Briana’s fingers moved through the silent hand gestures that spelled out the words, as if trying to remember if her mute father had spelled out the word. Suroth, like all Secret Keepers, had had his tongue cut out upon joining the Mistress’ order. He’d communicated with Briana through movements of his hands and fingers—a language Briana had taught her and Kodyn on their journey south.
“Yes,” Briana finally said, a hint of confidence echoing in her voice. “Definitely shaman.”
“Thank you!” Aisha laughed, and suddenly the stark room with its bare stone walls, plain wooden desk and chair, and sparse furnishings seemed so much brighter, the shadows retreating. “The word ‘shaman’ comes from the Issai, our neighbors to the west. It means ‘those who influence the spirits’.” She grinned. “A lot easier for you southerners to pronounce than Umoyahlebe.”
Hailen snorted. “I’ll say!”
“Where do I find him?” Aisha asked.
Briana gave her instructions on how to find the shaman’s store in the Foreign Quarter, located on Shalandra’s second lowest level, the Cultivator’s Tier.
“Thank you.” This time, it was Aisha who threw her arms around Briana and pulled her close. The Shalandran girl had just given her a gift beyond measure.
She hurried toward the door—a solid stone slab that opened when she pressed a dark blue gemstone set beside it—but stopped in the opening. “Oh.”
“What is it?” Briana asked.
Aisha turned slowly, the burden settling on her shoulders once more. “I can’t leave you.”
Confusion twisted Briana’s face. “What? Why not?”
“I need to protect you, remember?” Aisha forced a smile and stepped away from the door. “Until Kodyn gets back, I—”
“No!” Briana’s sharp word cut her off. “Absolutely not. There’s no way I’m going to let you pass up this opportunity just because you feel obligated to protect me. You need to focus on you right now.”
Aisha opened her mouth to protest, but Briana drove on.
“Look around us.” With one slim hand, she gestured toward the stark chamber of solid golden sandstone. “We’re in the Temple of Whispers, very likely one of the safest places in all of Shalandra. The Secret Keepers are my father’s friends and allies, and they’re more than capable of protecting me.”
“Besides,” Hailen put in, “she’s got me.” He drew his dagger and gripped it tight in a combat-ready stance, a fierce expression on his face.
“He’s right.” Briana gave the young boy a dazzling smile that brought a flush of pride to his face. “Hailen’s more than capable of keeping me safe until you or Kodyn return. And we’re going to be studying my father’s journals. What sort of danger can we really get into here?”
Aisha wanted to argue—they’d thought the same thing when Briana had been stripped of her Dhukari rank and evicted from her mansion to live in a two-story hovel just east of the Temple District. The Gatherers had come for her there, likely in an attempt to steal Suroth’s journal and the Serenii artifacts that they believed could bring on the Final Destruction written about in an ancient prophecy.
Yet she knew the argument would be foolish. She was one warrior amidst a temple of well-trained Secret Keepers. Arch-Guardian Suroth had singlehandedly slain nine Gatherers with his bare hands. It was hubris to think that she could do a better job of protecting Briana than Ennolar, Uryan, and the rest of the priests that had respected and loved Suroth.
“You’re sure?” she asked after a long moment.
“Go!” Briana and Hailen said in unison.
Briana waved toward the door. “You’ve given everything to help the rest of us. Now it’s time for you to focus on yourself.” She stepped closer and rested a hand on Aisha’s forearm. “I may not understand this Spirit Whisperer power, but I promise that I will do everything I can to help you. Including studying the Whispering Lily and finding a way to combat its side effects. The first chance I get, I’m going to demand Ennolar brings me a sample of the plant so I can start working on it while Hailen helps me decipher my father’s journal.”
A wave of warmth flooded Aisha. She had told Briana about the Whispering Lily—called the Keeper’s Spike or Watcher’s Bloom by the Einari—and how it enhanced her ability to speak to and, it seemed, channel the Kish’aa. But its potency came with consequences. Prolonged use of the plant had shattered her father’s mind, leaving him little more than an empty husk of flesh while his mind roamed the world of the spirits. Briana had promised to find a solution for the problem, but had been so consumed by her father’s death and her own survival that she hadn’t had a chance.
Until now.
Aisha threw her arms around the girl once more and squeezed her tight. “Thank you,” she whispered into Briana’s ear.
Briana’s beaming smile and Hailen’s lopsided grin burned in her mind as she raced out of the Temple of Whispers to find the Ghandian shaman.
Chapter Four
A hand shook Kodyn roughly awake. “She’ll see you now.”
Kodyn jerked upright, his eyes snapping open. He took in the room at a glance—the dusty wooden bar that stretched across the western side of the taproom; the bland, spartan décor that consisted of one faded green tapestry and an oil painting that looked to have been the work of a five year old; the grizzled, one-eyed bartender wiping filthy glasses with a slightly less filthy rag; the rickety wooden tables and chairs broken in bar fights and mended far too many times; the equally ragged-looking patrons sitting silent, tired, and hunched over their mugs of ale and steaming bowls of watery soup.
His gaze rose to the owner of the hand: a bearded, bald-headed man with a red Earaqi headband and the broad shoulders, arms, and fingers of a carter. Likely the bouncer, yet in this case, the man who would bring Kodyn to the Black Widow.
Kodyn scrambled to his feet, blinking sleep from his eyes. Damn it! How the hell could I have fallen asleep in a place like this? Sleeping or unconscious patrons at flophouses like this tended to awaken with far lighter purses than they’d fallen asleep with—if they were lucky.
Yet the coins in his pocket mattered little to Kodyn. Master Serpent, his mentor and trainer in the Night Guild, would rebuke him for the lapse in his attention. Shalandra was full of enemies that could strike at any moment. Something as ridiculous as falling asleep in the quiet, dark booth at the rear of The Laborer’s Rest could prove a fatal mistake.
He glanced out the window and found the sun had already begun dipping toward the horizon. Has it really been nearly three hours waiting?
He’d contacted the Black Widow’s people less than half an hour after the assassination of Councilor Angrak, the traitorous Necroseti priest. Their response to come and wait for her in the taproom on the Cultivator’s Tier had confirmed the suspicions he’d shared with Evren the previous day. The Ybrazhe’s attempt to kill the Black Widow had led to the death of a woman who spoke in place of the spymistress, but not the Black Widow herself. Kodyn had little doubt he was about to meet another of the Black Widow’s false faces.
Yet the waiting, coupled with a drink of strong black liquor and the heart-pounding urgency of the previous days and nights, had lulled him to sleep. He counted himself lucky that he’d awoken unharmed, his throat un-slit, his purse full, and his body surprisingly refreshed.
People are probably too busy dealing with the aftermath of the Ybrazhe and Gatherer attack on the Artisan’s Tier, not to mention Angrak’s assassination.
He couldn’t deal with all the problems at once, so he’d leave the matter of the Syndicate thugs and the bloodthirsty cultists to Lady Callista, Issa, the Keeper’s Blades, and the Indomitables. With Briana and Aisha safely ensconced in the Temple of Whispers, Kodyn could focus on the thing he alone could do: track down the assassin that had killed Councilor Angrak.
The strong-arm led him through a pair of swinging wooden doors and into a back hallway. This time, Kodyn didn’t end up on the second floor, but in a room adjacent to the noisy, bu
stling kitchen. The room was as dark as ever, yet it almost felt like a meeting place chosen in haste and poorly prepared—a necessity after the events of their last meeting with the spymistress.
Kodyn said nothing—no sense offending my host—as he stepped into the room. The door clicked shut behind him, plunging him into near-darkness. Only a single thread of light leaked through the oilcloth-covered window on the northern wall.
“Greetings, young Praamian,” said the Black Widow’s mouthpiece. Again, her voice was ageless—she could be anywhere between twenty and seventy—her body shrouded in the shadows of the room. An excellent deception, one that would fool most people.
Kodyn wasn’t most people. He had been raised by a thief—and not just any thief, but the Master of the Night Guild—and spent his life around thieves, assassins, poisoners, bounty hunters, pickpockets, and street rats. Essentially, some of the most devious, dangerous, and duplicitous men and women outside of the Praamian nobility. He had seen through the ruse on his second meeting with the Black Widow—just in time to escape before a Syndicate crossbow bolt laid him low.
But Kodyn held his peace. If the Black Widow wants to conceal her identity by using these false faces and voices, who am I to break her façade?
“State your request.” Her voice was strangely brusque, almost impatient. Given what had happened at their last meeting, he couldn’t fault her precaution. Doubtless that explained why she’d kept him waiting for hours.
“I’ve come about Councilor Angrak’s death,” he replied.
“Ah, of course.”
It took Kodyn a moment to realize the Black Widow wasn’t about to say more, but waited for him to speak. “I saw the assassin that killed him,” he said quickly.
“What?” Genuine surprise echoed in the woman’s voice. Her tone grew rough and demanding. “You’re certain?”
“Yes.” Kodyn nodded, a useless gesture given the darkness of the room. “I spotted him on the roof of a Dhukari mansion overlooking the Path of Gold, a moment before he fired the crossbow bolt that killed Councilor Angrak.”
“How odd that you alone saw him.” The Black Widow’s mouthpiece spoke with a dangerous edge in her tone. “I have it on good authority that the Keeper’s Blades only found evidence of his presence a full hour after the fact.”
It almost sounds like she suspects me. He drew in a calming breath and restrained his desire to snap a sharp retort. With effort, he kept the irritation from his voice. “Let’s just say I’ve spent enough time on the rooftops to know my way around.”
When the Black Widow spoke, only a hint of distrust remained. “So tell me, Praamian, what did this assassin look like?”
“I didn’t get a good look at him,” Kodyn said. “But he was clean-shaven and had a bright red birthmark covering the right side of his face.”
“Bright red, you say?” the woman hissed.
“Yes,” Kodyn answered, confident. “I’m certain of it.”
“Indeed.” The woman’s tone grew musing, and a long silence stretched before she spoke again. “There is only one man who fits that description. Add to that the fact that he used a crossbow, and there is no doubt in my mind that you are speaking of Handsome.”
“Handsome?” Kodyn stifled a snort. Definitely the last name I’d expect for an assassin.
Most of the killers he’d heard of outside the Night Guild had chosen names intended to strike fear into the hearts of their victims. Names like Bloodfist, Chmilenk Ironclaw, or Sheltyn the Raven. The name of the Hunter of Voramis connoted a ruthless inexorability that fit the man’s personality to perfection. “Handsome” seemed like a strange moniker.
“So where do I find this Handsome?” he asked, trying not to chuckle.
“If you’re wise, you don’t.” The Black Widow’s voice held a dry edge. “People who go looking for Handsome have a tendency to turn up dead.”
“Wisdom’s overrated.” Kodyn grinned into the darkness. “Sometimes, the only way to accomplish anything is to take risks that appear foolish.”
“And get yourself killed in the process.”
Kodyn had had enough. “Listen, Councilor Angrak’s death means that my friends are still in danger. If I can find this damned assassin and find out who hired him to kill the Councilor, it means I’ve got a chance of putting away the people that are out to get us. If you don’t want to help me, just say so and I’ll go find Handsome myself. Otherwise, stop wasting my time and tell me what I need to know.”
Tirade ended, Kodyn suddenly realized what he’d just done. He’d just lashed out at one of the most powerful people in Shalandra, the woman that was giving him permission to operate freely on the streets she sought to control. If anyone had spoken to his mother that way, the Guild Master would have ordered him flogged, beaten, or simply disemboweled the disrespectful fool herself.
Fear coiled like a serpent in his stomach. Silence hung thick in the room, and he could almost feel the tension emanating from the woman before him.
“So be it.” Her voice was tight, yet far less infuriated than he’d anticipated. Almost as if she knew what he was getting himself into and tried to warn him, only to have him bite at her hand. He recognized that tone: his mother’s voice when he ignored her cautions and admonishments.
“You will not find Handsome tonight,” the Black Widow said through her mouthpiece. “But I can tell you where he will be at first light.”
Kodyn scarcely dared to breathe for fear she’d change her mind at his disrespect.
“Every morning, he goes to the Hall of Bounty on the Slave’s Tier to collect the daily rations for his mother, who is too sick to go herself. Yet though my people have watched his mother’s house day and night, we’ve never seen him come or go. He has proven himself dangerously elusive, all but impossible for my people to hunt down. This is the only place where we know to find him. Perhaps you will have better luck tracking him back to his lair than I have thus far.”
“Thank you,” Kodyn said, relief washing over him.
“A warning, young Praamian.” The lecturing tone returned to the woman’s voice, making her sound older than Kodyn’s mother. “Handsome is not a foe to be trifled with. If you will not heed my advice to avoid him, perhaps you will consider bringing along one of your friends, like the young Vothmoti you brought last time. An extra pair of eyes and knives may mean the difference between your success and failure.”
“I understand,” Kodyn replied.
“And whatever you do, do not let him get you in his crossbow’s sights. It is said that he does not miss his target, no matter the range.”
The ominous words sent a little shiver down Kodyn’s spine. Doubtless the assassin’s legend was exaggerated, but anyone that could instill the fear he heard echoing in the woman’s voice was certainly a man to be wary of.
“Thank you.” Kodyn bowed to the shadowy figure.
“Thank me by remaining alive,” the Black Widow’s mouthpiece said. “And, if you do manage to find out who hired Handsome, I expect you will repay my information in kind.”
“Of course.”
Silence was his only answer. He waited a full minute just to be certain the woman had left—and to give her time to leave via whatever bolt-hole or secret door she had installed in the chamber. A professional courtesy from one thief to another.
Suddenly, he remembered. Suroth’s purse!
He reached a hand into the pocket of his Guild-made cloak and drew out the small cloth purse the Arch-Guardian had instructed him to give to the Black Widow days ago. Between the dulling effects of sleep and his irritation at the woman’s reticence, he’d completely forgotten to give it to her.
Damn it!
He’d have to set up another meeting once he was done tracking down Handsome. He could deliver Suroth’s gift at the same time as he brought information on who had hired the assassin.
Slipping the purse into his pocket, he turned and retreated up the hall and into the taproom. Few of the patrons in The Laborer�
��s Rest paid him heed—the Earaqi were too busy drinking after a hard day out in the fields.
Outside, the afternoon light bathed the Cultivator’s Tier in a soft red-orange glow, tinged with a hint of the gold that heralded sunset. The first hints of the evening chill hung in the air, and the streets were packed with laborers returning from long days in the southern fields.
A fierce grin broadened Kodyn’s lips as he slipped into the early evening crowd. Time to go hunting an assassin!
Chapter Five
The light of the setting sun washed across Kellas’ still, silent corpse—the reddish-gold hue served to highlight the pallor of the dead Blade’s skin.
The last of the Keeper’s Priests had departed, their lengthy process of embalming Kellas’ body for entombment hastened by Lady Callista’s furious glares. Now, Kellas lay in state on the sandstone altar, fully armored, his crossed arms clasping the hilt of his two-handed flammard to his chest. He was ready to join the fallen Keeper’s Blades in guarding the Tomb of Hallar for eternity.
The Chamber of Absolution, set in the highest tower in the Citadel, was the diametric opposite to the towertop sanctuary in the Hall of the Beyond. It was plain, free of any ornamentation that could detract from the solemn purpose of the chamber. The only adornment in the room was the golden sandstone from which the keep had been carved.
Floor-to-ceiling windows of glass let in the sunlight, offering the fallen Blade one final view of the city he had sworn to protect. Hallar’s stern face, carved into the mountain high above the Palace of Golden Eternity, paid silent farewell to the warrior that died in service of Shalandra.
Here, the Keeper’s Blades received their final farewell.
A score of Keeper’s Blades stood solemn vigil around the altar. Their faces were hard and expressionless as the block of sandstone beneath the Dhukari youth’s body. Though Kellas hadn’t been a fully anointed Blade, Lady Callista had declared that he would receive a full burial alongside the other Keeper’s Blades that guarded the Tomb of Hallar. As the sun set behind the western cliff, he would join the other heroes of centuries long past in silent vigil before Shalandra’s most sacred memorial.
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