Heirs of Destiny Box Set

by Andy Peloquin

  Evren groaned. “Train through the pain. Or work, run, or climb through it. Keeper’s teeth, the Hunter really loves that expression! Almost like he doesn’t feel pain like we do.”

  Hailen chuckled. “Sometimes being half-Abiarazi has its perks. Just like being Melechha does. I get to stay here in the luxurious mansion while you hit the streets to run messages for Lady Briana.”

  “Ugh.” Evren shook his head. “But you know, they’re not going to be back from the palace for a few hours.” He shot a glance out the window. The sun had passed midday more than an hour ago, and had already begun to take on the brilliance of early afternoon. “I’m thinking I’ll use this time to pay Killian a visit. He’ll want to know what happened here last night, and about Snarth.”

  Hailen’s eyes dropped to the dagger sitting on his belt. Though he’d washed the traitorous Mumbler’s blood off the blade, Evren knew he’d carry the burden of knowing that he might have killed Snarth. The boy had lived around the Hunter and seen enough death to have grown inured to it, but no one ever truly knew what it felt like to take a life until it happened.

  “And maybe we could get him to join in the efforts to take down the Necroseti and the Gatherers,” Evren went on quickly. “At the very least, he’ll be able to point us in the direction of people who want to see them fall as much as we do.”

  “That would go a long way toward earning Lady Briana’s trust,” Hailen said with a bright smile. “Good thinking!”

  With a nod, Evren padded toward the door. “Stay here, and start searching the place for anything that can help us learn more about the Vault of Ancients and…” He hesitated. “…the power of the Serenii.” He hated the idea of Hailen putting himself in more danger, but the boy was right about the importance of learning about the ancient race.

  “Be safe,” Hailen called after him.

  Evren slipped through the now-empty hallways that led from Arch-Guardian Suroth’s study toward the grand staircase that descended to the main floor and the way out. He cast an appraising glance at the ornate oak and bloodwood furniture, the costly Al Hani carpets, and the colorful tapestries. Those alone could net him enough gold to live in luxury for years.

  He scanned the mansion for any sign of Nessa. The Steward would want to have a word with him, want to dig into the truth he’d clearly concealed from her when he first joined Suroth’s household. Thankfully, the grey-haired Zadii was nowhere in sight. He’d rather avoid the delay.

  His shoes clacked on the gold-and-silver tile walkway that cut a path through the lawns toward the front gate. Rothin stood on guard duty, with five gold-armored men beside him. His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of Evren. “Where are you going?” he demanded.

  “Errand for Lady Briana.” Evren replied in a casual, calm tone. “Something she insists I complete before she returns from the palace.”

  Rothin raised an eyebrow. “Does Nessa know about this?”

  “No.” Evren knew the captain of the guard would confirm his story with the Steward. “Like I said, it’s for Lady Briana directly.” He leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “Something she’d rather doesn’t get overheard by the wrong ears, if you catch my meaning. Necroseti ears.”

  Suspicion filled Rothin’s eyes and he fixed Evren with a long stare. Finally, he nodded and commanded, “Let him through.”

  “I’ll be back shortly. Hopefully I can make it to Commerce Square before it closes.” Evren spoke in a loud voice, but he shot a conspiratorial wink to Rothin.

  The captain of the guard just stepped aside for Evren to pass.

  Evren hurried through the open gate and out into the Path of Gold, the avenue that ran east to west along the Keeper’s Tier. It would be a short journey to Death Row, then he’d descend the two levels to the Artisan’s Tier.

  The last time he’d gone to see Killian, the blacksmith had been away from his shop. Hopefully, he’ll actually be there this time. He’ll want to hear what I’ve got to—

  Someone jostled against Evren, hard enough to knock him to the side. Evren opened his mouth to growl a curse, but stopped himself as he caught sight of the person that had bumped him. Beneath the boy’s gold-and-brown headband, Evren recognized the youthful features of Serias, one of Killian’s Mumblers.

  “Killian demands your presence,” Serias said in a quiet voice. “He’s waiting for you in the forge. You don’t want to find out what happens if you keep him waiting.”

  With those ominous words, the boy slipped down the Path of Gold and disappeared into the late-afternoon crowds.

  Chapter Six

  Threats lurked in every shadow, atop every roof, behind every opulent marble wall of the Keeper’s Tier. Issa’s eyes never stopped roving everything that moved along Death Row—well-dressed Dhukari enjoying an afternoon walk, bare-headed Kabili slaves hauling palanquins, servants hurrying about their masters’ business, black-armored Indomitables patrolling the avenue. The journey from Arch-Guardian Suroth’s mansion to the Palace of Golden Eternity took just over half an hour, but Issa spent every second scanning for assassins.

  Once, she could never have imagined any sort of violence or horror occurring on the Keeper’s Tier. To the people of the lower castes, the Dhukari level was something almost mystical, like the sunken continent of Aegeos, a paradise they would never be fortunate enough to see. Most of the people Issa had known actually believed the Path of Gold was paved with precious metals and gemstones.

  Now, after the previous night’s events, Issa couldn’t stop seeing danger everywhere. Every well-dressed Dhukari could be an assassin in disguise. Every servant’s robe could conceal weapons meant to kill Lady Briana—or Issa herself. Every passing cart, palanquin, or carriage might very well house a bloodthirsty army sent to waylay the Arch-Guardian’s daughter.

  Issa had never been paranoid, yet the assassination attempt in the palace had shattered too many of her preconceived ideas of life among the Dhukari. The palace, home to Pharus Amhoset Nephelcheres, Chosen of Hallar, Word of Justice and Death, and Revered Servant of the Long Keeper, was supposed to be the safest, best-guarded place in the city, as consecrated as the Hall of the Beyond. Yet killers had slipped in—Lady Callista hadn’t yet figured out how—and gotten within striking distance of the Pharus. Only the Mistress’ luck had enabled Issa to spot the assassins before they attacked.

  So Issa allowed herself to feel the suspicion. Wary fear was healthy, if it kept Lady Briana alive. As long as Issa scanned every shadow for threats, she would be ready to protect the Dhukari girl when the attack inevitably came.

  The two bodyguards seemed to take their jobs as seriously as she. Issa glanced over at the tall, pale-skinned foreigner who rode a black stallion in front of Lady Briana’s palanquin. His head never stopped moving, his eyes searching the street with a single-mindedness to match hers. Grim resolve hardened his face and his hand hovered near the hilt of the long sword at his hip.

  The second bodyguard, the dark-skinned woman, had elected to ride inside the palanquin. Issa had seen the way she moved, like a mountain lion stalking its prey. She would be a fierce fighter with that strangely short spear and over-long dagger.

  Both of the bodyguards kept one eye firmly fixed on her, suspicion etched plainly into their faces. They hadn’t relaxed from the moment she arrived in Lady Briana’s office.

  Good, Issa thought. That suspicion is their best weapon to keep Lady Briana alive. She didn’t care what they thought of her—all that mattered was that she did her job to protect the Dhukari girl as Lady Callista had instructed her.

  Issa’s two-handed flammard rested on her shoulder, the black steel visible for all to see. The flame-shaped blade, together with her black plate armor and lion-fanged helm marking her as a Keeper’s Blade, ought to be enough to deter all but the most suicidal assassin.

  No one’s getting to Lady Briana.

  Issa might not be fond of the Dhukari—as a rule, all Shalandrans held the highest-ranked caste in a sort of awe, though some mingled
quiet disdain and dislike at the Dhukari arrogance—but she’d been given a task by her Pharus and, by the Long Keeper, she intended to carry it out to the best of her ability. And as far as Dhukari went, Lady Briana seemed a fairly decent one. Compared to Kellas, at least.

  Though, to be fair, I’ve heard stories of demons friendlier than Kellas.

  A sixty-foot-tall sandstone wall ringed the entire palace, with the single gate guarded by a full ten-man patrol of Indomitables. All of the guards’ helmets bore either one or two bands of silver to break up the blue Alqati stripe, proclaiming them high-ranked officers.

  One Indomitable, the hard-faced Sentinel that seemed to be in charge, stepped forward at their approach. “State your business.” His tone held a good deal more suspicion and threat than before the assassination attempt.

  “The Pharus has summoned Lady Briana, daughter of Arch-Guardian Suroth, to attend him,” the light-skinned bodyguard replied.

  The black-armored guard exchanged glances with another Sentinel—for a moment, Issa imagined she saw a hint of guilt or remorse written in their shared look—then nodded for the Protectors to open the huge wrought-iron gate. The metallic clinking of ponderous chains preceded a deep-throated rumble, and slowly the gates swung open to admit their palanquin.

  Issa couldn’t help marveling at the beauty of the open-air plaza within. The pristine white marble seemed to glow with an almost magical brilliance in the afternoon sunlight, broken only by the ornate rosettes of black shalanite. At the far end of the broad space, the golden sandstone structure of the palace rose fully a hundred feet into the air, its walls a glorious mixture of mandalas and rosettes of interwoven leaves of gold, shalanite, and silver.

  A solemn face stared down at her from above the palace’s highest point. Hallar, the city’s founder, watched Shalandra through eyes of midnight-colored stone. A guardian thousands of years after his passing.

  The Kabili litterbearers set Lady Briana’s palanquin down in front of the palace’s front entrance, a huge wooden door covered in gold-plating and etched with heroic scenes from Shalandra’s history. The ten Indomitables—again, all high-ranked officers—stationed at the front entrance held unsheathed sickle-shaped khopesh swords, their expressions wary as they, too, demanded that Lady Briana state her business.

  The Dhukari woman seemed both irritated and confused. “I am Briana, daughter of Arch-Guardian Suroth, high priest of the Temple of Whispers and a member of the Keeper’s Council. I have come to see the Pharus,” she stated in a clear, loud voice.

  It took far longer for the Sentinel in charge to make way for her to enter. Head held high, jaw clenched tight, Lady Briana swept into the Palace of Golden Eternity in a flurry of white-and-gold cloth, her two bodyguards in tow.

  Issa was about to enter when a familiar voice stopped her cold. “Prototopoi!” came the half-growled, half-shouted call.

  Gut churning, Issa turned and snapped to attention as Invictus Tannard strode across the white marble plaza toward her. He was resplendent in full Keeper’s Blade armor—heavy, segmented plate mail with long, sharp spikes at the shoulders, knees, and elbows and a snarling lion-fanged helmet to match—with his six-foot flammard sheathed on his back. Yet his hard face and the coldness of his expression seemed to suck away all the warmth of the sun-heated tiles.

  “Invictus!” Issa gave the salute of a Keeper’s Blade—right fist to left shoulder—and struggled to mask her curiosity at the sight of Hykos striding beside Tannard.

  “Archateros, to your duty,” Tannard snapped, his angular, bearded face as hard as the stone beneath his feet.

  “Yes, Invictus!” With a salute to Tannard, Hykos hurried toward the palace’s front entrance. He shot Issa an apologetic glance as he strode past.

  “You are to come with me,” Tannard said in his deep, rumbling voice. “Your training awaits.”

  “Forgive me, Invictus, but I have my assignment from the Pharus.” Issa spoke with as much respect as she could muster. Despite her feelings toward Tannard, the man was her superior. If she insulted him in front of the Indomitables and those milling about the plaza, he’d make her suffer. “I have been assigned to guard Lady Bria—”

  Tannard cut her off. “An assignment which you will share with Archateros Hykos. The Pharus commands the Keeper’s Blades, but your true commander is Callista Vinaus. The Lady of Blades has agreed that you cannot be allowed to shirk your training just to carry out the will of our Pharus.” His voice held more than a little disdain. Everyone in Shalandra knew of the rift between Pharus Amhoset Nephelcheres and Callista Vinaus. “Hykos will guard your charges while you train. The hours not spent training will be occupied in the protection of Lady Briana.”

  Issa’s blood ran cold. Again, Tannard expected the impossible of her. She couldn’t train sixteen hours a day without at least a few hours of sleep to repair her body and restore her energy. Yet his face could have been cut from the golden sandstone of Alshuruq for all the emotion it revealed.

  “Yes, Invictus!” Issa saluted.

  Invictus stared at her for a long moment, then nodded. “Then come. You are already late for your next lesson.” Without another word, he turned on his heel and marched west through the plaza.

  Issa swallowed hard as she fell into step behind the Invictus and followed him toward the palace’s western wing—the section reserved for the Elders of the Blades and Lady Callista herself. She barely saw the plain sandstone corridors. Her racing thoughts were consumed by questions.

  Why did Lady Callista allow the Pharus to give me this assignment last night, then suddenly have Tannard come and take it away?

  It made no sense. The mission had come from Pharus Amhoset Nephelcheres himself. Though she served Lady Callista as a Keeper’s Blade, the Pharus had authority to entrust her with missions like protecting Lady Briana.

  So what did Tannard do to talk Lady Callista into putting me back into his clutches once more?

  She gritted her teeth to stop a shudder from slithering down her spine. Whatever lesson the Invictus had in mind for her, it would be a brutal one. On his first day of training, he’d ordered her to fight Hykos—a Blade with four years of experience—bare-handed. After Hykos’ beating, Issa had been forced to steal food to eat. Every day since, Tannard had heaped a myriad of challenges onto her, each one more impossible than the last. Either he wanted to break her spirit or shatter her body. Why, she still hadn’t figured out.

  Yet she was more determined than ever not to break. She’d come close two nights ago when she crept out of the Citadel of Stone to visit the home of her Saba and Savta. Only her grandmother’s words had stopped her from giving up. Her triumph in the training yard and her battle in the palace had proven that she was suited to be a Keeper’s Blade. No matter what Tannard threw at her, she’d hold her ground and fight back with every shred of strength.

  Issa shot a glance toward the northwestern corner of the palace—there, she knew, was the entrance to the Tomb of Hallar. Tannard led her southwest, toward the sixty-foot wall surrounding the palace and the long stone tunnel that connected the Citadel of Stone to the Palace of Golden Eternity.

  Hykos had explained the reason for the entrance. “In time of war, we must be able to reach the Pharus, Lady of Blades, and Shalandra’s most sacred sites without delay.” Rather than having to march east along the Path of Gold, the Blades could simply enter the Palace of Golden Eternity this way.

  The Citadel of Stone was an enormous stronghold carved out from the mountain, a solid structure that dominated the entire western end of the Keeper’s Tier. Issa knew it the moment they left the palace and entered the Citadel—the tunnels were all plain stone, sharp edges, and hard practicality.

  They stepped out of the tunnel and into a corridor that cut a path straight through the north wing to the training yard. Issa’s stomach clenched at the sight of the battle taking place there. Three figures fought in the middle of the cleared space, swinging huge two-handed swords at each other with bone-jar
ring force. Only the solid black armor of the Keeper’s Blades kept them from hacking off limbs or slicing flesh. Yet not even the armor could dull the impact of a flammard swung with full force.

  Etai grunted beneath a blow to her chest and staggered backward, sword dropping from its guard position. The Blade she faced—Archateros Chirak, a tall woman with heavy features and shoulders as sloped as the steep cliffs of Zahiran, the one assigned to train Etai—slammed her blade into Etai’s midsection hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs. Etai fell hard, gagging and gasping for breath. The third Blade, one Issa didn’t recognize, kicked Etai hard in the head. The snarling lion helmet saved the girl from having her skull crushed, barely. Etai collapsed, unconscious.

  Issa stifled a cry of rage. How does battering her senseless help train her? She wanted to shout, but knew it would be pointless. Chirak wasn’t Tannard; she lacked the Invictus’ cold cruelty. This lesson was intended to have purpose, though one Issa couldn’t fathom.

  “Up!” Chirak stooped over Etai’s form and hauled the girl upright. But Etai simply pretended unconsciousness. As Chirak bent over her, she seized the Archateros’ arm and twisted hard to put her into a joint lock. In the same moment, Etai spun around and drove the heel of her boot into the other Blade’s chest. The blow struck just above the breastplate, on the gorget covering the Blade’s throat. The man staggered backward, choking and coughing.

  “Very good.” Chirak’s face broke into an approving grin, albeit a small one, and she nodded. “Your joint locks need work…” She emphasized her point by spinning and twisting Etai’s wrist into a painful lock of her own. “…but that blow would have truly rendered you unconscious last week. One day, you might actually be able to hold your own in a proper battle.”

  “Thank you, Archateros!” Etai gasped, her face a mask of pain and pride. When Chirak released her arm, Etai rubbed her wrist as she strode toward her sword.

  “Archateros, are you finished?” Tannard snapped.