"It is my honor, young—"

  "Hardwell!"

  Hailen's voice sounded faint and distant. Lost in the memory, the Hunter blinked his unseeing eyes and struggled to return to the present.

  "Hardwell!" Hailen's voice came again.

  "Wh-What?" The Hunter found his throat suddenly dry, his tongue thick and heavy. His eyes finally focused on the tear-streaked, wide-eyed face before him.

  Il Seytani stood within the standing stones, dagger pressed against Hailen's throat. The Hunter's heart sank. He couldn't keep fighting, not with Hailen's life in danger.

  He glanced around. He stood alone in a sea of sand stained crimson. Bodies littered the dune around him, silent and unmoving, staring up at him with empty eyes, expressions stained with horror.

  The Hunter turned back to Il Seytani, his expression grim. "Coward! You left your men to die while you—"

  He bit back his words as the bandit pressed his knife into Hailen's neck. The boy cried out, his hand going to the blood trickling down his throat. He stared at the Hunter with wide eyes. "Hardwell, I'm scared!"

  "Don't be, Hailen." The Hunter never took his eyes from Il Seytani. "He's not going to hurt you. You're the only reason he's still alive."

  Il Seytani narrowed his eyes. "Not the only reason, ytaq. Or do you not care about the other children I stole from your caravan? Perhaps you would wish to know where they were sold? You may be able to save them." He sneered. "Or perhaps you're too late for them as well."

  The Hunter stalked forward. "Tell me what you did with them, and I may let you live." Fire burned in his chest, and his hands shook with rage.

  Il Seytani retreated, dragging Hailen with him. "Clearly you don't understand how this works." He spoke quickly, his eyes darting around for a way of escape. "You do not give the commands, not as long as I have this blade at your boy's throat."

  The Hunter shook his head. "There is no way out, Il Seytani. You know how this will end."

  "So what's to stop me from cutting?" The bandit chieftain pressed the dagger into Hailen's chin. "Why should I…?" His heel struck a depression in the sand, and he stumbled.

  Time slowed. Il Seytani's dagger carved a thin line of red into Hailen's throat, but his grip on the boy loosened. Hailen staggered and fell against the obsidian stone of the monolith. His hand—still stained with his blood—pressed against the smooth black surface.

  Something hummed beneath the Hunter's feet. Midnight stones blazed red hot, ignited by a fire from within. The air around him thickened as the early morning light retreated, and the world grew dim. The stench of decay grew deeper, permeating every fiber of his being.

  What's…happening? Throbbing tension mounted in his head. His arms and legs moved as if through mud. His lungs burned; his chest buckled until it seemed his bones would snap beneath the strain of a single gasp. The cacophony in his thoughts reached a mind-numbing crescendo.

  The pressure snapped with concussive force. A wave of heat and power slammed into him, an invisible hand that lifted him from his feet and hurled him through the air. His head and back struck a monolith, and the impact knocked the air from his lungs. He bit back a cry as his flesh sizzled from contact with the stones. His weapons spun away as his grip loosened.

  Black spots swam in his vision. Dazed, every nerve on fire, he struggled to stand despite the shooting pain that ran down his side. His breath came in short, ragged gasps. He'd cracked a rib, and his knee twinged when he placed his weight on it.

  He shook his head to push back the darkness. Soft daylight bathed them in a warm golden glow. Gone was the darkness, the mounting pressure, and the reek of ageless, timeless death. From the stones rose a pillar of ashen smoke, and the fire within the stones grew dim. Hailen leaned against the standing stone, eyes wide in shock. Il Seytani lay on the ground, groaning, struggling to rise.

  Ignoring the ache in his knee and ribs, the Hunter staggered forward and hurled himself onto the bandit chieftain. His fingers wrapped around Il Seytani's neck and he squeezed with every shred of his demon-borne strength.

  Il Seytani's eyes went wide in horror. He opened his mouth, but only a weak, choking gasp slipped out.

  "Bastard!" Rage contorted the Hunter's face into a snarl, and crimson-tinged spittle splashed onto Il Seytani's face. Blood rushed in his ears in time with the thump, thump of his heart. The burning force of his rage only lent to the inhuman strength in his arms and hands. Every muscle coiled and tensed, and with a howl of triumph, the Hunter twisted.

  Il Seytani's neck snapped with an audible crack. The muscles in his face grew slack, and the tension drained from his struggling body. The horror and fear in the bandit's eyes faded to empty nothingness as his head lolled. With a shuddering gasp, he lay still.

  The Hunter slumped, his last reserves of fury and energy drained away. The fire of vengeance in his chest dimmed to a low burn.

  Hailen.

  A cold drop of sweat trickled down his back. He half-turned toward the boy, but hesitated for a heartbeat. He'd never wanted Hailen to see him kill, but Il Seytani had forced his hand.

  Would the boy react as Ellinor had? He'd killed a dozen Dark Heresiarchs in Voramis to save her and her young child, Arlo. She'd stared at him with naked horror and fear, and fled, as if from a monster. He dreaded seeing that look on the boy's face. He couldn't endure the same from Hailen.

  "H-Hardwell?" Hailen's voice sounded weak and terrified.

  Slowly, his heart sinking, the Hunter turned. His gaze met Hailen's. A lump rose in his throat, and he nearly wept. The boy's eyes held no fear, no horror at the sight of the blood-soaked Hunter, only relief and worry.

  "Are you hurt?"

  The Hunter didn't understand. He felt nothing but the burning ache in his throat and the rush of battle coursing through his veins. "I-I'm—"

  Agony washed over him with staggering force. The reek of iron reached him a moment before he felt the poison seeping into his veins. He looked down. Il Seytani's dagger protruded from his side, driven there in the bandit's final, desperate struggle.

  His knees gave out, and he slumped to a seat in the soft sand. "I-I'm fine," he said through gritted teeth. "C-Can you bring the…the horses?" Chilling numbness oozed through his veins, filling his arms and legs with lead. Every shred of strength went into drawing the dagger from his side. He bit back a cry as Il Seytani's blade tore free. The iron blackened and burned his fingers, and he hurled it away.

  Hailen nodded, frowning, and trotted from the standing stones toward Elivast and the desert pony.

  Realization washed over the Hunter. So this is how it ends. His eyes fell on Soulhunger, lying where it had fallen. The dagger was useless now. Il Seytani was dead, along with his war band. He'd never make it back to the bandit camp before the iron did its festering work.

  He struggled to remain upright. At least I did something useful. He'd rescued the boy, as promised. He could cling to that one hope.

  A sense of calm settled on him. Somehow, the thought of death no longer terrified him. The voices in his mind faded to a gentle throbbing. A cool breeze washed over him, carrying the fresh scent of a misty dawn. Faces floated before his eyes: Old Nan, Jak, Farida, Bardin, all the others he'd lost. They smiled at him, arms open in welcome.

  Hailen returned, leading Elivast and a skittish desert horse. "Are you ready to go, Hardwell?"

  The Hunter coughed. He felt no pain, only a cold numbness. "A-Almost." A chill seeped into his lungs, and he struggled for each breath. "You know…your horse has…no name. What…will you…call him?"

  Hailen beamed and patted the horse's nose. "He should be called Ash." He wrinkled his nose. "He looks like the ashes after we put out a campfire."

  The grey and white spotted pony snorted in approval.

  The Hunter nodded. "It…is a good name…Hailen." His muscles spasmed, and he collapsed.

  "Hardwell?" Hailen's voice floated toward him. The ringing in his ears and the numbness seeping into his mind drowned out everything else. "What's wrong?"

  "I-I'm…just…tired," the Hunter managed to gasp. "You…have to…go." He'd saved the boy; it had to be enough. His vision darkened, and the world around him faded.

  "I don't want to!" Hailen pounded his little fists against the Hunter's chest. "Don't leave me!"

  Sorrow twisted the Hunter's heart.

  "H-Hailen…I'm…sorry!" He lay back, letting the numbness wash over him. The boy had lost so much in his short life. The Hunter had caused him so much suffering. And now, he was leaving him alone, in the middle of a desert. He'd saved him from a life of misery only to condemn him to a slow death of starvation and thirst.

  The demon's voice came as a faint whisper. “Kill the boy!”

  The Hunter pushed the thought away. The power Soulhunger drew from the boy's death would cleanse the poison from his veins. He would survive, but at what cost?

  His hesitation to kill the boy came not from some innate goodness or mercy. Compassion was not in his nature. He had killed hundreds, perhaps thousands, of men and women, for gold or for vengeance. He was an assassin—death was his stock and trade

  Yet he couldn't bring himself to take this boy's life. Hailen served as a reminder of his humanity, provided him with a connection to the world around him. Through Hailen, he had a glimpse into the life of a "normal" human. The boy gave him a sense of purpose, something beyond his own needs and desires.

  It was more than that, though. He had promised to protect Hailen, even if he'd only made the promise to himself. Though the demon within him often proved the stronger, in this one thing, his human side would always win out. The humanity within him could not survive a betrayal of this one who trusted him so completely. He would not abandon that part of himself, however small, that made him think he could be better.

  No, let it be this way. He'd saved the boy from suffering, had given him a chance, however faint, to survive. That night in the tunnels beneath Voramis, he had clung to life for the sake of the little girl he had lost. Now, he could let go. His fight would end, the voices would fall silent. Peace, at long last.

  His legs twitched as heat seeped into his side and raced through his veins, pushing back the chill of the iron's poison.

  Wh-What's happening?

  The cold numbness retreated before a scorching fire. He lifted his head; it felt so heavy. The darkness gave ground against the rush of sensation, and he groaned with the agony. Yet he welcomed the pain. He was alive.

  His eyes focused on Hailen. The boy hovered over him, face creased with worry. A single drop of blood trickled from the wound in his neck. The Hunter watched it fall, felt it splash on the wound in his side.

  Chaos seethed in his thoughts. Impossible!

  He reached for Hailen's hands. The boy's fingernails reddened, blood welled in the nail beds, and droplets formed at the tips of his fingers. The Hunter held Hailen's hands over his wound. More blood trickled from the boy's hands, dripping onto his side. Where it splashed, the blackness in his veins retreated, and sensation returned to his body.

  How in the twisted hell is this happening?

  He met Hailen's worried gaze, and he nearly dropped the boy's hands in startlement. Hailen's eyes had once been blue. Now, a deep violet stared back him.

  His mind raced, and the memory of the man with sun-darkened skin and violet eyes slammed into him. Somehow, the man from his memories and the boy beside him were connected. But how? And when had Hailen's eyes changed? They'd been normal just a few hours ago, before…

  The stones!

  The Hunter turned to the obsidian monolith. Wisps of steam rose from a tiny red handprint that stood out against the black stone.

  A maelstrom seethed in his thoughts. The Hunter had felt the ground shaking, been slammed backward by some invisible force.

  But… He swallowed the knot in his throat and gulped air. He couldn't understand it.

  The answer lay in Hailen's blood. He stared down at his wound. Hailen's fingers still dripped crimson onto the tear in his side. The blackness in his veins had all but disappeared, leaving the wound a raw, bloody mess. Already he could feel his body healing itself, flesh knitting together.

  Releasing Hailen's hand, he struggled to sit up. With a cry of delight, Hailen threw his arms around the Hunter's neck. The boy's weight knocked him back to the sand.

  "Easy, Hailen!" He groaned at the ache in his healing torso.

  The boy broke off the embrace and straightened. "I knew you wouldn't leave me!"

  The Hunter smiled, a lump rising in his throat. "Never! I promised to come for you, didn't I?"

  Hailen nodded. "Can I ride Ash now?"

  "Of course." The Hunter climbed to his feet, biting back a curse. His knees trembled, and his legs barely held him up. Somehow, the boy's blood cleansed the iron from his body. But he was still weak—too weak to travel far. He had to rest, at least until nightfall when he could sneak into the bandit's camp for food and water.

  A horse snorted in the distance. The Hunter spun, prepared for an attack. The world whirled in violent circles, and he gritted his teeth against the sudden rush of pain. There was no charge of dark-skinned men, no howled war cries. Only the bright morning sunlight, a warm breeze, and the smell of blood hanging thick in the air. And, down the hill, the bandits' horses.

  A grim smile spread on the Hunter's face. The saddlebags hanging from the horses would contain more than enough for the two of them.

  He extended a hand toward the boy. "Come on, Hailen. Let me help you up."

  * * *

  The Hunter grimaced and clung to the saddle horn. His wounds ached with Elivast's every plodding step, but he could survive a bit of pain. Against all odds, he still lived.

  He didn't know what to do now, where to go. The Sirkar had told him to come to Orrobis, but he couldn't face Jeroen, Natania, or the others, not after failing to rescue their children. He shuddered at the thought of their torment. He'd arrived too late to stop Il Seytani from selling them. The bandit had condemned them to the miserable life of a slave. He could only hope the bastard's death balanced the scales.

  And Hailen. He'd kept his word. It was enough. For his sake, it had to be enough.

  He glanced at the desert horse and the boy riding beside him. Hailen hadn't spoken since leaving the standing stones. The silence worried the Hunter. Not even the boy's Illusionist-touched mind could survive the ordeal unscathed. He had endured torments no child should ever have to face, and they'd changed him. The Hunter feared he would never again hear a peal of childish laughter, see a quick, friendly smile, or grow frustrated at the boy's inane conversation. A shadow had fallen on Hailen's face, new lines furrowed his brow, and the darkness in his eyes had nothing to do with the deep violet color.

  The desert sun burned down hot and bright, but the Hunter welcomed the heat. It pushed back the final traces of chill from his bones. His body wouldn't recover from this injury as quickly as it had with others, but he had time. There was no reason to hurry across the desert. With Hailen in tow, he had everything he needed.

  Peace washed over him. The demon's voice had remained silent since the standing stones, and even Soulhunger's presence had faded to a dull throbbing behind his eyes. He filled his lungs with the warm desert air. The reek of death—both fresh-spilled blood and ancient decay—lay far behind him. The scent of scorched sand mixed with the aroma of the horses and Hailen's clean, innocent smell.

  So what now?

  The Hunter glanced at Hailen, and a pang of sorrow ran through him. When he first encountered the boy, he knew Hailen would never lead a life of quiet normalcy. The Illusionist had touched his mind, for good or ill, and the boy's unique temperament and naiveté made him ill-prepared for an unsheltered life. The Hunter had taken him out of guilt over Father Pietus' death.

  He'd tried and failed to protect Hailen. For a short while, he'd come to believe the boy would be better off without him. He had decided to leave Hailen at the nearest House of Need. It was the only way to keep him safe. He'd resigned himself to enduring the shrieking, screaming voices in his mind if it meant the boy would be protected.

  But he couldn't abandon the boy now. In his short life, Hailen had suffered far more than any "normal" child ever would. His torments in Il Seytani's camp had chipped away at his pleasant, cheerful temperament. Whatever happened in those standing stones completed the change. The unnerving color of his eyes couldn't be the only repercussion.

  The Hunter's chest tightened with dread. What would happen to the boy in the days to come? How deep did the effects run? He needed answers. Not only about his own forgotten past, but now he needed to know the truth about Hailen. He had to find out what was happening to the boy, and what, if anything, he could do to prevent the change from taking hold. But where to find them?

  He had to start somewhere…

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  The Hunter ground his teeth in frustration and fumbled at his silver pendant. Sweat drenched his undertunic and soaked the leather armor he wore beneath the flowing robes. The line of carts, wagons, and pedestrians shuffled forward at an infuriating pace, and the scorching afternoon heat added to his impatience. He gripped Soulhunger's hilt in the hidden sheath and took a calming breath.

  “You're a fool!” The demon raged in his mind. “Coming back here, after what you did?”

  I need answers. There is only one place I know to find them.

  The city guards beckoned him forward. With relief, he shambled into the shade of the walls of Aghzaret. The guards glanced at him, then Hailen. The boy paid no heed, his eyes vacant and unfocused as if lost in thought. He'd been thus for half an hour. Just one more symptom of whatever change had occurred in the standing stones.

  After a cursory examination, the guards waved him through. Hailen served as the perfect camouflage. No one would think to look for an assassin traveling with a child. Especially not one so clearly touched by the Illusionist.

  He pulled up the hood of his cloak and hurried through the streets. He'd deposit Hailen someplace safe—though not The Shouting Sword. Too many palace guards had seen him there. After a meal and a night of rest, they would depart.

 

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