Kodyn moved carefully—very, very carefully. He couldn’t disturb anything, not so much as a hair. Being in Handsome’s lair filled him with a sense of anxiety. The sooner he finished his quick examination and got out of there, the sooner he’d breathe easy.
A small opening carved into one of the room’s stone walls let in enough natural light and fresh air to serve as a window, though it was set too high for Kodyn to see out of. Aside from the straw-tick mattress that dominated the center of the room, the only other piece of furniture visible was a weapons rack that held a pair of long swords, an Indomitable’s khopesh, and a spear taller than Kodyn.
Handsome didn’t utterly abstain from luxuries—a goosedown blanket covered his bed and a plush Al Hani rug of bright orange, red, and gold provided a dash of color to the sparse room—but he had little more than the bare essentials. He did, however, have a collection of weapons that would make Master Serpent green with envy. Most were exotic weapons gathered from all over Einan, many Kodyn recognized, some he didn’t.
Handsome’s clothing lay strewn around the floor. Simple Mahjuri shendyts lay beside formal Dhukari shawls, Alqati military garb, the rough clothes of an Earaqi laborer, even one silver-and-green robe that looked suspiciously like those worn by the Lecterns of the Master’s Temple. An assortment of headbands joined the mess. Clearly, Handsome was prepared to move among all tiers of Shalandra with the outfit and headband to match. A small jar of crushed malachite and a pouch of kohl sticks completed his disguise arsenal.
A single set of armor hung beside the weapons rack. Black steel half-plate with a spike-rimmed helm, the Indomitables’ armor looked well-worn and battered.
Was Handsome once an Indomitable? The question flashed through Kodyn’s mind. The Eirdkilr Wars had only ended two decades earlier; Handsome would be old enough to have served as a young man. That could explain both the suit of armor and his skill with a crossbow.
An assortment of dried and salted beef, pork, fish, vegetables, and even fruits stood beside clay jars that likely contained dried grains, legumes, nuts, and seeds. The stink of pickled goose rose from one glass jar, twisting Kodyn’s nose and setting his stomach lurching.
Beside the food supplies, Kodyn found a stack of wooden casks. All were quarter-casks and bloodtubs—they had to be small enough for Handsome to haul up here—and only one had any liquid remaining. The smell of stale, acidic alcohol drifted up from the stack.
Someone likes their drink. Not an uncommon habit for men in Handsome’s line of work.
Yet as Kodyn studied the casks, he found something curious about them. They’re all for wine and beer, he thought. But there’s no water here. A few glass bottles of stronger liquor, including the date-and-cinnamon uzum popular in Shalandra, lay among the wooden casks, but not a single waterskin or canteen joined their empty ranks.
Not the strangest habit—most Praamians preferred to drink beer, chiefly for flavor but often for the nutrients brewed into the thick, grain-heavy beverage. Watered wine was another popular choice, as were Voramian agor and cynar, a bittersweet Praamian drink brewed from artichokes. Yet the people of Shalandra seemed to consume primarily the water drawn from the three Wellsprings—located on the Slave’s, Artisan’s, and Keeper’s Tiers.
Handsome might have a predilection for strong drink, but every savvy alcoholic knew that water hydrated the body and minimized the risk of hangovers. In Handsome’s line of work, that would be vital.
But the off-handed thought fled as quickly as it had come. His eyes continued roving Handsome’s lair. He wasn’t searching to find the man’s drinking habits—he needed to find something that tied Handsome to the Necroseti. If he could find out which of the Keeper’s Priests had hired the assassin to kill Angrak, he could bring the evidence to Lady Callista directly.
The tightness in his shoulders mounted with every heartbeat. I’d better be quick about it. The last thing I need is for Handsome to return and find me—
The click of a crossbow’s trigger box sent icy dread coursing through Kodyn.
“Don’t you move,” growled a voice from behind him. “Hands where I can see them.”
Kodyn froze and stood perfectly still. The Black Widow’s words echoed through his mind. “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.”
“Turn around, slowly,” came the snarl.
Kodyn turned, one fraction of a step at a time, and found himself staring down the length of a crossbow bolt aimed between his eyes.
Chapter Fourteen
Surprise flickered across the faces of the eight Guardians, mirroring Evren’s own bewilderment. Poison? He hadn’t even considered such a thing.
The frown on the bald man’s face deepened as his fingers moved.
“Think about it, Ennolar,” Briana replied. “The Azure Rot has been almost exclusively confined to the Slave’s Tier, has it not?”
Again, the man’s hands conveyed a message Evren didn’t understand.
“It passed to the Cultivator’s Tier, too?” Briana asked. “That might poke a hole in my theory, but—”
She trailed off as the stern-faced, grey-haired woman spoke.
Briana translated for Evren.
“Maybe there is truth in your words.” The woman’s expression was somber. “Thimara was studying the effects of the Azure Rot, but she always took the utmost precautions to guard herself against the miasma of illness and death. She obtained a freshly made bloodstone amulet from the Trouveres.” She exchanged a disapproving glance with the Secret Keeper Briana had called Ennolar. “I’ve spent the last weeks wondering how the Rot claimed her. She was too careful to make a mistake.”
“If this is poison,” Evren said, “it might explain this latest evolution.” He had only limited knowledge of toxins, yet he’d spent enough time around Graeme and the Hunter to have picked up a few things. “All the poisoners had to do was try a new formulation, one that worked faster, and it would just be explained away as the Azure Rot.”
An idea struck him with the force of a hammer to the chest. “The Azure Rot might not even have been a disease in the first place, either!” He sucked in a breath and turned wide-eyed to Briana. “What if the Azure Rot was just an earlier version of whatever new poison is killing people now?”
The implications settled over the Guardians, and the silence grew suddenly thick, tense.
“By the Keeper!” Briana breathed. She returned Evren’s wondering look. “I think you might be right.”
The Shalandran girl turned to the Secret Keepers. “Have any of you seen the effects of the Fire Lilac?” She lifted her hands to reveal fingers stained with blue. “On its own, it’s harmless, little more than a minor itch. But my father always warned me not to let it near open wounds. If it got into my bloodstream, the effects could be fatal.” She shot Evren a triumphant grin. “And it starts with blisters similar to the Azure Rot!”
The Secret Keepers’ expressions went from speculative to pensive to astonished in the space of a heartbeat. Eight pairs of hands moved so quickly Evren couldn’t follow them all. Briana didn’t even try to translate, but the look in her eyes told Evren her mind worked at the same feverish pace. Long minutes passed in that strangely breathless silence, broken only by the sound of rustling cloth as the priests’ hands flashed.
Evren tried to work out the problem in his own mind. He didn’t know what sort of poisons could cause an outbreak like the Azure Rot—that lay far beyond his limited expertise—but he knew of only a few ways to poison so many people. Disease could spread on its own, carried in the miasma of death that rose from the bodies of the dead and dying. But poison had to be administered directly. It relied on contact: the touch of skin, water, and, most common of all, through food.
Food conceals the taste of poison, Evren realized. Whoever was trying to poison people on the Slave’s Tier could simply find a way to mix it in with the rations of grain distributed to the Mahjuri
and Kabili. It would have to be a dried poison—similar to the salt-like crystals of cyanide—but it would be a simple matter to disperse it among the grain stored in the Hall of Bounty.
Horror thrummed within him. And the people would simply line up for their daily dose of death.
Yet he couldn’t decipher the why of it all. He didn’t understand why anyone would want to poison tens of thousands of low-caste Shalandrans. It made no sense for the Ybrazhe to kill off so many people; the Syndicate thrived because of their control over the lower tiers.
The Gatherers, perhaps? If the cultists wanted to hasten the Final Destruction—or to send all of the “chosen” to the Long Keeper before it came—mass-poisoning could certainly do the job.
Yet that didn’t fit with what he’d seen of the Gatherers. They worshipped death, yet Kodyn and Aisha had told him of the strange rituals of consecration used to send people to the Long Keeper’s arms. There was nothing holy about the Azure Rot, not that he could tell.
“Evren, you’re a genius.”
Briana’s words snapped Evren from his thoughts. He looked up to find the Shalandran woman smiling at him. “Oh…er, thanks?”
Her face brightened, grew dazzling. “Right now, they’re discussing the feasibility of the threat, trying to figure out if it really could be poison.”
“It would be pretty simple to distribute,” Evren said.
“Through the grain, yes.” Briana nodded. “They’re talking about sending people down to the Slave’s Tier Hall of Bounty to collect a sample and test it out. If that’s the source of the poison, they’ll find it. Once they know what it is, they can send word to the Sanctuary, the Hall of the Cruori, even the palace.” She placed a hand on his arm. “The Azure Rot has been plaguing Shalandra for months now. You might have just saved us.”
Evren blushed beneath the praise. “To be fair, you were the one who came up with the poison angle,” he said, keenly aware of her soft, warm fingers against his skin. “And whatever it is, you’re the one that thought of it.”
Briana glanced down at her hands. “I guess my experiments for Aisha aren’t a total waste of time.” Frustration echoed in her voice.
Evren didn’t know what exactly those experiments entailed, but they had to be important to steal Briana’s attention from her father’s journals. “Whatever’s the problem, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” He gave her a wry grin. “You’ve proven you’re the smartest of all of us.”
Her dazzling smile returned. “Thank you for your confidence in me, even after what happened with Hailen. I know it’s a lot to ask, trusting me with his safety. It means a lot that you can.”
Evren resisted the urge to shrug—even the slightest movement might break contact between his arm and her hand. “You kind of did me a favor, truth be told. At least in the Temple of Whispers, I know he’s safe in the middle of all these Secret Keepers. Leaves me free to focus on doing what I need to do.”
“I promise I won’t stop looking until I find everything I can about…” Briana hesitated, shooting a wary glance at the Secret Keepers. “…the place you need to go to get that thing you need.” Clearly she didn’t want even her father’s trusted friends and comrades to know what they had planned for the Vault of Ancients. “Hailen’s made good progress on the journal. He’ll—”
She cut off as the bald Secret Keeper snapped his fingers to get her attention. The man’s fingers moved in short, sharp gestures, and Evren looked to Briana for translation.
“Guardian Tianath will be taking a pair of her most experienced poisoners down to the Slave’s Tier to collect a sample from the Hall of Bounty,” Briana said, her eyes fixed on the Secret Keeper’s flashing hands. After a moment of silence, she turned to Evren with a grin. “They asked me to convey the Mistress’ gratitude for your assistance and information.”
Evren found eight somber faces staring at him. His jaw nearly dropped as they bowed to him—a silent acknowledgement of what he’d done—and heat rushed to his face.
“I want to go with them.” The words were out before he realized it.
The Guardians looked at him, curiosity etched into their faces. Briana turned as well, her brow furrowed.
Evren gave her a wry smile. “I’m not made to be cooped up in a place like this.” He shrugged. “And I can’t just sit and wait. At least out there, I may be able to do something to help.”
For a moment, something that might have been disappointment flashed in Briana’s eyes. He couldn’t be certain, for it disappeared a moment later when she nodded and turned to the Secret Keepers. “Is there any reason he would not be permitted to accompany you?”
The eight Secret Keepers looked at each other. Fingers moved in a quick conversation that ended with a shrug.
Ennolar, the bald Secret Keeper with the braid hanging down his back, fixed Evren with a stern glance and spoke in that silent hand language.
“We depart for the Hall of Bounty at dawn,” Briana translated.
“Dawn?” Evren cocked an eyebrow. “That’s hours away, and hundreds more people could be poisoned in that time.”
Ennolar’s face hardened. “It will take time to gather the required materials,” he said through Briana. “But do not think the urgency of this task escapes us. These are our people that are suffering, not yours.”
Evren ground his teeth, but managed to swallow his impatience. “Dawn it is, then.”
* * *
Three hours had never passed so slowly. It took all of Evren’s patience, honed over years as a cautious thief on the streets of Vothmot, to sit in the entrance chamber of the Temple of Whispers and wait in silence for the Secret Keepers. Briana had returned to her rooms—to continue studying her father’s journal and testing whatever alchemical concoction she was brewing from those plants—but Evren had decided against accompanying her. Much as he wanted to remain near the beautiful Shalandran, he knew his restless pacing would only disturb Briana and wake Hailen. Hailen needed to sleep, just as Briana needed to concentrate.
He occupied himself in the Hunter’s favorite training activity: sword forms. Or, in Evren’s case, dagger forms. Shorter, sharper movements, more brutal, favoring speed over the elegant grace required to wield a long blade. Evren’s twin jambiyas sliced, hacked, and slashed at the empty air. Every strike cut down the faceless men and women responsible for murdering so many Shalandrans.
When he finished his forms and still the Secret Keepers hadn’t come, he moved on to shadow boxing. The jabs and punches loosened stiff muscles and set blood rushing through his body. As his hands and feet settled into the motions of combat, his mind began working at the problems facing him.
First, there was the matter of the Blade of Hallar. He brought to mind every twisting, turning corridor marked out on the Secret Keepers’ map. He’d only managed to commit half of it to memory before dozing off, but the image was sharp, clear in his mind. When the time came to sneak into the palace and enter the vault, he’d know the route as well as he knew the hidden ways into the derelict warehouse he shared with the Hunter, Kiara, and Hailen back in Voramis.
On to the next problem. He settled into a series of movements that combined low kicks with uppercuts and cross-punches.
The Azure Rot was bad, but it seemed the Secret Keepers would soon have things firmly in hand. Once they uncovered the source of the poison, they could determine its type and formulate an antidote.
The matter of Killian returned to plague him. The man wasn’t just a blacksmith, that much was clear the moment he’d found him leading the Mumblers. Yet thiefmaster couldn’t be the only other title to his name, either. He thought like a spy or courtier and fought like a warrior, but had the innate nobility of a commander.
Then there was the matter of his connection to Issa. Killian had greeted the Keeper’s Blade with a familiarity that went far beyond casual acquaintances. Too many pieces of that particular puzzle for him remained missing for him to understand, yet he couldn’t help wondering who the hell Killian
really was beneath his blacksmith’s apron. He’d have to ask Issa about it the next time he saw the Keeper’s Blade.
If she’s not too busy killing Gatherers and Hallar’s Warriors, that is.
That name, Hallar’s Warriors, had stuck in his mind after Annat had mocked it. He couldn’t be certain if it was another name for the Gatherers or referred to another group of people entirely. Yet either way, warriors indicated some sort of militant or martial intent. Unless they served Lady Callista in secret—which Evren highly doubted—their objective could only spell more trouble for Shalandra.
So who in the fiery hell are they? The question nagged at him for long minutes.
The arrival of the Secret Keepers cut off his training and snapped him from his thoughts. Beside the purple-haired Tianath came a man and a woman, both middle-aged, bespectacled, and with faces as stern and somber as their Guardian’s.
Motioning for him to follow, they strode toward the vault-like door and exited the Temple of Whispers. Tianath nodded to the two Secret Keepers at the entrance, who returned her greeting with a reverent bow.
The first rays of morning light had begun to peer over the eastern horizon as they emerged onto the Artificer’s Courseway. Guardian Tianath turned her steps east, toward Commerce Square and Trader’s Way. Evren had no idea where exactly the Hall of Bounty stood, but he trusted the Secret Keepers would take the most direct route. They wanted to stop the Azure Rot as much as he did.
It took the better part of two hours to reach Trader’s Way and descend through the Cultivator’s Tier to the Slave’s Tier. Instead of traversing the Way of Chains, however, the Secret Keepers ducked into a side street that led westward, deeper into Mahjuri territory.
Horror churned in Evren’s gut. Every street they passed was clogged with the dead and dying. Men, women, old and young, they lay in the gutters, leaned against golden sandstone walls, or simply collapsed in the middle of the narrow lane. Blood trickled from the eyes, mouths, noses, and ears of the dead, a stark contrast to the blue blisters dotting their lifeless skin. The living were little better off. Noxious pus oozed from their cracking scabs, and their eyes were bright with fever. Gruesome sapphire fingers threaded the veins of their hands, necks, and faces, the disease clawing at their bodies until it consumed them completely.
Heirs of Destiny Box Set Page 95