Trial of Stone

by Andy Peloquin

  “Please!” Samall begged. “I had no choice. The Gatherers, they made me do it! They threatened my family if I didn’t help them.”

  Evren didn’t bother listening. His fist drove into the man’s face hard enough to shatter teeth. Samall’s head snapped back and he sagged, once more face-first into the droppings.

  For a moment, Evren stared down at the daggers in his hand. The treacherous Samall deserved punishment, preferably something painful and permanent. He had betrayed his employer and, in doing so, put Hailen’s life in danger.

  The moment passed and Evren sheathed his jambiya. Seizing Samall’s pants, he set about dragging the unconscious attendant through the courtyard and down the pathway that led to the front of the house.

  Evren was a fighter; he’d had to be in order to survive in the Master’s Temple and on the streets of Vothmot. Yet he was no killer, not if he had a choice.

  He had the skills. The Hunter and Kiara had both trained him to kill, with blades and fists. He wouldn’t hesitate to take a life in the defense of someone weaker and smaller—someone like Hailen, or like his friend Daver from Vothmot—or if someone threatened to kill him. Yet given a choice, he would prefer to avoid taking a life. The Lecterns’ cruelty and years of hard living on the streets hadn’t completely eroded his humanity. There would always be a part of him that would fight to make the right choice.

  The stout Samall proved a heavy burden to drag, but Evren didn’t release his grip on the man’s pants. He lugged the attendant around to the front of the building, where Nessa stood with Rothin, the head of Suroth’s guard. The two of them were snapping orders and shouting commands to the twenty-odd guards in golden breastplates.

  The Steward’s eyes widened at the sight of Evren dragging the unconscious Samall. Evren stopped in front of her and dropped Samall’s leg. It hit the ground with a loud thump and the man himself gave a quiet groan.

  “He’s alive, eh?” Nessa cocked an eyebrow.

  Evren nodded. “Kuhar’s inside on the stairs. He’s wounded bad. If he gets to a physicker in time, he might live long enough to talk.”

  “He’s not worth the bother.” Nessa’s face hardened as she stared down at Samall. “He’ll be made to speak, and when he’s done, his head will decorate a spike in Murder Square like the traitorous dog he is.”

  “What about his family?” Evren asked. “Will they—”

  “Family?” Nessa’s brow furrowed. “What family?”

  Evren thrust a finger at the now-stirring Samall. “He said the Gatherers threatened his family if he didn’t help them.”

  Nessa snorted. “He has no family.” Her lip curled into a sneer. “Traitors will do anything to save themselves. But no lies will save him now.”

  She snapped her fingers. “Get him out of my sight!”

  Two of the guards hurried to gather up Samall. The attendant awoke then, his eyes opening. Fear creased his blocky face and his face turned white as marble. A loud wail burst from his lips as the guards dragged him away.

  Nessa turned to Evren. “I will deal with him. As for you, I will make certain the Arch-Guardian hears of your actions here.”

  Evren bowed. “Thank you, Steward.” The Councilor’s favor could go a long way toward getting him closer to the Blade of Hallar. He might be able to leverage it into a better servant’s position, one that brought him inside the palace.

  Thoughts of the Im’tasi blade sent his mind flashing back to Hailen.

  “Hailen!” The words burst from his lips. “Have any of you seen him?”

  “He the pale-skinned bodyservant?” asked one of the guards.

  “Yes!” Evren nodded. “Is he alive? Is he safe?”

  “He was the one that triggered the alarm,” the guard continued. “Where he is now, I don’t know.”

  Evren turned and sprinted off, in the direction he’d seen Hailen running. He raced through the front door and up the stairs toward the second floor, cursing himself for giving Hailen that dagger. The boy would follow the example set for him by the Hunter and Evren; he’d throw himself in harm’s way to protect Lady Briana.

  “Hailen!” he shouted and reached for his twin daggers. “Hailen!”

  Fear clenched in his belly. He had to find the young boy, make sure he was safe.

  “Hailen!” Desperation tinged his voice as he reached the second floor.

  “He’s in here.” The words echoed from down the side corridor that led toward the rear staircase—the same way Evren had pursued Samall not ten minutes earlier.

  Evren raced down the corridor, toward the small coat room where he’d heard the voice. Confusion furrowed his brow. That voice! It can’t be!

  There, in the coat room, stood Snarth with a dagger pressed to the side of Hailen’s neck.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Kodyn’s heart hammered a frantic beat as the crowd surged around him, slamming into him and shoving him backward. He had no way to break through the ranks of angry, shouting people or the solid line of black-armored Indomitables.

  Gasping, he burst free of the back of the crowd, staggered by the rage that hung thick in the air. The throng surged up Death Row, their enraged cries ringing off the golden sandstone wall that barred the way to the Defender’s Tier.

  The wall!

  An idea born of desperation slammed into his mind and he acted without hesitation. Instead of trying to barrel through the crowd, he turned and raced back down Death Row, toward the Artificer’s Courseway. He sprinted down the decline until he reached the main avenue, turned west, and rushed toward the nearest intersection. The side street stood barely fifty paces from the edge of Death Row and cut northward, toward the border of the Artisan’s Tier.

  Kodyn kept one eye on the chaos on Death Row as he ran. The road rose toward the tier above it, but the two- and three-story houses had been built along the leveled surface. He could see the ranks of Indomitables and the swirling, shouting crowd above the level of the rooftops—and the small gap of cleared space between the soldiers and the gate to the Defender’s Tier.

  If I can get there, I can get through the gate in time!

  He ran until he reached the cliff face on the northern edge of the Artisan’s Tier before turning down the alley that ran east. The back lane dead-ended at the stone wall, and Kodyn skidded to a halt, studying the coarse stone surface in the fading daylight. The climb would be precarious—sandstone tended to crumble if he wasn’t careful, and the incline of Death Row rose fully ten paces above his head. Yet he never hesitated. Aisha and Briana’s lives were on the line.

  Seizing the first handhold, he hauled himself up the cliff face. Sandstone crumbled to dust in his fingers but he was already on to the next step, his left hand gripping a narrow fissure and his right foot digging into a slight indentation. One hand and foot at a time, he scrambled up the wall like a spider. Skill, strength, and instincts honed over his years as a Hawk, a third-story thief, kept him moving upward at a steady speed.

  Yet no matter how fast he climbed, he couldn’t outpace the setting sun. The shadows deepened around him as he scrabbled for purchase on the hard stone. As night fell, it grew more and more difficult to find his next handhold and foothold. Soon, he was forced to feel his way up the cliff.

  Every delay, every moment of hesitation, added to his mounting frustration and fear. Not for himself or his wellbeing—though he knew a fall from this height would shatter bones at best or kill him at worst—but for Aisha and Briana. The Gatherers were coming for Briana, and Kodyn knew Aisha would fight to the death to protect the Dhukari girl. If there were too many cultists…

  No! He pushed the image of Aisha’s bloodied corpse from his mind. I won’t let that happen. I’ll get to them in time, no matter what!

  Slowly, one step at a time, the stony ground grew more distant below him and the upper lip of the cliff drew nearer. Five paces became four, three, two, then one. Kodyn hesitated only an instant—shooting a glance at the rear of the Indomitable ranks holding off the crow
d—before pulling himself up onto the slope of Death Row.

  He was on his feet in an instant, hands held wide. A trio of black-armored soldiers rushed toward him, sickle-shaped swords at the ready.

  “I’m a Dhukari servant!” he shouted. The roar of the crowd behind him drowned out his words. To his relief, the sight of his pale skin and the gold-and-green headband encircling his forehead caused the guards to slow.

  “I need to get to the Keeper’s Tier!” Kodyn moved toward them. “It’s a matter of life and death.”

  “Go!” With a nod, the nearest Indomitable—an officer, judging by the vertical stripe of silver on the blue band of his helmet—beckoned for the guards to let him pass.

  Kodyn sprinted through the gate and onto the Defender’s Tier, heart racing in time with his flying feet. His pulse hammered in his ears. Run, run, run, run, it seemed to say, filling him with a renewed sense of urgency.

  For the last nine years as a Hawk apprentice, he’d been subjected to Bryden’s vindictiveness—Master Hawk hated Kodyn’s mother with every fiber of his petty being. Kodyn had been forced to weather the storm of Bryden’s enmity on his own. His mother couldn’t protect him; he had to stand on his own feet.

  That, perhaps, had caused him to be so protective of others. First the younger Hawk apprentices, like Sid, the boy that had nearly died at the Gatherers’ hand in Praamis. Now Briana, the girl he’d found, freed, and sworn to return home. He hadn’t had a shield to protect him from the cruelties of the world, but he had vowed to be that for others.

  And now he was about to break that vow. He’d barely saved Sid in time; the boy had been strapped to the Gatherers’ table, their cruel poison killing him slowly. He couldn’t fail Briana, too.

  Please! he begged silently in his mind. Please don’t let it be too late.

  The run to the Keeper’s Tier couldn’t have taken more than twenty minutes, but to Kodyn, it felt as if a lifetime passed before he finally saw the gate. He slowed only long enough to point out his headband, which elicited the same response as with the Indomitables below.

  I made it! Hope surged in his chest. The sun hadn’t set more than half an hour earlier—he still had time to get to Briana and Aisha, to warn Suroth’s guards before the Gatherers attacked.

  He raced down the side street that led to Suroth’s mansion. “Open the gate!” he yelled as he approached. Rothin had ordered the gates closed at sundown, as usual. “Open the Keeper-damned gate!”

  The wicket gate opened and a puzzled-looking Rothin appeared. “What the—?”

  Kodyn barreled past the man, nearly knocking him over in his haste. “The Gatherers!” he shouted as he raced up the walkway toward the front door. “They’re going to attack.”

  He didn’t pause to find out if or how Rothin and the other guards responded. He never slowed, but maintained his desperate dash through the front doors and down the hall toward the staircase. His mission was to reach Aisha and Briana before—

  Icy feet danced down his spine as he caught sight of the figures moving up the stairs. Five of them, clad in dark hooded cloaks, carrying short swords. From the second floor came the sound of something heavy crashing against a wooden door.

  Horror brought acid surging to Kodyn’s throat. He was too late. The Gatherers had arrived before him. Even now, they could be standing over Aisha’s corpse and hauling Briana away.

  A war cry, bellowed in Ghandian, sent a sudden rush of energy coursing through him. Aisha was still alive! He’d arrived in time.

  He answered Aisha’s war cry with one of his own. “Die, you bastards!” Daggers in hand, he charged up the stairs to attack the rearmost Gatherers.

  Five faces turned toward him, but too late for the cultist in the rear. Kodyn’s right-handed dagger took the assassin in the spine, just below the base of his skull. The man sagged when Kodyn ripped it free, his body flopping limply onto the assassin on the stair above, tangling the two of them in a mess of flailing limbs. Kodyn scooped up the fallen man’s short sword and hacked down another cloaked figure, blocked a wild swing from the man on the floor, and drove his dagger into the first man’s face. The stolen short sword put an end to the prone assassin before he could disentangle himself from his dying comrade.

  A wordless roar of rage ripped from his throat as he fell on the remaining assassins. He’d left his long sword on his bed before leaving, but his training with Master Serpent made him deadly even with just his daggers. Now he had a short sword in one hand and a knife in the other—the assassins would know the wrath of the Night Guild.

  Two men died in quick succession, throats slashed and bellies opened by a quick thrust of his short sword. Their patchwork leather armor could turn away a slicing attack, but Master Serpent had taught him to use quick, hard thrusts that could punch through anything short of studded leather, chain mail, or solid plate. The assassins wore little more than hardened leather jerkins, no match for the ferocity of his attacks.

  The remaining Gatherer proved skilled, turning aside Kodyn’s thrusts with deft strokes of his short sword. Kodyn’s charge slowed and stalled as the cultist battled him to a halt. The man fought with surprising skill, his sword darting and flashing at Kodyn so fast that it took all his concentration to deflect, block, and dodge.

  Kodyn gasped as the Gatherer’s blade carved a line of fire along the back of his knife hand. The man grinned as the dagger fell from Kodyn’s grip. Triumph blazed in his eyes as he raised his sword to renew his onslaught.

  In that moment, a terrified scream echoed through the house—high, shrill, reeking of panic. Kodyn’s blood turned to ice. He’d recognize that voice anywhere. Briana!

  Grim determination hardened within Kodyn. He’d sworn to protect Briana, and now was his chance to prove it. There was no retreat, no escape, no clever plan to outmaneuver his enemies. He had to fight—for her, and for Aisha, who doubtless was already locked in a desperate battle of her own.

  With a roar, he brought his short sword around in a wild swing at the Gatherer’s head. The man knocked aside the blow with a contemptuous snort. His backhand drove at Kodyn’s face, the sword slicing straight at his throat.

  But Kodyn wasn’t where the Gatherer expected. The moment he’d felt the sharp clang of his blow being blocked, he threw himself into a dive at the man’s legs. Jarl, his mother’s giant of a friend, had taught him the art of the low tackle. Wrapping his arms around the man’s knees would give him leverage to bring him down. Kodyn didn’t want to bring him down. He wanted to end the man here and now.

  His right shoulder drove into the Gatherer’s kneecap with the force of his charge. Bone crunched and the cultist’s leg bent backward at a terrible angle. The man screamed, his sword swinging high above Kodyn’s head. He fell with a piercing cry of pain—a cry silenced a moment later as Kodyn drove his short sword into the man’s side.

  I’m coming!

  He leapt over the dying Gatherer and sprinted the remaining distance to Briana’s room.

  Five men had charged in, but two more remained in the hall. They turned to engage him, but he was an unstoppable force of rage-backed steel and muscle. His block knocked one’s wild swing into the other’s arm, eliciting a wail as the sword bit deep into muscle, all the way to the bone. His dagger punched through the unwounded assassin’s leather armor and slid between ribs. Even as the man sagged, Kodyn brought his short sword down in a powerful chopping blow that cut deep into the side of the assassin’s neck. The dark-cloaked figure fell with a gurgling, gasping cry.

  Kodyn spared a single glance to make sure everyone in the hall was dead or incapacitated, then hurtled the dresser barricade in a powerful leap. He had to get to Aisha and Briana before—

  Aisha’s final opponent sagged as she ripped the head of her assegai free of his chest. Kodyn’s heart stopped at the sight of the blood covering her face, arms, and clothing.

  He crossed the three steps toward her in an instant. “Are you hurt?”

  “Not badly.” Aisha winced and
pressed a hand to a cut on her thigh. Blood flowed from a small cut in the side of her cheek.

  “Let me take a look,” Kodyn insisted.

  Reluctantly, Aisha allowed him to examine her leg. A quick glance told him the cut, while painful, hadn’t severed any arteries or damaged the bone. He tore off his servant’s shawl and used it to bind the wound.

  Kodyn met Aisha’s eyes. “That one will leave a scar.”

  Aisha shrugged. “I’d take that over being dead any day.”

  Relief washed like a cool balm over Kodyn and, before he realized what he was doing, he threw his arms around Aisha’s neck. “I was worried I wouldn’t make it in time.” He felt as if he could finally breathe. They were safe.

  Aisha stiffened, then relaxed and wrapped her arms around him. “Glad to see you did.” Her voice echoed the emotion surging within Kodyn.

  After a moment, Aisha broke off the embrace and turned to where Briana crouched between her massive canopy bed and the stone wall. “Are you hurt?” Genuine concern echoed in her voice.

  “N-No.” Briana shook her head. She accepted Aisha’s help to stand. “Thanks to you.” Her eyes went to Kodyn and the bloodstained weapons in his hands. “Both of you.”

  As Aisha helped the Shalandran girl to the bed, she shot a glance over her shoulder at Kodyn. “What happened to you? You were supposed to be back from your meeting with the Black Widow hours ago.”

  “I never made it to the meeting.” Kodyn crouched beside one of the fallen assassins and used his dagger to slice the man’s sleeve. “I ran into a few of our old friends instead.”

  Aisha grimaced as her eyes fell on the Gatherer’s tattoo.

  Briana cried out and clutched at the Ghandian girls’ arm. “Gatherers!”

  Brow furrowed, Aisha fixed Kodyn with a worried look. “How did you know they were coming?”