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

by Andy Peloquin

Before the words had fully left her mouth, the door burst open and Darreth scurried in, breathless. “Ilanna, I’ve found it!”

  “Found what?” Ilanna asked, curious. Darreth only failed to address her by her title when excited or worried.

  Darreth waved a sheet of parchment at her. “The symbol! I know what it means!”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Angry glares met the Hunter as he exited the Guild Master’s office. Thirty men and women crowded into the chamber beyond and though none had drawn weapons, their expressions were wary, their postures tense.

  The Hunter strode toward them without a word, simply a confident, level gaze. They parted before him—albeit unwillingly—but the Hunter kept moving at an unhurried pace. He’d seen the Guild Master with her people; none of them would move against him without her command. She held the reins of these criminals, thieves, and killers in a fist of iron.

  He consulted his mental map of the tunnels and retracted his step to the massive room with the strange rope maze. Again, he couldn’t help smiling as he raced up the rope ladders, leapt over broad gaps, and darted across narrow plank bridges. It was just so enjoyable, with so many paths to choose from that every ascent would feel brand new.

  Cool night air greeted him as he climbed out the window and onto the flat rooftop. He drew in a deep breath, glad to be free of the stuffy tunnels with the myriad contrasting scents of the people occupying them. Up here, the scents and sounds of life remained far below, and he basked in the company of the whispering wind and the fresh, clean tang of a chilly evening.

  He went over his conversation with the Guild Master in his mind. He hadn’t learned much about the killer he sought—though he had a location to start retracing the Bluejacket’s steps—but the encounter had been enlightening. The Night Guild might be on the same side of the law as the Bloody Hand, yet the resemblance ended there.

  Despite Master Gold’s attempts to appear callous, he’d seen that spark of genuine humanity in her. She cared about her people. He’d been surprised at the way she bargained for the assassin’s life—not with threats or promises of gold, but by appealing to his better nature. He’d heard the concern, seen the worry written in her eyes as she saw him prepare to kill the man that had attacked him. Her assassin had been more than just an underling, but a friend.

  He had to admit grudging respect for the assassin. Anger had made him careless, but that blitz attack had almost caught the Hunter by surprise. Instinct and decades of training had kicked in to pull off that take-down. Had the assassin wielded weapons of iron instead of steel, the Hunter might have chosen to avoid confrontation.

  Yes, he’d made the right choice by accepting the truce with the Night Guild. The less time he spent running or fighting, the sooner he could deal with the killers and their demon master.

  He set off across the rooftop network of bridges and walkways—the Hawk’s Highway, she called it?—in the direction of Vendor’s Block, where the fussy secretary-looking Journeyman had told her he’d delivered the note to the Bluejacket. He wasn’t certain what he was searching for, but he had to at least try looking for any clues that could lead him to the killers.

  Half an hour later, he dropped from the rooftop onto the silent, empty Path of Penitence. The Lady’s Bells had just rung the third hour of the morning, long before even the early-morning merchants arose to prepare for the day’s sales. He had the streets to himself for an hour or two.

  Not entirely to himself, it turned out. His boots had barely touched the ground when he heard the clank of armor, saw a glimmer of light coming from around a nearby corner.

  Damned Praamian Guards! He ducked into a nearby alleyway and into the shadows of a doorway, his teeth grinding in frustration as he waiting for the patrol to pass. The olive-clad guardsmen marched at an unhurried pace, and it seemed an eternity before the tromp, tromp of their boots faded into the night.

  The Hunter didn’t know how long he had before the next patrol; he’d have to cover ground as quickly as he could while still keeping an eye out for…what exactly? If the boy had been snatched the previous day, what sort of traces would remain to mark his abduction? Aside from the few tracks he’d found beside the dumped body—drag marks, two bootprints, and a round mark that could have been left by a knee—there’d been no other marks.

  The thought of that first body made him pause. Drag marks?

  His mind flashed back to the body he’d stumbled upon after killing the Night Guild assassin on the rooftops. The killers had encased the girl’s head in plaster, wrapped her in canvas, and carried her to the dump site—or, at least, he hadn’t found anything to indicate the body had been dragged. Yet the Bluejacket had been dragged, his body found without plaster mask or canvas wrapping. The only thing the two bodies had had in common was that strange Serenii-looking symbol carved into their chests.

  Could there be two killers?

  The Hunter mulled that over in his mind. Two killers operating in Praamis at the same time. Unlikely, but not impossible. One killer dragging a body, meaning he—or she—lacked the strength to carry the child. The other killers, the group he’d seen in the sewers, carrying out their strange ritual with the plaster mask.

  But what about that symbol? Both bodies had born the same markings. If there were two killers, why did they show up on both victims?

  One killer or two—the evidence pointed at both options. He couldn’t figure out which scenario proved most likely.

  Growling in frustration, he slipped out of the alley and set off down the road, following the route he guessed the Bluejacket would have taken to reach Baronet Wyvern’s mansion in The Gardens. Within a few hundred paces, he had to admit the effort would likely prove fruitless. He had no lamp to drive back the shadows, but a light would simply draw the attention of the Praamian Guards. His tracking skills were adequate at best—he’d always relied on Soulhunger and his keen sense of smell when hunting his victims.

  Time to approach this from a new angle, he decided.

  He abandoned his hunt for clues and took once more to the rooftops, just in time to avoid another Praamian Guard patrol. Crouched in the shadows of an overhang, he considered his next plan of attack.

  The Night Guild controlled crime in Praamis, but it seemed they knew as little about the killer as he did. Thankfully, they weren’t the only source of useful information. In fact, when it came to facts and secrets, no one proved as wealthy as the Hidden Circle.

  He’d learned of the Hidden Circle in Voramis years earlier. A sect of alchemists practicing their craft in defiance of the Secret Keepers’ embargo on alchemy of any sort. Graeme, his fat alchemist friend from Voramis, numbered among them.

  Yet alchemy only provided a small percentage of the Hidden Circle’s true wealth and power. They traded in information of every sort—one never knew what could be valuable in the wrong hands. The Hunter had used that to rope Graeme into his quest to sustain Kharna. After all, the information he had to offer on the Serenii, Enarium, the Abiarazi, and the truth of the gods of Einan was something no one else in the world could offer. It had proven compelling enough to not only get Graeme’s cooperation, but actually convinced him to join his mission. Graeme had used his contacts in the Hidden Circle—which operated in every city around Einan—to help him hunt demons.

  The Hidden Circle had helped him discover the temples of Kara-ket, where he’d hunted the Sage and the Warmaster. They knew things that few others in the world did, or should.

  If anyone can point me in the right direction, it will be them.

  And, thanks to his partnership with Graeme, he knew just how to find them.

  * * *

  “Good evening, Liak.”

  The Hunter stifled a grin at the man’s startled surprise; the sight more than made up for the foul, suffocating reek of wood ash, potash, and tannins—the chemicals used to treat leather—that covered the noxious aromas of the concoctions brewed by the secret alchemists.

  “W-Who the bloody hell are you?
” Liak pushed his horn-rimmed spectacles up his hooked nose and squinted up at the Hunter. “How did you get in here?”

  The alchemist’s shop was the exact opposite of Graeme’s Voramian establishment. Neat to the point of compulsion, not a speck of dust on any of the vials lining his shelf. The sign outside proclaimed him to be “Brewster Amos, Master of Elixirs”, though Graeme had given the Hunter Liak’s true name in case he’d need the Hidden Circle’s assistance.

  “I am the Hunter of Voramis. I believe we have a mutual acquaintance. Graeme of The Angry Goblin Bookstore.”

  Liak’s face went white at the Hunter’s name, then purple at the mention of Graeme. “That fat bastard betrayed me? The Hidden Circle will—”

  “Do nothing.” The Hunter fixed him with a stern glare. “The information I have delivered to the Hidden Circle has earned me their full cooperation.” He pulled out a small silver coin, which depicted three interlocking rings—the symbol of the Hidden Circle.

  Liak’s eyes narrowed as he squinted down at the coin, then up at the Hunter. “Hmmm.” He pursed his lips. “Curious, yet not unheard of. Though I must admit interest in the story behind how you came by that token.”

  “That’s for Graeme to tell you, or not.” The Hunter shrugged. “As for me, I’ve come for answers that I believe you are best-suited to answer.”

  “And what, pray tell, do you seek?” Liak leaned back in his chair. His spectacles made his eyes appear even larger, more owlish.

  The Hunter folded his arms. “What do you know of these murders?”

  “Which?” Liak frowned. “So many people die in Praamis every day, it is hard to keep track of them all.”

  “Save your clever charm for someone who will appreciate it,” the Hunter growled. “You know precisely which murders I’m talking about.”

  Liak sighed, removed his spectacles, and rubbed his eyes. “Truly vicious, these killings. Men, women, even children now.”

  “One of Lady Chasteyn’s Bluejackets among them.”

  Liak nodded. “News of that reached me this morning.”

  “Did you hear about another body this evening?” the Hunter asked.

  This piqued Liak’s interest. “Another body? A second Bluejacket?”

  “No.” The Hunter shook his head. “Or, at least there were no indications that she was one of the orphans from the House of Mercy.”

  “She?” Liak took up a quill and scribbled something onto a piece of parchment. “Where was the body found?”

  “In an alley near Old Town Market.”

  Liak finished writing with a flourish and blew on the parchment to dry the ink. The Hunter didn’t know what the man had written down, but over the last few years with Graeme, he’d been amazed by what the Hidden Circle could do with information others would discard or consider useless.

  “How many bodies have been dropped in all?” Graeme’s reports had mentioned three, but they’d been written ten days earlier before the Hunter left Voramis.

  Liak fumbled among the papers scattered across his desk, found one, and held it up to his face. “Thirteen, in total. The Praamian Guards found the bodies of four men, two women, including a prostitute from The Gilded Chateau, and until this morning, just one child.” He added a short note to the bottom of the parchment. “Add the Bluejacket and the second body you found, plus the bodies discovered in the Field of Mercy—”

  “Wait, there were bodies found in the Field of Mercy?” The Hunter narrowed his eyes.

  The Field of Mercy was a vast, empty field that bordered the eastern edge of Watcher’s Square, the broad plaza in front of the Royal Palace of Praamis. A hundred paces wide and forty across, its innocuous appearance hid treacherous quicksand that had claimed hundreds, perhaps thousands, of criminals. And now, it seems murder victims.

  Liak pursed his lips. “They were discovered by…a third party who brought them to our attention. We took care of the evidence before the Praamian Guard learned of them.” He fixed the Hunter with a curious gaze. “All were children, roughly of an age with the Bluejacket.”

  The Hunter’s blood ran cold. Five more children?

  “Curiously enough,” Liak continued, “none bore that strange symbol present on the other bodies. A bastardization of a Serenii rune, I believe, though I have little familiarity with that ancient language.”

  “What if there are actually two killers?” The fact that more bodies had turned up without the symbol carved into their flesh lent credence to his theory. “Only one of them is leaving those marks, and the other is…” He trailed off, uncertain of how the other murderer was killing their victims.

  “An intriguing theory.” Liak frowned and scratched at a drooping ear lobe. “That would explain the two poisons used.”

  “Two poisons?” The Hunter’s eyebrows shot up.

  Liak consulted his paper again. “Night Petal and Flaming Tansy. Both rare poisons, neither of which should be available here in Praamis. Flaming Tansy comes from Fehl, across the Frozen Sea. Night Petal, however, grows in abundance in the south of Einan, in the city of Shalandra.”

  The Hunter had encountered Flaming Tansy once, long ago, when he pursued a target across the sea to Fehl. He’d taken far longer to shake off its potent effects than most of the venoms and poisons he’d faced—though that had been before he knew the truth of his demonic heritage or his healing abilities. Night Petal was unfamiliar to him, though to be fair, his knowledge of poisons was far less extensive than Graeme’s.

  He pondered the revelation. Two poisons might confirm two killers!

  “Shalandra, interesting.” Liak’s voice turned musing, and he turned his gaze up to the Hunter. “And this second body you found, this young girl, you are certain she was not one of Lady Chasteyn’s Bluejackets?”

  “The killer dumped her with no clothing, so I cannot be certain.” The Hunter narrowed his eyes. “Why do you ask?”

  Liak tapped the quill against his lips, splattering ink on his hand and neck. “Because one dead Bluejacket is simply foul play, but two could be a pattern. One that points in the direction of Baronet Wyvern.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Darreth rushed over and slapped the parchment down on Ilanna’s desk. “Look.”

  The parchment bore twenty or more depictions of the symbol, drawn by Darreth’s precise hand. Yet he pointed to two symbols at the upper right hand corner. It looked as if he’d deconstructed the mark, separating it into the strange moon-and-star image and the circle-and-line exterior.

  Words poured from Darreth’s mouth in an excited rush. “I was so focused on seeing it as a whole, but when I did this—” He pointed to a half-drawn symbol on one side of the parchment. “—that’s when I realized that what I thought was one symbol was actually two.”

  Ilanna stared down at the two symbols Darreth had drawn side by side. She could see how they would interlock to form the strange mark carved into the murder victims’ chests.

  “What do they mean?” she asked. “The two symbols.”

  “Ah, that is the fascinating part!” Darreth raced from the room and came back a moment later with a book clasped in his hands. Though the book was badly burned, its metal binding twisted and warped, Ilanna recognized the volume even without opening it and reading the words written on the stiff, age-yellowed pages. The sight brought back fond memories of the woman that had owned it—the tiny, bespectacled Journeyman Donneh had embodied the word “quirky”—and sorrow at her passing.

  Darreth set the book on the table. “I found this among Journeyman Donneh’s belongings after her death. Master Scorpion immediately set Acaria and Orach to copying down anything that could be salvaged. They are the only ones that can read the Secret Keeper script.”

  Ilanna remembered Journeyman Donneh saying the book had been stolen from the Temple of Whispers decades earlier. The Secret Keepers’ volume contained treasured information that the priests of the Mistress would kill to keep secret.

  “In the course of her work, Acaria
came across this.” Darreth flipped to a section near the back of the book. “Once she had finished copying the pages, she brought it to me, knowing my love of such things.”

  Ilanna stared down at the writing on the page. There were two distinct scripts, equally illegible to her: the larger bore a strong resemblance to the symbols carved into the murder victims’ chests, while the other, smaller script, written into the margins like notes, looked a lot like the runes she’d seen when she snuck into the Temple of Whispers in Voramis.

  “From what Acaria has been able to decipher, this was written by a Secret Keeper by the name of Suroth.” Excitement elevated Darreth’s voice to a higher pitch. “This Suroth dedicated his life to the study of the ancient Serenii, everything from their architecture to their alchemical creations to their script.”

  The Serenii, an ancient long-gone race of beings, had possessed knowledge and technology that far exceeded the most advanced creations today. They had constructed breathtaking monuments like the Black Spire, the impossibly tall tower at the heart of Old Praamis, and their knowledge of alchemy had led to the creation of Derelana’s Lance and Kharna’s Breath, the two alchemical concoctions that had contributed to the success of the Lord Auslan heist.

  Darreth tapped a slim finger against a rune that was identical to the horseshoe-shaped half of the deconstructed symbol. “According to this Secret Keeper Suroth, this marking refers to the concept of death. But not death as the end of all things, but as a gateway to a new life, a rebirth as it were.”

  “And the other symbol?” Ilanna asked. She scanned the page but could find nothing that resembled the crescent moon and star depiction.

  Darreth turned a couple of pages, nearly ripping the burned parchment in his excitement. “Here!” He pointed to a symbol that was an exact match. “This symbol means ‘world beyond’.”

  “World beyond?” Ilanna cocked an eyebrow.

  Darreth nodded. “Some philosophers believe that there are other worlds like ours, though they tend to dwell more on the spiritual and moral ramifications of such alternate realities rather than delving into the science of how such a thing could be possible. Similar to how it is believed the demons came from multiple hells—the fiery hell, frozen hell, barren hell, and so on.”