Trial of Stone

by Andy Peloquin

  Briana turned fear-numbed eyes on her and began moving slowly, as if in a fever dream.

  “Hurry!” Aisha’s voice was hard, edged with urgency. “I can hear them coming up the stairs.”

  The lie spurred Briana to action. The Shalandran girl darted forward and, with a frenzied flurry of activity, set about shoving at the dresser. Together, they pushed until the oak furniture blocked the entrance.

  “Good.” Aisha nodded. “Now we need to barricade the other way in.”

  Aisha raced into the sitting room, a hand around Briana’s wrist. She had to keep the girl close. If Briana panicked and went into shock, she could end up putting both of them at risk. She and Briana had just set about hauling a heavy stuffed wool couch toward the door when it burst open.

  Time slowed to a crawl as the first of the assailants rushed into the room. They wore dark cloaks over boiled leather armor and carried simple, straight-bladed long swords and daggers. As one lifted his weapon to strike, Aisha caught a glimpse of that same strange Gatherer tattoo she’d seen in Praamis.

  Aisha’s blood turned to ice, but her hands were already moving, reaching toward her assegai. The short-hafted spear glinted in the candlelight as she drew it and thrust out at the first man to reach her. The leaf-shaped spear blade punched through the man’s armor and drove deep into his chest. When Aisha tore the weapon free and danced backward, the assassin cried out and slumped in the doorway, blocking his comrades.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Aisha unleashed a Ghandian war cry with all the force of the battle thrill rushing through her. The shout slowed the foremost assassin for a single moment, long enough for Aisha to leap forward and bring him down with a quick thrust of her assegai.

  She crouched, spear and dagger ready for the next attack. “Stay behind me!” she called to Briana. “I’ll hold them off.”

  She never heard Briana’s reply. Instead, she heard one of the assailants call, “Go around!”

  Her gut clenched—even if she managed to keep them busy here, the assassins would get through the locked door and barricade if they were persistent enough. She pricked up her ears for any sign of the alarm bell, but only the shouts of the assassins and the moans of the bleeding, dying man met her ears.

  The next assassin leapt over his comrade, and Aisha drove her spear into his throat before his feet touched the floor. Blood sprayed as she tore her spear head free and used it to block a strike of another assassin’s long sword. Her dagger opened a long gash up the length of his forearm and her kick to his chest sent him stumbling backward, once more to block the doorway.

  She had to keep them out of the room. If she held the door, forced them to come at her one at a time, she had a chance. I just need to hold them long enough for the servant to sound the alarm and for Kodyn to return.

  But, in the end, she couldn’t count on anyone else to protect Briana or save her. She alone stood in this room, facing more enemies than she could hope to defeat. Her mother had trained her to be a warrior in body, mind, and spirit. Years in the Night Guild had hardened her, prepared her to fight with cunning and trickery as well as honor and skill. Facing these assassins intent on slaying her and making off with Briana, that was precisely who she needed to be.

  Aisha’s hands moved in a blur, spear thrusting and slicing, dagger stabbing and cutting. Her lithe body, honed by years of training, spun and leapt in the familiar rhythm of the Kim’ware war dance taught to her by her mother, the greatest warrior of the Ukuza tribe. Even the Serpents of the Night Guild had learned to respect the strange, dance-like movements of the Ghandians. Only Ria, Master of House Phoenix, had surpassed Aisha in combat.

  The assassins, unaccustomed to the fighting style, fell back before her. Three died in the space of two heartbeats, Aisha’s sharp spear blade and dagger’s edge taking their toll in blood. She managed to push them back beyond the doorway and out into the hall.

  But only for a moment. One assassin clutched the spear embedded in his chest, slowing her down with his last breath. Aisha managed to tear the weapon free of his lifeless grasp, but by then, two more assassins had leapt over the fallen body and charged her, swords raised.

  Aisha had no choice but to give ground, which opened the way for more assassins to flood into the room. As she retreated, she risked a single glance behind her to find Briana. The Shalandran girl had gone rigid, eyes fixed on the killers, and she blocked Aisha’s retreat through the doorway into the bedroom beyond.

  With a growl, Aisha dropped into a low crouch and spun, foot swinging out and spear coming up to protect her head. Her heavy boot crunched into one knee with bone-shattering force as an assassin’s blade clanged against her dagger. As she finished the spin, her leg muscles propelled her upright and into a high leaping kick that drove the toe of her boot into the underside of an assassin’s chin. The man’s head snapped back with an audible snap and he sagged, silent and boneless.

  The sudden ferocity of her assault gave her a single moment to breathe, and she used it to turn, grab Briana, and shove the girl hard into the bedroom. Her gut clenched as she heard the rhythmic thumps echoing from door. The assassins were serious about breaking through her barricade. When that happened, she’d have to face an assault from both sides.

  One problem at a time. She’d taken down eight of the dark-cloaked figures but five more remained. Even as she retreated through the doorway, the assassins followed, long swords swinging at her head, arms, chest, and legs. Only the doorway saved her from being hacked to pieces; long swords clanged as they struck solid sandstone. But two lucky strikes got through her guard, slicing a cut across her thigh and into the side of her face.

  Aisha fought down the instinctive wave of fear. There were too many for her to deal with, not if she wanted to keep Briana safe. She fought alone, with no one coming to help.

  The sound of the alarm bell echoing through the mansion sent hope surging through Aisha. She wanted to shout, laugh, to cry out in glee. Hailen had sounded the alarm. Help was on the way!

  Two of the assassins were distracted by the sudden ringing, and Aisha used their inattention to bring them down with twin thrusts of her dagger and assegai. The attack nearly cost her—she barely managed to throw herself to the side to evade a hacking slash aimed at her neck. A line of fire opened along her shoulder and down her bicep as the sword’s tip dug a furrow into her skin.

  Yet against three, she had a chance. She’d faced as many as four Serpent apprentices in Master Serpent’s sparring bouts and emerged victorious. These assassins lacked the speed, skill, and cunning of the Night Guild’s assassins. Indeed, they fought artlessly, their attacks backed by brute strength yet lacking any real skill.

  Aisha ducked beneath a high strike and slashed her dagger across one assassin’s thigh, just above the kneecap. As the man sagged, she brought her knee up and plowed it into his face. She leapt back to avoid a rapid thrust, twisted out of the path of a vicious chop, and brought her spear whipping around to slam into the man’s head. The tip of the spear, weighted with a metal ball the width of two fingers, crushed bone. The assassin collapsed in a boneless heap. A moment later, the final assassin died at the end of Aisha’s dagger.

  The sound of splintering wood set Aisha’s heart lurching into her throat. The assassins, wielding a heavy stone bust, had broken through the door and five now leapt over her barricade.

  She turned to meet them but slipped in the blood puddling around the corpses at her feet. She fell, hard, her head striking the ground before she could catch herself. In that moment, the world spinning dizzily in her vision, she heard Briana’s terrified scream.

  Aisha lifted her head in time to see an assassin seizing Briana in rough hands, while a second stuffed a dark sack over her head.

  They’re going to take her!

  The words echoed in Aisha’s mind clear as if someone had spoken in her ear. She recognized the emotion that drove the voice—Radiana, Briana’s mother. The spark of life within Aisha flared to a sizzling energy that
begged to be unleashed. Almost of its own accord, Aisha’s hand snapped forward. The tiny flickering blue-white spark surged from her fingers and flew toward the man holding Briana’s arms. The moment it struck him, the man’s muscles seized up, his face going rigid, and he toppled to the side.

  The second assassin, the one holding the sack, shot a stunned glance toward his companion. Aisha watched, equally surprised, as the spark of Radiana’s life leapt from the downed man toward the other like a shooting star cutting the night sky. The blue-white glow slammed into the assassin hard enough to throw him backward. He crashed into the wall and fell, his neck twisted at a terrible angle.

  Aisha froze, her jaw agape. For an instant, the figure of Radiana appeared before her, the blue-white light coalescing into the form of a beautiful woman.

  Ghostly eyes fixed on Aisha and a contented smile broadened Radiana’s face. “Thank you.” Barely more than a whisper that caressed the back of Aisha’s mind, yet unmistakable. Slowly, like a trail of smoke carried away on the wind, Radiana faded from view.

  More figures appeared in the hall and began clambering over the dresser. Aisha staggered upright, her mind struggling to comprehend what had just happened. That was the work of the Kish’aa? Such a tiny little bit of energy, yet it had enough force to bring down two men. Her father had been right; a Spirit Whisperer could truly wield terrible power.

  Suddenly, she understood what it meant to be Umoyahlebe. The Kish’aa needed someone to hear them, to help them find peace. More than anything in the world, Radiana had wanted to protect her daughter, and she’d done so even in death.

  The spirits would tell her what they needed, and it would be her task to help them. The burden weighed heavy, yet after what she’d just witnessed, she could no longer consider herself cursed.

  Her father truly had passed on a gift to her.

  I am a Spirit Whisperer, Aisha told herself as she prepared to meet the next wave of assassins. I answer the call of the spirits!

  Chapter Forty

  What in the bloody hell do I do now? The thought set the acid in Evren’s stomach churning.

  He knew what the Hunter would do in this situation: charge in, swords flashing, and kill everyone that stood between him and Hailen. But Evren wasn’t the Hunter. He didn’t have the Hunter’s speed, skill, or healing ability. He’d seen what happened to the apprentices that had tried to fight with a head wound like his—some took one blow and died or, worse, suffered permanent impairment of their mental and physical functions.

  Then there was the fact that there were at least twenty men—far too many for him to handle alone. He didn’t have time to try to race around to the front; Samall would have the intruders up inside the house long before Evren ever convinced the guards at the front gate to let him through. His only hope lay in sounding the alarm.

  Nessa had insisted on showing him the various mechanisms around the house that would trigger the alarm bell—installed after Lady Briana’s kidnapping. The nearest was in the entrance, just around the corner from the grand staircase. He’d need to cut through the kitchens, but from there it would be a short sprint to his final destination. All he had to do was ring the alarm to alert the guards and Lady Briana’s bodyguards; they could deal with the kidnappers, leaving him free to focus on finding Hailen.

  He waited until the last of the dark-cloaked figures disappeared into the mansion, counted ten seconds, and raced down the alley toward the gate. In his hurry to get his accomplices inside, Samall had forgotten to lock the rear door. Or he’d simply neglected to lock it—they might be planning to use that as their escape route once they’d abducted or killed Lady Briana.

  Heart thundering, Evren scanned the darkened courtyard. He caught a glimpse of dark cloaks slipping through the shadows of the pathway that ringed the western edge of the mansion. Relief flooded Evren. Samall was leading the kidnappers away from the kitchens, toward the servant’s hallway that led directly from the stables toward the grand staircase. Yet that meant Evren would have to move faster to reach the alarm before they climbed the stairs to Lady Briana’s room on the second floor.

  The wound in his forehead still sent jolts of pain radiating through the right side of his face, but he forced himself to move quickly. Not quietly, though. As he sped through the kitchens, he seized the largest of the cook’s wooden spoons and struck every pot he passed. The clatter was deafening, at least to anyone in the servants’ section of the house. He just hoped it would suffice to get people suspicious and looking for anything out of the ordinary, thereby raising the chance that someone would see the kidnappers.

  Once through the kitchens, he raced down the narrow corridor that led toward the grand staircase. Please let me be in time! He didn’t know who he prayed to—the Hunter had told him the truth of the thirteen “gods” of Einan—but right now, all that mattered was that he got to Hailen before the kidnappers attacked.

  Hope surged in his chest as a piercing alarm bell rang out around the mansion. Someone had seen the intruders and sounded the alarm. Arch-Guardian Suroth’s guards would come running to help Lady Briana’s bodyguards. If Hailen was with them, he’d be safe, too.

  But Evren couldn’t take the chance. Hailen might be in the small servant’s room across the hall from Lady Briana’s chambers. If the kidnappers entered the wrong door, they might kill Hailen to stop him from crying out.

  Fear lent wings to Evren’s feet and drowned out the hammering in his head. He’d just reached the main staircase when a familiar commanding voice echoed from a nearby hallway.

  “Evren!” Nessa strode from the hall that led to her Steward’s office at the southeastern corner of the mansion. Her hair was a mess, her white Zadii headband crooked, but anger blazed in her eyes. “What is the meaning of this? Where have you been all d—?”

  “Kidnappers!” Evren shouted. “They’ve come for Lady Briana. Samall and Kuhar are with them!”

  Nessa’s eyes widened and she recoiled. “Blessed Keeper!”

  “I’ve got to find Hailen,” Evren said.

  “He was with Lady Bria—”

  Evren didn’t hear the rest of Nessa’s sentence. He was already halfway up the stairs, racing toward the second floor and Lady Briana’s room. A sudden wave of dizziness gripped him and forced him to stop for a breath. It passed in a moment, and he was just about to keep climbing when a piercing scream sounded from above him, accompanied by the clash of steel. Evren’s gut clenched as he reached for his jambiya. He’d fight his way through all of the kidnappers to get to Hailen.

  Movement on the second floor caught his attention. He recognized Hailen’s white-painted face and servants’ robes. The youth was running back in the direction of Lady Briana’s room—right toward the assassins! Hailen was gone before Evren could call out. Heart thundering, Evren sprinted up the stairs and onto the second floor.

  There, he came face to face with Samall, Kuhar, and two men wearing the black robes of the kidnappers.

  Samall’s eyes went to the daggers in Evren’s hands and his lip curled into a sneer. “Kill him,” he commanded.

  Evren felt calm descend over him, the way it always did when he fought in the Master’s Temple. Time seemed to slow around him, and he watched, almost detached, as the two kidnappers and Kuhar charged him. Their long swords hung in the air, moving slowly toward his head. He took in the nervous fear and grim determination in their eyes, the sweat trickling down their faces, even their heavy, ragged breathing.

  Instinct and years of training took over. Evren ducked the first blow, deflected the second with the blade in his right hand, and slashed his left-handed jambiya across Kuhar’s forearm. The attendant cried out and fell back, dropping his sword to clutch at the wound. Evren spun, right hand whipping around in a quick right hook. His fist crashed into an assassin’s jaw, backed by the force of his anger and the weight of his dagger. The man fell like a pole-axed drunk.

  The Hunter’s training had emphasized Evren’s strengths—speed, precision, and hi
s excellent coordination at landing punches—and paired them with the lethal efficiency of his daggers. Just as Evren had taken down apprentices in the Master’s Temple far larger and stronger than him, he brought down these kidnappers with short, sharp blows.

  Before the first man hit the ground, Evren was ducking beneath a long sword strike and bringing his left hand around for an uppercut. But instead of striking with his bare knuckles, the curved edge of his dagger opened the underside of the man’s chin. The blow missed the jugular vein, barely, but it laid open flesh to the bone. As the kidnapper cried out and fell back, Evren snapped a kick into his knee. Bone shattered with a loud crack and the man crumpled. A boot to the face rendered him unconscious.

  Evren stalked toward Kuhar, who was clinging to the wall and desperately trying to stanch the flow of blood gushing from his arm. The strike had severed the artery—the attendant’s legs, weakened from blood loss, gave out as Evren broke into a run. Kuhar might live, might, if he got to a physicker in time.

  Samall had frozen in horror at the sight of Evren taking down his comrades, his eyes wide. Now, he turned to flee from the young man charging at him. Anger burned hot and bright in Evren’s gut as he chased the cowardly traitor through the mansion.

  Evren’s gut clenched as he pursued. Something warned him that Samall would try to use the servant’s staircase to descend to the ground floor, where he could flee out through the tradesman’s gate. The attendant was far better-acquainted with the layout of Arch-Guardian Suroth’s mansion, but Evren pursued him with the same grim determination that had won him freedom from the Master’s Temple.

  He raced down the stairs in time to hear a curse and loud clattering as Samall stumbled over the pots Evren had knocked from their shelves. Evren leapt over the pots and burst out of the rear door. Racing across the courtyard, he caught up to Samall just as the man reached the stables. Evren kicked the back of the man’s knees, sending Samall stumbling into the pile of horse manure he’d had Evren shovel the previous day. He landed face-first with a loud splat. When he managed to extricate himself from the muck and turned to Evren, his expression had gone from disdain to desperate supplication.