Trial of Stone

by Andy Peloquin

  Father Reverentus steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair. “It might surprise you to learn that I know more about your story than you expect. I was familiar with Lectern Uman, but if I’d known the truth of what went on—Keeper, what might still be going on—I’d have done exactly the same thing in your position.”

  Evren said nothing. No one, not even the Hunter or Kiara, knew that Uman’s death had been an accident. The street crews in Vothmot had mostly left him alone once they found out what he’d done, and that nugget of misinformation suited him just fine.

  The old Beggar Priest gave a dismissive wave of his gnarled hand. “But that is neither here nor there. What matters now is that the Hunter tells me that you can be trusted.” He gave Evren a little smile. “He went so far as to call you capable and reliable. High praise, coming from him.”

  Evren struggled not to grin. The Hunter had done little more than grunt his approval during their training sessions when Evren turned aside a quick blow or disarmed his opponent. Coming from the Hunter, that truly was high praise.

  “As you know,” Father Reverentus continued, “we have come to a certain…understanding with the Hunter.” The words seemed to stick in his throat. “As our goals seem to be aligned, at least in the matter of ridding the world of the threat of demons, it is in all our best interests to cooperate. At least, that is what I have been able to convince my brethren in Voramis to see. As for the rest…” He shrugged his slim shoulders.

  Evren nodded. The Hunter, once the most famous and highest-paid assassin in Voramis, had uncovered a terrible truth three years ago: demons, a race of otherworldly, bestial creatures known as the Abiarazi, hadn’t been scoured from the world thousands of years earlier during the War of Gods, as most of Einan believed. Instead, they had used their skills at shifting shape to conceal themselves among the humans, impossible to differentiate except for the deep black color of their eyes.

  The Hunter had shown him the shape-changing skill, shifting his face from his own hard, dark visage to a handsome youth, an old man, then back to his normal features in the space of a few seconds. Evren had shuddered the first time he saw those eyes, like two pools into nothingness. Had he not known the truth of who the Hunter was—not only a Bucelarii, half-human offspring of the demons, but a man willing to fight his own people to save the ones he cared about—Evren might have fled then and there.

  “From what I am given to understand,” Father Reverentus said, “the Hunter is away from Voramis at the moment. The Hidden Circle alchemist, Graeme was it?” He scanned a parchment on his desk and nodded. “Graeme informed me that the Hunter had departed to Praamis in search of an Abiarazi he believed to be there.”

  Evren nodded. “Yes.” The Hunter had departed almost three weeks earlier. Given the ten-day journey to the nearby city of Praamis, he ought to return soon.

  “A matter of great importance has come to my attention.” Father Reverentus sat up straighter in his chair and fixed Evren with that piercing, intense stare. “Typically, I would pass the information to the Hunter, but if his information proves correct and there is a demon in Praamis, I believe his hands will be a tad too full to deal with it himself. And, I’m given to understand you have unique skills. Skills that could prove quite advantageous in this circumstance.”

  Evren raised an eyebrow. “Skills of a thief, you mean?”

  “Precisely.” Father Reverentus inclined his head. “When the Hunter mentioned that you were quick enough to lift his purse in the Court of Judgement in Vothmot, I believed I had the right man for the job.”

  “And what’s this job, then?” Evren sat back, trying for nonchalance to cover his burning curiosity and the nervous anxiety roiling in his stomach. He couldn’t help wondering what sort of job the Beggar Priest wouldn’t handle in-house. One that required a thief, no less.

  Father Reverentus stroked the white beard that hung to his emaciated waist. “How familiar are you with the city of Shalandra?”

  Evren shrugged. “Never heard of it.”

  “Ah.” The old Beggar Priest’s face tightened. He reclined in his stuffed, cloth-upholstered armchair once more and pursed his lips. “The City of the Dead, some call it, an entire city built around the worship of the Long Keeper, god of death.”

  Evren’s eyes widened a fraction. “Worshipping the Long Keeper? Are they mad?” He made the warding gesture that all superstitious Einari knew would keep away the eye of the sleepless god. Where the Long Keeper walked, he left only death in his wake.

  Father Reverentus’ face twisted into a frown. “Perhaps, and yet that is the god they have chosen to worship.” He tapped a finger against his lips. “But the only part of their dark worship that should interest you is the Blade of Hallar, the city’s most sacred relic. And, I believe, a weapon much like the Hunter’s dagger, Soulhunger.”

  Evren sat bolt upright. Soulhunger was a magical weapon with a gemstone that consumed the life energy of its victims to feed Kharna, the Serenii trapped in the city of Enarium. Evren hadn’t seen the dagger at work, but he’d heard tales of the Hunter recovering from mortal wounds thanks to Soulhunger’s blood magic. A weapon of immense power and, in the wrong hands, a truly dire threat indeed.

  “The Blade of Hallar is said to have belonged to Hallar, the first Pharus and founder of Shalandra,” Father Reverentus explained. “My Cambionari brethren in the Beggar Temple in Shalandra have long been interested in it, but only recently have they been able to ascertain that it is truly one of the Im’tasi weapons forged by the ancient Serenii for the Bucelarii to wield.”

  “So why don’t they just nick it, then?” Evren cocked his head. “No one would think to accuse a Beggar Priest of stealing it.”

  “The thought had crossed my mind.” A smile tugged at the old priest’s lips. “But, alas, it is out of our reach.” He sighed and shook his head. “The Blade of Hallar is kept under constant guard by high-ranking Keeper’s Blades, the elite warriors of Shalandra, in the most secure room in the Palace of Golden Eternity. It is only ever brought out of its vault four times a year. Once every four months for the Ceremony of the Seven Faces, and once more for the Anointing of the Blades.”

  Evren frowned. “Let me guess, one of these ceremonies is going to take place soon, and you want me on hand to nick this blade?”

  “Precisely.” Father Reverentus nodded. “The next crop of Keeper’s Blades will be anointed before the Four-Bladed Storm sweeps over Shalandra. If you are as clever a thief as the Hunter believes, it may be that you are better-suited for the task than even he. After all, his manner is far more…direct.”

  Evren chuckled. “You could say that.” The Hunter’s Bucelarii healing abilities, strength, and speed made him impossible to kill—for any who didn’t know his secret weakness, of course. The fully human Evren had to resort to cunning, trickery, and stealth where the Hunter opted for a frontal assault.

  “Once you have procured the Blade of Hallar,” Father Reverentus continued, “you simply need to get it to the House of Need in Shalandra. From there, my Cambionari brethren will smuggle you and the weapon safely out of the city and back here. I will not lie and tell you the job will be easy, but you will have as much assistance as we can offer.”

  “How much time do I have?” Evren asked. “Before the next time this fancy sword will be brought out?”

  Father Reverentus scanned one of the parchments strewn across his desk. “One month, give or take a few days. The Crucible will be taking place now, and those chosen to join the Keeper’s Blades will be anointed at the next turn of the moon.”

  One month. Evren frowned and pondered the job. Not a lot of time to figure out something this complex.

  “The journey to Shalandra should take less than ten days,” Father Reverentus said, “giving you almost three weeks to find the way to retrieve the sword.”

  “Three weeks?” Evren’s eyebrows shot up. “Cutting it a bit close, aren’t you?”

  Father Reverentus’ eyes flashed at Evren
’s disrespectful tone, but Evren didn’t flinch. He’d lost his fear of priests the night he killed Lectern Uman. The Lectern had tried to stop his escape from the Master’s Temple and Evren had lashed out—in self-defense and protection of a fellow apprentice. The priest had deserved a far less kind fate, given the abuse he’d heaped on Evren’s head—and all the apprentices. Yet even now, after years had passed, Evren still couldn’t forget the wide-eyed horror in Lectern Uman’s eyes as the blood leaking from his shattered skull stained the water of his bathing pool a deep crimson. Some memories never truly faded, but left an indelible mark on the mind.

  “I have just now received all the information required to undertake this quest,” Father Reverentus said after a long moment, his tone sharp-edged with irritation. “Were time not such a constraining factor, I might have waited until the Hunter returned from Praamis.”

  Evren snorted. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, eh?”

  Father Reverentus leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “Do not take this matter lightly, young man. This mission is of absolute importance, not only to us as the defenders of Einan, but to the Hunter. My efforts to gain access to the Im’tasi weapons stored in the vaults beneath the Beggar Temple in Malandria have been met with fierce resistance. My brethren in Malandria have not forgotten what the Hunter did to Lord Knight Moradiss, Father Pietus, and the other Cambionari. Their blood still stains the carpets and their spirits cry out for vengeance.” Anger tinged his words and blazed in his blue eyes. “Only the fact that the fate of Einan is at stake has held us back.”

  Evren met the priest’s anger with cold calm. The Cambionari, the demon-hunting secret priesthood of the Beggar God, had forced the Hunter’s hand, but he wouldn’t try telling them that. Better try to turn a stone into wine than change a priest’s mind.

  Yet, despite the unveiled threat in Father Reverentus’ words, Evren knew the priest was right. The Hunter had sworn to aid Kharna, the Serenii locked away in Enarium, in the fight against the Devourer of Worlds, a being of chaos that sought to unmake Einan and all of reality. The Serenii-forged Im’tasi weapons were invaluable tools in his mission to feed Kharna the life force required to sustain him.

  At the moment, the Hunter had just three: Soulhunger, the long sword he’d taken from the Sage in Enarium, and a third sword that had once belonged to the First of the Bloody Hand. Kiara wielded the First’s sword and the Hunter had entrusted the Sage’s weapon to Graeme and the Hidden Circle, a group of rogue alchemists and information-brokers, for study. A fourth such weapon would prove vital in the Hunter’s quest—perhaps the Hunter would even trust Evren to wield it. Gods knew he’d trained enough hours in the last three years to feel confident swinging such a blade.

  “I’ll do it,” he said in a low voice. “I’ll find this Blade of Hallar.” It would be damned near impossible to learn his way around a new city, find a way into the palace, and come up with an escape route all in the space of three weeks, yet people had believed escape from the Master’s Priests in Vothmot equally impossible. He’d do it, if nothing else to show the Hunter that he was truly ready to aid in his quest.

  Father Reverentus’ face brightened. “Excellent!” He reached for the little bell sitting on his desk and rang it, a tinny tinkling that echoed surprisingly loud in the small chamber.

  A moment later, the same portly priest poked his head into the door. “Yes, Father?”

  “Brother Mendicatus, provide young master Evren here with everything he will require to accompany Brother Modestus on his journey to Shalandra. And inform Modestus that he leaves within the hour.”

  “Of course, Father.” Mendicatus bowed to the old Reverentus, then stared expectantly at Evren.

  Evren stood and was about to follow Brother Mendicatus from the room, but Father Reverentus’ voice stopped him.

  “This mission is a heavy burden for one so young to carry, but I trust the Hunter when he says that you are strong enough to bear it.” The old priest leaned forward and fixed Evren with that piercing gaze. “Perhaps everything you have endured in your past has been to prepare you for this moment in time. May the Beggar strengthen your arm and guide your steps, Evren. The fate of this world may very well rest on your shoulders.”

  Chapter Three

  Kodyn cast a last glance over his shoulder at Praamis, the city that had been his home for all seventeen years of his life. He knew Praamis like the back of his hand—from the rooftop planks and rope bridges of the Hawk’s Highway to the endless underground tunnels of the Night Guild to the maze-like sewer system to the crowded, filthy streets of Old Town Market—that leaving it felt like tearing a piece out of his soul. He would miss his mothers, his mentor and trainer Master Serpent, his friends in House Hawk, and all of the others he was leaving behind.

  Yet he couldn’t help feeling excited as he returned his gaze to the road ahead. The long, dusty stretch of cleared ground spread from Praamis’ South Gate toward the horizon. Destiny awaited him in Shalandra.

  A low growl of frustration echoed from beside him. Kodyn hid a smile as Aisha wrestled with the reins of her horse, a roan mare that had proven to be a handful. No matter how much Aisha kicked, swore, or threatened, the mare seemed determined to go her own way. Once, the horse simply wandered off the road and set about cropping grass, and nothing any of them did could get the beast moving until it decided it had had its fill.

  Just her luck that she, the least experienced rider among us, got the most difficult horse. He grinned. I wonder which of them will out-stubborn the other.

  Aisha’s umber-colored skin, tight-curling hair, dark lips, silver nose and eyebrow piercings, and deep brown eyes proclaimed her a native of Ghandia, a kingdom of plains and grasslands far to the northeast of Praamis. Yet she cursed with a vehemence that would make any Praamian proud. Anyone who saw her—broad-shouldered, lithe muscles, confident posture, with a short-handled assegai spear and long dirk at her hip—would immediately recognize her as a warrior.

  Briana, his other traveling companion, stood in stark contrast to Aisha. Her skin was a deep golden mahogany, and she had an oval face, sloping forehead, and arrow-straight nose. But it was her build, the slight, petite frame of a young woman more given to knowledge and academia than battle, that made her stand out. That, and the still-healing bruises and cuts on her face.

  “How are you feeling?” Kodyn asked.

  “Fine,” Briana said with a little smile. “Glad to be getting back to my father and my home. And to be back in the bright sunlight and fresh air.”

  Kodyn chuckled. “Yeah, the Night Guild’s tunnels can be a bit of an acquired taste.”

  “It’s amazing that so many of you live in that underground warren,” Briana said. “There have to be what, two or three hundred?”

  Kodyn scrunched up his face. “Four hundred and thirty-six at last count.”

  Briana’s eyes shot up. “And all of them are thieves like you?”

  “No, not all.” Kodyn chuckled. “The Hawks are the third-story thieves, while the Foxes run the streets with the Grubbers. The Serpents are assassins, Scorpions the poisoners, and Hounds the bounty hunters and trackers.” He jerked a thumb at Aisha. “Aisha and the others of House Phoenix run the brothels and pleasure-houses of Praamis, protecting the working girls and making sure every client pays what they owe. Then the Bloodbears are like the Night Guild’s version of the Praamian Guard, maintaining order among the eight Guild Houses and settling disputes. Plus, they serve as my mother’s muscle when she needs something done.”

  His mother happened to be the Master of the Night Guild, the organization that ruled Praamis’ underworld. That fact served as a large part of why he found himself on the road south—he had to find a way to step out of her shadow.

  Speaking of shadows, Kodyn thought as he cast a glance over his shoulder, it seems Aisha’s in trouble again.

  The roan mare had taken shelter in the cool shade of a weeping willow, and Aisha wrestled with the reins, cursing at the stubborn beast.
Kodyn would have sworn he saw a mischievous glint in the horse’s liquid brown eyes, a subtle mockery in the way its ears twitched. The horse knew exactly what sort of violence Aisha threatened yet seemed smart enough to realize that it was a bluff.

  Kodyn slowed his horse to wait, but didn’t turn to help. Given Aisha’s current mood—as dark as the circles beneath her eyes—any offer of help would be dismissed with the same threats leveled at the horse.

  “I don’t think I ever thanked you properly.” Briana shot a sidelong glance at him, her face flushing a pretty pink. “For saving me, and for convincing the Guild Master to let you escort me home.”

  “You don’t need to thank me.” Kodyn felt his stomach flutter as he reached out and laid a hand softly on her arm. “It’s my pleasure.”

  He felt foolish for his reaction to her presence, yet something about the slim Shalandran girl made his heart race, his palms grow sweaty, and his tongue trip over his words. He’d felt attracted to other young women in the past—Ria’s role as Master of House Phoenix had led to plenty of interaction with the fancy-ticklers, courtesans, and working girls of Praamis—but Briana was different. From the moment he’d heard her voice in that warehouse where she was held captive, he’d found himself drawn to her.

  Of course, Aisha’s presence made things a bit more complicated. He’d been nursing a crush on the umber-skinned Ghandian girl for the better part of two years, though that had deepened into genuine feelings in the last few months. By the way Ria and Ilanna, his other mother and Master of the Night Guild, treated the two of them, he was almost certain she had similar feelings for him.