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

by Andy Peloquin

  Six guards in blue jackets, black trousers, and burnished silver breastplates—Arbitors, Ilanna had called them—patrolled the property, nowhere near enough to stop the Hunter from getting through.

  But to reach the nobleman before he was alerted to their presence, Ilanna had a different idea. When the Arbitors disappeared around the far side of the estate, Jarl had shot a crossbow bolt to anchor a rope to the rooftop beyond, then sent another of his comrades, which Ilanna had called a Hawk, to secure it. The Hunter had heard of these zip wires, as they were called, being used to convey heavy loads across vast canyons or fast-flowing rivers.

  An interesting and clever plan, he had to admit.

  The Hunter couldn’t help feeling impressed by Ilanna and her Night Guild. They had proven far more coordinated, controlled, and clinical than the violent Bloody Hand. Ilanna kept them in line, and they approached their various criminal activities with the dispassion of a trained professional—like a butcher or baker rather than the bloodthirsty, vicious bastards that had ruled Voramis.

  A low whistle echoed from somewhere below, and Ilanna turned to him. “It’s time.”

  She handed him a strange-looking contraption: a U-shaped length of metal with two railed wheels. When secured over the zip wire, the Hunter realized, the wheels would spin, thereby reducing friction with the rope and making the crossing faster.

  The Hunter stepped in her way. “I will face the demon first.”

  Ilanna looked ready to retort, but the Ghandian woman put a hand on her shoulder. “He’s right.” The words seemed to stick in her mouth, but she kept the disdain from the glance she shot at the Hunter. “A wise leader knows when to hang back and let her people do the dirty work.”

  Ilanna snorted. “Please, Ria, after all this time, you still don’t know me?” She did, however, remove her wheeled metal device and motion for the Hunter to go first.

  The Hunter snapped the wheels into place atop the rope, gripped the bar in both hands, and, taking a deep breath, leapt off the rooftop. The whirring of the fast-turning wheels was soon lost beneath the whistling of the wind in the Hunter’s ear as he sped down the zip wire toward the nobleman’s mansion a hundred paces away.

  Movement flashed in the corner of his eye, and he turned his head in time to see a dozen of the Night Guild’s assassins rush toward the gate. Their handheld crossbows twanged, sending tiny poison-tipped darts at the blue-robed Arbitors stationed at the gate and walls. He didn’t know if the poison was deadly or simply a sleeping draught, but right now, he didn’t care. Anything to keep the guards busy while he took out the demon.

  Four men wearing the livery and gryphon insignia of House Chasteyn raced out of the mansion and threw themselves at the Night Guild’s fighters. They, too, fell with poison darts embedded in their flesh.

  Then the Hunter had no more time to watch, for the balcony was racing toward him at terrible speeds. He lifted his feet to clear the railing, released his grip on the metal bar, and dropped into a forward roll that brought him to his feet. He used the forward momentum to drive his shoulder into the balcony doors with enough force to shatter glass, bend the metal lock, and splinter the frame.

  He leapt into the chamber beyond, sword and dagger drawn.

  His eyes fixed on the two figures seated on the plush couches before him.

  Beneath the thick stench of amber, cinnamon, musk, and candied flowers, the Hunter sensed the unmistakable reek of rot and decay. He’d found the demon.

  “Lord and Lady Chasteyn,” he growled, “for your sins, the hand of the Watcher comes for you this day.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Ilanna landed on the balcony a second after the Hunter, rolled with the fall, and leapt through the now-shattered window in time to hear his declaration. From anyone else, it might have sounded trite, but Ilanna felt a shiver run down her spine at the fury in his words. She could very well picture the Hunter as the Watcher’s right hand, meting out just punishment.

  The Chasteyns’ bedroom was luxurious, a massive silk-canopied bed dominating its center while ornate teak cabinets, dressers, and shelves lined the walls. The Chasteyns sat on a plush divan, sharing a cup of tea from valuable Nyslian porcelain cups. The picture of placid routine, but Ilanna knew the truth. Beneath their elegant clothing and polished demeanors lurked monsters.

  Lady Chasteyn was too stunned to do more than drop her tea, and a dark stain spread across her frilled yellow-and-white summer gown.

  Lord Chasteyn, however, leapt to his feet with impossible speed and darted from the room before she or the Hunter could react.

  With a roar, the Hunter charged after the fleeing nobleman.

  Ilanna heard the crunch of glass behind her, and didn’t need to turn to know Ria had joined her in the noblewoman’s sitting room.

  “Lady Chasteyn,” she snarled, “the Night Guild has come for a reckoning.”

  The noblewoman blinked and stared at Ilanna with a confused look. “What have we done to earn the Night Guild’s wrath? Surely my husband has—”

  “This is not about your husband!” Ria’s voice was cold, hard. “Yours were the hands that killed those children.”

  “Surely you are mistaken.” Lady Chasteyn looked taken aback, even offended. When she raised a hand to her mouth, Ilanna caught a glimpse of scars—two running from her elbow to her forearm, and more, smaller scars running parallel to her wrists. “Where is Holtan? My manservant will be able to clear up any misund—”

  “Holtan lies dead, his just reward for his part in your crimes.” Ilanna stepped forward and drew a dagger. “Your husband has fled, and now you must stand judgement for your actions.”

  “So be it.” Lady Chasteyn recovered some of her poise and dignity and stood, head held high. Yet her fingers dug into her arms, hard enough to leave red lines. “Duke Phonnis will know the truth of the matter. He will see that I am innocent of whatever it is you believe I have done.”

  “Oh, the truth will come out.” Ilanna fixed the noblewoman with a hard glare. “When I present Duke Phonnis with your corpse and all the evidence that connects you to the murders of your Bluejackets, he will, indeed, learn who is behind these deaths.”

  Lady Chasteyn’s expression remained haughty for a moment, then the façade cracked and her face grew desperate, fearful. “Please! It is his fault!” She thrust a finger in the direction Lord Chasteyn had fled. “My husband is a cruel man, and he made me kill those children. He said they were a drain on our finances, that we were only doing the city a disservice by keeping alive those who would have died without our help. He is a monster!”

  Ilanna smiled. “You’re not far wrong on that one.”

  Lady Chasteyn, as if reading Ilanna’s wry humor as understanding, threw herself to her knees. “He and his terrible cult of Gatherers are murdering innocents, and I can do nothing to stop him. If I so much as speak against it, he beats me. When he ordered me to kill, I could not resist for fear that he would kill me as he has all the others.”

  Ilanna cocked her head. “Is that so?”

  “Yes!” Lady Chasteyn nodded, and tears streamed down her face. “You must save me from him. Surely you, a woman, know what it’s like to fear a violent man who has power over you!”

  Ilanna’s gut tightened. She’d known that fear, and it had driven her to be stronger, better, smarter than all the other apprentices and Journeymen in House Hawk. Yet Lady Chasteyn had made a mistake when she tried to draw a comparison between the two of them. Ilanna had fought with every ounce of her strength to save her son, while Lady Chasteyn had killed children the same age Kodyn had been when the fire in Old Town Market had nearly taken him from her. Some crimes could not be forgiven.

  Lady Chasteyn must have read that in Ilanna’s eyes, for she went from the tearful, pleading woman to the haughty, cold lady of a noble house once more. She stood, her movements precise and delicate, brushing the dirt from her stained summer dress and fixing Ilanna with a sneer.

  “You think to judge me
?” Hatred flashed in her eyes. “You, some lowborn criminal?”

  Ria snarled, but Ilanna made no move. Now we see the real Lady Chasteyn. The rest had been an act, and now that the noblewoman saw that she wouldn’t deceive her way out of this, she resorted to her true, vile nature.

  “Of course you’d take umbrage at a few street brats turning up dead, because you’re one of them!” Lady Chasteyn’s words dripped vitriol and disdain. “You could never understand what it’s like to belong to a noble house.”

  “The miserable burdens of wealth and privilege.” Ilanna met Lady Chasteyn’s disdain with her own.

  The noblewoman’s eyes went suddenly flat, dead. “I couldn’t kill them fast enough,” she whispered. “They never stopped coming, never stopped wanting more!”

  “More food, clothing, shelter?” Anger curled like a fiery serpent in Ilanna’s gut. “Those ingrates, wanting the basic necessities to stay alive!”

  “They didn’t deserve to live!” Lady Chasteyn shot back. “Filthy, pitiful creatures, a blight on our city. Devouring my fortune with their endless needs. My father’s greatest pride, and his greatest weakness. One final torment even from beyond the grave. But I will not let him have the final word.”

  The icy tone of the noblewoman’s voice sent revulsion shuddering through Ilanna. So much hatred! She knew what it felt like to be consumed by hate, to be driven by a desire for vengeance. But this goes far beyond anything rational.

  Hatred was more than just an emotion for Lady Chasteyn—it was her sustenance, her life force, her impetus. Hate alone had kept her alive when she should have shattered long ago.

  Had she ended with the murder of her husband, Ilanna wouldn’t have bothered. Hell, she might even have applauded—Praamis could use one fewer nobleman. But when she preyed on the vulnerable, innocent children she pretended to care for, she had crossed a line into a place from which there was no return.

  “You killed Holtan?” Lady Chasteyn asked.

  The question, the sudden shift in the noblewoman’s tone and line of thought, caught Ilanna by surprise.

  “Yes,” Ria growled. “His quick death was a mercy he did not deserve.”

  Sorrow—genuine, this time—clouded Lady Chasteyn’s eyes. “Poor Holtan. He always tried his best.” She shook her head. “It was never good enough. Never enough to shield me from wicked men.”

  Ilanna turned to Jarl and Errik, who had crossed the zip wire to join them. “Take her. Don’t bother being gentle.”

  Lady Chasteyn’s head snapped up, her expression once more growing icy. “You will not lay hands on me!”

  The noblewoman’s eyes narrowed as Jarl and Sys stepped forward. She didn’t shrink back in fear, but stood straight, tall, her gaze darting around the room. Her expression went flat once more, that empty look in her eyes as she fixed Ilanna with a haughty smile. “My father was right about me.”

  There was a flurry of lace and cloth as Lady Chasteyn darted toward the picture window at the far side of the room. She threw herself at the window before Ilanna could move. Glass shattered and the noblewoman’s body plummeted from view. A moment later, a sickening crunch echoed below, accompanied by the sinister tinkling of a rain of glass shards.

  Jarl, Ria, and Errik stood still, too stunned to react. Ilanna had seen Lady Chasteyn’s intention the moment the noblewoman’s eyes had found the window. She hadn’t bothered to stop the woman. A violent end was all Lady Chasteyn deserved.

  The sound of clashing steel echoed from the room beyond, snapping Ilanna back to the moment. Lady Chasteyn was dead, but she still had Lord Chasteyn—a Keeper-damned demon—to take care of.

  Chapter Forty

  With a growl, the Hunter raced after the fleeing demon. Coward!

  He pursued the creature into the next room, a study with a heavy oak desk, plush armchair, a side table with two crystal goblets and a bottle of Nyslian brandy, and shelves laden with books. His gut clenched as he saw the open door that led out into the hall; he threw himself at the doorway to cut off the demon’s escape.

  But Lord Chasteyn didn’t dart through the open door. Instead, he darted toward his desk and snatched up the weapons resting there. He drew the blades, a slim dueling rapier and a long dagger, and whipped around to meet the Hunter.

  “I always knew this day would come,” Lord Chasteyn spat. “The Night Guild will not take me so easily!”

  The Hunter snorted. “I have not come from the Night Guild.” He leveled his sword at the nobleman. “I’ve come for you, Abiarazi!”

  The word caught Lord Chasteyn by surprise. His expression grew puzzled as he drew in a deep breath through his nostrils, and his eyebrows shot toward his hairline. “Bucelarii!”

  The Hunter inclined his head. “The last living of my kind.” The only others still alive lay locked in dreamless slumber in Enarium.

  “What are you doing here?” Lord Chasteyn dropped his voice to a harsh whisper. “And with the Night Guild?” His eyes narrowed. “Did the Sage send you?”

  “In a way.” A smile played at the Hunter’s lips, but cold fury burned in his chest. “It’s thanks to him that I’ve come looking for you.”

  The Sage had been the de-facto leader of the demons on Einan, building a vast network of Abiarazi and human agents in every city on the continent. The Hunter had eliminated the demon in Enarium three years ago, but he’d only just begun to dismantle the Sage’s organization.

  “Well, what does he want?” The demon wearing Lord Chasteyn’s face lowered his sword. “I’ve heard nothing from him in almost three years, but he’ll be glad to know I’ve kept busy. I have fooled the city into believing that I’m the real Lord Chasteyn, and I have access to his fortune in the Coin Counter’s Temple.” He shook his head, disgust on his face. “Not as sizeable as I’d believed—too much coin spent on keeping that damned House of Mercy afloat—but it’s enough that I’ve been able to buy my way into favor with most of the Royal Council. That damned Duke Phonnis is too sanctimonious and self-righteous to be bought, but when the time comes, I can simply replace him.”

  The Hunter’s gut clenched as the demon’s features swam, shifting and writhing, flesh and bone changed from Lord Chasteyn’s face to another unfamiliar one—strong, square-jawed, with dark eyes. That had been the Sage’s plan with the demon masquerading as Queen Asalah in Al Hani. The Abiarazi had intended to murder the al-Malek and replace him, killing off a concubine to explain away the queen’s “death” in a fire. Abiarazi sought to gain power and influence wherever they went, all to further the Sage’s master plan to dominate the world of humans.

  How that had played in with his ultimate goal of restoring the god he believed to be Kharna the Destroyer, the Hunter hadn’t known. Perhaps the Sage had believed that humans would put up less resistance if their leaders ordered them not to. Either way, it didn’t matter now. The Sage was dead, and the rest of the demons on Einan would soon follow.

  Starting with this one.

  “If you’re with the Night Guild,” the demon said, “that means we’ve got enough power combined to take over this city.” His brow furrowed. “Though, I had heard rumors that the Guild Master was a woman.”

  The Hunter shrugged off the question. “When we spoke last, he never mentioned anything about the Gatherers.”

  “Ahh, them.” The demon’s face shifted back to Lord Chasteyn’s, and a smug smile broadened the nobleman’s lips. “I took the liberties of getting…creative. I met the Gatherers in Shalandra, and I knew they could prove quite useful in my efforts to destabilize Praamis.”

  The Hunter nodded. “Clever.” The Abiarazi he’d encountered loved to speak about their ingenuity and devious schemes—hubris had been their downfall every time.

  “Indeed!” Lord Chasteyn’s midnight black eyes—the mark of an Abiarazi—sparkled. “When I heard that Necroset Kytos had been exiled from Shalandra, it seemed too good an opportunity to pass up. I extended the offer to him and his followers to bring their unique flavor of madness to
Praamis. Duke Phonnis has quite the hate-on for the Night Guild, so it was a simple matter to blame the deaths on them.”

  He fixed the Hunter with a triumphant gaze. “Tell me you’ve come with word from the Sage that now is the time to strike! The situation in Praamis has never been more tenuous, and a single word from me could plunge the city into chaos. With you by my side, we can fight our way through these Night Guild thugs with ease and be free to take control.”

  The Hunter hid a cruel grin. “I’ve come with a message, but I’m not certain you’ll want to hear it.”

  Lord Chasteyn cocked his head. “What does the Sage have to say?”

  “The Sage is beyond speaking,” the Hunter growled. “He was consumed by the Devourer of Worlds, and the world is now free of his filth.” He lifted his sword. “And he’s sent me to ensure that you follow him to the grave.”

  “You…killed the Sage?” Lord Chasteyn’s expression grew puzzled. “Impossible! His Elivasti—”

  “Are now free of him and the Warmaster forever.” The Hunter gave him a cold smile. “And, once I hunt down the rest of you, they will no longer be bound by their oath.”

  “B-But, y-you are Bucelarii,” Lord Chasteyn stammered. “You’re one of us! Our blood!”

  “Yes.” The Hunter nodded. “And that is precisely why it falls to me to eradicate you.”

  None of the other demons he’d encountered on Einan had seemed to understand why he chose to kill them rather than join them. They had all failed to account for one thing: he was only half-demon. His human side—the side that loved Taiana, Kiara, Hailen, and Evren; the side that had cared for Farida, Bardin, and all the others that had fallen along the way—held far more sway over his heart and mind than the bloodlust and cruelty instilled in him by his Abiarazi heritage.