But Kodyn hadn’t come for the women. He’d come to see the Black Widow.
The interior of The Gilded Parlour was spacious, well-furnished with plush couches and love seats. Everything was gold, from the metal-plated chandelier to the gold thread woven into the bright yellow fabric to the paintings that hung on the wall. It was bright enough to be garish, with the only spot of real color coming from the wooden bar along the north and western edges of the room. Three rough-looking men stood behind the bar serving drinks, watching the men and women scattered around the brothel with keen eyes and hands hovering close to the cudgels on their belts.
Kodyn strode up to the nearest, a slope-shouldered brute with greying hair and dark eyes. He held up two fingers. “Two Spider Legs.”
The bartender gave no sign of recognition or interest, simply reached behind the bar and pulled out a glass bottle filled with black liquor. He poured the liquor into two glasses barely larger than a thimble and slid them across the bar to Kodyn. With a nod, Kodyn knocked back the first.
The liquor had a distinctly spicy edge of cinnamon, cloves, and ginger, but just enough sweetness to be enjoyable. Its potency, however, rivaled the strongest Voramian agor, and Kodyn struggled not to cough as the burning alcohol slid a fiery trail down his throat and into his stomach. As the heat settled, he was left with a pleasant spicy-sweet taste in his mouth.
He made no move to empty the second drink. Instead, he plunked a pair of Praamian imperials on the bar, picked up the tiny glass, and strode toward the shadows at the northern edge of the chamber. A small, round booth sized for two people stood empty, and Kodyn slipped into the gold fabric-covered seat.
Kodyn settled back into the couch to wait. Time passed slowly, the liquor burning its way into Kodyn’s gut. He’d inherited his mother’s taste for sweet wines—Voramian Snowblossom or Nyslian reds—though he’d shared some Praamian rum with Ria at her insistence. But this liquor was far stronger than anything he’d had before.
Maybe that’s why the Black Widow expects her guests to drink it. They’ll be too soused to try anything stupid.
He pretended to relax in his chair, but every muscle in his body was tense as he kept a wary eye on the room. No one paid him much interest—not even the bartenders approached to offer another drink—and he could detect no sign of being followed. If someone was watching him, they were good enough he couldn’t spot them.
Half an hour later, the bartender slid out from around the gold-painted wooden bar and strode toward Kodyn. He picked up the tiny glass, emptied it, and gestured for Kodyn to follow.
“This way,” he muttered, and disappeared through a small, curtain-covered doorway on the northeastern corner of the room.
Kodyn followed and found himself in a narrow corridor that ran for a few paces, with a single doorway at the end. However, halfway down the hall, the bartender slid aside a panel to reveal a staircase. At the top of the stairs, there was another door, this one built of heavy iron-banded wood, with a steel doorknob to match.
The man produced a key—Kodyn saw it matched an eight-pin tumbler lock—and used it to open the door. He motioned for Kodyn to enter.
Kodyn strode into the room. It was pitch black and, as far as he could see, utterly empty.
“You have five minutes,” the bartender said and swung the door closed, plunging Kodyn into darkness.
Kodyn had spent nearly a decade moving around the darkened passages of the Night Guild, the starlit rooftops of the Hawk’s Highway, and the pitch black sewer tunnels beneath Praamis, but he’d never felt as nervous as he did now.
He caught a slight hint of shuffling slippers, the creak of wood—a secret passage?—and a moment later, a voice drifted from the darkness of the room. “Welcome to Shalandra, Praamian.”
It was a woman, of that Kodyn was certain, but her voice had an ageless quality about it. He couldn’t tell if she was his age or old enough to be his grandmother. Suddenly, a thread of light streamed through a tiny crack in the heavy shutters barring a window. He caught a glimpse of a slim hand and the outline of her silhouette in the dim illumination. She was neither tall nor short, heavy nor emaciated. With her face concealed by shadow, she looked like a thousand other Shalandran women.
Which is probably the point, Kodyn thought. The less she stands out, the easier it is to protect her true identity.
The ritual below—ordering the spider-themed drink, waiting to be summoned by the bartender—had likely given the Black Widow’s people time to study him.
“What brings you to my city?” she asked.
Kodyn had expected the question—his mother had prepared him for his meeting with the Black Widow, the closest thing to her counterpart in Shalandra. Though she didn’t organize crime to the same extent the Night Guild did in Praamis, she had her finger on the pulse of everything that went on in her city. One part spymaster, one part information broker, and four parts deadly when crossed.
Ilanna had emphasized the importance of making contact with the Black Widow immediately upon his arrival in Shalandra. “If she finds out who you are,” his mother had said, “you’re likely to end up with a dagger in your back unless you have her permission. Better to bring a peace offering than try to talk your way out of a dangerous situation.”
Kodyn had spent many hours on his long journey from Praamis mulling over his mother’s instructions and trying to decide just how much to tell the Black Widow. Finally, he’d settled on as much truth as she needed to know.
“I’ve come to steal the Crown of the Pharus,” he said without hesitation.
“Have you now?” The Black Widow chuckled, almost a girlish giggle. “And here I thought the Night Guild was far more sensible than that.”
“It’s my Undertaking.” Kodyn reasoned that if she’d already marked him as belonging to the Night Guild, she would know enough about their practices to recognize his purpose for being here. “But I don’t intend to take it out of Shalandra.”
“Of course not.” The Black Widow gave a dismissive wave of her slim hand. “You wouldn’t get an hour out of the city before every Keeper’s Blade descended upon you. You simply intend to steal it to prove you can, but you have no desire to actually make off with it, is that not so?”
“Yes.” Kodyn was impressed. She knows a lot more about the Night Guild than I expected.
“And I presume that you intend to use the goodwill earned by returning Lady Briana to convince her father to aid you in this Undertaking?”
“Yes.” Again, Kodyn had to marvel. She really does know as much as Mother warned me. He’d clearly made the right choice by telling her the truth.
He reached into a pouch and drew out a small pyramid-shaped gemstone. “I offer this as a token of the Night Guild’s appreciation for your permission to operate in your city.”
The woman reached out a slim hand—the sliver of light revealed a thin iron bracelet encircling her wrist—and took the gemstone. When she held it up to the light, the thin beam of white light from the window was refracted by the diamond and cast six separate beams onto the wall, each a different color of the rainbow.
“A fine gift.” She sounded pleased. “Your offering is accepted. For as long as you and your Ghandian companion remain in Shalandra, you have my approval to undertake this quest to steal the Crown of the Pharus.”
Kodyn forced himself not to stiffen in surprise. If the Black Widow had known he was escorting Briana, it made sense that she knew of Aisha as well.
“Come to think of it, your mission puts you in a unique position.” The Black Widow’s tone grew musing. “One that could prove of mutual benefit.”
Kodyn raised an eyebrow—an expression lost in the shadows of the room. “I’m listening.”
“No one has ever succeeded in stealing the Crown of the Pharus, though not for lack of trying.” Amusement tinged her words. “Yet, perhaps, with the right preparation, you will succeed where others have failed. Tell me, does the Night Guild still roam the sewer tunnels beneath
Praamis?”
Again, Kodyn struggled to hide his surprise. She’s damned good if she knows that much.
“Yes,” he said when he’d recovered.
“The city of Shalandra, too, is said to be the handiwork of the ancient Serenii,” the Black Widow explained. “Much of the city’s design—from the structure of the tiers to the palace’s heating and ventilation network to the underground channels that supply us with fresh water—were designed by minds far superior to ours. And, like all Serenii cities, there are networks of underground tunnels and passages that run like a honeycomb throughout.”
Kodyn frowned, pensive. “Let me guess, you want me to steal the map of this tunnel network.”
“Steal?” The Black Widow laughed, a sound that held the sonorous timbre of mature humor. “No, dear boy, there is no need for that. The man responsible for mapping the tunnels owes me far more than just his life. All I have to do is ask.”
Kodyn folded his arms. “If so, where do I come in?”
“You will procure the map and use it to aid you in your quest,” the Black Widow said. “And, in return, you will answer me one simple question.”
“That’s it?” Kodyn cocked his head. “Seems a bit of a one-sided bargain, doesn’t it?”
“Even a young thief like you has to know that knowledge is power.” The Black Widow’s voice held a tone of wry humor. “The right secret whispered in the right ear can topple dynasties and build empires.”
Kodyn nodded. He’d heard much the same from Journeyman Darreth. “What do you want to know?”
“Who took Lady Briana?”
The Black Widow’s question caught Kodyn off-guard. He’d expected something about the Night Guild, his mother, or any number of other things, yet now that he thought about it, he realized the question could carry far more weight than anything he could tell her about Praamis. The Black Widow could use the knowledge of who was behind the abduction in countless ways.
“Have you heard of priests that call themselves the Gatherers?” Kodyn asked.
A deep-throated curse sounded in the darkness, followed by a moment of silence.
Finally, the Black Widow spoke. “The Gatherers took her? You are certain?”
“I saw the priest, Necroset Kytos, die.”
“Good.” The woman’s voice held a tone of grim satisfaction. “Thank you, young Praamian. With this, our bargain is struck.”
The woman extended a hand into the thread of daylight. In her open palm lay a round silver coin—larger than Praamian gold imperials, but unlike Shalandran coinage, it didn’t bear the Pharus’ head on the face side. Instead, it bore the mark of an eight-legged spider. A black widow.
“Show this to Ennolar, a Secret Keeper and member of the Venerated, and he will give you what you desire,” the Black Widow told him. “Once you have made use of the map, I would consider it a courtesy if you would deliver it to me.”
“Of course.” Kodyn nodded.
“But not here.” The Black Widow’s voice was stern, the commanding tone reminding Kodyn of his mother in her role as Guild Master. “You must never return to The Gilded Parlour. If you wish to speak to me, seek out the children wearing iron bracelets like mine.” She held her wrist up to the light. “We communicate through them.”
Of course, children! No wonder Kodyn hadn’t spotted anyone following or watching him. He’d looked for men or women, but never a child. He kicked himself for a fool—he had spent most of his childhood as a thief, so he ought to know to look for the same here. I won’t make that mistake again.
“I understand,” he said and turned to go. “Thank you.”
“One last thing, young Praamian.” The Black Widow’s voice stopped Kodyn in his tracks. “You bring gifts, and now I offer one in return. A warning: the Night Guild may rule the shadows of Praamis, but here in Shalandra, only danger lurks in the darkness. The same Gatherers you faced in your city slither through Shalandra, filling it with their vile words and deeds. The Ybrazhe Syndicate rivals the cruelty and ruthlessness of the Bloody Hand your Guild Master spent years driving out of her city. The Necroseti and the Keeper’s Council conceal sharp daggers beneath pleasant words and false smiles. Trust no one but your companion.”
Kodyn bowed. “I thank you for your warning.”
“Heed my words,” the Black Widow said, “and perhaps, with the Keeper’s favor, you will survive long enough to tempt fate with your Undertaking.”
With those ominous words ringing in his ears, Kodyn left the darkened room and the mysterious Shalandran spymaster.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The hours seemed to drag on as they stood guard before the Tomb of Hallar. Hykos remained solemn and silent throughout their watch, and Issa didn’t dare speak for fear of breaking some unspoken rule. Her mind filled with the gravity of Tannard’s words and his warning against her failure. The weight of her armor and the throbbing aches of her body only added to the burden resting on her shoulders.
Finally, the next pair of Keeper’s Blades came to replace them on guard. With a silent salute, Hykos and Issa marched off down the path that descended through the tombs.
Issa’s eyes roamed over each of the tombs she passed. The stone faces of the ancient Pharuses seemed to mock her, and the black sarcophagi of the Keeper’s Blades reminded her that she could never be as strong or unmovable as the mountain. She would always fail. It didn’t matter that the Invictus asked her to do the impossible. Issa had spent the last five years training to be stronger, better, faster, and smarter. Tannard had smacked her over the head with the truth of her own limitations and it rocked her to her core.
Darkness had fully fallen by the time they stepped out of the tunnel and into the Citadel of Stone.
“You okay?” Hykos’ words echoed with concern. “You’ve had a tough day, but—”
“Don’t!” Issa growled at him. “I don’t need your pity.”
“I’ve none to offer.” Hykos held up his hands in a defensive gesture. “Just a friendly word of advice from someone who’s been where you are.”
Issa bit back on the retort threatening to burst from her lips. “And what’s that?”
“You only die when you quit fighting.” Hykos shrugged. “Until then, nothing but the Long Keeper himself can stop you.”
Issa had no doubt he meant the words to be a kindness, but right now, they just rubbed her failings in her face.
“Thanks,” she snarled. Whirling, she stalked away down the hall that led toward her room. Emotions roiled within her as she marched through the empty, bare stone corridors and into her chamber. She hurled her sword and scabbard onto her bed and nearly tore off her armor. The weight and closeness suffocated her, squeezed at her lungs with a fist of iron. Finally free of the burden, she collapsed into her bed, exhausted physically and mentally overwhelmed.
It’s too much! The thought echoed over and over. The harsh training, the starvation and sleep loss, the endless demands on her body and mind, Invictus Tannard’s cruelty. All of it was intended to break her, and she had just about reached the point where she felt as if she’d shatter.
She’d felt like this before; Killian had pushed her hard, training her mind and body in anticipation of the hardships inflicted upon her in the Blades. Yet though the blacksmith had been surprisingly kind—when not forcing her to work harder—he wasn’t the one that had gotten her through the ordeal.
Issa was suddenly gripped by an overwhelming desire to see her grandparents, to feel their arms around her, to hear their soothing voices and loving words. She didn’t know if she was permitted but didn’t care. She had to do it before her new life broke her soul.
She fled—armor and sword still on her bed—and hurried back the way she’d come. The Citadel of Stone would be locked at this time of night, but Tannard had shown her another way out.
The entrance to the tombs stood open, and the dust and stink of death welcomed her as she hurried into the cool silence beneath the mountain. Instead of heading up the hi
ll, however, she turned south and began the descent toward the crypts on the lower tiers.
The tombs would be empty at this time of night, she knew. All ceremonial burials took place at sunset and sunrise. Aside from the guard patrols, few of the superstitious Shalandrans traveled the Keeper’s Crypts. None would risk tempting the Keeper’s wrath by disturbing the dead.
Massive, ornate Dhukari tombs soon gave way to smaller, simpler tombs that belonged to the Alqati, Shalandra’s martial caste. The Indomitables were given homes on the Defender’s Tier but earned only a modest wage from the Pharus for their defense of the city. Their tombs lacked the decorative flairs and towering stature of the wealthy Dhukari. Instead, they were the same simple sarcophagi of the tombs of the Keeper’s Blades, all laid out in neat military order, though made of golden sandstone rather than the treasured shalanite. The hilts of the Indomitables’ sickle-shaped khopesh swords protruded from the top of the sarcophagi. Every warrior was buried in full armor, their blades ready to be drawn in defense of Shalandra when Hallar returned.
Issa’s stomach did a nervous backflip as she heard the sound of booted feet. The black-armored soldiers had the honor of guarding the crypts on all but the Keeper’s Tier, and they took their task seriously. She barely had time to duck into the shadows of a sarcophagus before the troop of Indomitables marched past at a brisk pace.
She waited until the clanking of their half-plate armor faded into the distance before letting out the breath she’d been holding. Heart hammering, she slipped quickly down the path that cut through the Alqati tombs. The next patrol would be passing in five minutes, but the Earaqi crypts were at least half an hour of downhill travel.
The journey took nearly twice that long, given that she had to keep an eye and ear out for the patrols. Frustration mounted within her as she hid behind a small obelisk dedicated to an Adept, servant of the Swordsman, god of heroism and smithing. The obelisk, and the small forest of identical monoliths surrounding it, matched the Swordsman’s Temple on the Artisan’s Tier.
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