Heirs of Destiny Box Set

by Andy Peloquin

  “We have our orders.” The guard tried to fake an apologetic expression, but it just came off as smug. “As you can see, it bears the seal of the Keeper’s Council. If you and your…” He shot a derisive look at Kodyn. “…companions interfere, we will be forced to summon the Indomitables and have you arrested.”

  “Arrested for what?” The question came from the Blade, Hykos. He pushed through the servants clustered around the gate and strode toward the guards. His mailed fists hung by his side and he made no move to draw the huge two-handed sword on his back, but he loomed nearly a head taller than the fat guard. Though the two men might have weighed about the same, Hykos was solid muscle and plate mail.

  “This is a Necroseti matter,” snapped the guard, though his golden skin turned a shade paler, “not the business of the Keeper’s Blades.”

  “Everything in Shalandra is the Blades’ business.” Hykos spoke in a calm voice, but it held an edge of menace. “As servants of the Long Keeper, we are sworn to serve the city of Shalandra and protect its people from any threat.”

  “And, as servants of the Keeper’s Council, we are sworn to carry out the duties assigned to us by the Necroseti.” The guard tried to hold his head higher, which only served to emphasize the width of his second chin and the canine sag of his jowls.

  Just then, another man appeared from within Suroth’s mansion. Black robes clung tight to his pudgy frame and drooping belly, and a golden band encircled his sweaty forehead.

  “Angrak?” Briana’s question rang out in the courtyard. “You are the one behind this?”

  The man looked up, and his rotund face grew smug. A self-satisfied smile spread his fleshy lips as he strode toward them. “Briana, I am glad to see—”

  “Oh, cut the horse-shite,” Briana snapped.

  Kodyn stifled a grin. Glad to see the Night Guild’s rubbing off on her.

  “You really expect me to believe this?” The Shalandran girl waved the scroll at him like a sword. “This is my father’s house—”

  “As the document proclaims clearly, this residence is, in fact, the property of the city of Shalandra.” Kodyn hadn’t thought Angrak’s expression could grow any more priggish—he was wrong. The man actually puffed up like a Voramian balloonfish. “Specifically, the Keeper’s Council.”

  “My father lived here my entire life!” Briana snapped.

  “For the duration of his tenure on the Keeper’s Council, yes.” Angrak’s nod set his cheeks wobbling like congealed pig fat. “But, with his passing, his seat must be filled. The Council has elected me to serve in his place and, as such, this mansion will now be my residence.”

  Fury boiled bright and hot within Kodyn. He seriously considered drawing his sword and cutting the man down. With Aisha and Hykos beside him, he’d place good odds on defeating the Necroseti’s guards.

  “The Keeper’s Council wastes no time, do they?” Briana made no attempt to disguise her anger. “They hated my father because he wasn’t a Necroseti, and the moment he dies—protecting them, no less—they replace him with a sniveling lickspittle like you.”

  Outrage flashed across Angrak’s face. “Watch your tongue, girl. You are speaking to a member of the Keeper’s Council, now. And a Dhukari, while you are nothing more than Zadii!”

  Briana’s eyes flew wide. “What?”

  “Did your father not tell you?” Angrak puffed up his chest and cheeks once more, and it took all of Kodyn’s self-control not to drive his fist into the man’s pudgy jaw. “The rank of Dhukari was bestowed upon him when he was elevated to the Keeper’s Council, but only as long as he served as a Councilor. Now that his Council seat has been given to another, you return to your true caste.”

  Confusion twisted Kodyn’s brow. How in the hell is that possible? In Praamis, once someone received a patent of nobility, the only way to lose their titles was to have them revoked by King Ohilmos—as Lord Mayharn Stonecroft had learned after it was discovered that he was working with the Bloody Hand to traffic Bonedust and enslaved women into the city.

  Yet, one look at Briana’s pale face told Kodyn that the priggish Dhukari nobleman was telling the truth. The girl brought a hand to her throat and seemed to struggle to find words.

  Angrak produced another scroll from within his robes. “But the Keeper’s Council is as generous as they are wise. In gratitude for your father’s sacrifice and long years of service, they have procured a comfortable house for you on the Artisan’s Tier, just east of the Temple District.” A sneer twisted his fat lips as he held out the scroll. “There, you can live among your fellow Zadii and remain close to the Secret Keepers that served your father.”

  “Really?” Aisha’s eyes flashed as she towered over the fat Necroseti. “You send a messenger to summon her to the palace on false pretexts, then do this while she is away?”

  Angrak tried to conceal any hint of guilt. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He failed miserably; his face and unconvincing tone proclaimed his complicity clear as a town crier on a still morning.

  “You bastard!” Aisha reached for her assegai. More of the Necroseti’s guards leveled spears at her, one actually pricking the side of her neck with a sharp tip.

  Anger surged bright and hot within Kodyn as a trickle of bright crimson slid down Aisha’s neck. He ripped his sword from its sheath and struck out, knocking the spear away hard enough to send it flying from the guard’s grip. His left fist coiled back for a punch that would lay the man out on the ground. Before he could unleash the blow, five spear tips flashed toward him, aimed at his chest. A growl from the heavily-armored Hykos accompanied the ring of his huge flammard being drawn. In an instant, the Blade moved to stand beside Kodyn and fixed the spearmen with a fierce glare.

  “Stop!” Briana spoke in a shaky, quiet voice. “There is nothing we can do.”

  “I am glad to see you inherited at least a small measure of your father’s wisdom.” Angrak said, his tone dripping self-satisfaction. “Leash your hounds before they do anything foolish.”

  Kodyn gritted his teeth; it took all his self control not to attack the man, threatening spears or no.

  “Allow me to collect my and my father’s belongings and we will be on our way,” Briana said, gesturing to the mountain of clothes and furniture in the courtyard.

  Angrak held up a pudgy hand to stop her. “Everything that belonged to your father, the Arch-Guardian of the Secret Keepers, has already been transported to your new home. But all of the trappings of the Dhukari and everything purchased with gold bestowed upon him for his service as a Councilor are now the property of the Keeper’s Council. It will remain here.”

  Briana sucked in a breath. “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “If you doubt me, check the Council’s decree.” He leaned forward, puffing up once more. “But you will find that I have the power of the Council to back me. You, you’re just a Zadii!” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Your father should never have spoken to me thus.”

  He straightened and snapped his fingers, and a black-robed servant hurried forward carrying a cloth sack. “I have taken the liberties of procuring you proper attire for your new station.” From within the sack, he drew out headbands of braided sackcloth and canvas dyed white. “You are no longer fit to wear the gold.”

  Briana stared at the cloth as if at a striking serpent. She seemed at a loss for words, but that only added to Angrak’s pleasure.

  “Here.” He stuffed the headband into the sack and thrust it at her. “Consider it a parting gift from your newest Councilor.”

  Aisha snatched the sack with such speed Angrak’s fat fingers didn’t have time to unclench before it was ripped from his hand. He stumbled slightly with the force and barely managed to catch himself.

  Indignation flashed across his face. “Long Keeper speed you on your journey, young Zadii.” His words dripped venom and, with a glare, he spun on his heels and stalked back into the mansion.

  Hykos fixed the Necroseti’s guards with a stern gl
are, his eyes sharp as the tip of his sword. A few shifted uncomfortably, but the leader held his ground. He believed himself unassailable, shielded by his authority as a servant of the Keeper’s priests.

  Briana suddenly turned on her heel and strode away from the gate, back in the direction of her litter.

  As she lifted a foot to climb in, the guard’s voice rang out behind her. “That, too, is the property of the Keeper’s Council. As are your litterbearers.”

  Briana paused, then lowered her foot to the ground. Without a word, she turned away from the palanquin and marched up the road that led to the Path of Gold. Kodyn shot a venomous glare at the spearmen and whirled. He fell in step beside Briana, Aisha on her opposite side and Hykos bringing up the rear.

  Nessa stepped into her path. “Forgive me, my lady. We were given no choice.”

  Briana squeezed the Steward’s hands. “There is nothing to forgive, Nessa. You served my father well. I wish I could employ you, but you deserve far better than to serve a fellow Zadii.”

  Nessa gave a dismissive wave. “None of us care what caste you are. We serve out of love for your father.”

  “We?” Briana asked.

  A rustle of clothing and shuffling of sandals echoed from behind them, and Kodyn turned to find two of the fifty-odd servants had moved toward them. Rothin joined them as well, a defiant snarl on his face.

  Tears sprang to Briana’s eyes. “But I have no way to pay for—”

  “Your father paid us more than enough.” Nessa cut her off with a shake of her head. “It will be a privilege to continue serving, in his memory.”

  A little sob escaped Briana’s throat, but she swallowed it and scrubbed the moisture from her eyes. “Thank you, Nessa.” She glanced at Rothin and the other two—a portly woman Kodyn recognized as one of the cooks and Trant, a grey-haired servant that had been the only one permitted to clean Suroth’s study. “All of you.”

  “Come, my lady.” Nessa wrapped an arm around Briana’s shoulders and steered her away from the mansion that she’d called home her entire life. “Your new life awaits.”

  As Kodyn led the way toward the Path of Gold, he caught sight of an ornate palanquin sitting a short distance to the west. The fading daylight and the silk curtains concealed the litter’s occupant, but there was no mistaking the seven faces of the god of death etched in black and gold onto each of the litter’s four posts.

  The Keeper’s Council had come to gloat.

  Chapter Nine

  Killian demands my presence? A knot of anxiety formed in Evren’s gut. Damn, that can’t be good!

  His mind raced as he hurried down Death Row, toward the gate that led into the Defender’s Tier. When the blacksmith had first given him the assignment within Arch-Guardian Suroth’s household, he had insisted that they communicate through the Mumblers. He’d only summon Evren to the forge if something truly dire had occurred.

  As dire as the Arch-Guardian winding up dead, perhaps?

  Killian had placed Evren within Suroth’s household to get information on one of the highest-ranked men in Shalandra. Suroth’s death meant Evren no longer had access to the Keeper’s Councilor—or to the Vault of Ancients, which only Suroth could access. Hailen had convinced him to throw in his lot with the Night Guild thief, Kodyn, but he still had to figure out how to keep his relationship with the blacksmith mutually beneficial.

  The light of the setting sun bathed the mansions of the Keeper’s Tier in a brilliant red glow, which seemed to make the edges of the golden sandstone buildings appear sharper and harsher than the last time he’d been here. The guards at the gate to the Defender’s Tier studied him for longer than usual before letting him through. The late-afternoon traffic had thickened, slowing movement to a ponderous pace.

  Evren stifled a frustrated growl as he dodged a slave-borne litter and ducked between two empty merchant carts rumbling down Death Row. The Defender’s Tier had a subdued, almost muted atmosphere, the low hum of quiet conversations broken only by the occasional laugh of a playing child or the tromp, tromp of heavy Indomitable boots on the sandstone.

  As always, Evren remained wary of his surroundings, scanning the crowds for any sign of pursuit. Years as a thief on the streets of Vothmot had trained him to look for hidden threats everywhere. He hadn’t just had to worry about fellow thieves, rival gangs, and the Wardens of the Mount—the Lecterns, priests of the Master’s Temple, had pursued him as well.

  Truth be told, he was only here at this moment because he’d decided to flee the city by riding into the Empty Mountains with the Hunter. There, he’d seen terrifying and marvelous things, and he’d learned the truth of the Hunter’s heritage as a Bucelarii, half-human and half-demon. He’d found a kindred spirit in the Hunter, an outcast like him, someone who understood what it meant to do whatever it took to survive.

  When the Hunter offered him a chance to accompany him, Kiara, and Hailen to Voramis, Evren had accepted without hesitation. He’d signed up for the Hunter’s quest to hunt demons and protect the world. That quest had led him to Shalandra where, thanks to information provided by Father Reverentus, he believed one of the Serenii-crafted Im’tasi blades was stored in the Vault of the Ancients.

  Which I still have no idea how to access. He grimaced. Twisted hell, I haven’t even figured out how to get into the palace yet.

  But all of that would have to wait until after his meeting with Killian.

  As he slipped through the gate and descended toward the Artisan’s Tier, he untied his red-and-gold-braided headband and replaced it with the strip of crimson-dyed canvas he’d worn around his wrist. One more Earaqi laborer would attract far less attention than a Dhukari’s servant. He’d taken to wearing the red strip of cloth as a bracelet to keep it handy in case he needed to switch identities in a hurry.

  With a grin, he ducked into the flow of traffic bustling west on the Artificer’s Courseway. The impending sunset seemed to fill people with a hurry, and the crowds never stopped moving as men, women, and children hurried to complete their shopping or hawk their last wares before the markets closed for the evening.

  Hurry meant far less caution, and Evren found himself jostled far more than he’d like by people hustling past. Once, a passing carter collided with him hard enough to nearly knock him off his feet. Evren’s growled response was met with a scowl and clenched fists. Evren didn’t back down, but he found himself suddenly missing his jambiya—which Rothin had taken from him when locking him in the storeroom.

  Thankfully, the carter had more important things to do than get his nose shattered by an “impudent youth”, as he muttered while slouching away. Evren let out his breath and hurried along the Artificer’s Courseway to reach Killian’s before he found himself in more trouble.

  Smith’s Alley intersected with the Artificer’s Courseway, but Evren decided to take a more roundabout approach to Killian’s forge. Instead of entering the front gate, he ducked into the smaller alley that ran parallel to the main avenue, turned into another narrow street that ran north, and, with a glance to be certain no one had seen him, scrambled over the wall.

  His feet hadn’t even touched the ground before a voice drifted from within the shadows of the forge. “I expected you half an hour ago.”

  Evren stifled a startled yelp and, schooling his expression to mask his surprise, turned toward the man emerging from the smithy. “Proper precautions take time,” he said with a shrug.

  Killian strode from the forge’s rear door and into the training yard, the brace on his left leg making that odd clicking sound with every step. He limped over to the wooden stool facing the yard and sat, his eyes fixed on Evren. “You came looking for me yesterday, then left in a hurry.” His face revealed no anger, yet his tone was tight, tense. “I take it that had something to do with the Gatherers’ attack on Arch-Guardian Suroth’s mansion?”

  “No.” Evren met the blacksmith’s gaze without hesitation. “I came to warn you that Snarth is a traitor.”

  “Snarth?”
For the first time in their acquaintance, Killian showed genuine surprise. His bushy eyebrows rose toward his hairline. “Explain.”

  “Yesterday, I was coming to see you, to tell you that I’d overheard two of Suroth’s servants planning something, when I bumped into Snarth on the Artisan’s Courseway. He made some half-assed excuse about running an errand for you, but he was acting cagey, so it was pretty clear he was up to something. When I followed him down to the Slave’s Tier, I saw him go into a house and meet with a bunch of thugs. Called themselves the Syndicate.”

  Killian’s eyes darkened. “The Keeper-damned Ybrazhe?”

  Evren shrugged. “Syndicate’s all I heard. Snarth was talking about wanting to become a Crewman, but they insisted the only way he’d do that was by getting his hands on your book.”

  “Of course.” Killian’s expression hardened. “The Ybrazhe Syndicate has wanted my secrets since they found out I was the one running the Mumblers.” He swore, a string of curses that would have made any Praamian sailor proud. “I’d always wondered how they’d uncovered that secret. I never imagined one of my own would betray me.”

  “Who are they, this Syndicate?” The way Killian spoke of them, they sounded like a genuine threat.

  “Our own version of the Bloody Hand,” Killian snarled. “Little more than thieves and thugs, but ruthless as demons. And now they’ve got Snarth working for them.”

  “Well, I doubt he’ll be doing much work anymore.” Evren gave Killian a hard grin. “He took a dagger to the stomach last night.”

  Killian cocked an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  Evren nodded. “He came to Suroth’s mansion to try and shut me up, but that didn’t turn out well for him. He might still be alive, if he got to a healer in time.”

  “He’d better hope he died.” Killian’s voice held a diamond-hard edge. “Not even the Long Keeper will recognize him once I’ve finished with him.” He fixed Evren with a piercing gaze. “And you were going to tell me about Snarth’s betrayal yesterday?”