Darkblade Justice: An Epic Fantasy Murder Mystery (Hero of Darkness Book 7)

by Andy Peloquin

  But the Hunter made no move to attack. Something the man had said stuck with him. “Never did I imagine you would stoop to murdering random citizens in an effort to turn the Crown against us.”

  An odd thing to hear from the people responsible for killing children and dumping their bodies in alleyways. Which was what made the Hunter question the Night Guild’s complicity in the murders.

  Why would he accuse me of it if he knew who was responsible? After all, it’s not like the Guild needs another excuse to kill me.

  He was an assassin, a killer-for-hire with a reputation for being the best not only in Voramis, but all of the south of Einan. He’d had people try to kill him—always a failure, of course—just to build their own reputation on his death. His very presence in Praamis, the city owned by the Night Guild, was excuse enough to set all of their assassins on him. He’d taken out his competition early on during his days as the assassin of Voramis.

  But those words refused to leave his head. Perhaps they weren’t the ones to kill those children.

  His confrontation with the other assassin on the rooftops an hour earlier came back to him. That man, too, had seemed confused and surprised when the Hunter accused the Night Guild of the murders. Coincidence? I think not.

  Now that he studied the five men, he realized they couldn’t be the ones he’d seen in the tunnels. The men he’d pursued had worn hooded robes, and only the assassin wore anything resembling a hood. Unless they’d disrobed in the dark, they were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  He lowered his weapons. “Take me to your Guild Master. Perhaps she can answer my questions, and none of you need die.”

  “So you can kill her?” The assassin shook his head. “If you want to get at our Guild Master, you will first need to go through us.”

  The Hunter sighed. “I have no desire to kill any of you, but I will not hesitate.” He fixed his gaze on the assassin. “You know who I am and what I can do. The only way to end this without bloodshed is to take me to your Guild Master.”

  “Never!” The huge brute stepped past the assassin, his face livid with rage. “You will not harm her!”

  He raised his club and charged. His wild swing would have crushed the Hunter’s skull, but the Hunter simply stepped back and allowed the steel-stubbed club to strike empty air. It crashed into the stone wall of the tunnel, spraying shards of slime-covered rock. The Hunter took a quick shuffle step forward and brought his knee up between the man’s legs.

  Air rushed from the thug’s lungs, and he gave a pitiful half-mewl, half-moan as he sagged to his knees, hands clasped between his legs. The Hunter drove the pommel of his sword into the man’s face, shattering teeth. Another blow between the eyes knocked the thug backward, and he splashed into the muck, unconscious.

  “Take me to the Guild Master,” the Hunter repeated. The more he digested the conversations with the assassins, the more he doubted the Night Guild’s guilt. A conversation with the Guild Master could put an end to this unnecessary enmity. If nothing else, they could stop trying to kill him and he wouldn’t have to waste time killing them. He had better things to do, like hunting a demon and stopping a group of murderers.

  And, if I’m lucky, they could even help guide me around the sewers to find these murderers faster. The Night Guild could be a valuable resource, if only they’d stop trying to kill him.

  Unfortunately, they didn’t seem ready to give in so quickly. The assassin was staring at him through narrowed eyes, expression pensive, but the others lacked his analytical mind. All three drew knives and short swords and charged in a pack.

  The Hunter couldn’t fault their tactics. They’d just seen him take down their huge comrade with ease, so logic dictated that rushing him together gave them the greatest chance of overwhelming and bringing him down. Doubtless they expected him to give ground, to open space between them.

  He did the opposite. He leapt forward, faster than they could react, and whipped his sword across in a horizontal arc right at their heads. Two of them—the better-dressed men with better-made weapons—managed to evade the attack. The third man, the scruffy-looking one, didn’t see it coming. The Hunter twisted his wrist at the last moment to slap the side of his blade into the man’s temple. The force of the blow knocked him hard to one side, and he crashed into the tunnel’s stone wall.

  The Hunter didn’t need to look to know the man was unconscious, and his two opponents didn’t give him time to check. They hacked at him with their short swords, their attacks brutal, efficient, and lethal.

  “Give us a hand here, Tassat!” shouted one as he ducked a high blow of the Hunter’s sword. His face met the Hunter’s rising boot, and the force snapped his head backward. As he splashed into the muck, the Hunter trapped his opponent’s blade in his own and punched the man hard in the nose. Cartilage crunched and blood sprayed. As the man groaned and clapped hands to his injured face, the Hunter brought his elbow whipping around and slammed it into the man’s jaw. The man fell and didn’t rise.

  The assassin hadn’t moved in the two seconds it took the Hunter to dispatch the other three. His eyes were fixed on the Hunter.

  “You could have killed them.” He spoke in that same quiet voice, dangerous yet not menacing. “Yet you held back.”

  “Answer me this, assassin.” The Hunter met the man’s gaze levelly. “Are you and yours the ones killing children and leaving their bodies in the muck?”

  “No.” The assassin cocked his head. “I take it that means you are not either?”

  “You heard the tales of the Bloody Hand’s fate, yes?” the Hunter asked.

  The man’s lips quirked into a hard smile. “A fitting end for a foul stain on this land.”

  “I did that because the First killed an innocent child.” The Hunter lowered his blades. “I kill those who deserve it, but children are blameless.”

  The assassin inclined his head.

  “Though I hear you and your Guild twist even that innocence to your own foul ends.” The Hunter’s voice was cold, a sharp edge to his words. “Tell your Master that if I find the Night Guild responsible for these deaths, what I did to the Bloody Hand will be a mercy compared to what I will do to you.”

  The assassin’s smile grew. “I will be sure to pass the message along.”

  “Your friends will survive, though they will need a healer.” The Hunter sheathed his sword and stooped to pick up one of the fallen lanterns—a strange oval-shaped globe of glass filled with an unfamiliar glowing liquid—but kept Soulhunger in hand just in case the assassin tried something devious. “Relay to your Master what happened here, and tell her to stop wasting my time.”

  He turned and strode toward the metal door set into the tunnel wall. The latch was unlocked, and it lifted without a sound. The door’s hinges groaned as he pulled it open, then again as he shut it behind him with a loud clang. He didn’t bother shooting the bolt—if the assassin wanted to kill him, he would have made his move back in the tunnel.

  The stone-walled corridor in which he found himself looked far better-maintained than the rest of the sewer system. No water leaked from the round ceiling, and the stone walls had a marked absence of the foul-smelling slime. In fact, the tunnels were so dry that dust covered the floor—dust that revealed a number of bootprints tracking in both directions.

  He followed the trail of the killers—he was certain of it, just as he grew more and more certain that he’d reached the right conclusion about the Night Guild. The assassin had accused him of turning the Crown against them. King Ohilmos of Praamis wielded far more power over the Night Guild than King Gavian of Voramis ever had. If the Guild feared the King’s retribution for these deaths, they couldn’t be the ones doing the killing.

  As long as they stay out of my way, I have no need to hunt them down. They might be criminals, thieves, killers, thugs, and more, but he had come to Praamis to deal with a demon. He could spare time to find a murderer—hell, it was more than likely the demon is behind the murders
somehow—but it would take far too much time and effort to cleanse this city as he had Voramis.

  Maybe once the demons on Einan are gone, he told himself, then I can come back and deal with them. The Pit in Enarium always needed more souls to feed Kharna. Who better than those who made a living on crime?

  The dry stone passage ran straight and true for hundreds of paces, the darkness thick and oppressive around the small globe of light cast by the strange lantern. The Hunter shuddered at the memory of being buried in the tunnels beneath Voramis and Kara-ket. He’d come too close to dying to be comfortable in such enclosed spaces.

  Then it hit him: a faint smell from ahead of him, the familiar sickly sweet scent of decay, like a mountain of corpses left out in the sun to rot. He would know that foul odor anywhere.

  It was the reek of a demon.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Yes, Ilanna really didn’t like what Ria had in mind.

  Why in the Watcher’s name did I let her talk me into this? She adjusted her far-too-fancy dress—a hideously lace-festooned monstrosity of soft blue chiffon, deep blue silk, and cream-white wool that stifled Ilanna and made it impossible to breathe—and wished for her simple Hawk clothing. Give me a plain tunic and trousers over this shite any day!

  But, for tonight’s event, Ilanna had to look the part.

  “Lord Gileon Beritane and companion,” the herald’s voice boomed out in the high-ceilinged ballroom of Lord and Lady Chasteyn’s mansion.

  Ilanna bit back on her revulsion and plastered a simpering grin on her face as she accompanied Lord Beritane down the grand marble staircase. The piping of flutes mixed with the merry strum of lyres and harps, with a soft tambor’s beat to provide a steady rhythm for the noblemen and women swirling around the dance floor. Ilanna resisted the urge to squint at the brightness of the red, yellow, pink, and green dresses around her, enhanced by the brilliant light streaming from the glass chandelier high overhead.

  She gave Lord Beritane’s arm a firm tug to hasten his descent down the stairs. The Night Guild’s pet nobleman was in a subdued mood tonight—a dagger to the throat and a less-than-polite warning to keep his hands out of her dress could damper anyone’s spirits.

  Ilanna forced her most charming smile and leaned in close to whisper into his ears. “Remember why you are doing this, and play your part, my lord.”

  Lord Beritane forced a smile of his own. “Certainly, my dear. Allow me to fetch you a drink.” He slipped free of her grasp and disappeared in the direction of the bar at the far end of the ballroom.

  “Bring me that Nyslian white you know I love,” Ilanna called after his retreating back. She hid a shudder, glad to break off contact with him.

  Lord Beritane wasn’t a bad sort, as far as Praamian noblemen went, with a tad too much fondness for strong drink, intoxicating philters, and loose women. He’d had plenty of the first two by the time she arrived with the Night Guild message insisting that he bring Ilanna to the Chasteyns’ party. Ilanna had played the role before—a perfect opportunity to spy on the nobility of Praamis—but Lord Beritane still had no idea who she was or that hers had been the hand to sign Master Gold’s name to the instructions. He’d thought she was one of the women employed by House Phoenix’s brothels, a notion Ilanna had been forced to disabuse him of in no uncertain terms.

  Ilanna drew in a deep breath and tried not to gag at the cloying floral perfumes that hung thick in the grand chamber. Certainly the women of Praamis couldn’t truly require such heavy applications of scents! And the colors—why did the nobility believe that purple, green, and orange made a suitable contrast?

  The music and dancing, at least, she could enjoy. Once, she had wanted to follow in her mother’s footsteps and be a dancer. The agility and coordination she’d developed over months training in her garden had enabled her to dance across the Hawk’s Highway and into upper-floor windows, and she’d become the best of House Hawk.

  Now, however, those days were far behind her. As Master Gold, she had greater responsibilities, and with them greater burdens. Including locating the murderer running rampant in Praamis.

  She scanned the crowd for Baronet Wyvern but saw no sign of the man. He’s taking fashionably late to a dangerous extreme. The Lady’s Bells would ring out midnight in an hour or two, and the party had been going since just after nightfall.

  Her gut clenched as a hand brushed her elbow, but when she turned, she found a familiar face.

  “No word from the Foxes, but we’ll know the minute the Baronet leaves his mansion,” Aisha whispered. She looked a strange sight in the ruffled lace gown and cloth cap of a maidservant, but Ilanna held her tongue. Likely Aisha felt as uncomfortable in the clothing as she did—both of them spent their lives roaming free, not confined to silks and satin.

  “Good.” Ilanna nodded.

  Aisha took a step back, once again assuming the role of servant. Though the servant’s garb made Aisha look dumpy and drab, Ilanna knew the young woman numbered among the deadliest fighters in the room. Doubtless her simple gown concealed enough edged weapons to cut their way out of the mansion should the need arise.

  Ria had insisted on Aisha accompanying Ilanna on tonight’s expedition among the high and mighty of Praamis. Ria trusted the Ghandian girl, though Ilanna couldn’t be certain she wasn’t playing favorites because of Kodyn’s reciprocation of Aisha’s attraction. Ria had more than hinted that she approved of the girl, and Ilanna had to admit Aisha numbered among one of House Phoenix’s finest. A strong, fierce young woman, unbroken despite everything the Bloody Hand’s slavers and whoremongers had done to her. Aisha reminded her a great deal of a young Ria.

  “My my, aren’t you a pretty thing?” A feminine voice snapped Ilanna from her thoughts, and she looked up to find herself face to face with their hostess, Lady Chasteyn.

  Freckles dotted the pale skin of Lady Chasteyn’s high cheekbones and prominent nose, the color enhanced by the soft red ballgown she wore. Her strawberry blonde hair hung in soft curls around her cream-white neck down to her dress’ low-cut neckline. Ilanna caught a strong whiff of amber, cinnamon, and musk in the lady’s perfume. The noblewoman wore a welcoming smile, but her eyes bored into Ilanna with intense scrutiny. “And who might you be?”

  “Ahh, Lady Chasteyn!” Lord Beritane’s voice drifted toward them, followed by the man a moment later. “I see you have met my lovely companion, Salia.” He held out a glass of bubbling white wine to Ilanna.

  “Gileon.” Lady Chasteyn gave the nobleman a pleasant smile. “I have not had the pleasure of meeting her before. Is she a new…companion?” The momentary pause made her thoughts plain.

  Lord Beritane laughed, unabashed; he rarely bothered to keep his tastes for women and intoxicants a secret, which explained why the Night Guild had so easily been able to coerce him to their service. “Salia and I have enjoyed each other’s company for what…four years now?” He turned to Ilanna with a questioning look. “Five?”

  “Six, next spring.” Ilanna pretended anger and thrust her lip out in a pout. “I would expect my lord to remember such things!”

  “Of course, of course.” Lord Beritane gave a dismissive wave and turned his attention back to his host. “You are looking ravishing, as always, my lady. And I see your husband’s health has continued to improve since his return from Shalandra.”

  “Yes.” Lady Chasteyn nodded. “I give thanks to the Bright Lady every day for his safe return. The pilgrim’s road has many perils.”

  Ilanna caught the fractional tightening of the noblewoman’s smile. It was a subtle thing, a freezing of the muscles around the eyes, a slight tension in the shoulders. Not the sort of thing Lord Beritane would notice, but Ilanna couldn’t miss it. Intriguing. I wonder what secrets lie hidden in the Chasteyns’ house. She made a mental note to look into the Chasteyns; any hint of infidelity or scandal could be leveraged to the Night Guild’s advantage.

  “And I trust your health is improving as well?” Lord Beritane continued. “The bouts
of fatigue are less frequent?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Lady Chasteyn’s genuine smile returned. “I have found my recent activities most invigorating for mind and body both.”

  “You’re speaking of the House of Mercy?” Ilanna asked. “Down by The Gardens?”

  “Of course.” Lady Chasteyn turned to her with a too-sweet smile. “What else would I be talking about, my dear?” Her words were spoken with a dismissive tone. Evidently, she’d weighed Ilanna in the balances of nobility and found her wanting.

  Ilanna didn’t mind; she’d been written off her entire life, which meant everyone underestimated her. “I must compliment you on your good works. All in Praamis know of the House of Mercy and its efforts to sustain the needy.”

  “You are too kind.” Lady Chasteyn’s smile widened. “Perhaps one day you could stop in and pay a visit, see what we are doing.” Her eyes flicked to Lord Beritane and back. “If your…time permits, of course.”

  Ilanna found herself grinding her teeth. She’s determined to put Salia in her place, isn’t she? The nobility of Praamis were fiercely hierarchical, with a complex pecking order that changed according to the rise and fall of the houses’ fortunes. What I’d give to see her face when she finds out who I really am.

  The entire city would be scandalized if they ever discovered the Master of the Night Guild, the “gutter scum” and “disreputable scoundrels”, walked among them. That would be a party of a very different sort.

  “Here you are, dearest.” A man’s strong voice interrupted. “I have been hunting for you high and low on a matter of the utmost urgency.”

  Ilanna’s eyes went to the approaching figure. Lord Chasteyn stood a full hand’s breadth taller than his wife, with strong shoulders, a thick neck, and only the beginnings of a paunch poking through his bright purple tailored silk vest. His deep brown eyes, as dark as Aisha’s, fixed on her for a moment, as if weighing her, then seemed to dismiss her and moved on to Lord Beritane.