Heirs of Destiny Box Set

by Andy Peloquin

  A group of close to twenty men and women fought in the space that had cleared between the two lines. Lean, hungry-eyed people watched the fray, and the occasional cheer or shout egged on the combatants. Most, however, were simply too tired, hungry, or thirsty to do more than watch with world-weary faces.

  “Break it up!” Issa shouted. “Cease this at once, or we will arrest you!”

  Her words had no effect. The people bit, clawed, scratched, and punched at each other like rabid animals. In the minute it took Issa to reach the melee, four people had been knocked unconscious to the ground.

  “Company, draw batons!” Issa called. She left her sword sheathed and instead reached for the wooden club at her hip. Her orders were only to draw her blade if her life was threatened.

  Issa tried one last time. “Stop this in the name of the Pharus!” When her words fell on deaf ears, Issa waded into the fray, laying about her with the baton. She held back her blows as much as she dared, avoiding broken bones whenever possible, but her primary purpose was to break up the fight. With ten heavily armored, well-fed Indomitables at her back, she put an end to the scuffle in less than a minute.

  “Enough!” she shouted when she had shoved the last two combatants apart. She whirled on the crowd of furious, red-faced, bleeding men and women. “The next one who raises a hand against their fellow citizen will be clapped in irons!”

  This elicited a chorus of angry shouts and mutters, not only from the combatants, but from the people formed in line.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Issa demanded.

  “There is no more food!” shouted a voice from the crowd.

  “What?” Issa turned toward the source of the call.

  A white-haired Kabili woman with a stooped back, hunched shoulders, and wagon-rut wrinkles at the head of the line turned toward her fire blazing in her eyes. “The guards at the Hall of Bounty just said there would be no more rations until noon tomorrow.” She thrust a gnarled finger toward the ground at Issa’s feet. “That was the last of the barley.”

  Issa glanced down. A tiny sack, barely larger than her mailed fist, lay on the dusty street, its seams split, a handful of small while pearls spilling out. She sucked in a sharp breath. Twenty people, fighting over this! That wouldn’t be enough to feed her grandparents for a day.

  And yet, the ones that had gotten such small portions were the fortunate ones. The rest, those still in the line, would have to wait until noon the following day. Thirteen hours of hunger gnawing at their bellies.

  Of course they’re fighting over the food. Sorrow roiled within Issa’s chest. If it were me, I’d do the same thing.

  But right now, her job was to keep the peace. That meant ensuring that the fight stayed ended.

  Kneeling, Issa scooped up the tiny portion of barley and poured as much as she could back into the sack. She scanned the crowd of hungry people waiting in front of the granary. Finally, she singled out an old man, easily in his eighth decade of life, who sat on the ground, too weak to stand.

  The Mahjuri cringed away from her as she loomed over him, but she simply knelt and held out the sack. “Here. Take this.”

  Shouts of protest rang out, but Issa ignored them. She knew her actions would only add to the anger of those around her, yet she had to do something.

  The old man stared up at her, nervous, eyes shifting between the sack and Issa’s armor and weapon. Finally, hunger won out, and he snatched the precious food. Issa helped him to stand, but he shambled away on his own, to a chorus of angry protests.

  Issa turned a furious glare on the crowds. “Food will come!” she shouted. “The Pharus will not let his people starve.”

  “Easy for you to say, Dhukari!” snarled a voice from the crowd. “You live on your gold-covered streets, eating feasts fit for the Pharus every day.”

  Issa wanted to continue, to try and calm the crowd, but she knew that anything she said would only make things worse. They saw only her armor and the gold stripe across her snarling lion helmet. Her attempts to pacify the people would only rile them up further. Jaw clenched in frustration, she turned on her heel and marched back toward her patrol.

  “Indomitables, on me!” Remorse mingled with anger in her chest. She could do nothing to help these people, or the thousands of others like them that faced starvation, thirst, and death on a daily basis.

  With those thoughts churning in her mind, she marched her company down the Way of Chains. The indignant shouts of the crowd followed her with every step.

  Chapter Eleven

  Burning anger drove back the pain of Aisha’s still-healing leg as she marched down Death Row beside Briana and Kodyn. Hykos and the small procession of servants loyal to the Briana followed in their footsteps, drawing stares from every Dhukari they passed.

  Briana’s spine was ramrod straight and stiff, her face an expressionless mask. But Aisha caught the tightness in the girl’s jaw, the lines around her pressed lips.

  “The sniveling weasel!” Briana muttered a string of angry curses, all insulting to Councilor Angrak.

  Aisha waved to get the girl’s attention, then spoke using the silent hand language. “What did he mean by ‘Your father should never have spoken to me thus’?”

  Fire flashed in Briana’s eyes. “He asked to marry me, more to advance his power in the city than out of any actual interest. My father turned down his marriage proposal in no uncertain terms.”

  “Marriage?” Aisha sucked in a breath. “To that hippopotamus?”

  Kodyn let out a harsh chuckle, but Briana didn’t smile. “My father always knew Angrak was sucking up to the Keeper’s Council, currying favor by doing anything they asked, and now we have proof!”

  “That false messenger was sent to get us out of the mansion so the Necroseti’s guards could swoop in.” Kodyn said what Aisha was thinking. “Now, with Angrak as the final Councilor, the Keeper’s Priests have the Council fully under their control.”

  “Which means they can do whatever they want.” Fury was etched into every line of Briana’s face. “To think my father died protecting those cowardly rats!”

  “Protecting the Pharus.” Aisha shook her head. “Thanks to his actions, the Pharus will help us in our mission to take down the Gatherers.”

  “And the Necroseti.” Briana’s fingers moved in short, sharp gestures. “This happened too fast for me to believe that they didn’t have this planned well in advance.”

  “So either they were the ones behind the attack,” Kodyn said, “or they anticipated it and made preparations for that eventuality.”

  “Which makes them responsible for my father’s death.” Briana’s face hardened. “And for that, they will pay.”

  The sight ahead drove all thoughts of response from Aisha’s mind. More heavy-set men draped in ornate black-and-gold robes stood clustered by the gate to the Defender’s Tier.

  Keeper’s Priests. Aisha’s fists clenched.

  As they approached, one of the priests stepped forward and held out a pudgy hand. “Hold.”

  Briana straightened, defiance written in her eyes. “What in the Keeper’s name do you want?” Her voice came out in a very un-ladylike growl.

  The priest straightened, which set the ornate golden bangles on his Dhukari headdress rattling. “You wear the gold of the Dhukari, but that is forbidden to those of the lower castes.” The priest’s piggish, close-set eyes locked with Briana. “You must don white, as is expected of the Zadii.”

  Briana went white with rage, her lips pressed so tight together all blood drained away. “You would do this, now?” she snarled. “After all the other indignities heaped on my house this day?”

  The Keeper’s Priest gave no response, his face a mask of arrogance, hand outstretched expectantly.

  Briana’s fingers trembled as she reached up and untied her Dhukari tiara. Even in the face of humiliation, she was the picture of elegance, draping the gold chain circlet with its inlaid mother-of-pearl teardrops delicately over the priest’s pudgy
hands.

  Aisha, however, felt no need for restraint. She seized her gold-cloth headband and tore it free of her head with one mighty yank. She growled a curse in Ghandian—one she’d told Kodyn meant “May your arm shrivel up and be eaten by a howling baboon”, but which actually referred to a lower part of the male anatomy—and hurled the cloth at the Keeper’s Priest, barking a derisive laugh when he flinched.

  Kodyn tore his headband free and threw it on the ground at the priest’s feet. The rest of Briana’s servants—Nessa, Rothin, and the two other servants—did likewise.

  The Necroseti’s face reddened. “Go, Zadii.” He sneered the word like a curse. “You are not welcome here.”

  Head held high, Briana strode toward the gate. Aisha hurled another Ghandian curse at the priest as she passed, eliciting another flinch. Kodyn simply glared at the Necroseti and the black-armored Indomitables.

  Aisha glanced back at the Keeper’s Blade accompanying them. Hykos’ face was an inscrutable mask, yet a hint of disgust flashed through his eyes as he passed the Necroseti’s guards.

  The eyes of thirty Indomitables turned toward them, a hint of indignation mingling with the respect etched into their faces. They all knew who she was—who her father was and what he’d done for the Pharus the previous night. A few even bowed in silent, deferential farewell.

  Aisha wanted to reach out and grip Briana’s hand, offer what comfort she could, but decided against it. The girl was already humiliated, evicted from her home, her rank stripped away, forced to walk bare-headed—the mark of a Kabili slave—down two tiers and through the marketplaces of Artisan’s Tier. Whoever was behind this plan had to have truly loathed the Arch-Guardian. It took a malicious, petty mind to strike such a deep-cutting blow at the daughter of a dead man.

  To Briana’s credit, she kept her face expressionless, her eyes blank. It was as if she’d locked away all the emotions that had to be roiling within her at the moment. A proud Dhukari, even if she no longer wore the golden headband or bore the title.

  People all along Death Row stopped to watch the solemn march—as funereal as the procession that likely escorted Arch-Guardian Suroth to his final resting place at that very moment. One went to the realm of the dead and eternity in the arms of the Long Keeper; the other swallowed shame and humiliation to bear life with noble stoicism.

  Some stared, many whispered, and a few even pointed at the straight-backed girl with the ornate robes, flowing hair, and bare head. Aisha caught the clenching of Briana’s jaw, the way her fingers balled into fists. Yet she held her peace as she strode through Industry Square, crossed the broad Trader’s Way, then marched through Commerce Square. Aisha was glad for the concealment of the early evening darkness. The setting sun had driven most of the crowds from the nearly empty markets. Only a handful of people bore witness to Briana’s humiliation.

  Without a word, Briana guided them toward the Temple District, but turned north into at an intersection just a few hundred paces from the nearest temple—the squat, fortress-like Temple of Derelana. Her steps led down a narrower street that ran parallel to the Artificer’s Courseway, thirty paces from the cliff face that bordered the northern edge of the Artisan’s Tier. She stopped at a small two-story building with crumbling whitewash and a sagging thatched roof. A final insult from the Keeper’s Priests.

  Kodyn strode ahead to open the door—a solid, well-built door, Aisha saw, complete with a heavy lock—and stepped inside to scan the interior. He emerged a few moments later and nodded, his fingers signaling, “All clear.”

  Briana said nothing, simply strode into her new home. The furnishings were simple: a crooked wooden table sized for four with hard-backed chairs to match, a few moth-eaten armchairs, and a modest bookshelf that served as home to an abundance of dust and a pair of black spiders. A door led into a small kitchen that doubled as a pantry.

  Aisha couldn’t help noticing how cold the house was. She’d learned that, like the Palace of Golden Eternity, all the houses on the Keeper’s Tier and Defender’s Tier were heated by the steam collected from geysers deep within the mountain. But here, only cold stone and darkness met her gaze.

  In silence, Rothin took up guard outside the front door, and Hykos joined him. Without a word of command from Briana or instructions from Nessa, the grey-haired servant set about straightening up while the cook bustled into the kitchen. The Steward said something about “fetching light before the markets close” and disappeared.

  Briana climbed the stairs stiffly, as if she feared she would collapse when she relaxed her muscles. Aisha winced as the stairs creaked beneath her weight, but they held…barely.

  The top floor held two rooms, bedrooms both, with a bed in each. A few ratty blankets lay atop the straw-tick mattresses. Canvas sacks had been dumped on the floor beside the bed in one of the rooms—all of Briana’s earthly belongings, tossed like refuse.

  Aisha shot a glance at Kodyn as she followed Briana into the room. “Stay,” she signed. With a nod, he took up guard position outside the door.

  Closing the door, Aisha turned to Briana. The girl stood before the bed, a quiver running through her body. Her fists were clenched so tight her hands were white to the wrists.

  Aisha stepped toward the girl and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Briana.” She could think of nothing to say—how could she offer any sort of comfort after what the girl had endured, what she’d lost? From the cherished daughter of a powerful man to a scorned orphan with nothing to her name, all in the space of a few hours. Aisha could only squeeze Briana’s shoulder and offer the silent support of her presence.

  Suddenly, Briana sagged, like a marionette whose strings had been severed. Aisha barely had time to catch the girl before she hit the floor. Sobs racked Briana’s shoulders and tears streamed down her face. Aisha held the girl close, her arms wrapped around Briana.

  “How dare they?” The question spilled from Briana’s lips, repeated over and over as her tears soaked into Aisha’s tunic.

  Aisha ached to offer words of consolation, but she could find none. She reached deep within herself, searching in vain for any spark of Radiana’s life left within her. The emotions she’d felt the previous day were so strong, the words from Briana’s mother spilling from her mouth with a force beyond her control. Yet she could find no trace of Radiana’s energy. Aisha was alone, and she could do nothing but hold the girl as she wept. Long minutes passed as Aisha offered the only comfort she could: her presence. For now, that had to be enough.

  Slowly, the flow of Briana’s tears dried up. After a few minutes, the girl pulled free of Aisha’s arms and settled with her back against the bed, scrubbing at her cheeks. Her cheeks were puffy and the occasional sniffle racked her body, but through the sorrow in Briana’s eyes, Aisha caught a glimpse of defiance and anger.

  “That was meant to break me,” Briana said, barely above a whisper. “The Necroseti want me gone. They know that my father still has influence in the palace even after his death. But the only way they’re getting rid of me is by killing me.” Sparks flashed in her gaze. “And I still live!”

  Aisha grinned. “A mistake they will soon regret.”

  “By the Long Keeper, we will make them pay!” Briana reached for Aisha’s hand and gripped it with all her strength. “We will not stop until every damned Necroseti and Gatherer suffers for this.”

  Aisha climbed to her feet and helped Briana to stand. “Glad to hear it. So where do we start?”

  “With my father’s journals.” Briana released her hand and strode from the room. “My father didn’t just keep detailed notes on everything he studied. He also collected information to use to sway people to helping him.”

  “Blackmail?” Aisha cocked an eyebrow. Who better than a Secret Keeper to wield secrets like a weapon?

  Briana shook her head. “He said that was the Necroseti way, but he would not stoop to their level.” She opened one sack and set about rummaging through the clothing. “Instead, he kept notes that he could use to hel
p people. He convinced them to help him by giving them what they needed. Last year, for example, when Orril’s daughter took sick with Star Malady, my father had his Secret Keepers brew up an antidote. Or when Grand Lectern Wormoren of the Master’s Temple needed assistance deciphering an ancient riddle hidden in one of Taivoro’s plays, my father was the only one that could solve it.”

  Aisha smiled. “He really was a good man, your father.”

  Briana straightened, her own smile tinged with sadness. “A good man in a world ruled by the Necroseti.”

  She set about checking the next sack, her movements growing more and more frantic.

  “What’s wrong?” Aisha asked.

  “My father’s journal.” Worry echoed in Briana’s voice. “It’s not here. Or any of the Serenii artifacts from his office.”

  Aisha’s eyes flew wide. “You’re certain?” She rushed over to the one sack Briana hadn’t yet checked and dumped it onto the bed. Briana’s elegant clothing lay within, but no sign of the leather-bound journal.

  “Maybe downstairs?” she offered.

  Panic staining her expression, Briana ripped open the door, burst into the hall, and raced down the stairs.

  “What’s the matter?” Kodyn asked as Aisha rushed past hot on the girl’s heels.

  “Her father’s things are missing!” Aisha called. “All of them.”

  With a curse, Kodyn raced after them.

  “Where are they?” Briana’s voice had taken on a frantic edge. “Where are my father’s things?”

  “My lady?” the grey-haired man looked up from sweeping away a mountain of dust, confusion on his face.

  Aisha scanned the sparse area. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, save for a trail of footprints that led up the stairs.