Secrets of Blood

by Andy Peloquin

  “I might not be the best artisan on Smith’s Alley,” Killian said with a wry grin, “but I’m not the worst, either.” He tapped his leg brace. “Designed and forged this myself. And everything you see in here, too.”

  For the first time, Evren got a good look at the room. Aside from the bed, the chamber held a large wardrobe—now empty, likely where Killian’s armor had hung—and a chest that stood open, revealing an assortment of long swords, daggers, and a pair of flammards. All of the weapons within had been made from black Shalandran steel. “Are those…?”

  Killian followed his gaze and hurried over to tip the chest’s lid closed. “Nothing for you to worry about. I always learned to be prepared for the worst.” He gestured around him. “Seems like I was right.”

  Evren nodded. “How are your Mumblers?”

  “Alive, and mostly unharmed.” A frown furrowed Killian’s brow. “Those not claimed by the Azure Rot managed to get here before the worst of the riots. A couple were wounded in the battle, but nothing too serious.” He clapped Evren on the back. “But I heard what you did to the Ybrazhe hideout a few hours ago. Good thinking, smoking the bastards out like that.”

  “What?” Evren’s eyebrow shot up. “How did you hear about that, trapped in here?”

  Killian grinned. “You really think I’ve only got one or two ways out of this place?”

  Evren found himself speechless for a long moment. Finally, he threw up his hands. “So if you had a way out, how come you didn’t run?”

  “Because I couldn’t let the Syndicate or their Necroseti masters get their hands on everything I’ve squirreled away in here.” Killian fixed him with a piercing gaze. “Trust me, I’d have died before I let those bastards in.”

  “At least you could have sent your Mumblers to safety,” Evren protested. “They’re just kids!”

  “I tried.” Killian shook his head. “Straight-out ordered them to leave, but they all developed a sudden case of deafness.” Despite his dour expression, a hint of pride shone in his eyes. “Trust me, I’d have faced this battle alone, but they insisted.”

  Evren wanted to retort, but he couldn’t fault the blacksmith. If he were in the same situation, he’d have risked his life to fight for someone that had treated him as Killian treated the Mumblers.

  “But it was worth it, in the end.” Killian nodded, his expression satisfied. “With the thugs we took down here, that ought to be all but the last of the Ybrazhe. A few more scattered around the city, but for all intents and purposes, the Syndicate is no more. Largely thanks to you.”

  A contented smile spread Evren’s face. “About bloody time.” The Ybrazhe had been a pain in his arse since his first day in Shalandra. Yet as he thought of the last of the Syndicate, his mind flashed to a conversation he’d overheard mere hours earlier. “I just wish we had a way to tie them to the Keeper’s Council properly.”

  Killian’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  Evren told him about Nahril’s confession and their subsequent visit to the Hall of the Beyond.

  “Tinush, dead?” Killian whistled. “Keeper’s teeth, that’s a dark turn of things!” He stroked his black beard with a gauntleted hand. “I bet it felt good to take a swing at that prick Madani, though.”

  Evren couldn’t help grinning. “Damned right.” His smile faded a moment later. “But according to the Ybrazhe thug we captured, Tinush was the one coordinating the Syndicate’s efforts in the city. If he’s dead—”

  “Madani, Natoris, and the others can wash their hands of him, like they did with Angrak.” Killian’s bushy eyebrows furrowed, his eyes darkening. “Unless…”

  A hint of hope sprang to life within Evren’s chest. “Unless?”

  Killian’s brow furrowed. “Give me a minute.” He stumped back down the corridor toward the smithy’s main room.

  Evren followed out into the corridor, though he waited for Killian’s return. The blacksmith had already revealed many of his secrets; Evren would honor his desire to guard the rest.

  Killian stumped back up the hall a couple of minutes later. “I didn’t think much of this at the time, but now…” In his hands, he held his little black book. His mailed gauntlets made it nearly impossible to open the pages, but that didn’t stop him from trying—and growing frustrated as he failed.

  “Here, let me.” Evren took the book from him and thumbed through it. The pages within bore rows of strange, illegible symbols—symbols that bore a suspicious resemblance to those in Suroth’s journal.

  A random thought flashed through his mind. Do the Keeper’s Blades learn Secret Keeper script? It didn’t seem likely, given the priests’ secretive nature. Then again, considering the extent of Killian’s relationships with seemingly everyone in Shalandra, he might have convinced one of the Mistress’ clerics to teach him.

  “There!” Killian thrust a finger toward the book, almost striking Evren in the face. “That page.”

  Evren opened the book wider and held it up for Killian to read.

  “Yes!” Killian’s eyes sparkled. “A member of the Necroseti, a man by the name of Groebus, has been collecting more food than is allotted most members of the Dhukari caste. However, he’s always shown orders signed by High Divinity Tinush, so no one has thought to question it.”

  Evren frowned. “Tinush knew this riot was going to happen.” He replayed the conversation on the balcony of the Keeper’s Temple. “Madani, too. And they ordered this Groebus to stockpile food so they could have it to distribute to the people to calm the riots.”

  His eyes flew wide as he remembered where he’d heard the name. “And Groebus was working with the Gatherers as well, and Hallar’s Warriors!” He explained what they’d learned from the militant they’d captured.

  “So all along, the Council has been manipulating events, using the Gatherers, Ybrazhe, and Hallar’s Warriors to stir up the city?” Killian whistled. “Keeper’s teeth, that’s brazen, even for them.”

  Evren’s mind raced. “But you have proof that Groebus was stockpiling food, right? On Tinush’s orders?”

  Killian nodded. “One of my contacts at the Hall of Bounty on the Keeper’s Tier thought I might find it useful.”

  “Good!” Evren’s heart leapt. “If I can get it to Lady Callista, she’ll have what she needs to move against the Keeper’s Council for real.”

  Killian’s eyebrows shot up. “Damn, so she will!”

  Evren’s hope faltered. “I can get up to the Keeper’s Tier, but I’m not sure how to get into the palace to reach her.” He didn’t have Suroth’s lockstone, and he very much doubted any of the Keeper’s Blades would be willing to part with their sigils. That meant he’d have to try to walk through the front gates. “With all that’s going on, the Indomitables aren’t just going to let me into the Palace of Golden Eternity.”

  “Ah, but they might.” With an enigmatic grin, Killian beckoned for him to follow. The two of them strode toward the smithy’s main room, where Killian knelt and retrieved two items from his strongbox. “This will be the proof you need,” he said, handing Evren a rolled-up document bearing the official seal of the Keeper’s Council. “And this will get you into the palace.”

  Evren took the silver coin from Killian. One side bore the Pharus’ face, but the other had an “X” etched into the smooth metal. “Just show anyone the coin?”

  Killian shook his head. “Find the servants with silver braided into their white-and-gold headbands,” the blacksmith said. “They are Lady Callista’s eyes and ears in the palace. They will make sure you reach her immediately.”

  With a nod, Evren pocketed the coin. “I’ll get it to her at once. But first…” He glanced outside, and a frown twisted his face. Issa knelt over the lifeless body of the man she’d greeted as “Saba” when they arrived at the smithy. Her grandfather’s face was pale beneath the bloodstains, his eyes closed, his face limp.

  Sorrow clutched at Evren’s heart. The moment she’d mentioned her grandparents in the smithy, he�
�d realized the truth of what she’d intended to do as he caught her sneaking out of the Fortress. She hadn’t been on her way to arrest Tinush, as he’d believed. She’d intended to rescue her grandparents.

  And yet she made the choice to put Shalandra before her own needs? Evren couldn’t help admiring the young Blade for that decision. Yet his admiration turned to guilt a moment later. He had, in a way, talked her out of going to help her grandparents. He’d made her realize the importance of arresting Tinush, and had indirectly pushed her toward the Hall of the Beyond when she should have come to fight beside her grandfather.

  A cold realization struck him. If I hadn’t been there, hadn’t talked to her, would her grandfather still be alive?

  “That’s a hard loss, even for someone as strong as her.” A shadow flashed in Killian’s eyes. He placed a hand on Evren’s shoulder. “She’ll need friends to get through it.”

  The blacksmith must have misinterpreted Evren’s look as pure commiseration for Issa over her loss. He couldn’t understand the real reason for the darkness on Evren’s face. Guilt for his part in Issa’s grandfather’s death.

  He tried to swallow the regret, distract himself and Killian with conversation. “What’s the deal with you two?” He finally asked the question he’d been dying to ask. “And don’t give me some horse shite answer. I saw how she reacted when the Ybrazhe was torturing you, and then there’s that secret of your strongbox.”

  A long moment of silence passed before Killian finally spoke. “I trained her,” he said, quietly. “In secret, against her grandparents’ wishes. For five years.”

  Evren cocked an eyebrow. “And why’d you do that?” Issa had explained why she had chosen to go against her grandparents’ wishes, but he wanted to know why Killian had agreed to train her.

  “Call it another service to the city.” Killian’s expression grew suddenly guarded. “Someone needed to do it, and I figured I was best-suited to do it.”

  Sorrow darkened the blacksmith’s eyes. The man had clearly come to feel affection for Issa. Given Killian’s status as a former Blade and the apparent connection to Issa’s grandparents—also evidently Blades, though he’d have to get more details on that one later—Evren could understand that. Yet he still wasn’t satisfied with Killian’s answer. He wanted to know what had incited the man to agree with Issa’s wish to defy her grandparents.

  “Go to her,” Killian said. “I doubt Aleema will let me within speaking distance of her right now, but maybe your presence will give Issa some comfort.” He sighed. “The Council can wait a few minutes.”

  With a nod, Evren slipped through the smithy and out into the training yard. The burden of guilt grew heavier with every step he took to Issa. The sight of the bloodied, lifeless body on the ground beside the kneeling Blade drove a dagger into Evren’s gut. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t his fault—the Ybrazhe killed him, not me—but the words rang hollow in his mind.

  Issa’s grandmother saw him coming, but gave a little shake of her head. Evren slowed and stopped. He understood that Issa needed a few minutes alone to grieve. He shifted from foot to foot, uncertain what to do or say. At that moment, he didn’t know if any words or actions could comfort Issa.

  A memory flashed through his mind, one he’d thought long locked away: a young boy knelt on sandy ground, watching as the haggard, pale-faced woman on the simple bed took her final breaths.

  He’d sat by his mother’s bedside as she died, had held her hand until the flesh grew cold, stiff, her features slack. He understood the pain Issa felt—he could do nothing but offer the consolation of his presence. Yet he feared that if she looked in his eyes, she would realize that he was to blame, at least in part, for her grandfather’s death.

  Movement at the gap in the wall caught his eye. His head snapped up in time to see the wagon being dragged out of the way, and spearmen in black robes and silver breastplates appear in the opening.

  What in the fiery hell? Evren had never seen these men before. Yet their corpulent figures, the richness of their robes, and the golden bands around their foreheads screamed Necroseti.

  No! Evren’s gut clenched . It can’t be!

  Issa’s grandmother stood. “What are you doing?” she shouted.

  The leader of the group stepped forward and fixed Issa with a hard glare. “Issa of the Keeper’s Blades, by order of the Keeper’s Council, you stand accused of the murder of High Divinity Tinush and the attempted murder of Councilor Madani!” He snapped his fingers. “Arrest her!”

  Issa looked up at the man, her face slack with grief, her eyes unseeing.

  Anger darkened the woman’s red-rimmed eyes. “Like hell!” The Keeper’s Blade drew her sword, still crusted with dried blood, and stood between the spearmen and Issa. “You will not take her.”

  The guard leader paused, but numerical superiority bolstered his arrogance. “Stand aside, Blade, or we will have no choice but to arrest you as well.”

  “Try it, you bastards!” At that moment, dressed in armor and stained with blood, her white hair and weather-worn face appeared anything but old. Fire burned in her eyes and she held her sword ready for battle.

  Without hesitation, Evren drew his daggers and stepped up beside the white-haired woman. The two of them stood little chance against twenty spearmen, but he’d be damned if he let them arrest Issa without a fight. He’d been the one to attack Madani, to give Tinush his heart attack. He wouldn’t let Issa suffer for his actions.

  “No!” Panic tinged Issa’s shout. She threw herself to her feet and leapt between her grandmother and the spearmen. “No more.”

  “Nechda—” Issa’s grandmother began.

  “Please, Savta.” Issa’s face grew white. “I can’t…” Her voice cracked and tears streamed down her face. “I can’t lose you, too,” she whispered.

  The woman hesitated and she, too, began to weep. Yet she lowered her sword, though the glower on her tear-streaked face somehow made her even fiercer.

  Issa’s eyes turned to Evren. Evren flinched beneath the sorrow burning there. He wanted to shout at her, to apologize for what he’d done, but he couldn’t. All he could do was lower his weapons and step back.

  With a numb expression, Issa stepped toward the guards and held out her wrists. Three silver-armored men rushed forward and bound Issa’s hands roughly. Evren gritted his teeth and stepped forward, but an iron grip on his shoulder stopped him.

  “Don’t!” Killian hissed in his ear. “You’ll just get yourself killed for nothing.”

  Evren wanted to argue—he couldn’t let Issa be hauled away—but the remaining spearmen kept a close eye on the three of them. Helplessness flooded him as Issa was marched through the gap in the smithy wall and disappeared from sight.

  The moment the soldiers were out of sight, Killian released his grip on Evren’s shoulder. “Go!” the blacksmith said, urgency ringing in his tone. “I don’t know how the Necroseti’s spies found you here so quickly, but there’s no time to worry about that. Get to Lady Callista or the Pharus before it’s too late!”

  Evren took off without hesitation, sprinting toward the gap in the wall and leaping over the debris.

  As he raced into the alleys of the Artisan’s Tier, Killian’s voice rang out behind him. “Only you can save Issa now!”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Kodyn had an instant to make a decision.

  Aisha’s words echoed in his thoughts. “From the moment we left Praamis, you’ve been rushing into every fight, heedless of the risks. Every chance you get to play hero, you take it. And doing that is exactly how you wind up dead!”

  If he attacked Groebus and the Iron Warlord now, he’d prove her right. He’d already nearly gotten himself killed trying to assassinate Groebus. He had to be prudent, had to think beyond his anger. He knew where to find Groebus and the Iron Warlord; he’d be able to deal with them later.

  Something the Ghandian said came back to him. “We’re facing enemies on all sides. Enemies far more po
werful and numerous than us. If we don’t fight together, we die alone.”

  Briana and Hailen were alone in the Temple of Whispers. The Secret Keepers would fight to protect them, but only if they knew they were under attack. Kodyn had to get to the Mistress’ priests to warn them. If he didn’t, his friends could die alone, locked away in that lightless stone chamber.

  Saving Shalandra would mean nothing if his friends ended up dead.

  Growling a silent curse, he sheathed his dagger, tucked the stolen sword into his belt, and hurried after the departing militants. He had to backtrack a few paces and duck into an adjoining alley to follow them without passing the still-open gates of the mansion, but he had a pretty good idea which way they’d gone. Hallar’s Warriors knew the secrets of the Serenii tunnels beneath the city. They’d likely use them to reach the Artisan’s Tier, then find their way into the Temple of Whispers.

  That made Kodyn’s task far easier. He simply needed to wait until the militants left the tunnels, and he could use the passage that led directly into the Secret Keeper’s temple. Once he gave warning of the impending attack, he could return to the Keeper’s Tier and plan how best to take on the Iron Warlord, Groebus, and the militants still guarding the mansion.

  He reached the southern wall of the Keeper’s Tier just in time to see the last militant ducking into the passage. Darkness gave him ample cover as he slipped toward the wall, waited a breathless minute, and triggered the opening stones. Sliding into the shadows of the dimly lit tunnels, he listened for any signs of the men he sought. From fifty or sixty paces ahead, he caught the quiet scuff of boots on stone and the clank of armor.

  A fierce grin split his lips as he followed. He couldn’t move too quickly for fear of overtaking them or letting them catch sight of his shadow outlined by the red-glowing gemstones. Thankfully, he had a fairly good idea which path the militants would take to reach the Artisan’s Tier—only one tunnel led directly from the western side of the Keeper’s Tier to the Temple District.