CHAPTER 6 #2
Our boots crunch against gravel, descending and spiraling into the dark caverns of Mortifer Fortress. I remove a torch from the wall and strike it to life, the sizzle and pop of flame echoes into the silence, and warm light dances along the slick, cold soapstone.
Mortifer Fortress is my home, my training ground, my identity, and the sanctuary where our heritage pulses and lives like a breathing ancestor.
Twenty minutes of winding tunnels and correct turns through the labyrinth spit us into the hidden entry chamber.
I cross the great carved chamber, centuries of stories honed into stone, memories and lives hallmarked for eternity.
My fingers thread the chain around my neck, pulling it from beneath my shirt, and I insert the rock pendant of the Hunter crest into its home.
The familiar whoosh of air whips through the chamber as the massive stone door sinks into the floor before me, grinding and rumbling its way to reveal the fortress beyond. I take Grace’s hand and step over the threshold while we lead the Central outfit into Mortifer.
We emerge into the grand hall. Carpeted lounges dot the room, and dining for a hundred splits the center.
“Took you long enough.”
The scratchy, deep voice floats out from the barracks hallway, one of several doorways leading away from the main hall like spokes on a wheel.
“Master,” I say as he hobbles our way.
“It’s good to see you, boy,” the old man croons, his crooked smile barely visible under his thick gray mustache and beard.
With a quick flick of his wrist, his blade flies through the air, and I catch it between my fingertips. “You too, sir.”
“What about me?” Riot admonishes, unloading the packs from his back onto a sofa.
“You too, Riot,” Master Hull says, opening an arm.
Grace rushes into his side, tucking in and squeezing. “Papa.”
He kisses the top of her head just like he always does. “My baby.” Master’s gaze finds mine. “So, it’s time, then?” he asks. Grace’s smile falters under her father’s arm.
I nod. “Yes. For good reason.”
He snorts. “There’s a thousand reasons to finally take this king out.”
I unsheathe my weapons and pile them on the long dining table. “Hunters will trickle in by tomorrow,” I inform.
“We’re ready for them. Beds, food stores, ale, weapons.”
I try to steel my confidence for the conversation we need to have. “Good, I had no doubts.”
Master laughs. “My blood is buzzing. Haven’t been able to sit still since I felt your call. Eastern outfit is already here.”
I nod.
Riot crosses the room and pours himself an ale. “Where are they?”
“They’re in the pens,” Master informs, and then his gaze catches on Lou’s body being carried across the massive room toward one of the hallways, a spoke I rarely traverse. I have yet to visit my father’s stone.
“No,” he whispers, staring at the stretcher. “Who?” he demands, tone fierce.
“I’m sorry,” I say, knowing Master Hull and Lou were stationmates back in their heyday. “It’s Lou.”
Master’s face drains, and his arm drops from Grace’s shoulders. “Aye,” he says, voice shaking. “Forever may he rest.”
“We’ll perform the burial once everyone has arrived,” I say.
There hasn’t been a funeral in over a decade; no Hunter has died under my command. Until Tuck. And now Lou. Even if Tuck were allowed to be buried here, we don’t have his body.
Master Hull shakes his head, shoulders drooping as he walks to the ale barrel. “We hadn’t seen each other in five years—” He swigs his beer and then looks me dead in the eye. “How did it happen?”
I take a few steps toward my father-in-law. “His tavern was attacked. They hit us fast and hard. It was chaos.”
He nods. “Well, Lou would be thrilled to know he’s the reason we’re finally going to end this fucking king.”
I swallow. “He’s not the only reason, Master.”
Hull’s eyes narrow on me.
Grace moves to her father’s side before I speak.
“They took Sam.”
Silence rips between us, slashing open the vat holding my guilt as I watch Master’s eyes widen in surprise and fear.
“How could you let that happen, Kade?” Master snarls, arms blowing wide as he barrels toward me.
Riot steps between us. “It was chaos, Master Hull. We didn’t even see them take Sam.”
“I’m not talking to you, Riot. Step back,” Master growls.
Hunters filter away from the main chamber, giving us space.
“They must’ve knocked him unconscious in the bar. I didn’t feel his magic struggle or call to me,” I say, not looking to assuage my guilt with excuses but trying to give a father a reasonable explanation. “I’m sorry I lost sight of him.”
I was worried about protecting Grace.
Master Hull shakes his head, turning away from me. “There’s no apology that will ever suffice for this.”
“I don’t expect your forgiveness,” I say, fists clenching at my sides. “And I’ll get him back. I swear it.”
Master ignores me and hobbles to the couch by the roaring fire. I don’t blame him. I would need time to process this, too. But, selfishly, I can’t stand his disappointment in me.
“Come, Mother Hollie. Let’s sit by the fire in the library,” Master Hull says, offering his arm to the sniffling woman on the couch.
Grace approaches me with kind eyes and squeezes my hand before she walks off to join them.
Riot blows out a breath and refills his ale. “Want to check on the Eastern outfit?” he asks, side-eyeing me over the pint.
“Yeah,” I answer, gathering my discarded weapons and making for the tunnel to the training pens. I need a distraction, and I need to climb out of this sea of guilt before it fucks with my ability to strategize and get Sam out alive.
We enter the weapon hallway. Every inch of wall houses varying styles of stakes, swords, knives, guillotines, crossbows, fire canisters, and every other Hunter invention from the past few centuries.
“I always feel more at peace here,” Riot says as we walk the hall designed to support a single purpose—death.
I can’t help but smile.
I agree.
Sweat and steel hit my nostrils, mixing with the earth and salt of the stone hallway like a spice blend crushed and ground from our bloodline.
Shouts and clanking vibrate through me, beckoning me toward my men as Riot and I jog to the arena.
We exit the tunnel to stand on the edge of the underground cliff and gaze down into the cavern filled with fighting pits and training pens.
The aged, fraying rope outlines the stone fighting ring in the pit, black lines tracing a merciless border.
The gray rock is stained and chipped from centuries of blood and weapons trapped in this pit, their beholders taught to never surrender, forged with fealty to one higher power—the call of the Hunter.
The training pens are built into the rockface surrounding the pit, cages serving the purpose of learning to fight in confined spaces.
Below us, warriors attack and defend in captivating choreography, every movement intentional and exact.
Riot crosses his thick arms over his chest. “They look good.”
I nod. “Can’t disagree. Let’s get down there.”
I grab the rope tethered beside us and swing down, landing silently, Riot right behind me.
“Hunters!” I bellow, my boots scraping over the stone quarry as I dip into the center ring.
My men still and lower to bended knee.
It’s an intimidating job to be in charge of every Hunter, every life. And in a moment like this, when I’ve already failed three of them, the pressure on my chest is suffocating.
“Are you ready to kill a king, brothers?”
I doubt we’re getting Sam out of Goreon Castle with anything less. They’ve never had their hands on one of us before, and I can’t imagine the king will let Sam out of his sight. But that’s still a blind guess. I don’t know where they’re detaining him.
The cavern reverberates with hollers and cheers, warriors brimming with pride and purpose.
Everyone knows about the recent attacks—it’s why we’re here—but I kept the news of Lou and Sam close to the chest until we had the chance to inform Master Hull in person. And I won’t inform the legion until everyone has arrived.
“Rise and let’s eat together while we wait for our kinsmen.”
Men I’ve respected my entire existence surround me. Muscled, sweaty flesh with the warmth of human blood quivers and flexes as warriors stand.
I nod as they pass; one by one, they acknowledge me before climbing the cliffside.
“Captain!”
My head jerks toward that voice. “Uncle Brachett.”
“Get in here, boy,” Brachett says.
The fiercest man I’ve ever known wraps me in a hug, clapping my back before his large, gnarled hands grip my shoulders.
“Can’t believe it’s been ten years,” I say, looking into his kind eyes, identical to my father’s.
“It’s been hell in the East,” he grumbles. “I’m glad you’re finally putting an end to all this.”
“Good to see you in one piece, Uncle.”
He steps back with a laugh, shoving his hair from his eyes. “Barely, although I hate to admit it.”My eyes narrow, magic stirring. “What do I need to know?”
He yanks down the edge of his collar to reveal the ragged fang marks on his fair skin. “Fucker got me. An entire hoard attacked us on the road.”
When we accept our magic and make the choice to devote our life to the Hunters, we can’t be turned against our will. When we’re bitten, it heals just like any other wound.
Well, unless a Hunter chooses to turn. But no one ever would. And no one ever has.
“Shit,” I mutter. “Go clean that wound. Looks festering.”
Brachett huffs. “Bite before this one took a month to heal. I’m gettin’ too old for this shit.” He winks at me before moving on to greet Riot.
Uncle Brachett has held the East his entire career, and I’ve enjoyed adopting his tactics.
Which is really just one—no mercy.
Riot turns to me as Brachett climbs up the wall. “Ready?”
I grunt. “Let’s go drink like war is upon us.”
“Poetry to my ears,” he replies and leads the way, scaling the rockface.
My fingers grip the rough surface I’ve touched thousands of times, and I pull and push up the cliff, hoisting myself over the ledge with ease.
“Do we talk strategy tonight?” Riot asks as we amble back through the tunnel, orbs above lighting our way.
I unclasp the bracers from my forearms. It’s time to get comfortable.
“No. We’ll wait for the others. Tonight, we ensure the men remember what they’re fighting for.”
Riot peers over at me.
“Tonight, we live.”
At that, Riot picks up the pace into the grand living room to male Hunters milling about, tossing shirts over heads, treating themselves to overflowing pints, and taking their seats at the dining table.
It’s been decades since a female Hunter honored us with her service.
Grace is the only one, sort of. Vampire bloodlust hit a peak fifty years ago, killing humans at an alarming rate, and our parents’ generation answered with a rebellion that failed, losing half of our Hunters and severely weakening us.
Our women chose their service as Mothers exclusively after that, passing on their Hunter magic to their children to rebuild our warriors rather than accepting the magic for themselves.
When we kill this king, we can go back to how things used to be. When the female choice to accept her magic as a warrior, or to become a Mother, was based on more than survival of the line. And I’ll be so grateful for that, because I’ve learned so many things from the way Grace fights.
The contributions from our women are greatly missed.
But the gods demand balance with our magic, and our women pay the price for it.
Life is so fucking unfair sometimes. And I despise the fact that Grace has had to choose. I can’t even fathom the force she would become if she accepted her magic.
The room stills at the sound of grinding stone from the carved chamber. A minute later, the Northern outfit marches into the grand room, and cheers roar.
“Thank you for coming,” I say in greeting, their faces wearing exhaustion.
Northern station leader, Longton, clasps my hand with his. “You shittin’ me? Never been more excited for anything in my whole damn life.”
I clap him on the back, and he disappears into the throng. Riot and I welcome the Hunters filtering in behind their station leader.
Once everyone is settled, we grab our own pints from the ale station and saunter toward the head of the massive table.
And then, like a punch to the gut, Sam’s magic splashes against mine.