Heirs of Destiny Box Set

by Andy Peloquin

  “Bind his feet, too.” Issa bared her teeth in a snarl at the gagged man. “I won’t take any chances with you. You’ve got some talking to do.”

  “If his feet are bound,” Nysin said from behind her, “does that mean we’re carrying him?”

  Issa turned to Mahjuri. “And you just volunteered!”

  Nysin groaned, but Viddan clapped him on the shoulder. His broad grin mirrored the relief, pride, and elation written on the faces of every member of her troop. Now that the battle had passed, Issa found those same emotions swelling within her. She and her company of recruits, all trainees, had just won two battles and escaped with little more than a few minor wounds. How many other Blades or Indomitables could say the same?

  Issa swallowed a grin as she crouched over the Gatherer. “Try anything, and I’ll take off your hands. Then I’ll move on to your feet and other body parts until the Long Keeper himself can’t recognize you.”

  The Gatherer met her stare with anger and sullen defiance. He knew he was a dead man, she could see the truth written in his eyes. Too slow to take the poison that sped him to the Long Keeper’s arms, he would die at the hands of his captors, bound to a torturer’s table instead of in glorious service to his god.

  Issa and Hykos lifted the bound Gatherer from the ground. The man began to squirm, straining against his bonds and the hands that held him. At Issa’s nod, she and Hykos dropped him. His body thumped to the stony ground hard enough to knock the wind from his lungs.

  “Let’s try this again.” This time, when Issa and Hykos hoisted the man, he lay still, too dazed to struggle. He barely gave a little groan as he was dropped onto Nysin’s shoulders.

  “Watcher’s teeth!” Nysin grunted under his breath. “What do they feed these Gatherers?”

  Issa ignored him and turned to her Indomitables. “Shyeri, Ket, get Enyera to the Sanctuary’s healers. Rilith, get up to Sentinel Imale and tell him what happened. The rest of you, stay here and guard this place until reinforcements arrive to relieve you.”

  The nine trainees saluted. “Yes, sir!” Rilith sprinted off to the northeast while Ket and Shyeri, a stocky Kabili man, went to help Enyera.

  Pride glowed within Issa at the trust that shone in their eyes and echoed in their voices. She had led them to victory twice—not only in Tannard’s training yard against impossible odds, but here and now, bringing down enemies that every Indomitable and Keeper’s Blade in the city wanted to eliminate. This triumph had cemented their loyalty to her.

  “With your permission,” Hykos said, a wry grin on his lips, “I’ll stay with them. If Aisha spoke true, there might be more Gatherers out there.”

  Issa hesitated a moment before nodding. She couldn’t be certain that Aisha had gotten the count correct, but with Hykos here, the Indomitables would fare much better in case anything happened.

  Hykos clasped her arm. “Well done, Prototopoi.” He spoke in a voice pitched low, for her ears only.

  The happy glow within her brightened to a burning furnace at the grip on her arm. Beaming, she turned and gestured to Nysin. “Come on. We’ve got to get your burden up to the Citadel.”

  With a groan, Nysin fell in and followed her. The Gatherer was a slim man, far shorter than her, but around the same size and weight as Nysin. The Indomitable trainee was soon sweating profusely and cursing up a storm as he staggered beneath his burden.

  Finally, Issa could take it no longer. With a growl, she lifted the man from Nysin’s shoulders and slung him over her own. She had to stifle a grunt—the Gatherer was heavier than he looked. By the time they passed the Defender’s Tier level of the Crypts, her leg muscles blazed and a dull ache had settled into her back.

  “Let me,” Nysin said from beside her, his voice quiet.

  Issa shot him a glare. “I’ve had enough of your moaning,” she said through clenched teeth.

  Nysin met her gaze without hesitation. “The faster we get him to Lady Callista, the faster we get answers,” he replied simply.

  After a moment, Issa relented and passed her trussed-up burden to him. The respite had done Nysin good; he struggled up the hill at a steady pace, his curses confined to the occasional snarl at the man slung over his shoulders.

  As Issa hurried up the incline toward the Keeper’s Tier, worry nagged at the back of her mind. The climb was taking too long—they’d sacrificed an hour to reach the Gatherers’ hiding place, and she’d lose at least another hour to the task of delivering her prisoner. Sunrise wasn’t far off; she had to get back to Briana and her comrades to procure the information Lady Callista needed and get it to the palace before noon.

  Yet that necessity didn’t make the threat of the Gatherers any less serious. The cultists had been stirring up trouble in Shalandra for months, according to Lady Callista, and had even abducted Lady Briana. If they had allies in the Necroseti and the palace itself, they truly were a menace that had to be dealt with at once. Delivering this prisoner to the Lady of Blades could lead to the downfall of the death-worshippers once and for all.

  We’ve just got to get him there!

  Relief washed over her as she heard the clank of armor. A moment later, a patrol of Indomitables came into view, marching down the incline toward them.

  “Hey!” Issa waved her arms to get their attention.

  The patrol rushed toward her, clearly recognizing her armor and the huge sword still gripped in her hands. “Yes, sir?” His eyes snapped from her to Nysin in his bloodstained armor and the bound and gagged man slung over his shoulder.

  “I need two of you to come with me,” Issa commanded, channeling her best impression of Tannard. “The rest, get to the Crucible of Fortune. Archateros Hykos will explain everything.”

  They glanced at their Dictator, a strong-featured man with broad shoulders and a thick nose to match. But her assertive tone and her status as a Keeper’s Blade—they couldn’t know she was a trainee—swayed the decision in her favor.

  The Dictator snapped a salute. “Konner and Taya, with the Blade.” At his order, a young-looking man and a middle-aged, compact woman detached from the patrol. “To the Crucible!”

  Issa didn’t wait to watch the patrol jog downhill; she turned to the two recruits. “Help Nysin with our prisoner,” she told the thickly built Taya. “We need to get him to the Citadel of Stone at once.”

  Nysin gave a little groan as the woman lifted the Gatherer and slung him over his shoulder like a half-empty sack of grain. “Yes, sir.”

  “Double time!”

  They set off at a fast pace, the Indomitables’ armor clanking in time with their pounding feet. As soon as Issa saw Taya slowing beneath the burden, she paused to switch the prisoner to Konner’s shoulders. A sense of urgency, accompanied by exhilaration and excitement, drove her onward and pushed back her fatigue.

  Four Keeper’s Blades stood guard at the gate that led from the Keeper’s Crypts into the Citadel of Stone. Their eyes narrowed wide at the sight of Issa and the Indomitables with their prisoner.

  “I need to get into the palace now,” Issa shouted. “Lady Callista’s expecting me.”

  The guards made way for her without question.

  Issa’s gut clenched as she caught sight of the first rays of dawn peeking over the eastern cliff. She’d lost more time than she thought. She had to get the Gatherer to Lady Callista and get back to Briana.

  She quickened her pace and led the Indomitables through the Citadel’s interior toward the north wing. Though the Indomitables stared with wide-eyed wonder at the legendary fortress of the Keeper’s Blades, they matched her pace without fail.

  Issa halted at the passage that led into the palace and turned to face the Indomitables. “Thank you,” she told Konner and Taya with a nod. They responded in kind.

  Issa lifted the prisoner from Konner’s shoulders and slung him over her own, careful of the spikes protruding from her armor’s pauldron.

  “Return to your company, with the thanks of Lady Callista and the Elders of the Blades.�
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  With a smart salute, the two Indomitables turned and marched east, in the direction of the Citadel’s front gate.

  With Nysin in tow, Issa hurried up the passage and into the Palace of Golden Eternity, her boots ringing on the stone floors. Her grip tightened on her prisoner with every step, just as the nervous tension tightened in her stomach.

  The two Keeper’s Blades guarding Lady Callista’s office stiffened at her approach, but their eyes widened as they caught sight of her burden and they leapt to open the door.

  The Lady of Blades’ office was lit by a single candle on the huge desk, the woman herself stretched out across a small folding cot in the side of the room. Yet she leapt up, instantly awake and alert, hand on the hilt of her greatsword, as Issa strode into the room.

  Issa grinned and dumped her prisoner on the floor. “I’ve come with a present.”

  “You found them?” Lady Callista’s eyes widened a fraction as she stared down at the bound and gagged Gatherer.

  “Inside the Keeper’s Crypts, near the Crucible of Fortune.”

  The Lady of Blades swore. “No wonder we haven’t been able to locate them.”

  “We did now.” Issa shot her a fierce grin. “A…mutual acquaintance tracked them into the Crypts, and we just raided their hiding place. Hykos is there now, along with most of my Indomitables and another patrol. Reinforcements should be on the way.” She nudged her prisoner with a boot. “He’s the only one who made it out alive, and we got to him before he could take his poison.”

  “Good.” Lady Callista smiled, a fierce, predatory grin, like a cat with freshly sharpened claws standing over a particularly portly mouse. “By the time we’re done with him, the Gatherers will have nowhere left to hide.”

  She looked up at Issa. “Well done.”

  There it was again, that strange expression, the one that only crossed her face when she stared at Issa. She didn’t understand its significance, but it reminded her a great deal of her grandmother. Saba had looked at her like that the first time she’d made a batch of date cakes without burning them. In this case, Issa supposed it was the pride a commander felt when one of their subordinates matched or exceeded expectations.

  And Issa found that feeling absolutely wonderful.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Killian moved with speed that surprised Evren, given his bulk and lame leg. He snatched Evren’s shirt, hauled him inside, and slammed the door in the space of a heartbeat

  Not a moment too soon. Twin thunks sounded from the door and broad crossbow bolt heads punched their way through the wood, their sharp tips stopping mere inches from Evren’s head.

  Killian’s hands flew as he shot the deadbolt, secured the latch, and replaced the two chains.

  “Idiots!” Annat’s voice drifted in through the single window set into the wall beside the door. “Go! Bring the supplies, and hurry! If they won’t come out, we’ll—”

  Evren didn’t get a chance to hear the rest of the thug’s tirade, for he was seized by the collar and shoved against the wall.

  “You fool!” Killian’s eyes blazed and he pressed a black-bladed dagger to Evren’s throat. “You led them right to me.”

  “No!” Evren didn’t dare shake his head for fear of the sharp blade dangerously close to severing his jugular vein. “They didn’t see me. I got Serias to hiding, then slipped through their watchers unseen. The guy I took down didn’t even get a good look at…” He trailed off, a sinking feeling in his gut, as he realized the truth.

  The unconscious thug had been as clear as a signpost proclaiming which way he’d gone. Though he’d taken pains to shake pursuers, he’d been in such a hurry to warn Killian and get back to the others that he had screwed up.

  “Damn it!” Killian growled and released his collar, lowering the blade. “All my precautions for nothing, thanks to you!”

  “Serias is also alive, thanks to me!” Evren snapped, his fists clenching. “And, let’s not forget that I came here to warn you that the Syndicate was coming for you. Which is more than you did for me or the others.”

  “The others?” Confusion clouded Killian’s anger.

  “Briana and her bodyguards.” Anger simmered bright and hot in Evren’s chest. “The least you could have done is let us know that the Ybrazhe were watching their house and sending word to the Gatherers.”

  Killian’s eyes narrowed. “You’re certain?”

  Now it was Evren’s turn to be confused. He didn’t know? Since the moment they’d met, Killian had always had information. He’d appeared so savvy, so in control with his finger on the city’s pulse. Yet Snarth’s betrayal had proven that he wasn’t as well-connected as he wanted people to believe.

  “That’s how I found the Ybrazhe hiding out in the mill,” Evren said. “I followed their watcher from Briana’s house and heard Annat telling the fellow to send word to ‘those idiots in the tombs’ of Briana’s whereabouts.”

  “Damn!” Killian clenched his fists. “So the Gatherers are working with the Syndicate, as you said.”

  “Congratulations to me for putting the pieces together.” Evren growled. “That information’s going to be useless if we can’t get out of here.” He slipped toward the window and peered out.

  Annat stood in the street, shouting orders Evren couldn’t hear at his men. Evren’s gut clenched as a trio of thugs strode toward them. The flaming torches and clay jugs in their hands could only mean more trouble.

  “Tell me you’ve a back way out,” he barked at Killian. “Some clever way to escape.” He scanned the room: a large square chamber strewn with comfortable couches and cots, with a small door off to one side that led to a storage room. Evren caught sight of an old man huddled in the shadows of the back room. Five men and women, all wearing headbands of Zadii white, lay stretched out on the couches and cots, dazed and entranced by the thick clouds of smoke that emanated from the pipes at their lips.

  “Not this time.” Killian’s voice was grim. “There’s only one way in and out of the Smokehouse. Deadeners tend to get paranoid; call it a side effect of their poison of choice.”

  “Which begs the question, what exactly are you doing in a place like this?” Evren shot a sardonic glance at the blacksmith. “If I’m going to die trapped in an opiate den, I’d like to know why.”

  “Information.” Killian met his gaze. “On Councilor Angrak. Turns out he’s connected to the Ybrazhe—he’s the owner of that damned house on the Cultivator’s Tier. Then I find out he’s being elected to the Council and kicked out Suroth’s daughter, which gets me thinking of what the Council wants from him. A bit of digging and I find out he’s been falsifying the records of the shipments he sends north. Only one reason to do that.”

  “Shalanite,” Evren finished.

  “Damn right!” Killian’s brow furrowed. “And I even got my hands on some proof. By itself, a sample of shalanite dust scraped up from one of Angrak’s wagons won’t do much, but—”

  “But if we can put it together with more pieces, it might be useful.” Evren’s head bobbed. “But that doesn’t explain what you’re doing here!”

  Killian shrugged. “I came to speak to a Reckoner about a forged document. Shame that he chooses tonight to stay in his temple.”

  “You have proof that Angrak owns the house the Ybrazhe were staying in and the sample of the shalanite, yes?” Evren asked.

  Killian nodded. “Someplace safe.”

  “Good, then let’s get the hell out of here.” Evren turned back toward the window. That might prove easier said than done, given the number of Syndicate thugs outside had risen to nearly a score.

  “Killian!” Annat stood at the head of his thugs, a bared short sword in his hand. “Save us all time and come out. You and that boy of yours. Do that, and I’ll let your Mumblers live. Hell, I’ll even recruit them to the Syndicate myself. That way, you can die knowing they won’t starve.”

  “You do know that stone walls don’t burn well, right?” Killian called back.
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  “Maybe, but thatch sure does.” Annat grinned and hefted a clay jug. “Especially with the right fuel. Then again, someone worked hard to make this oil, and I’d hate to waste it when you could just surrender and put an end to this here and now.”

  “Wouldn’t that be nice?” Killian snorted. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll take my chances inside here.”

  “Suit yourself.” Annat shrugged. “Light it up, lads.”

  Evren whirled on Killian. “You know we’ll die from the smoke before the flames reach us, right?” Back in Vothmot, he’d come dangerously close to dying in an eerily similar predicament—only the Mistress’ luck had enabled him to get out in time. “Plus, there are all these people who will die, too.”

  Killian nodded. “I know. I won’t give the bastards a chance.”

  To Evren’s stunned surprise, he bent and unfastened the brace from around his left leg. With deft fingers, he snapped the various pieces together in a new configuration. Evren’s eyes widened as the man straightened and hefted a weapon that looked like three long rods attached by steel cables.

  The blacksmith smiled at Evren’s dumbfounded expression. “I’m full of surprises. Like this.” He drew a long, thin object from within his clothes. Twin arms snapped out from the long, straight body, and Evren found himself staring at a handheld crossbow like the one the Mumblers had pointed at him in Killian’s forge. The stock of the crossbow actually opened and a spring-loaded mechanism set a tiny bolt into the cradle.

  Killian shot him a glance. “Ready?”

  Evren nodded. He reached for his throwing dagger, only to find his bracer empty. Damn it! His mind flashed back to the moment he’d hurled the blade at the thug aiming a crossbow out of The Banded Brothers’ window at Kodyn’s back. I forgot to get the throwing dagger he promised. Cursing, he drew his jambiya. He’d have to go for close-quarters combat without the advantage of a ranged weapon to take down an enemy.