Heirs of Destiny Box Set

by Andy Peloquin

  Steel flashed past his shoulder and buried into the Gatherer’s chest. The impact hurled the man backward, sending him crashing into the fifth and final cultist. Kodyn stared wide-eyed at the two men that had been about to kill him, eyes fixed on the familiar dagger hilt embedded between the nearest one’s ribs.

  Evren leapt past him in that instant and drove his boot into the unwounded Gatherer’s face. The man’s head struck stone with a wet crunch and he lay still.

  “Let’s go!” Evren hissed. He paused only long enough to tear his dagger free of the dead Gatherer before he hurried on, Hailen beside him.

  Kodyn sucked in a deep breath and suddenly found he could move. He blinked once to clear the wool from his head and the chill from his veins. His arms and legs were strangely heavy—leaden from the realization that he’d come within a heartbeat of dying. A strange feeling, one he’d never truly experienced before. Evren’s quick intervention had been the only thing to prevent his death.

  The sight of Briana’s pale face and round eyes snapped him back to reality. Right now, there was much more at stake than his own mortality. Aisha, his best friend and constant companion. Briana, the brave young woman he’d grown so fond of over the past weeks. He wasn’t fighting for himself or the prospect of wealth, as he had his entire life. He fought for them.

  On he ran, grim resolve strengthening his muscles. His heart pounded against his ribs, his legs burned, and his lungs begged for air, but he refused to slow. They had to reach safety before the Gatherers discovered them.

  Angry shouts echoed from the streets behind them. “Don’t let them escape!” came the cry.

  Kodyn risked a glance over his shoulder. What he saw sent his heart plummeting into his stomach. Gatherers, scores of them, boiled out of the alleys onto the Artificer’s Courseway. Their dark robes, patchwork leather armor, and bared short swords marked them as clearly as the tattoos inked on their forearms and the fanatical zeal in their eyes.

  The time for stealth had passed.

  “Run!” he shouted. Grabbing Briana’s hand, he broke into a run. The girl somehow managed to draw on hidden reserves of strength, trying her best to match his pace though she gasped for air.

  Fury boiled within Kodyn’s chest as more Gatherers spilled out from the streets just ahead and to the north of them. Yet Evren rushed the cultists, a whirlwind of flying fists and daggers. The first Gatherers to reach the Artificer’s Courseway staggered beneath the onslaught and fell back, wounded, bleeding, and dying. For a brief instant, they blocked the way for their comrades—just long enough for Kodyn, Aisha, and Briana to race past. In the rear, the heavily-armored Etai swung her huge sword at any Gatherer that drew too close.

  The ferocity of the assault threw the Gatherers back and cleared the way for the six of them to race toward the Temple District. His limbs grew suddenly lighter, his strength renewed as he caught sight of the marble pillars of the Sanctuary, the sandstone obelisk to the Swordsman. Beyond them, like a beacon shining in the darkest night, stood the squat stone Temple of Whispers.

  We’re almost there!

  “Help us!” Evren’s voice rang out. “The Gatherers are attacking!”

  Two Warrior Priests, servants of Derelana, goddess of vengeance, charged from their post in front of their temple and waded into the fray. Their long swords and splinted mail gave them a fighting chance against the Gatherers, and anger creased their tattooed faces into snarls of rage. Yet their attack slowed only a handful of the cultists. Within moments, they, too, found themselves fighting a desperate battle against foes that far outnumbered them.

  White-robed Ministrants stared in wide-eyed shock at them as they hurtled past the temple to the Bright Lady, Goddess of healing. Their surprise turned to fear as they caught sight of the tide of armed figures pounding up the street behind them.

  Kodyn scanned the Temple District for anyone else that could help them. He nearly wept as a patrol of black-armored Indomitables appeared from the west. Ten strong, well-armed men in heavy armor and carrying sheathed khopeshes. Nowhere near enough to take on the Gatherers, but their presence gave Kodyn and his friends a fighting chance.

  The sight of the guards made the cultists hesitate a heartbeat, their furious pursuit slowing. Kodyn and the others never slowed in their flight. The lead widened just enough for them to race the short distance to the Temple of Whispers.

  “Sanctuary!” Evren yelled, breathless. “Protect the daughter of Arch-Guardian Suroth.”

  Two brown-robed Secret Keepers stood guard in front of the squat building with its huge vault door. Their eyes flew wide as they caught sight of the flood of Gatherers spilling into the Temple District. The moment their gazes fell on Briana, their expressions darkened to fierce scowls. One of the two priests darted past them, adopting a bare-handed fighting stance to guard the path up to the temple. The second Secret Keeper heaved open the door. Too slowly. Etai, Kodyn, and Evren lent a hand until the heavy steel barrier swung wide enough for them to spill into the temple.

  The two Secret Keepers remained outside until all of them were safe, then hurried to slam the huge vault door closed. A clash of steel and cries of “For Shalandra!” echoed in the instant before a massive boom shook the temple’s interior and all sounds of life outside were cut off.

  Panting, arms trembling, Kodyn doubled over his knees and tried to breathe through the fire burning in his legs. Yet shaky laughter burst from his throat as he slid to the ground. By the Long Keeper, we bloody made it!

  They were safe in the Temple of Whispers.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Issa’s eyes followed the two Blades that dragged the struggling, bound Gatherer from Lady Callista’s office. She desperately wanted to be present to hear what the cultist had to say, yet duty called. She had to return to Briana’s side—she needed to get whatever information Kodyn had obtained on Councilor Angrak and make certain it reached the right people in time. The sun was rising fast and noon would be upon them all too quickly.

  “My lady, with your permission, I must return to relieve Etai.” She shot Lady Callista a meaningful look. “By the Keeper’s grace, we will have everything we need.” Her eyes darted to Nysin, who stood beside her. She felt fairly certain she could trust the Indomitable, but refused to take any chances so close to victory.

  “Of course.” Callista Vinaus gave a dismissive wave. “I will be awaiting word from you.” A fierce light shone in her eyes. “My Blades are standing ready the moment I give the command.”

  Issa smiled at the mental image of a company of Keeper’s Blades descending on the Council and clapping them in irons. With a bow, Issa turned smartly on her heel and marched from the Lady of Blades’ office.

  Nysin matched her pace as she hurried through the Palace of Golden Eternity and down the tunnel that connected to the Citadel of Stone. Just before stepping into the Citadel’s north wing, she whirled on Nysin, seized his breastplate, and pressed him against the wall.

  “I will have your solemn oath,” she growled in a low voice, “that nothing you saw or heard in there will be repeated to anyone, not even Enyera, Rilith, anyone.”

  Confusion twisted Nysin’s face. “What are you talking about? There was nothing—”

  “Swear it!” Issa growled. “On your eternity in the Long Keeper’s arms!” A solemn oath, one few in Shalandra would ever break.

  After a moment, Nysin threw up his hands. “I swear! On my eternity in the Long Keeper’s arms.”

  “Good.” Issa released him with a nod. She’d been careful not to say anything specific that could get back to the Keeper’s Council, but she wouldn’t take any chances. “Now let’s get back to our post. Sentinel Imale will learn of the role you played in our victory today.”

  Nysin’s face seemed torn between a scowl at her behavior and a grin at her praise. “Thank you, sir.”

  Without another word, Issa turned and strode down the hall. It took Nysin a moment to recover before he fell in behind her. She pretended not to hear
him muttering under his breath.

  She hurried through the Citadel of Stone and cut across the training yard, taking the fastest route to the western edge of the fortress. An anxious glance at the sky revealed the sun had cleared the eastern cliff—it would be around the eighth hour of the morning. She had four hours to get to Briana and the others, collect the information, and get back to the palace. It would be a close thing but she could manage it.

  Still, she gave in to the urge that told her to speed up. Her boots rang off the stone floor as she marched quick-time toward the entrance to the Keeper’s Crypts. The two Blades on duty shot her and Nysin a curious glance, but said nothing about the absence of their burden. Like all Blades, they knew that much went on that they wouldn’t be privy to—like any good organization, the servants of the Long Keeper were compartmentalized according to their respective duties. Secrecy often proved crucial for the good of Shalandra.

  A sense of urgency thrummed within her as they descended toward the Defender’s Tier, then the Artisan’s Tier below it. She wanted to be certain Hykos and her Indomitable trainees were safe, but couldn’t afford the delay. Her mission to help Briana bring down the Keeper’s Council beckoned to her.

  She had just reached the Artisan’s Tier when the pounding of booted feet and clanking armor echoed through the Keeper’s Crypts. Her muscles tensed, her senses immediately on full alert, and her pulse pounded in her ears as she caught sight of a patrol of Indomitables hurrying east, out of the tombs and away from the Gatherers’ hideout.

  “What’s going on?” Issa called. She caught sight of an Indomitable officer at the head of the column and raced toward him. “Dictator, what’s happening?”

  “Gatherers are attacking the Temple District!” the officer said. “Scores of them!”

  A dagger of fear drove into Issa’s gut. In that moment, she knew the truth. They’re not attacking the temples. They’re after Briana.

  Her breath caught in her lungs and a fist of iron squeezed at her heart. She’d been so determined to hunt down the Gatherers’ hideout and bring the captured cultist to Lady Callista that she’d discounted Aisha’s words. She hadn’t truly eliminated all of them—the hundreds Aisha had estimated. Her failure had put Briana and her companions—and the invaluable evidence against Angrak that they’d collected—in danger.

  “Get back to Hykos and your company by the Crucible,” she commanded Nysin as she turned toward the exit.

  “Where are you going?” he called after her.

  “To do my job!”

  She broke into a run, legs and arms pumping, and flew past the Indomitable patrol. There was no time to wait for reinforcements. She had to get to the temples before it was too late.

  Please don’t let me be too late! A silent plea to the Long Keeper. He had chosen her to serve him, to protect the people of Shalandra. She wouldn’t fail him—or Lady Callista, who had placed her faith in Issa; or Briana and the others, who trusted her to help protect them—in this task.

  She barreled through the streets, anxiety setting every muscle in her body ablaze. Fatigue from the last day and night’s exertions dragged at her, slowed her down. Yet she gritted her teeth and stumbled on despite the weight pulling on her limbs. She had to get to the Zadii before the Gatherers killed her. Not only because of the incriminating evidence she might have. Issa genuinely felt a sense of duty to protect Briana. The girl had lost her parents—her mother in childbirth, her father in defense of the Pharus. Issa had never known her own father or mother. The pain could never truly compare to the sorrow Briana must be dealing with at her losses, but she could commiserate with the girl.

  Her blood ran cold as she caught sight of the furious combat swirling on the Artificer’s Courseway, right in front of the Secret Keeper’s temple. Three patrols of Indomitables in full armor formed a solid wall of steel against nearly twice their number of Gatherers. The Indomitables bore no shields—their skill, strength, and armor were their only defenses against their enemies.

  Even as she raced toward the melee, Issa could see the right flank was about to collapse. The outermost Indomitables were about to be overrun, Gatherers charging around them to strike from the behind. Reinforcements would never arrive in time.

  A shout burst from Issa’s lips. “For Shalandra!” She threw herself into the mass of Gatherers attacking the right flank. Her blow, backed by the full force of her charge and the weight of her armor, lifted a man from his feet and hurled him into the two cultists behind him. The three fell to the ground in a pile, arms and limbs entangled. She drove her sword into one man’s chest, shoving until it punched out of his back and into the chest of the man beneath him. Ripping her sword free, she finished off the third Gatherer with a vicious thrust that transfixed his neck and severed his spine.

  With a roar, she waded into the melee. Her sword cut huge swaths through the ranks of Gatherers, hewing flesh and shattering bone with every blow. The cultists that tried to charge her, overwhelm her through sheer numbers, died beneath the keen edge of her black steel blade. Those that tried to flee were cut down from behind without mercy.

  The sounds of combat echoed all around her: men screaming, grunting, groaning, crying, shouting; blades clashing on blades, sparking off black armor, or thunking into flesh. Blood ran thick on the golden sandstone streets as the Gatherers fell. But not alone. More than a few black-armored corpses joined the ranks of the fallen.

  Issa pressed deeper into the ranks of enemies, striking in all directions with her flammard. The blade laid open throats, severed limbs, hacked off heads, or punched through leather armor and the flesh beneath. The short swords of her enemies bounced off her Shalandran steel armor, ineffective as a summer breeze beating against Alshuruq’s mighty slopes.

  Then Issa saw it, the moment that her enemy’s will shattered. Fear shone in the eyes of the Gatherer in front of her, piercing the wild zeal twisting his face into a snarl. He hesitated, stopped in his tracks, and turned to flee.

  One by one, the dark-robed men and women broke off the battle. Like the retreating tide, the Gatherers gave ground and turned to flee. They scrambled over the corpses of friend and foe in their haste to escape certain death.

  “After them!” came the shout from behind Issa. She turned to find the Dictator leading his patrol at a double-time march toward the line. “Don’t let the bastards escape!”

  He and his Indomitables gave chase, joined by a few of the unwounded soldiers from their line. But Issa knew it would be fruitless. The Gatherers still outnumbered them, and even with this fresh infusion of troops, the Dictator didn’t have anywhere near enough men to round up the fleeing cultists.

  Issa suddenly staggered, her vision swimming, arms and legs on fire with exertion. She drew in a shuddering breath and leaned on her sword until the fatigue passed and the world stilled.

  “What happened here?” she demanded of the highest-ranked officer around, a sturdy-looking Protector. “Why did the Gatherers attack the temple?” Her eyes slid east, toward the street where she knew Briana’s house stood. Was it some kind of diversion to keep us away while they went after Briana?

  “Ask Otanis here,” the Protector said. He snapped his fingers and a man with the twin vertical stripes of a Dictator stepped forward. “Tell her, Otanis.”

  “Don’t know rightly,” Otanis said, confusion twisting his bloodstained face. “We were going about our patrol as normal, when suddenly we come upon a group of these bastards flooding the Temple District. Looked like they were chasing a few youngsters.”

  “Chasing?” Issa’s heart leapt, hope surging. “What happened to them? The youngsters? Did they get away? Where did they go?” The questions surged from within her. She had to get to Briana and the others, make sure they were safe.

  “In there.” Otanis thrust a finger at the squat building that housed the priests of the Mistress. “Saw them run in the Temple of Whispers.”

  Issa nearly wept in relief. She hadn’t failed in her duty. She’d reached the
others in time—not only to help fight off the enemy, but to get their information to Lady Callista in time.

  She saluted Otanis. “Thank you, Protector!”

  Otanis returned the salute. “No, thank you, sir. You couldn’t have come at a better time.”

  “You and yours seemed to have it under control. Just thought I’d pitch in and have a bit of fun.” With a salute to the Indomitables, Issa turned and strode toward the Temple of Whispers. It took all of her self-control not to break into a run—she needed to see the others, be certain they were unharmed.

  Suddenly, it struck her why it mattered. It wasn’t just duty—she felt drawn to them in the same way that Hykos, Etai, and Lady Callista drew her. They had been kind to her, just as Hykos had been on her first day in the Keeper’s Blades. They’d drawn her, a total stranger, into their circle of trust, just as the Pharus and Callista Vinaus trusted her. And, like Etai, she sensed that strength of spirit in all of them—even Briana, who she’d once feared would be nothing more than a pampered Dhukari. In a strange way, she had started to think of them as her friends.

  She strode up to the huge steel door of the Temple of Whispers and pounded on it with a mailed fist. When no one responded, she continued hammering. Finally, a slot opened in the center of the door and two dark eyes peered out at her.

  “I’m here to protect the Arch-Guardian’s daughter.” Issa spoke in a confident voice. “Tell Briana that Issa has returned.”

  The aperture snapped shut. Issa ground her teeth, heart hammering, worry roiling within her stomach as long minutes passed in silence. On the street behind her, Ministrants from the Sanctuary hurried to help the wounded and dying—Indomitable and Gatherer alike. Traffic had already begun to flow, though the passersby gave the battleground a wide berth.