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

by Andy Peloquin

  He would never truly belong in the world of humans, but he had found a place of peace, of belonging among a few of them. For that reason alone, he would never allow the demons to bring chaos, death, and destruction to the world. His world.

  He was the Hunter. Assassin, slayer, guardian. The threat of the demons was far beyond what most humans could ever imagine, much less handle. It fell to him to protect those who could not protect themselves.

  “But why?” Again, Lord Chasteyn seemed confused.

  “Because of the blood on your hands,” the Hunter snarled, and stalked toward the demon.

  “My hands are clean,” Lord Chasteyn protested. “The Gatherers were killing anyway, I simply helped to focus their efforts. And Lady Chasteyn, her actions are far worse than anything I would have suggested.”

  The Hunter couldn’t argue with that. Over his years as an assassin, he’d seen the worst of humanity, yet he’d learned that humans could also be good, honest, and decent. Not all, certainly not even the majority, but enough that he couldn’t allow creatures like the Sage, the First of the Bloody Hand, or Lord Chasteyn to live. All demons were vile monsters, but some humans were worth saving.

  The Hunter charged, swinging his sword across in a vicious stroke. His heavier blade could snap Lord Chasteyn’s lighter, slimmer rapier with a few well-placed blows. He attacked in a flurry of strikes aimed at the nobleman’s head, chest, sides, knees, and thighs. Lord Chasteyn knocked furniture in the Hunter’s path as he retreated around his heavy oak desk, using rapier and dagger together to deflect the blows, evading whenever possible. His expression flashed from puzzled to angry to enraged in the space of a moment.

  With an inhuman roar, the demon went on the offensive. His lighter blade moved with blurring speed, and the Hunter found himself leaping back to evade a thrust that would have skewered his heart and tore open a lung. Even with his Bucelarii speed, he was too slow to avoid the sword’s point. A hand’s breadth of steel punched through his chest and slid painfully along his sternum before he was out of range.

  The demon, encouraged, pressed his momentary advantage. His eyes were fixed on Soulhunger, clutched in the Hunter’s left hand, and his strikes aimed at knocking or cutting the dagger from the Hunter’s grip. They both knew that whoever wielded Soulhunger—Thanal Eth’ Athaur, in the tongue of the Serenii—would ultimately win this fight.

  Steel could pierce Abiarazi and Bucelarii flesh, could cause enormous damage and pain, but it could not kill. Without iron—a metal poisonous to demonic blood—they would collapse from blood loss, only to awake as their bodies healed. Neither wielded weapons of iron, so only Soulhunger’s soul-stealing powers would put an end to the battle.

  The Hunter hissed as the slim rapier carved a long gash down his left forearm, and only a supreme effort of will kept his fingers tight around Soulhunger’s hilt. No matter how much ground he gave, the lightning quick strikes of the nimble Lord Chasteyn awaited him. His long sword proved slow, almost clumsy compared to the fencing rapier in the hands of the inhumanly fast demon. Warm crimson trickled from a dozen cuts, puncture wounds, and gashes on his face, hands, arms, chest, and legs. He could feel a numb, sluggishness creeping over him as he bled out.

  “You made a mistake, coming for me!” Triumph shone in Lord Chasteyn’s eyes in anticipation of his victory. “Doubly so, when you revealed that the Sage is dead. Now, I can rule Einan in his stead.”

  The demon lashed out with his dagger, batting aside the Hunter’s sword, and raised his rapier to drive into the Hunter’s chest. The Hunter barely managed to deflect the blow with Soulhunger, but failed to anticipate Lord Chasteyn’s next attack. He grunted at a sudden pain in his side and stumbled backward, staring down at the hilt nobleman’s dagger protruding from between his ribs.

  But the Hunter did not fall. He refused to succumb to the pain. He had faced the Warmaster, the self-proclaimed greatest warrior of the Abiarazi, and defeated him. He had killed demons far stronger and more skilled than this one. He was the Hunter, and the Abiarazi were his prey.

  He ripped the dagger from his side and hurled it at the nobleman. Droplets of blood—his blood—spattered Lord Chasteyn’s face and clothes as the dagger flew. The cast was poor, his aim thrown off by his wounds, and the nobleman batted it aside with a contemptuous swipe of his rapier.

  Just as the Hunter had intended. The movement sent his sword wide, away from his body, and the Hunter was already moving as the blade cut through the air. His long sword punched into the demon’s gut with sickening ease and he drove it home with all the force of his rage. Even as the demon cried out, the Hunter attacked high, slashing Soulhunger’s razor-sharp edge across his throat.

  Crimson gushed from the severed vein in the nobleman’s throat, and Lord Chasteyn sagged to one knee, hands clasped to his bleeding neck. “Bas…tard!” he gurgled through bloodstained teeth. “Trai…tor!”

  The Hunter raised Soulhunger to strike, and defiance filled Lord Chasteyn’s eyes as he glared up at the Hunter.

  Soulhunger descended, and the gemstone set into its pommel slammed into the nobleman’s forehead with bone-crunching force. Lord Chasteyn keeled over, unconscious, splashing into the ever-widening pool of his own blood.

  The Hunter stared down at the senseless demon. The Abiarazi would live, his body repairing the damage to his throat and the section of skull crushed inward by the Hunter’s powerful blow. But it would take time. And in that time…

  “Hunter?” The Guild Master’s voice sounded from the doorway to the bedroom. He looked up and found Ilanna staring at him, wide-eyed.

  “Where are they?” he demanded. “Where are the chains?”

  She couldn’t seem to tear eyes away from his torn, bloodstained clothing, the wounds even now healing on his arms and face, and the body lying at his feet. Her expression revealed mingled surprise and confusion.

  “The chains!” he roared. “Before the bastard wakes up.”

  Ilanna seemed to move in a daze, her movements slow as she called out “Jarl!”

  The huge man rushed into the room, but stopped at the sight of the crimson-covered Hunter.

  “Cuff his wrists and ankles behind his back,” the Hunter ordered the big man. “Break his bones if you have to.”

  Jarl shot a glance at Ilanna, who gave a slow nod. “Do it,” she said.

  The big, blonde man picked his way through the overturned furniture littering the floor and crouched in the puddle of the demon’s blood. His huge hands moved with practiced ease as he pulled four lengths of wrist-thick chains from the sack.

  The Hunter gave the manacles a wide berth. The stink of iron flooded his nostrils, and he felt his skin crawling in memory of the metal’s effects. The slightest touch of iron could seep through his skin, and if it got into his blood, it would turn his blood to sludge and kill him as surely as a viper’s bite killed a human.

  For the demon, however, it would cause enormous amounts of pain and hold him bound, but it would not kill him. It took far more than just iron chains to put an end to the bastards.

  He found Ilanna’s gaze fixed on him, curiosity burning in her eyes. He saw the questions etched into every line of her face—she wanted to know his secrets, at any cost.

  The time could one day come when he shared those secrets—the Night Guild could prove powerful allies in his war against the Abiarazi—but not today.

  “Your city is safe, Guild Master,” he said with a nod. “The murderers are eliminated, the demon in chains.”

  Ilanna gave him a tight smile, a hint of tension in her expression. “I can’t wait to explain all of this to the King.” Her eyes flicked to the chained demon on the ground. “And trust me when I say I’d rather face a demon than try to explain this mess to Duke Phonnis!”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Ilanna would never admit it aloud, but she felt a deep-rooted sense of relief to find King Ohilmos alone in his private study. After the last days, she’d rather swallow molten steel than put up with Duke
Phonnis’ irascible nature.

  What the King lacked of his brother’s physical strength, he more than made up for it by being far less of an infuriating prick. Truth be told, Ilanna actually almost liked the man—insomuch as any criminal could like a monarch that could have her executed and her friends murdered on a whim. Perhaps the fact that he wasn’t prone to emotional outburst proved part of what made Ilanna place her trust, what little she could spare, in him.

  “Your Majesty,” she said in a quiet voice.

  To his credit, King Ohilmos didn’t quite jump—the feather quill slipped from his fingers and ink splotches stained the page, but he didn’t knock over the glass wine carafe sitting on the table beside it. “Master Gold.” A small grin spread his face. “I take your presence as an indication that you’ve managed to clean up the mess?”

  “Have I ever failed you, my King?” Ilanna swept a courtly bow, a sardonic smile on her lips.

  King Ohilmos snorted. “To hear Elodon speak, the fact that you still draw breath constitutes a failure.” He held up a hand to forestall Ilanna’s biting retort. “But I am not my brother. I do not share his feelings toward you. And if, as you say, you’ve dealt with whoever is behind this recent spate of murders, I’ll once again consider myself wise for sparing your Night Guild all those years ago.”

  Ilanna’s smile froze, hardened. Not enough years had passed for her to forget the horror of watching everyone she knew being sent to the executioner.

  “Tell me.” King Ohilmos steepled his fingers and leaned forward in his stuffed armchair. “Who was it?”

  “Lord and Lady Chasteyn.”

  The King’s face did a little dance of surprise, his eyebrows rising as his jaw fell open. “Lord and Lady Chasteyn?”

  Ilanna recounted everything—from finding the corpse of her Fox apprentice to the Guild’s encounter with the Hunter of Voramis to the discovery of Baronet Wyvern’s body to the battle with the Gatherers to the final confrontation in the Chasteyn manor. She left out the part about the demon-hunting—that might prove a bit too much of a stretch for the King.

  King Ohilmos’ eyes sparkled. “The Hunter of Voramis, eh?” He rubbed his slim hands together, his raspy voice edged with excitement. “What’s he like? Are the legends about him true?”

  Ilanna rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t shoot lightning out of his arse or piss venom, if that’s what you’re asking.” She paused, a pensive frown on her face. “And yet, I think having met him face to face, the legends fail to do him justice. Let’s just say that I’m glad none of my people were behind these murders.” The Night Guild would have fared poorly had the Hunter truly wanted them dead.

  King Ohilmos was about to say something else when the door opened and Duke Elodon Phonnis strode into the room.

  “Brother, wait until you hear what the Night Guild did to the Chas—” He stopped in his tracks, eyes narrowing to hard slits as he caught sight of Ilanna. “You,” he growled. “I was just about to tell His Majesty about the mess you and your cutthroats left in the Chasteyns’ manor. Not to mention Baronet Wyvern turning up dead.” He bared his teeth in a furious snarl. “You’ve gone too far this time, Guild Master.” He spoke her title with a tone that did little to conceal his disdain.

  “I’ve gone precisely as far as necessary,” Ilana snapped, her tone as sharp as his. “The King asked me to clean up the mess—a mess your Praamian Guards proved incapable of even stopping, much less finding the culprits responsible—so that’s precisely what I did.” She turned to the King. “There will be no more ritual killings. The Gatherers are dead, and the Chasteyns dealt with.”

  “She even admits to killing two of Praamis’ nobles!” Duke Phonnis stepped toward his brother. “You ought to lock—”

  “Brother.” King Ohilmos’ voice was soft, yet hard enough to interrupt the Duke’s tirade before it started. “Why not confirm what she says?”

  Duke Phonnis stopped mid-sentence, mouth agape, face red with fury. “What?” he finally managed to spit out.

  King Ohilmos gestured toward Ilanna. “She has said where you will find the bodies of these Gatherers, along with proof of their actions. I’m certain that is enough to help you believe at least some of what she says. As for the rest…” He shrugged his slim shoulders. “Master Gold knows what will happen if we discover she is lying about the Chasteyns and Baronet Wyvern.”

  Ilanna stood straight. “Send your men, Duke Phonnis.” Her voice was cold, restrained. “See the truth for yourself.”

  Duke Phonnis glared at her, at the King, then back at her.

  “In the meantime,” Ilanna told the King with a wry smile, “how about a glass of that wine? It looks like that Nyslian red you’re so fond of, and we both know just how good it is?”

  The wine tasted all the sweeter for Duke Phonnis’ indignant scowl.

  * * *

  Ilanna sighed and dropped into her chair, pressing two fingers to the bridge of her nose. The headache hadn’t yet faded even though she’d left the Duke’s presence an hour earlier.

  “I take it the meeting went well,” Ria said from behind her.

  Ilanna turned to find the Ghandian standing in the doorway that led to the Guild Master’s bedchambers. Rest had diminished the drooping bags beneath her eyes, freshened her umber-colored cheeks, and brightened the twinkle in her eyes. It seemed Master Phoenix had taken advantage of Ilanna’s absence to catch up on much-needed sleep.

  “Understatement of the year.” Ilanna shook her head. “A full hour spent ignoring the Keeper-damned Duke’s glare until his men finally confirmed what I told him about the Gatherers. You should have seen his face once he realized his plan to shut us down failed. He looked like he’d just had all the lemons in Praamis shoved up his arse.”

  Ria chuckled. “The perks of being Guild Master, eh?” She came to stand behind Ilanna’s chair, her fingers working at the knots in Ilanna’s shoulders.

  “Oh, Keeper’s teeth, that’s amazing!” Ilanna moaned.

  “Being Guild Master can’t be all bad,” Ria whispered and placed a teasing kiss on her ear lobe, sending a shudder down Ilanna’s spine. “You’ve got a lot of good things to enjoy as well.”

  Ilanna’s happy moment shattered when a knock sounded at the door. She bit down hard to keep from shouting curses at whoever was stupid enough to interrupt her, but instead barked out. “What?” Not much better.

  The door opened to reveal a very nervous, very pale-faced Darreth. “Er, forgive me, Guild Master, but, er, he’s here again. Says he wants to see you.”

  Ilanna’s gut tightened, but she kept her face a mask of calm. “Send him in.”

  Darreth swallowed and glanced at Ria. “I could send for Master Serpent if you need more—”

  Ilanna rolled her eyes. “If he was coming to murder me, I highly doubt he’d wait patiently for you to announce his presence.” She reached up and squeezed Ria’s hand, still resting on her shoulder. “And Ria’s more than capable of protecting me from one pesky assassin.”

  “Pesky, eh?” The Hunter’s deep, gravelly voice drifted into the room a moment before he pushed past Darreth. “That’s the first time I’ve been called that.”

  Darreth gave a little half-squeak and recoiled, then darted back to the safety of his desk. Ilanna felt Ria’s hands tighten painfully on her shoulders. Whatever Ria had against the Hunter went far beyond his legend as an assassin.

  The Hunter strode into the room with a cool confidence—well-earned, Ilanna had seen during his fight with Lord Chasteyn—and came to a comfortable standing rest in front of her massive desk. He fixed her and Ria with a calm gaze, a small smile on his lips.

  To Ilanna’s surprise, Ria spoke before the Hunter did. “In my country, they whisper of your kind, Okanele.” Her grip on Ilanna’s shoulders relaxed, and she strode around to the front of the desk to meet the Hunter face to face. The assassin towered over Ria, but the Ghandian women showed no sign of fear. “You are death-bringers, soul-stealers, sent by Inzayo Okubi to co
nsume the spirits of mankind.”

  The Hunter shrugged. “It may be that those stories are true, or perhaps they are distorted by time, like so many other things you believe. I won’t defend the actions of my ancestors, for I have yet to meet one that isn’t a complete and utter bastard.” He grinned. “Yet the stories I’ve heard about the Night Guild haven’t exactly been flattering. The actions of one Guild member reflect on the others, but do not define them. What I know is that I am not like the rest of my kind.”

  “I don’t know much about these Bu…Bucelarii,” Ilanna stumbled at the unfamiliar word. She stood and strode around the desk, extending a hand to the Hunter. “But what I’ve seen of you is enough to make me believe that you’re not the evil creature your legends say you are.”

  “You might be surprised.” The Hunter gave a little chuckle as he shook her hand. “Just ask the Bloody Hand.”

  Ilanna snorted. “Those vicious cunts deserved every bit of torment.” Her gaze darted to Ria. “They brought too much pain to this world.”

  The Hunter nodded. “Indeed.” He held a hand out to Ria. “I will admit I was wrong in my assumptions about the Night Guild. Perhaps you are wrong about me as well.”

  “I doubt that,” Ria growled. Yet, after a long moment, she grasped the Hunter’s hand. “But any man—or demon—who helps protect my family gets at least one pass.”

  “Half-demon,” the Hunter corrected. “And I thank you for your generosity.”

  “What will you do with him?” Ilanna asked. “Lord Chas—er, the demon?”

  The Hunter gave her a small smile. “That is precisely why I came here today. I believe it a matter worth hearing.” He glanced around at the empty office. “But only for those who you are certain you can trust.”

  Ilanna took Ria’s hand. “Anything you say here will be kept in the strictest confidences.”