Seeker of Legends (Fate of Legends Book 2), page 2
…and felt a horrible pain in his belly, shooting right through to his back.
Dante gasped, opening his eyes and looking down. At the sword buried to the hilt in his abdomen. He gasped, staring at it in disbelief, his sword slipping out of his hands and falling to the ground beside him.
The cloaked figure lifted one black boot, kicking Dante in the hip. Agony burst through his belly as he lurched backward, the sword sliding free from his body. He fell onto his butt, his back slamming into a tree trunk behind him. He stared up at the cloaked figure, clutching his belly with both hands. There was a dagger at his hip, but he didn’t bothering reaching for it. It was futile, he knew.
He was already dead.
Dante stared up at his attacker, feeling hot blood pour from between his fingers. The cloaked man stood there, facing him silently. Then they reached up with one hand, grabbing the edge of their hood and pulling it back.
Dante’s breath caught in his throat.
It was a young man, he realized. With skin nearly as dark as the night sky, and black eyes that glittered in the moonlight. His hair was so short he was almost bald.
“You’ve just attacked two Seekers,” Dante growled, grimacing as a fresh wave of pain shot through his belly.
“Damn right,” the man agreed. He raised the tip of his sword, pressing it against Dante’s breastbone.
“You must have a death wish,” Dante muttered. “They’ll find out about this,” he added. “You’ll have to face the entire guild now.”
The man’s lips curled into a smirk.
“That’s the idea.”
“You’re a dead man,” Dante promised. When the man didn’t respond, he grimaced, shoving the tip of the man’s sword away from his chest with one hand. “What are you after?” he added. “The artifact?”
“That,” the man answered, “…and information.”
“What information?” Dante pressed. Not that it mattered…he wouldn’t live to relay the information. But he was curious.
“About the guild,” he replied. “And a certain artifact they stole.”
Dante gave the man a smug smile.
“Over my dead body,” he muttered.
The man shrugged, flipping his sword around so he was carrying it backward, gripping the blade with both hands.
“Works for me.”
And then he swung his sword over his head, chopping downward at Dante’s face.
Chapter 1
Hunter knelt before the Seeker he’d killed, ignoring the ache in his thigh as he did so. Even after two weeks, the two gashes he’d suffered there hadn’t fully healed. The pain was a constant reminder of Traven, the Seeker who’d tried to kill him…and who’d killed his best friend Vi.
He closed his eyes, the image of Traven’s warhammer coming down at his head flashing in his mind’s eye. The last thing Vi had seen before her death. A memory he’d absorbed from her, just as readily as he was able to absorb emotions from others, or skills. Or any other trait, for that matter. For unlike on Earth, in this world all traits were potentially transferable.
Hunter opened his eyes, staring down at the dead Seeker. At the deep, ugly wound he’d made in the guy’s skull. He’d killed Traven the same way, after the guy had double-crossed him and Vi. After Traven had betrayed them both to get the severed head of the leader of the Ironclad, the prize Duke Dominus had hired Vi and the Seekers to retrieve.
And it had been Dominus that’d ordered Vi’s death…and Hunter’s.
Hunter felt an all-too-familiar pang of grief, and forced it aside, gritting his teeth. He’d wasted enough time wallowing in self-pity. Hell, he’d spent most of his life playing the victim. Grieving over losing his mother when he was eight, blaming his alcoholic father for ruining his life. Letting the kingdom turn him into a sex addict. He refused to be a victim anymore, to let people push him around.
What was done was done. Dominus and the Seekers had screwed Vi over, and left Hunter for dead. And that would prove to be their biggest mistake.
Get the head, Hunter recited to himself. Take back what they killed Vi for. Get stronger. Then kill them all.
He rummaged through the Seeker’s pockets, finding a few coins and not much else. The Seeker wore a half-dozen rings on his fingers; Hunter pulled these off, stuffing them in his cloak. He had no idea what kind of traits the rings contained, but they might be valuable. Any artifacts were potentially valuable, if absorbing their traits made him stronger. Faster.
Better.
He finished searching the man, finding nothing more of value. He didn’t bother taking the guy’s weapons, knowing that his own were far superior. They’d been owned by Vi, after all…the best fighter he’d ever met. The best in the world. Nothing else could compare.
Hunter paused, staring at the man. Then he lowered himself to his hands and knees, turning the dead Seeker’s head to one side, hiding the ghastly wound in the guy’s forehead. He closed his eyes, bowing down and pressing his forehead against the man’s temple. Almost immediately, images flashed before his mind’s eye, coming to him in rapid succession. He didn’t bother trying to process any of the images, letting them come and go as they pleased. They were the Seeker’s memories, he knew. Fragments of memories, anyway. Incomplete, many of them uninterpretable.
And now they’re mine.
Hunter felt the images fading, and lifted his forehead from the man’s temple, rising to his feet. He turned to the fallen carriage, striding up to it. Both doors were open, revealing the cabin inside. It was strewn with broken glass and splintered wood; he ducked inside, looking around. The Seeker had mentioned an artifact…
He spotted an ornate wooden box lying next to the door, and knelt down, picking it up. He turned it in his hands, then focused his awareness inward. Studying himself. Monitoring himself.
No change.
The box had no effect on his emotions, then. If it’d absorbed any emotion, he would’ve known it. He was incredibly sensitive to emotion; merely being close to an object that had absorbed someone else’s emotion would cause him to start feeling that emotion.
He studied the box, suddenly knowing that it contained an artifact. An illegal artifact, in fact, from the Kingdom of the Deep. It was not his memory, of course…there was no way he could’ve known that. It was the Seeker’s. But it felt like his memory. It was still confusing, this new ability of his. A power he hadn’t even noticed he’d had at first, but that was growing over time. According to Vi, it was an exceedingly rare gift, one that no one had possessed for over a century. Until now.
It wasn’t just people that he could absorb memories from. He could absorb those of animals as well, even after death. And their deaths were usually their most powerful memory…a fact that had quickly converted him to a vegetarian.
Hunter stuffed the box into a large pocket in the inner lining of his cloak, walking through the carriage to the opposite door. He spotted a body lying on the ground nearby, the man he’d shot through the chest. Another Seeker, probably. He stripped the man of his coins and a few trinkets, then leaned over, pressing his forehead against the man’s temple. Again, images flitted by in rapid succession in his mind’s eye.
Then he lifted his head, yanking the arrow from the man’s chest and returning it to his quiver. He walked back to the first Seeker, pulling the arrow from the man’s shin. He retrieved his bow, slinging it on his back, then strode away from the carriage, toward the three moons high above.
Two down, so many more to go.
* * *
By the time Hunter reached the edge of the forest, the sun was starting to peek out from above the horizon, its rays casting the clouds above in brilliant orange-red. He left the trees behind, walking forward into the clearing beyond, until the ground gave way suddenly, ending in a steep drop-off. Beyond, a massive, cylindrical canyon lay, dropping hundreds of feet to a lake below. He gazed down at it, spotting two small islands in the center. There was a house on the larger island, and a smaller building on the other one. A long wooden bridge connected the larger island to the shore of the lake, a crescent of rocky ground at the bottom of the canyon. A much shorter bridge connected the two islands.
He felt a pang of nostalgia then, remembering the first time he’d seen this canyon. The awe he’d felt.
Of course, he hadn’t been alone then.
Hunter sighed, turning left to follow the edge of the canyon, eventually reaching a narrow path that spiraled down the side of the canyon wall, all the way to the bottom. He followed it, glancing over the edge as he went, remembering the fear he’d felt when he’d gone down it the first time. Vi had saved him from himself then, lending him her preternatural calm. He had no need of it now, of course. He had nothing to fear anymore; the worst that could happen to him had already happened to him.
And most of it was his fault.
He forced the thought out of his mind, knowing all-too-well where it led. He’d spent enough time wallowing in self-loathing. Not that he didn’t have a good reason for it. He’d unwittingly killed his own mother after she’d mortally wounded Vi. And he’d murdered his brother the day he’d arrived in this terrible world, blowing the guy’s face off with a revolver. A brother he’d never even known he had, one somehow transformed into a monster. One of the Ironclad.
Stop it.
Hunter focused, realizing he’d reached the bottom of the canyon. He veered rightward toward the long bridge, crossing it to reach the island where Vi’s house was. He’d repaired the front door as best as he could, after it’d been smashed in by one of the Ironclad. Huge beasts with black armor and two pairs of arms, he’d thought of them as monsters…as the enemy. Until, that is, he’d gone into the Ironclad lair with Vi, and realized that his mother – the very person he’d traveled to this strange world to save – was their leader. Now Hunter knew who the real enemy was.
The Kingdom of Tykus…and Duke Dominus. And the guild.
Get the head. Get stronger. Kill them all.
He turned away from Vi’s house, walking across the short bridge to the smaller island. This is where Vi had built her storehouse, a small building designed to hold powerful artifacts without contaminating the nearby environment. It’d been badly damaged by the Ironclad; Hunter had spent the last couple of weeks repairing it, replacing each brick and using clay from the lake as mortar. He’d rebuilt the walls, but had found the roof trickier to re-create. He was going to need the storehouse if he was to become a Seeker like Vi.
Hunter stopped before the storehouse, retrieving the wooden box from his cloak. He set it down on the ground, then got to work prying the thing apart. The Seeker’s memories he’d absorbed were correct – the box contained a hidden obsidian container within, perhaps a foot long and half as wide. He withdrew this, opening it and looking inside.
There was a bone there, a long, narrow shaft. It looked like an upper arm bone…a humerus. It was thicker than he imagined a human’s would be, with large, prominent bumps on the ends. He stared at it, waiting for a memory to be triggered. One of the Seeker’s memories. But nothing came. The memories he absorbed were like that…fragmentary, incomplete. It seemed like the most powerful memories and most recent ones were the clearest; he certainly didn’t absorb all of a person’s memories. Just bits and pieces.
He paused, then picked up the bone, holding it in his hand. He closed his eyes, turning his focus inward.
No emotions came to him.
That meant that the bone contained traits other than emotions. He absorbed emotions the best, and skills a little above average. Physical traits he absorbed poorly, as best he could tell, and he didn’t appear to absorb anyone’s personality at all. He had a strong will, Vi had told him…one that resisted being changed. It’d been nearly as strong as Vi’s.
Hunter opened his eyes, then walked up to the storehouse. There was a narrow moat surrounding it, filled with water from the lake. The water served to carrying away any traits that might radiate from an artifact held within, preventing those traits from being absorbed by the ground beyond the moat. This prevented contamination of the environment by particularly powerful artifacts. He climbed over the wall of the storehouse, dropping through an incomplete section of the roof. There was a square platform immersed in a half-inch of water inside, and he landed on it, then placed the bone upon it. That done, he climbed out of the storehouse, walking back across the small bridge.
He glanced at Vi’s house, having the sudden urge to go inside. To feel Vi’s presence again.
Don’t do it.
He hesitated, stopping before her house, eyeing the front door. It’d been at least a week since he’d given in to the temptation. He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t do this anymore, that he’d leave her be. Even though she was dead, her will lived on in the places she’d been, absorbed by the things she’d spent the most time near. All he had to do was go inside, and she would be there.
She’s dead.
He was about to turn away when he spotted something in the air above her house. A black bird carrying something in its talons. It landed on her roof – on the chimney-like structure there – and dropped something into it. Then it flew away.
A carrier pigeon, Hunter realized. Vi had received a contract from a client from a carrier pigeon a few weeks ago, before they’d gone back to Tykus.
He hesitated for a moment longer, then walked up to the front door, opening it and stepping inside.
Everything was just as he’d left it.
A small bed sat in one corner, dolls and stuffed animals all around it. Vi’s childhood possessions, filled with her essence. She’d kept them to restore her humanity after experimenting with wild artifacts. Weapons hung from the walls, each filled with the skills of ancient warriors. Only one was missing…the mace he’d taken two weeks ago, after returning from the Ironclad lair.
His gaze fell to a small opening in the wall, where the chimney-like structure – a mail chute – met the floor. There was a rolled-up piece of parchment there. He bent over to grab it, peeling off the wax seal and unrolling it. There was writing on the page, letters that resembled English, but were different enough to make reading them difficult. He studied it, interpreting as best he could:
V –
Need to speak with you. New job, usual perks.
– C
Hunter stared at the page, feeling a burst of excitement. It was one of Vi’s clients, that was certain. Without the support of the Guild of Seekers, and without knowing any of Vi’s clients, he’d resorted to staking out the King’s Road, waiting for carriages to pass and intercepting them in hopes of retrieving artifacts. He’d had to wait a few days for the last carriage to come, and he’d been lucky that it’d been a Seeker carriage. The last two carriages he’d ambushed hadn’t carried anything of value at all. Two weeks of hunting, and he had very little to show for it. Sooner or later word would get out that someone was attacking the carriages, and he had no doubt that soldiers would be sent to patrol the road. It wouldn’t be long before he’d have to abandon that strategy…and he hadn’t come up with a backup plan yet.
But if he could get access to Vi’s clients…
He rolled the paper back up, then paused, bringing it to his forehead. Vi’s client’s memories might have been absorbed by the parchment, after all. He waited.
An image came to his mind’s eye, of a woman lying curled-up in a bed. The vision dissipated rapidly, far too quickly for him to make sense of it.
Damn.
Still, he had an initial – C – and he’d absorbed some of Vi’s memories, as well as this client’s. A woman, he knew, without knowing how. It might be enough to find this client. And if the client could point him in the direction of Vi’s other clients, he might just have a chance at accumulating a lot of powerful artifacts like Vi had. Artifacts that would make him stronger, faster, and more skilled. Powerful enough to take on Duke Dominus…and the Seekers.
Hunter nodded to himself, shoving the paper into one of the pockets in his cloak. He left the house, closing and locking the door behind him. Then he walked back across the long bridge back to the shore, to his makeshift bed near the narrow path winding back up the canyon. He laid down on the dirt and leaves, holding his sword – Vi’s sword – in his arms, and his bow. The more time he spent with them, the more of their skills he would absorb.
He closed his eyes, feeling suddenly exhausted. He’d been sleeping during the day for the last week, and hunting during the middle of the night, in the cover of darkness.
Somehow he knew that he needed to go west from the canyon to get to this woman’s house…no doubt from the memories he’d taken from Vi, or from this client. He’d have to start his journey after he woke up, and trust that their memories would guide him through the forest. If not, he’d just go back to Vi’s place. He couldn’t afford to leave Vi’s house unguarded for too long, of course…not with the veritable treasure trove of artifacts she’d collected. But a few days wouldn’t hurt.
Maybe, just maybe, this client would be able to help him get his revenge.
Chapter 2
Dominus sat up in bed, squinting against the bright light shining through the windows of his bedroom. He waited for his eyes to adjust, putting a hand on the sheet covering him.
To his surprise, he found that it was dry.
He was even more surprised that he’d woken up at all. High fevers had wracked his body all day yesterday, coming in terrible waves, their arrival heralded by uncontrollable shaking. He only remembered bits and pieces of the last few days, the infection that had spread from the bones of his right leg to his bloodstream having made him delirious. In the few moments of lucidity he’d been granted, he’d expected the worst: that he was going to succumb to his illness. That those terrible moments would be that last of his life.
He frowned, then threw off the sheet covering him, exposing his legs. He stared at his right leg, unable to stop himself from grimacing. Bandages were wrapped around it from the knee down, those covering his foot stained with pink and yellow secretions. He waited for the stench of rotting flesh to assault his nostrils. But none came.
