Heirs of Destiny Box Set

by Andy Peloquin

  A part of her mind screamed that she was abandoning Kodyn, that he’d be expecting her to wait outside the temple as they’d agreed. Yet that thought slipped from her mind as the Kish’aa’s call came again.

  She hurried down the Artificer’s Courseway, clinging to the shadows of the huge temples, her eyes fixed on the cliff looming in the distance. The sight of patrol of Indomitables forced her to duck out of sight, which elicited impatient, angry cries from the spirits in her mind. It took all her willpower not to cry out as their voices set her skull pounding. She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists so tightly her hands shook.

  An eternity seemed to pass before the Indomitables finally disappeared up the street. Despite the coolness of the evening, sweat streamed down Aisha’s face from the effort of fighting the spirits’ demanding insistence. The cries only diminished after she resumed her trek to the Keeper’s Crypts.

  The western cliff face rose two hundred feet above her, but she had eyes only for the massive rectangular doorway—five paces wide and easily twenty tall—carved into the mountainside. The faint glow of flickering torches shone within the Crypts, but Aisha had no need for the light. Blue-white sparks of the dead shone so brilliant to her eyes that the interior of the tombs appeared as bright as day.

  A low hum built in her mind with every step closer, until she could actually hear the individual whispers echoing from the legion of spirits hovering within the Keeper’s Crypts. Like a whirlpool of glowing light, they swirled in the air above the endless rows of headstones, mausoleums, sarcophagi, and obelisks to commemorate their deaths.

  These spirits were those whose lives had been snuffed out before their time. Murder, suicide, illness, starvation—death had come for them in all its forms, but it hadn’t diminished the spark of their lives. They pressed in around her, calling to her, filling her mind with their whispered pleas. Aisha wanted to flee, to escape the horde of dead that flocked around her like ethereal sheep to a shepherd. Yet she could not. She had come this far to fulfill Eldesse and Osirath’s mission, to help them pass from this life into Pharadesi. She wouldn’t run from the fight.

  Vengeance! The cry came impossibly loud, and of their own accord, Aisha’s eyes were drawn toward two figures moving through the darkness.

  She sucked in a ragged breath. The spirits of Eldesse and Osirath had sensed the presence of these two—the ones that had killed them—and demanded vengeance.

  Aisha dove into the shadows of a mausoleum carved to resemble an open book, gritting her teeth against the pounding in her head. Her eyes tracked the movement of the two cloaked figures as they slithered among the tombstones and sarcophagi. Their steps led southwest, down the hill toward the Cultivator’s Tier yet ever deeper into the mountain itself.

  She followed them in silence, one eye fixed on their shadowy forms and the other watching for the blue-white spirits. She dared not draw too close for fear she would absorb them as she had Radiana, Thimara, Eldesse, and Osirath. Already, the demands of the three Kish’aa within her tugged her in two directions—Thimara to the Temple of Whispers, and the Dhukari’s servants deeper into the tombs in pursuit of their killers. The Whispering Lily’s effects were the only thing keeping the spirits from seizing control of her limbs. Aisha wasn’t certain she could fight against so many. She evaded the outstretched phantasmal hands and tried to stop her ears to their cries.

  Yet their words came to her mind unbidden. So many dead, so many whispered pleas, demands, and entreaties. Some demanded vengeance, others pled for justice, and others begged to simply be remembered. A thousand spirits each with their own desires—she could not answer their calls. It was simply too much.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks, blurring her vision. The Whispering Lily sharpened their presence and made their pleas audible to her inner senses. How long she continued or where she traveled, she didn’t know. It took all of her willpower to keep moving, to place one foot in front of the other as she followed the urgings of Eldesse and Osirath. The spirits of Briana’s trusted servant and her husband led Aisha through the darkness.

  The sparks within her flared to life, so hot and bright the pain snapped her from her trance-like state. Her surroundings swam into focus and ice slithered down Aisha’s spine as she caught sight of light shining in the Crypts ahead of her. Not the blue-white light of the Kish’aa, but the soft orange-yellow glow of burning torches.

  Instincts honed over years of training kicked in and she threw herself behind a ten-foot stone obelisk, out of sight of the assembled cultists. Heart hammering, she pressed deeper into the shadows and tried to regain control over her rapid breathing. The pounding of her pulse sounded so loud in her ears she feared it would give her away.

  She pricked her ears for any cry of alarm, any angry shouts to indicate she’d been spotted. For a full minute she remained motionless, back against the sandstone obelisk, fingers curled around the wooden haft of her spear. She hadn’t come looking for a fight but she’d be damned if the Gatherers got their hands on her.

  But when silence met her ears, she dared to risk a glance at the figures visible in the firelight. A few wore cloaks and hoods, but most were clad in the simple, rough clothing of Shalandra’s lower castes. Horror twisted in Aisha’s gut as her eyes fell on the symbols tattooed onto their bare forearms.

  The spirits had led her to the Gatherers.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Issa shot a glance at Etai as they marched up the Warrior’s Path toward the Fortress. “You clear on what we’re doing?”

  Etai nodded. “Keeping an eye on the Arch-Guardian’s daughter all while pretending to be just one more patrol.” She shot Issa a sidelong glance. “A patrol with two Keeper’s Blades, mind you. Not that that’s not going to be totally obvious to anyone who sees it.”

  “It doesn’t matter whether or not we’re seen,” Issa replied with a shrug. “All that matters is that we make our presence around the Temple District very visible. Just in case.”

  “Of course.” Etai gave her a flat stare. “Though why Lady Callista’s interested in one more Zadii girl, even if she was once Dhukari, escapes me. Any chance you’re ready to clear that particular mystery up?”

  Issa hesitated. She wanted to trust Etai; the two of them had fought together in the Crucible and the training yard, and Etai was the closest thing she had to a friend in the Citadel of Stone. But with so much on the line, Issa couldn’t take the chance that something would go wrong.

  “The fewer people who know, the better,” Issa told her. “And what you don’t know can’t stab you in the back.”

  Etai scowled. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, just as you are, Issa. We’re both Keeper’s Blades, after all.”

  “I know.” Issa stopped and turned to face the girl. “But this isn’t just some training exercise for the Blades. This could affect the fate of all of Shalandra. The time will come when I will tell you everything—or as much as I can—but for now, I need you to trust me.”

  Etai met her gaze, then threw up her hands. “Damn me for a fool, but I’m actually crazy enough to go along with your ox-brained plan on blind faith.” She rolled her eyes. “After how things turned out for you at the palace the other night, you could very well be even more blessed by the Keeper than we thought.”

  Issa grinned. “Thank you, Etai.”

  “Oh no, thank you for not bringing Kellas with us.” Etai gave a disdainful snort. “I’d throw myself into Dalmisa’s fiery depths to get away from his smug ass of a face.”

  “He still that bad?” Issa asked as they resumed their westward trek.

  “Nah, not really.” Etai shook her head. “He’s actually spoken full sentences to me that didn’t sound like a curse or an order to polish his shoes. Almost makes me glad you saved him from the Gatherers the other night.” She snorted. “Almost.”

  Their arrival at the Fortress precluded Issa’s response. The Fortress was exactly what its name entailed: a solid, fortified garrison with high wal
ls and thick metal-banded wooden gates. Or, more accurately, it was two fortresses, not one as its name denoted. The broad avenue known as the Warrior’s Path cut through the middle of the Fortress, which occupied the entire western quarter of the Defender’s Tier, on its way to the Keeper’s Crypts inside the western cliff that bordered Shalandra.

  The northern fortress was the better-fortified of the two, and served as the command center for the Executors that led the soldiers. All of the Indomitables’ vast collection of military records were also stored in the northern fortress, along with most of the weapons and armaments not in immediate use by the Indomitables. What it lacked in the Citadel’s grand architecture, lofty heights, and prime placement on the Keeper’s Tier, it more than made up for in its sheer size.

  The southern fortress was essentially a giant training field with a barracks sized to fit five hundred Indomitables—all the trainees and their training officers, along with a rotating crop of experienced veterans undergoing regular martial exercises and drills. The southern fortress was a non-stop hubbub of activity, with Indomitables marching in and out at all hours, messengers coming and going, and supplies constantly being hauled in to feed the ravenous soldiers off duty or between training sessions.

  It was to the southern fortress that Issa and Etai directed their steps.

  The Dictator in charge of the ten-man company guarding the Fortress grinned at their approach. “Come for your patrol again?” He might be low-ranked, but Issa considered Dictator Pryle to be one of the Indomitables’ friendliest soldiers.

  She nodded. “Unless Sentinel Imale has run them ragged again on the training yard.” Nysin had spent nearly the entire previous evening complaining about their latest challenge, an obstacle course that daunted even more experienced Indomitables, until Rilith finally shut him up.

  “No obstacle course today,” Pryle said with a wry grin. “Just the usual formation drills and pack runs.”

  Issa winced. “I can’t wait to hear Nysin moaning about his exhaustion tonight. He’s lucky we’re set to patrol the Artisan’s Tier.”

  “Ahh, the cushy life of a trainee.” Pryle chuckled. “Days spent training, nights spent patrolling the streets, not enough food or sleep to do either.” He stepped aside and allowed them to enter. “Don’t be too soft on them, eh?”

  “Never!” Issa called back over her shoulder.

  The training yard stood empty, the drills done for the day once darkness set. Issa and Etai crossed the sand-strewn space and headed toward the nearest barracks. There, she knew, she’d find her company of trainees.

  The interior of the barracks had been decorated with the same miserly hand as the Citadel of Stone. The walls, floors, and ceilings lacked all ornamentation—every inch of the Fortress’ interior was designed with military practicality. And, with the precise order to match. Even the stone floors looked freshly scrubbed, free of the dust Issa and Etai tracked in from the training yard. Issa spared a moment of pity for whatever trainee would be assigned to clean up after them.

  She found her trainees in the large room that had been assigned to their company. Male and female recruits bunked together, under the watchful eye of the Dictator responsible for training them. Every bed was made perfectly, every sheet tucked in without a wrinkle. Even the Indomitables’ armor and helmets hung on neat armorer’s dummies as the trainees prepared to dress for the evening patrol. Their khopeshes rested in sickle-shaped sheaths placed against the wall.

  Most of the trainees were in the middle of slipping into their padded gambesons or buckling on the heavy black steel breastplates. Nysin alone was fully-armored, and he lay on his bed with a self-satisfied smile, his eyes closed as he seized the momentary lull in his daily drudgery to catch a few seconds of sleep.

  Yet the Mahjuri trainee wasn’t sleeping. His eyes popped open as Issa and Etai entered the room and he let out a theatrical groan. “And here was me thinking we had another few minutes of peace.”

  Issa hid a grin. “On your feet, Indomitable!” she barked, doing her best impression of Tannard’s voice. “We are on duty as of this moment.”

  To his credit, Nysin leapt to his feet with impressive alacrity and took his place in the rank that quickly formed in front of Issa. Enyera, the speedy Earaqi that had won the battle with Tannard for them, was the last to join the line, one pauldron still askew.

  Issa strode toward them, Etai at her side. “I come with a mission from the Lady of Blades.” She spoke in voice pitched low so only her patrol could hear. “A duty of the utmost importance.”

  Though the Indomitables’ expressions remained stern blanks, excited curiosity sparkled in the ten pairs of eyes fixed on her. Enyera actually leaned forward in her eagerness to hear.

  “There have been reports of suspicious activity on the Artisan’s Tier, near the Temple District,” she told them. “Lady Callista has assigned us to go and seek out those causing trouble.”

  “What sort of suspicious activity?” asked Rilith.

  “The kind that gets a special patrol of two Keeper’s Blades sent out to investigate,” Etai said before Issa could.

  Issa shot her fellow Blade a stern glare, then turned back to her patrol. “Right now, that is all I can tell you, but I want it to be perfectly clear that anything out of the ordinary is to be treated as a threat to the wellbeing of the Zadii.” She fixed them with a meaningful look. “The Lady of Blades has personally entrusted us with this task of protecting the people of the Artisan’s Tier.”

  Right now, her Indomitables didn’t need to know specifically who on the Artisan’s Tier they were protecting. By the grace of the Long Keeper, nothing would go amiss and they could proceed on their patrol normally.

  “We will not fail Lady Callista.” Determination echoed in Enyera’s voice.

  Issa nodded. “Of that, I have no doubt.” If anything happened, she knew that her Indomitables—though they were trainees like her—would be able to handle it.

  Thousands of stars dotted the night sky as they marched out of the barracks. Torches ringed the training yard and braziers burned by the Fortress’ front gate, but the light did little to drive back the chill that settled over the late night. Midnight lay less than an hour off, and it would take them the better part of two hours to reach Briana’s house near the Temple District at a steady marching pace.

  Dictator Pryle saluted as they marched out, and Issa mirrored his gesture. She didn’t need to glance back to feel the excitement humming through her patrol. Even Etai, who marched along at the front of the column beside her, brimmed with a mixture of wary tension and the excitement that set in before a battle.

  The two- and three-story houses along the Defender’s Tier were dark and silent, the Alqati families of the Indomitables long since abed. In the light of the oil lanterns that hung at regular intervals along the Warrior’s Path, the colorful gardens seemed somehow pale and drab. Yet Issa knew that those fortunate enough to be born Alqati led lives far better than anything the Earaqi, Mahjuri, or Kabili could ever dream of.

  A cool wind whistled through the Defender’s Tier, and Issa found herself thankful for the heavy Shalandran steel armor and the thick coat of padding beneath. The armor seemed to actually soak up the warmth of the sunlight during the day, keeping her warm at night. That, and the marching definitely helped to drive back the chill.

  Sweat pricked on her forehead as they reached Death Row and turned south, toward the gate that led into the Artisan’s Tier. A sense of urgency thrummed within her. Lady Callista had told her she had until noon—given that midnight had just passed, that left less than twelve hours to complete her mission of procuring whatever proof Kodyn had found to implicate Councilor Angrak. Twelve hours ought to be more than enough, but she wouldn’t rest until that mission was completed.

  Few people moved about the streets of the Artisan’s Tier at this late hour, which meant she and her company could make good time. None of the Indomitables complained as she sped up her march to a fast walk, just shy of a
slow jog. The sight of cloaked figures scurrying into the shadows near Smith’s Alley sent up warning flares in her mind, but she forced herself to ignore them. Her true destination lay farther west, just before the Temple District. She and her patrol had to make certain Lady Briana and her companions were safe.

  Both Industry Square and Commerce Square stood empty, the wooden stalls shuttered for the night. It seemed so strange to walk through the ranks of wooden stands—she’d never seen the always-busy marketplace so silent and lifeless.

  A knot formed in Issa’s shoulders as they approached the road that would take her and her patrol past Briana’s house. A profound stillness enveloped the Artisan’s Tier—so complete as to seem almost unnatural. Even the night birds had fallen silent and the wind had stopped its gentle rustling in her ears. No lights glimmered in any of the two- and three-story houses bordering the Artificer’s Courseway.

  She held up a fist to slow her patrol. Something was wrong. She didn’t know how she knew—a lingering scent in the air, a strange stillness to the night, or a sixth sense somewhere deep within her—but she could feel the danger from ahead. It was almost as if the Artisan’s Tier held its breath in expectation.

  “Slow and silent,” she hissed to her patrol. The armor of a Keeper’s Blade was crafted with the skill of a master artisan, joined so perfectly it hardly made a sound. Indomitables, however, made far more noise with their clanking half-mail and hobnailed boots.

  Yet her trainees made hardly a sound as they rounded the corner. Issa’s heart stopped as she caught sight of dark-cloaked figures moving through the shadows toward Briana’s house. Issa counted fifteen, each carrying drawn steel.

  To her horror, only the guard, Rothin, stood in front of the door. Hykos was nowhere in sight.

  A single sword stood between Briana and certain death.