the Hunter's heart. The Hunter's questing fingers closed around solid wood. His skin crawled at the touch of iron. Gripping the shattered staff, he shoved the length of metal-tipped wood into the soft tissue of the demon's eye.
The huge Abiarazi's shrieks echoed in the hall, and he fell backward. Soulhunger fell from his grip as he clapped his hands to his face. Blood blackened by the iron's poison dripped from the wound. The Hunter rolled out from beneath the Warmaster and staggered to his feet. The effort of healing himself repeatedly had sapped his strength, and his legs sagged. The tang of copper assaulted his nostrils as he collapsed atop a pile of Elivasti corpses.
The Warmaster's screams of agony turned to a shout of rage. Horror raced through the Hunter at the sight of the enormous demon climbing to his feet. With a snarl, he ripped the shaft of wood free. His remaining eye fixed the Hunter with a baleful glare.
"Bastard!" The Abiarazi spat. "You'll pay for that." He lunged forward, arms outstretched. His left foot caught on a fallen Elivasti, and he stumbled to one knee.
The Hunter seized the moment to stagger upright. Breathing heavily, he leaned against the wall for support. His legs refused to hold him upright. He had healed the wound in his chest, but the icy, stinging memory of pain remained.
The Warmaster stood once more, raising the greatsword for a decapitating swing. The Hunter summoned his last reserves of strength to duck beneath the blade and twist aside from the follow-up thrust. The Warmaster slipped on a puddle of Elivasti blood, and he wobbled. Reaching beneath his cloak, the Hunter drew the Swordsman's iron blade and lurched toward the Abiarazi. Iron pierced flesh and severed the nerves in the Warmaster's right arm. The limb flopped by the huge demon's side, the greatsword hanging useless.
A wild swing of the Warmaster's left hand caught the back of the Hunter's cloak, and the demon hurled him against the wall with jarring force. Black spots swam in the Hunter's vision. He staggered upright barely in time to throw himself out of the path of the charging demon, and the Warmaster crashed into the wall. The Hunter winced as his shoulder and ribs slammed into the ground, sending a flare of pain up his side. Grunting, he lunged for the second iron blade where it lay a few paces away.
His fingers closed around the dagger's hilt a heartbeat before an immense weight slammed into his back. The blow sent waves of fire coursing through his spine, and his legs gave way. He flopped to the ground, but somehow retained his hold on the iron dagger. In desperation, he struck out with the blade. Satisfaction fl
ooded him at the Warmaster's growl and the sensation of metal biting into flesh and bone. Warm blood sprayed over him; he'd managed a lucky strike at the Warmaster's thigh, severing the artery in his leg.
The Warmaster collapsed, jaw clenched. His left hand fumbled for the dagger embedded in his shoulder, and his brow furrowed in concentration.
He's healing himself!
Without hesitation, the Hunter drove the second iron blade into the demon's left shoulder. The Warmaster's screams set the walls rattling as metal sliced through flesh and ground against bone. His left arm flailed out, grasping for the Hunter. Though it took every ounce of strength, the Hunter shoved the blade deeper into the massive shoulder muscle, questing for nerves, veins, anything. A fresh shriek tore from the Warmaster's mouth, and his left arm flopped limp by his side.
The Hunter stood. Blood covered him—his own, the Warmaster's, and that of the dead Elivasti. He gritted his teeth and steeled his legs against a tremor. Rage twisted his stomach as he stared down at the Warmaster.
The huge Abiarazi spat and shouted in the guttural language of the Abiarazi. The Hunter kicked him in the mouth, shattering teeth, splitting his lip, and rocking his head backward. The Warmaster fell onto his back, landing with a loud splash in a puddle of gore. The Hunter knelt atop the fallen demon, knee pressing into his solar plexus.
"How do you fancy a taste of your own bitter draught, Demon?"
"Treacherous cur! Fight me like a man, and we'll see who wins."
The Hunter snorted. "I prefer to leave the heroics for the brave. And the dead." He drove his fist into the Warmaster's nose, shattering it. As the demon struggled to breathe, the Hunter reached for Soulhunger. "After what you did to me, you deserve a fate far worse than this! I could kill you a thousand times, and you would not have suffered enough. But one death will have to suffice."
He placed Soulhunger's razor edge against the Abiarazi's throat. For the first time, the voice in his mind didn’t protest at his desire to kill one of his kind. It screamed at him. “Do it! Kill him! Give me blood.” Soulhunger added its voice to the maelstrom in his thoughts. His head pounded with such violent intensity he felt it would explode.
The Warmaster narrowed his eyes. "Tell me why!"
"Why what?"
"Why you chose that serpent instead of the glory I offered you."
"The boy."
Confusion stained the demon's face. "All this…over some boy?"
The Hunter pressed the blade harder. "Not some boy, you bastard! The only person in this world who matters. And you threatened him in an attempt to convince me to join you. For that, you—"
The Warmaster's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"
The demon's confusion shocked the Hunter. He scrutinized the Warmaster, searching for any sign of deception. He saw none.
He really has no idea? A sinking feeling swept over him.
Understanding dawned on the Warmaster's face. "He's done it again." He laughed, a harsh, grating sound, heedless of the dagger at his throat. "He's played you like that accursed Nizaa he loves so much. And you fell for it like the simpleton you are!"
Derisive laughter echoed in the Hunter's head. The voice of his inner demon mocked him for a fool.
"He tricked you into coming for me, but he'll eliminate you now that you've served your usefulness." The Warmaster grinned, showing bloodstained teeth. "You're as dead as I am, you just don't kn—"
The Hunter rammed Soulhunger up under the Warmaster's chin, driving up through the roof of his mouth and into his brain. The demon's shriek echoed through the hallway, and the gemstone in Soulhunger's pommel flared to life, bathing the hall in brilliant crimson light.
Power washed over the Hunter in an overwhelming torrent, setting every fiber of his being aflame. A thousand red hot needles sliced into his brain. His screams joined the Warmaster's as the rush of energy ripped his consciousness to shreds, and blackness danced in his vision. He collapsed, jerking and twitching, a weight pressing on his ribs with enough force to shatter mountains. A finger of fire etched a line into his chest, adding a new scar to the multitudes staining his flesh. The voices in his head screamed in ecstasy as they fed on the demon's life force.
The Hunter felt as if he would split into a million pieces. And yet, despite the pain, he'd never felt so alive. His fingers twitched with the strength of a hundred striking hammers. It was as if he could break the world with his bare hands. The Warmaster lay dead at his feet. He had his vengeance.
Slowly, the sensations retreated and the torment faded, leaving him hollow, empty. He lay on the blood-soaked ground of the Warmaster's temple, surrounded by the lifeless corpses of the demon and the Sage's Elivasti. Drawing in a gasping breath, he climbed to his feet and stared down at the Abiarazi. The creature's true features—a grotesque amalgam of serpentine, bovine, and leonine—showed through the scorched flesh of his face.
This is the truth of the creature. Acid rose in his throat. They clothe themselves in the guise of humans, but this is what they really are. Nothing more than monsters.
He'd killed one monster, but another yet remained. The Sage's time has come.
Chapter Fifty-Three
The Hunter sprinted through the bloodstained halls of the Warmaster's temple, one thought in his mind: The Sage must die.
With the Elivasti occupied with the Masters of Agony, he had a short window to deal with the other demon. For Hailen's sake, he had to put an end to the Abiarazi tonight.
“Fool!” Mocking laughter echoed in his head. “The boy has been in constant danger since the moment he met you.”
The Hunter tried to push back the demon's voice.
The memory flashed through his mind. Father Pietus, Beggar Priest of Malandria, stood over Hailen, iron sword raised for a killing blow. Behind him, the demon Garanis ordered him to strike. The demon controlled the priest's mind through the art of the Illusionist Clerics. The Hunter had killed Pietus to save the boy.
“It's your fault he was in danger!” The intensity of the shriek set his head pounding. “All of it. The priest's blood is on your hands.”
No!
He rebounded off the wall and careened down the corridor. The door onto the bridge stood open and unguarded. Leaping over the corpses littering the hall, the Hunter rushed through the door. Logic reasserted itself, and he slowed. He had to reach Hailen before anything happened, but if he charged across the bridge, it would alert the Sage and his Elivasti. He had to play this just right.
The moment he stepped onto the bridge, he knew something had gone wrong. Shouts and cries rose up from the base of the Warmaster's temple, underscored by the clash of arms. The Hunter coughed at thick, stinging smoke that blotted out the stars.
The city of the Elivasti burned.
Bright tongues of flame licked through the precisely organized streets, engulfing half of the city. From his vantage point high overhead, he could see tiny figures locked in combat far below. With every heartbeat, the flames and chaos drew closer to the enormous wall of the enclosure. Closer to Hailen.
The Hunter's blood ran cold.
The Warmaster had said he would eliminate every Elivasti in Kara-ket. His army of torturers wasn’t just tied up in the lower levels of the temple; they had descended to the Elivasti city for the purpose of wiping out the descendants of the Serenii.
Including Hailen. Master Belros, Master Eldor, and three old men couldn't hold the gate for long. The Masters of Agony would flood the enclosure and kill every Elivasti child there. And the Hunter had put Hailen in there, directly in their path.
Without hesitation, he turned and sprinted across the bridge. Fear for Hailen's safety lent wings to his feet. He leapt over yawning holes and skidded around crumbling sections. He had to get down there before the torturers. His only hope lay in using the secret passage to descend.
Two dark figures stepped from the shadows of the Sage's temple. Cloth masks hid their faces, and monochrome cloaks fluttered in the night breeze. They thrus
t iron-tipped staves toward him. "Halt!"
The Hunter didn't slow his confident stride. "Do you know who I am?" He pointed to the band on his arm. "The Sage gave me—"
One swung a metal-shod staff toward his head, forcing him to leap backward.
"We know who you are, assassin. We're here on the Sage's orders." The violet eyes darted toward the Hunter's sword. "You are commanded to hand over your weapons. Once disarmed, you will follow us to meet him."
The Hunter's eyes narrowed. He didn't recognize either of the Elivasti. This is all wrong.
"Let me through," he growled. "Now!"
The speaker shook his head. "If you do not disarm, we are ordered to take the weapons by force."
The Hunter snarled. "Lay a hand on me, and I'll chop it off." His hand dropped to his belt, hovering over Soulhunger's hilt. "You have two choices. Move aside and let me pass, or die where you stand." To punctuate, he drew his sword and dagger.
"Fancy talk. Our orders are to kill you if you resist." The first sneered and gripped his staff tighter. "Thank you for resisting."
The Elivasti attacked in tandem. One thrust the iron tip of his staff toward the Hunter's head, and the other went for his legs. The Hunter leapt backward and to the side. The two Elivasti gave chase, their staves whirling. The Hunter's sword never wavered, and he moved with sure-footed grace. The power from the Warmaster's death still coursed through his veins, enhancing his strength and speed. Fear thrummed in the back of his mind, and a sense of urgency drove him. He had to get past these two and reach Hailen without delay. He dove forward, between the blows, and rolled to his feet. He lashed out with a vicious backhand stroke. His sword bit deep into an opponent's thigh. The wound wept crimson, causing the man to stagger.
The Hunter darted around the stumbling Elivasti, using the wounded man as a shield. Ducking beneath a wild sweep, he lashed out with Soulhunger. The razor tip carved a long line into the man's forearm. The Elivasti cried out, and his weapon fell from his fingers.
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