Eve of Redemption Omnibus: Volumes 1-3 Page 4

  “You seem pensive,” her companion said, piercing her thoughts, and he leaned back in his chair as the barmaid returned with their meals and drinks. He studied Kari, but her attention was on her own thoughts and she paid his words and stare little heed. She had woken before dawn and sat staring at Aaron, and she wondered if he had perhaps merely kept his eyes nearly closed and pretended to still sleep. She was just as glad for that; she didn’t want to answer any of the awkward questions the incident may have prompted.

  After bidding them have a good meal, the barmaid left the two alone to their silence once more, and Kari finally met Aaron’s eyes. She wondered if he ever thought about his own long-term future, and whether he thought he could continue in his line of work indefinitely. She wasn’t sure why she even cared, but the curiosity of whether others faced the same uncertainty she did nagged at her. Was he saving money to retire, or did he plan to get more “honest” work when his youth and attractiveness abandoned him?

  “It was easy enough to not think about the future during the War,” she said quietly after another minute, and she took a sip of her drink as Aaron nodded. “When you’re in a war, all you really think about is doing your duty, making sure there’ll be a tomorrow without worrying about what it will bring. Now that I don’t have a war to consider, I have a lot to think about.”

  He smiled as he began to eat, and Kari did likewise. She didn’t want to elaborate too much on the subject and sound like she was whining. Breakfast wasn’t her favorite, but Kari ate it gladly. After eight years of trail rations and the like, a solid meal was a blessing no matter how much she didn’t like it. Her drink was good but weak, but that was just as well: she had a busy day ahead of her and didn’t want to give any potential caravaneers the wrong impression when she asked them for a ride to Sarchelete.

  “I don’t think about the future much,” Aaron commented between sips of his coffee. “I suppose when my days of selling myself are over, I might have to find work in a temple paying for it.”

  Kari laughed, nearly spitting out her drink. “You might want to avoid Ambergaust and Carsius’ church,” she joked.

  He laughed in turn, picking at his food. “You think prostitution goes against the tenets of marriage, childbirth and womanhood?”

  “Just a little,” she answered, but then she shrugged. “Then again, they’re among the more forgiving of the pantheon.” He nodded to that comment, and they continued their meal in silence until Millie came out of the back room and approached. She had Kari’s armor in her arms, with the clothing folded neatly on top of it. She placed the garments in an empty chair beside the terra-dracon female and smiled, lightly patting Kari’s shoulder before she returned to the back room. Aaron took one look at the armor before his eyes swung up to meet Kari’s.

  “Is that paluric?” he asked simply, his question drawing the attention of others in the common room even at its low volume.

  “Yes it is,” Kari said, watching as he ran his fingers across its smooth but segmented surface. “It was a gift from an old friend.”

  His eyes widened in shock, and he whistled softly. “You realize you could sell that armor and live comfortably for the rest of your life? Probably allow your children to do so as well? That is, if you ever got tired of hunting demons for a living.”

  “I don’t hunt demons for the money,” Kari said quietly. She finished her drink and her eyes slipped down to the table as she gripped the empty glass between both hands. She looked away from him, out one of the front windows of the inn, lost in thought again.

  “Did they hurt someone in your family?” he asked, but she didn’t respond. “Did they hurt you?”

  Kari turned back to him and shook her head lightly. “Nothing so personal,” she said. “It’s not something I think I could put into words.” She rose from her seat, took up her armor and clothes, and met her companion’s eyes once more. “I’m going to get dressed and then I’ve got things to do. I may be in town a few days, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to see each other again.”

  Aaron sat back in his chair and fought to hold her stare. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked.

  “No, it’s not that at all,” she said, waving a hand. “I’m just…not looking for a mate, Aaron, and neither are you. I appreciate your company, but the more time we spend together, the harder it’ll be when I leave and don’t come back.”

  He sighed, rose to his feet, and forced a smile. “You’re right, of course, my lady,” he said, and he gave her a chaste peck on the side of her snout. “Thank you for the pleasure of your company, and the gods preserve you as you head back out into danger.”

  “Thank you,” Kari returned, and she made way up to her room to get changed. The upper hallway was quiet behind her, and she could clearly hear the front door of the inn close as Aaron left the building. Kari closed the door to her room behind her, put her back against it and slid down to the floor. She sat there a few minutes, stifling the urge to cry, and instead she reminded herself that it was better this way. Walking the path of the demonhunter was lonely and dangerous, but it was the life she had chosen and would not walk away from. She knew that one day, perhaps the timing would be right and she wouldn’t have to push men away, but for now, she had a job to do, and she had to keep that her priority.

  She rubbed her hands slowly across the black skin of her forearms, and could still feel Aaron’s gentle touches from the night before. She rose to her feet and stripped off her leisure clothes. She dressed quickly in her undergarments, padded clothes and paluric plate armor, and after strapping on her sword belt, she made her way downstairs and out of the inn.

  The rain brought slightly warmer air with it, but Kari imagined it would be the last breath of warmth the southlands felt until the spring. Kari set out to the central bazaar, where she figured someone would know whether any caravans had stopped in the city to resupply recently. She briefly considered returning to the inn to get her pack, but she realized it would be both a ripe target for pickpockets and more weight to be carried when she wasn’t even sure a caravan would be leaving that week, let alone the same day. She turned left from the inn’s front door and followed the road to the northeast until another turned back toward the northwest and into the market square proper.

  The bazaar was the largest instance of organized chaos she had seen in her life, even more so than the initial war camp where the various Light divisions were assigned to their respective commanders at the start of the War. Everywhere there were merchants in stalls, standing protectively before carts, hawking wares, haggling, yelling at children who swiped small goods, yelling at guards for not doing anything about it, and in some brave cases, openly counting gold and silver coins. Instinctively, Kari flattened out her coin purse and tucked it inside her girdle; it wasn’t comfortable, but it was a relatively heavy purse and a tempting mark for pickpockets. She remembered well that even demonhunters were not immune to the wiles of pickpockets and street urchins.

  Kari walked into the bazaar and most of the people cleared a path for the winged, dog tag-wearing woman as she made her way through the crowd, except for one merchant who tried to sell her some alchemical concoction that would let her fly farther. She’d heard that claim enough times and, despite her lack of understanding of such things, she knew that unless whatever he was selling made her weigh significantly less, it wouldn’t help her fly at all. Her lack of staying power while flying was a product of her weight coupled with the low strength of her wings: she could glide well enough, but actual flight was very difficult and rarely lasted more than a couple of minutes. She ignored him as he vied for her attention.

  As she dodged shady-looking characters and merchants desperate to make a sale, Kari spotted a fruit vendor stationed in the northwest corner of the bazaar. She guessed he probably lived in the northwest district if he was able to secure such a prime spot for his cart, and she headed towards him, hoping he might know something of the caravan schedules, or at least someone else who woul
d. His clothing gave the impression that his business was prosperous, as did the fact that he was somewhat overweight. A smile creased his face as she approached, and he readjusted an utterly ridiculous-looking hat that sat high on a bald spot.

  “Greetings,” he said to her as she came to a stop before him. “Can I interest you in some of my apples or oranges?” He gestured toward his rather generous fruit selection, which seemed out of place given the cold weather that was gaining a tighter grip on the region daily. Kari assumed he was benefitting from the late harvests of the more northern orchards, which would have been overstocked with produce while the majority of laborers were still away at war.

  “How are the apples?” Kari responded, and she took a closer look at the odd combination of fruits and autumn pumpkins and gourds on his cart.

  “They were harvested late, but I have only the best of what the orchards had to offer,” he said.

  “Excuse me mister, can you spare a coin?” came the high-pitched voice of a child from behind Kari as someone tugged lightly on her tail. Kari turned to behold a young rir child. The girl put her hand to the end of her little snout as she realized Kari was a woman, and her green eyes widened as she blurted, “Whoops!”

  “Chelsea!” a terra-rir woman called as she came up behind the little girl. The woman’s green eyes took in Kari quickly and then she blushed, the black skin of her face paling around the eyes and cheeks. “Oh, I’m so sorry officer, my daughter didn’t know…”

  “That’s all right,” Kari said. She knew that most demonhunters had a rather intimidating reputation, and that beggars and the poor might be afraid of them in such a place as Barcon. Kari smiled down at the little girl, who looked like her mother minus the obvious years of toil, and Chelsea’s cute little green eyes stared up in wonder at the muscular woman before her. Chelsea began tugging on her hair and grabbed her mother’s leg for comfort under Kari’s scrutiny.

  “I just wanted a apple,” the little girl said.

  “Yes, but you ask me, don’t go begging other people, Chelsea,” her mother berated her. The woman looked toward Kari again, but had a hard time making eye contact. “Apologies again, m’lady, I don’t mean to impose, it’s been difficult since the War…my husband never returned…”

  “I understand,” Kari said. She fished inside her armor and into the purse, a deft finger bringing up a single platinum coin. A platinum coin spent wisely could feed a family for weeks, and Zalkar’s church paid her up to five of them a month for her service. Demonhunters were rarely in one place for long and frequently needed to pay for food, lodgings, travel supplies, and oftentimes healing. Kari made further money from actually performing the hunts she was given, as even the serilian demons she killed sometimes had coins to transact business. Though Kari never accumulated any real wealth, neither did she ever seem to want for anything. She held the coin out toward the woman, who stared at it tentatively before shaking her head.

  “I can’t,” the woman said meekly.

  “Don’t give anything to the beggars, it just encourages them,” the merchant grumbled.

  Kari turned and flashed him a scowl, her pointed ears angling back sharply, and the man backed up a step. “You just shut your mouth,” she said shortly, and then she turned back to the woman. “Take it. Just don’t tell anyone you have it, or where you got it.”

  “My lady is too kind,” the woman said and she took the coin, but still she avoided eye contact. “Did you fight in the War?”

  “I did,” Kari answered. “All eight years.”

  The terra-rir female perked up at Kari’s answer, some glimmer of hope entering her eyes, and the once-dull orbs glittered. “What unit?” she asked hopefully.

  “Thirty-Fifth Light Division, up in the Barrier Mountains,” Kari said with a nod toward the west, and the woman’s shoulders slumped.

  “Ah, my husband fought through the heartlands in the Eleventh Light Division,” the other woman said. “Maybe he is still alive. It’s only been a few days…maybe he’s still on his way home to us.”

  Kari sighed silently, shook her head slowly, and put a hand to the woman’s shoulder. “The Eleventh Light Division was lost,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, if your husband was assigned to that brigade, he’s not coming home.”

  The woman sank down to her knees and wrapped her daughter in a tight embrace as both began to cry, but she looked up to meet Kari’s eyes as the demonhunter squatted down. “Do you know how it happened?” the woman asked breathlessly. “Did he die bravely?”

  “Yes, he did,” Kari said. “I don’t know the details, but the Eleventh Light Division broke the siege of DarkWind. The brigade was lost, but the entire city of DarkWind was saved, and they owe their lives to men like your husband. We all do, really: had DarkWind fallen, the War might still be raging, or we may have already lost.”

  Kari hugged the woman tightly, holding her until her crying subsided into short sobs, and then Kari fished out the rest of the purse she’d been given by the church. “Take this,” she said as she pushed the pouch into the woman’s hand and closed her fingers around it. “This is the Unyielding’s gift for your husband’s sacrifice.”

  The terra-rir female hid the coin purse quickly, but her eyes came right up to finally meet the stare of the demonhunter. “Who are you?” she asked quietly.

  “Karian Vanador, Shield of the Heavens, by Zalkar’s grace.”

  “Karian Vanador…?” the woman muttered, and Kari wondered if a slew of questions was forthcoming. None did, however, the woman merely adding, “I…I will never forget this.” She bowed to the demonhunter, and then she picked up her daughter and made her way out of the bazaar. The little girl’s eyes never left Kari even as her mother carried her away, and the woman looked back over her shoulder once before she disappeared into the traffic heading into the northwest district.

  “You’re very trusting for a demonhunter,” the merchant said when Kari turned back to him, a look of doubt clearly splayed across his weathered face. “The beggars around here, they all have a similar story. The War just gives them something else to use as a weapon.”

  Kari fixed him with her aggravated stare once more, silencing him. She considered his pot belly, his fancy clothes – even the ridiculous hat – and guessed he knew nothing of being poor, ragged, or hungry. “Did you lose anyone in the War?” she asked, but he shook his head in response. “Then don’t tell me how to recognize someone who has. That was no act; I could see it plainly in her eyes. I lost enough friends in the War to know.”

  The human shrugged, and then placed a few of his better-looking apples on the cart’s shelf before her. “You have other coin, I assume?” he asked.

  Kari stared down at the apples for a few moments before shaking her head. “I’ve lost my appetite,” she said simply. She turned and headed up the northwest road out of the bazaar. She would have liked to ask the merchant if he knew anything about caravans coming through the city, but his demeaning tone of voice when speaking of the other woman made Kari want to punch him. She guessed that if his tone didn’t change while she was asking directions she might do just that – better she go elsewhere, and find someone a bit more accommodating.

  The northwest district was clean and well kept, and Kari assumed it was because the majority of its inhabitants were cronies of the infamous crime lord who called the district home. The houses demonstrated the wealth and affluence of their owners much more prominently than even those in the temple district: here the homes and buildings were constructed of brick and whitewashed stone. Most even had windows free of the iron bars she expected in such a city, which told her even more of the iron-fisted rule of the Earl.

  The main avenue ran from the bazaar straight out to the city gates, passing through a square which housed the Earl’s black tower. Across from the black tower was what appeared to be a church, which Kari found curious; all the other churches and temples were located in one district. When she reached the square she realized it was not such a curious
thing as she thought, for over the church’s door, displayed for all to see, was a swaying wooden sign marked with the symbol of a burning parchment. Kari balked, shocked that any city, even one so corrupt, would have a church to Achirun, the silver-tongued devil, out in the open for all to see.

  She stared at the structure in contempt for several minutes and spared a glance over her shoulder at the black tower and its two well-armed guards before she continued in her trek. She wondered how her deity could stand to have a temple in a city that housed one to a demon lord from the underworld, and how the den of evil had not been burned out. The only conclusion she could reach was that Kaelin Black himself had ordained the church’s construction, and that while Zalkar might have no tolerance for such things, her deity would not abandon those who tried to lead honest lives even in the heart of such a city. Zalkar’s duty to his people, like theirs to him, transcended his own likes and dislikes – and so his small church stayed. It was hard for her to fathom, but gave her further pride in her job and the master she served.

  Kari ignored the wolf-whistles of the black tower’s guards and continued up the main avenue toward the gates. Demonhunters were generally not welcome in the city of Barcon, and it was no mystery that they were trying to bait her into doing something that would allow them to arrest her. Kari wondered why Black surrounded himself with humans when he was half-demon. It further gave her pause as she considered the previous night, when the guards had nearly denied her entry because they thought she was half-demon. Why would Black refuse entry to his own kind? His heritage was no secret; when one considered his already centuries-long life, it was pretty much a given: the rir people, like humans, rarely lived more than a century. It was possible to use magical means to extend one’s life – it was quite common among the wizards and other arcanists of the world – but his species had been confirmed on many occasions, reclusive though he was.