Heirs of Destiny Box Set

by Andy Peloquin

  Her stomach clenched as an image flashed through her mind: a ghostly, ethereal Kodyn stared at her with empty eyes, his mouth open in a scream.

  No. She forced the image away. He’ll be back soon. He probably just got delayed or found something interesting. The thought rang hollow in her mind. Try as she might, the nagging worry refused to leave her alone.

  To distract herself, she toyed with the smooth wooden shaft of her assegai and replayed over her encounter with the Kish’aa in the Temple District. Truth be told, it wasn’t a distraction—it was all she’d been able to think about since Kodyn left. Those pleading cries of “Justice” repeated by a thousand spectral lips, rising in a crescendo until she had no choice but to run.

  The Whispering Lily had opened her ears to the call of the spirits, but she could not understand what they wanted. Perhaps that was what had driven her father mad. Endless pleas for help, help he could not give. Suddenly, she understood the quiet hopelessness that had glimmered in her father’s eyes. He’d heard the Kish’aa and found himself drowning in turmoil that even death could not ease.

  The effects of the Whispering Lily hadn’t fully worn off. Like a hangover after too much rum, Aisha felt a quiet throbbing in the back of her mind, and Radiana’s presence within her felt far more noticeable than it had before. She almost imagined she could hear Briana’s mother whispering in her mind.

  She didn’t know if it was real or her imagination—so far from the Spirit Whisperers of Ghandia, she had no one to ask. She’d have to muddle through it on her own.

  A sharp prickling suddenly coursed down her spine. Like an itch, but painful and persistent. Issa ground her teeth and tried to ignore it, but it came again, more forceful this time.

  “Ow!” A spark crackled between her fingertips, scorching her skin.

  Her brow furrowed as she stared down at her hand. The blue-white light of Radiana’s spirit danced beneath the flesh of her palm, bright enough to light up the evening shadows.

  What is it? It almost felt like Radiana wanted to tell her something.

  Suddenly, Aisha’s hand darted forward, as if the spark had triggered an instinctive reaction in her muscles. Aisha’s eyes went wide—not only at the strange, jerky motion, but at the sight she saw beyond her outstretched hand.

  Close to thirty figures in dark cloaks moved through the settling gloom. None looked up toward her, concealed beneath the shadows of an overhanging mangrove tree, but she could see them clearly limned in the light of the torches burning in the courtyard.

  For a heartbeat, she hesitated. Those figures could just be servants going about their tasks. Yet a moment later, when a loud clatter echoed from somewhere in the distance, the figures froze as if fearful of being discovered. In that instant, Aisha’s senses screamed that they were interlopers. No servant would act so suspicious.

  Radiana’s spirit sent a jolt of energy down Aisha’s spine. Instantly, her senses went on full alert and she spun to race across the garden to the gazebo where Briana sat with the pale-skinned servant, Hailen.

  “Something’s going on,” Aisha said as she pounded into the circle of light cast by the twin oil lanterns hanging from hooks on the gazebo’s pillars. “There are cloaked men inside the mansion.”

  Briana paled, her eyes going wide, and her hand flew to her mouth. “Th-The Gatherers?” She gave a little shudder. “T-They’ve come for me again!”

  Aisha shook her head. “I don’t know, but—”

  “No!” The terrified cry burst from Briana’s lips and her arms wrapped protectively around her waist. “Y-You can’t let them take me. Not again. I-I can’t…” She trailed off as tears brimmed in her fear-filled eyes.

  Aisha crossed the distance to Briana in two long steps. “Listen to me,” she said in a firm voice and gripped Briana’s arm hard. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. We’re going to get through this.”

  Aisha shot a glance at the servant. “Do you know how to sound the alarm?” she demanded.

  Hailen nodded. “Yes.” To her surprise, he produced a knife from his belt. The blade was utilitarian, well-honed, and worn by use—not the sort of weapon she’d expect from a servant. “I can fight, too.”

  “No! Go sound the alarm.” Aisha commanded. “We need to alert the guards that there are intruders in the mansion.” Twenty would be too many for her to defeat alone.

  With a nod, Hailen dashed from the garden.

  Aisha shook the girl, trying to snap her out of her panic. “We need to get inside, now! There’s no way to defend this garden. We can lock ourselves in your room and hold them off.”

  Briana was a barely coherent mess of tears. Finally, Aisha simply lifted the girl to her feet and half-dragged, half-carried her down the stairs. She wouldn’t let Briana’s panic get them both killed.

  The Dhukari girl’s rooms were two adjoining suites—one a bedroom, the other a sitting area with plush couches and ottomans. Depositing Briana on the bed, Aisha raced toward the door that led out into the hall, slammed it shut, and threw the deadbolt. She cast about for anything that could be used to block the entrance. Her gaze settled on a heavy four-drawer oak dresser.

  She turned to Briana. “Help me barricade the door.”

  To her dismay, she found the Shalandran girl frozen in terror. Briana’s face had gone deathly pale and she quivered like a leaf in a hurricane.

  “Briana!” Aisha shouted. “I’m trying to protect you, but I need your help.”

  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 che
st 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.

  Th
en 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.