Heirs of Destiny Box Set

by Andy Peloquin

  “Maybe.” Kodyn scowled down at the map. “Either that or he deceived us.”

  His mind raced. If he’s afraid of the Black Widow, he could have given Aisha this fake to buy time enough for him to get out of Shalandra.

  That didn’t fit. The Secret Keeper had had all night to flee if that had been his plan all along. He wouldn’t have waited in Shalandra just to hand over a fake to Aisha.

  He stared down at the blank scroll in his hands. So what the hell is this thing?

  Try as he might, he couldn’t figure out the Secret Keeper’s actions or the meaning of the blank map.

  The Black Widow might know, he decided. At the very least, she will know what to do with Ennolar. If he did betray us or her by giving us this fake, she’ll have a plan on how to get the information I need—even if it means hunting down a fleeing Secret Keeper.

  Kodyn controlled his anger long enough to roll the scroll up and slide it back into its tube, but he shoved the lid on so hard he nearly broke it. He drew in a deep breath in an effort to tamp down his anger.

  “I need to visit the Black Widow,” he told Aisha and Briana. “Not only about this map.” He showed them the purse Suroth had given him. “The Arch-Guardian said that this would convince the Black Widow to help us in our efforts to bring down the Necroseti responsible for Briana’s abduction.”

  Both young women studied the purse, curiosity written in every line of their faces. Kodyn couldn’t help sharing their interest. He hadn’t opened the strings to look inside, and he only felt that impossibly round, smooth object within. The thought that something so small could hold such value only added to his desire to know what Suroth was sending to the Black Widow.

  “Go,” Aisha told him. “I’ll stay with Briana. We’ll be safe here.”

  Kodyn studied the Ghandian. Aisha’s face was paler than usual, a sharp contrast to the shadows in her eyes and the tightness around her mouth. Yet if she wanted him to think nothing was wrong, he trusted her enough to honor her wishes.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He’d wait until he spoke with the Black Widow before deciding what his next step would be. He had three weeks to figure out how to get into the Serenii vault, but he had to balance the need to complete his Undertaking with his desire to keep Briana safe.

  One thing at a time.

  He left Aisha and Briana in the rooftop garden and descended to the second-floor room he’d been given beside Briana’s private quarters. The room’s luxuries far surpassed the few comforts he’d had in House Hawk. There, he’d had a simple wooden bed with a straw-filled mattress suspended by ropes, a chest to hold his valuables, a desk and chair, and armoire for his Hawk clothing and equipment. Here, the double-sized bed was covered in plush pillows, a velvet-covered comforter, and a mattress stuffed with soft goose feathers. The table, chair, and furniture were made of oak, teak, and ebony, the hardware gold-plated metal, with ornate etchings of gold and platinum. There was even a soft, deep shag rug to cover the white Praamian ceramic tiles.

  He strode to the armoire and pulled the heavy doors open. Pulling out simple servant’s clothing left for him at Briana’s orders, he stripped off his armor and unbuckled his long sword. He dressed quickly and, donning the green-and-gold headband that marked him as a Dhukari’s servant, he strode out of the front gate with the determined stride of a man on a mission. His clothing hid enough of his favorite daggers for him to feel safe, but he carried a wooden basket as cover for whatever errand he was pretending to be on. No one would question him—a servant headed to the Artisan’s Tier to shop for his master.

  As he strode toward Death Row, his eyes scanned the crowds until he found what he sought. A boy, no more than ten or eleven, clad in simple servant’s clothing, wearing a braided gold and white headband, but with a black iron bracelet on his right wrist.

  Kodyn sidled up to the boy. “Tell the Black Widow the Praamian wishes to speak with her. I’ll be waiting by the blacksmiths’ road in the Artisan’s Tier in an hour and a half.”

  The boy didn’t so much as glance at him. Kodyn continued on his way but watched the lad out of the corner of his eyes. He’d gone nearly fifty paces before the boy stirred from his position and scampered away. He lost sight of the small boy instantly, but continued on down Death Row, confident that his message would reach the Black Widow soon enough.

  The guards at the gate to the Defender’s Tier waved him through without a second glance. The Indomitables patrolling the Alqati level seemed uninterested in a Dhukari’s servant, even a foreigner, and the soldiers guarding the entrance to the Artisan’s Tier paid him little heed.

  Good to see I chose the right disguise for this mission.

  A glance at the sun told him he’d used up an hour of the time he’d allotted to reach the blacksmiths’ road on the Artisan’s Tier. He quickened his pace—he’d have to hurry if he wanted to reach the meeting place in time to—

  “You there!”

  Kodyn’s blood turned to ice and it took all of his self-control not to freeze or reach for a dagger. He continued on his way, refusing to look over his shoulder. A backward glance was the surefire mark of a guilty thief.

  “Get up!” The gruff voice roared behind him again.

  Relief bathed Kodyn as he realized the shout wasn’t aimed at him. Now he allowed himself to turn and seek the source of the voice.

  A four-man Indomitable patrol stood on the eastern edge of Death Row, glowering down at a pathetic figure huddled on the ground. The man was wasted by age, hunger, and the strange blue blisters that dotted his hands, face, and sunburned skin. Emaciated ribs and gaunt, bony shoulders showed beneath the tatters of the man’s robes. A thin strip of filthy, dust-stained black rope encircled his head, marking him as one of Shalandra’s wretched caste.

  “Up!” One of the Indomitables, who had a line of silver etched into the blue stripe across the forehead of his spike-rimmed helm, kicked at the old man. “Up!”

  The old man cried out and attempted to crawl out of the way. His arms and legs quivered with the effort of trying to stand, and he fell with a little groan.

  “On your feet, now!” The Indomitable bent over the man, a scowl on his face. “You Mahjuri know better than to dirty up the Artisan’s Tier with your filth. Get out of here before we’re forced to arrest you!”

  Again, the withered man tried and failed to stand.

  “So be it!” The Indomitable snapped his fingers at his men. “Take him.”

  “Why?” The angry shout came from nearby. Kodyn scanned the passersby that had stopped to watch and found the speaker was a young man wearing the red headband and simple clothing of an Earaqi laborer. “There’s no call for that. He’s just—”

  “You dare?” The black-armored officer stepped up to the young man and loomed over him, his face a mask of outrage. “You’ve one chance to step back before you get hauled in as well.”

  “For speaking up against such mistreatment?” This time, the voice belonged to a woman with threads of grey running through her black hair and a simple brown strip of leather around her forehead. “There’s no reason to…”

  Kodyn hurried away from the scene before he got caught up in anything nasty. The mood of the crowd was dark, anger blazing in the eyes of the Mahjuri, Earaqi, and even a few Intaji and Zadii on Death Row.

  Reaching the Artificer’s Courseway, he hurried west, in the direction of the row of blacksmith shops. He reached it five minutes before he’d told the Black Widow’s courier he’d be there, just enough time to find a comfortable place to wait and watch from across the street. He preferred to see the Black Widow’s courier before they spotted him—his mother had taught him the value of always having the upper hand in any sort of clandestine activities.

  A hint of anxiety roiled through him at the thought of meeting with the Black Widow. Their last encounter had gone as well as he could have hoped, but life in the Night Guild had taught him never to take such things for granted when dealing with powerful people—espe
cially powerful people in the criminal underworld. Allies could turn to enemies with the wrong word or the right coin.

  At this time of the afternoon, the crowd of people was thick, men and women hurrying to conclude their business before the sun set and the day ended. Kodyn had always loved to watch the crowds in Old Town Market or the Path of Penitence in Praamis. From his perch on the rooftops of the Hawk’s Highway, it felt like following the shifting tides of the ocean. He could see the way people flowed out of the path of heavily-laden carts, shuffled around the thugs guarding the goldsmiths’ and jewelers’ shops, or swirled between people headed in the opposite direction. Like a dance with an entire city’s population taking to an open-air dance floor.

  Something in the street caught his attention. Four men—clad in laborer’s clothing and black Mahjuri headbands—moved through the crowd in a strange way. Instead of flowing with the surging traffic, they seemed to cut at a strange angle. Kodyn had spent enough time as a thief on the streets of Praamis to instantly recognize sneaking, suspicious behavior. Everything from their wary gazes to the way they always looked over their shoulders to their pulled-up hoods set his instincts immediately on alert.

  He kept his head down and his posture relaxed, but his eyes tracked their movement through the swirling crowds. The more he watched them, the more convinced he became that they were up to no good. He’d learned to move that way from Errik, Master of the assassins of House Serpent, and every Fox and Grubber he’d run with during his years on the streets.

  An Earaqi hauling a huge bale of hay bumped into one of the men, nearly knocking him from his feet. Had the man been about honest business, he likely would have snarled or hurled an insult. Instead, he simply recovered and hurried after his comrades.

  But as he’d flailed to regain his balance, his sleeves had slipped up to his elbows—high enough for Kodyn to catch a glimpse of the tattoo on his right forearm.

  Ice seeped down Kodyn’s spine. The mark of the Gatherers! The woven basket fell from his fingers and clattered to the street.

  The Gatherers in Praamis had carved that same symbol—an almost-complete circle connected to two lines that bent outward in a perfect right angle, with something that resembled a sun and moon in close alignment in the center of the circle—into the chests of their victims and painted it on the wall of their secret underground lair in blood. The symbol was a combination of two Serenii glyphs: “death and rebirth” and “life beyond”. It had tied the string of murders to the death-worshipping cult that originated here in Shalandra. The threat of their return had been enough to convince his mother to grant permission for him to accompany Briana home.

  And now I’ve found them here!

  Nervous excitement set his heart thumping against his ribs. He had no doubt they’d try to kill him if they caught him following them, but it was worth the risk. If he found their secret lair, he had little doubt Arch-Guardian Suroth could call on the Keeper’s Blades, Indomitables, or even his own Secret Keepers to raid the Gatherers. Suroth wanted vengeance on the ones that had kidnapped his daughter more than Kodyn did.

  Yet, the weight of the pouch in his pocket stopped him. Suroth’s words flashed through his mind. “In the wrong hands, this can be used for truly terrible things.” Whatever lay within that pouch had to be an object of supreme importance. But more important than finding the Gatherers?

  No, he decided. The Black Widow can wait. The Gatherers are the more important threat!

  Grim determination hardened in his gut as he slipped from his perch and dove into the crowd, abandoning his basket. Even though he hunched to diminish his height, he couldn’t cover up his pale skin. He had to keep far back enough that he could watch the Gatherers without being spotted.

  Thankfully, traffic in Industry Square and Commerce Square reached a peak at this hour of the day—men and women hurried to finish up their late-hour shopping. Kodyn could see over the head of most Shalandrans, so had no problem keeping an eye on his quarry.

  Savage triumph twisted in his stomach as the Gatherers turn down a street that intersected with the Artificer’s Courseway a short distance west of Commerce Square. He followed them toward the golden sandstone cliff that served as the northern boundary of the Artisan’s Tier, then down the smallest back alley within the shadow of the wall. Peering around a corner, he saw them duck into a one-story structure built against the cliff’s face. He hung back for a minute, waiting to be certain they wouldn’t spot him as he slipped toward the house.

  His mother had hammered home the importance of learning the architecture of every city, neighborhood, and street. During the ten-day journey from Praamis, he’d discussed Shalandran architecture with Briana—and eventually Ormroth, after the Keeper’s Blade joined them. Ormroth, a former Zadii and son of an architect, had proven surprisingly well-versed in the city’s design. The Blade had revealed a truly important gem: houses on Shalandra’s, originally carved from the stone of Alshuruq, lacked basements. Even the most decrepit one-room shanty on the Slave’s Tier had at least an attic.

  Thatching had to be secured to sloping wooden beams that supported the sways and spars, which meant there would be unused space between the top of the stone walls and the ridge of the roofs. That space would be converted either into storage or an additional room—just the sort of place where a clandestine meeting would be held.

  He smiled as he scanned the rough-hewn walls and the rocky cliff face. It’s like they’re begging me to climb it!

  The climb took less than a minute—he’d honed his skills on the Perch in House Hawk and the Hawk’s Highway. He didn’t clamber onto the rooftop for fear the rustle of thatching would give him away. And, one glance at the dips and sags in the center of the roof told him that the support beams were either rotten or warped. One of the first lessons every Hawk learned was how to read the surfaces of rooftop for stability and reliability. No way he’d risk plummeting through the thatched roof, not when he could simply hang onto the wall and listen from beneath the eaves.

  A low sound reached his ears: voices, muffled by the thatching and stone wall. The opening between the roof and the top of the wall was small, but wide enough that he could hear the conversation within.

  “…time is now, Brothers!” a man’s voice said. “We’ve received word from our brother in the Councilor’s mansion. The father will be at a Council meeting tonight, which leaves the daughter guarded only by two foreign youths.”

  Kodyn’s gut clenched. They’re talking about Briana.

  “I’d prefer taking her alive, but her death will send a clear enough message to the father that he must fall in line. For the sake of a smooth transition, it must be so. Are we clear?”

  A round of muffled “Ayes” echoed in the room below.

  Kodyn had heard enough. He didn’t understand what “transition” they were talking about or what they expected Suroth to do, but he knew one thing for certain: the Gatherers were making a move on Briana. Tonight.

  He glanced up at the sun and found it had already sunk dangerously low over the western horizon. Darkness would fall within an hour.

  Heart pounding, he scrambled back off the wall under the eaves and slithered down the side of the house as silently as he could manage. The moment his boots touched the alley, he was racing south toward the Artificer’s Courseway, then west toward the road upward.

  Damn, damn, damn! He had to get back to Briana. Arch-Guardian Suroth had his private guards posted at the front gate and patrolling the grounds, but they would be treating it like business as usual. Boredom could dull even the sharpest guard’s attention. Kodyn needed to warn the guards and get to Aisha. We’re Briana’s last line of defense, and I need to be there to protect her.

  The slapping of his sandals echoed loud off the stone streets, but he didn’t care. The time for caution and stealth had passed. He’d have to hurry to get back to the Keeper’s Tier and Suroth’s mansion in time to prepare for whatever the Gatherers intended tonight.

  Come on!
He pushed himself to run faster. Please let me be in time!

  Yet, as he turned to race up Death Row, the sight ahead stopped him cold, sent ice flooding his veins.

  The incident with the Indomitables had riled the crowd into an ugly mood. More than a hundred low-caste Shalandrans faced a line of black-armored guards that stretched east to west across the highway. Angry shouts and yells echoed from the crowd, and Kodyn could feel the fury simmering just beneath the surface. One wrong word, one misstep from someone in the crowd, and this could turn violent. If he tried to squeeze through, he could be the one to incite uproar.

  Horror flooded Kodyn. No! He couldn’t afford even a moment’s delay, not with the looming threat of the attack. He scanned the crowd, trying to find a clear way through, but people were packed too tightly together. Keeper take it!

  A wave of hopelessness washed over him. He couldn’t delude himself into believing the Gatherers would be stymied by this crowd. The fact that they’d evaded the Indomitables and Suroth’s searchers for so long meant they had to know secret ways around the city. Ways like the Serenii tunnels that were supposed to be marked on the map Ennolar had given him.

  Did Ennolar betray us to the Gatherers? He had given them the map instead, fully expecting the Gatherers to kill Kodyn and Aisha during their attack on Briana’s mansion. With them dead, no one could tell the Black Widow that he’d given them a fake.

  Right now, it didn’t matter. Kodyn dove into the crowd, slipping through where he could and shoving where the people packed tightest.

  A single thought rang over and over in his mind. I have to get to Briana and Aisha before the Gatherers make their move.

  But the reality of his situation filled him with a nagging fear. Could he get through the crowd in time?

  I have to! If he didn’t, his friends could end up dead.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Issa struggled to keep her eyes open, her head up. She hadn’t slept in nearly forty-eight hours and after two days of hard training, she felt one breath away from collapse.