Heirs of Destiny Box Set

by Andy Peloquin

  “Then what in the fiery hell are we waiting for?” Kodyn’s hand flashed toward the sword on his belt. “We know where they’re going to be and when they’ll be there. Let’s go get a few dozen Keeper’s Blades and head to the Heartspring to set a trap for the bastards!”

  “No.” Ennolar shook his head. “The Heartspring must remain a secret. The more who know of it, the greater the risk the wrong people learn of it. The fact that the Gatherers even know about its existence in the first place is proof that the information has been shared too freely. No, we will see to this ourselves. A team of my best Secret Keepers is even now preparing to enter the tunnels.” The Secret Keeper fixed Kodyn with a stern glare. “But you will remain here.”

  “What?” Aisha snarled.

  “Are you insane?” Kodyn demanded. “We’re the ones who brought this to you! Without us, you never would have uncovered the truth behind the poison.”

  “And for that, you have our gratitude and all of Shalandra with us.” Uryan’s hatchet face showed not a trace of thanks. “But the secrets of the Heartspring are as zealously guarded as everything else we have been charged to protect. We cannot allow you to—”

  “Cannot?” Kodyn’s voice rose to a shout. “You’re damned well going to, because we’re your best shot at stopping the Gatherers from killing everyone in Shalandra.”

  The Guardians’ faces set into stubborn masks, as hard as the room’s stone walls. They resembled a pack of mules ready to resist anything he said.

  Kodyn didn’t care. After everything we’ve done, they want to lock us out now? His hands clenched into fists. Not a bloody chance!

  Yet what could he say to sway them? They would die—or kill—to protect the secrets entrusted to them.

  Thankfully, Briana saved him. “If you send all of your Secret Keepers, how could you possibly make enough of the antidote to save the Mahjuri, much less every Earaqi, Zadii, and Intaji that might have come in contact with the poison?” She narrowed her eyes. “Think about all of the Indomitables that stopped for a drink of water on their patrol of the Slave’s Tier, or every Dhukari who felt thirsty while watching an execution in Murder Square or bidding on Kabili in Auctioneer’s Square. How many of your own people could be poisoned?”

  Cracks appeared in their stern expressions, a hint of hesitance and nervous fear. Ennolar’s eyes narrowed, Uryan’s mouth puckered into a sour frown, and Tianath shifted her weight to her other foot.

  Briana seemed to recognize the chink in their armor. “The more of your people you set to crafting the antidote to this poison, the faster you, the Ministrants, and the Trouveres will be able to deliver it to the ill.” She thrust a finger at Kodyn and Aisha. “They can fight by your side, and in doing so, free up two more Secret Keepers to work on saving Shalandrans. Think of how many people could be spared!”

  In that moment, Kodyn saw Arch-Guardian Suroth shining in his daughter’s eyes. Briana had the same steel determination as her father, the indomitable will and cunning mind that made him such a formidable threat to the Keeper’s Council.

  The Secret Keepers couldn’t stand in the face of such force. The fissures widened, their expressions changing from stubborn refusal to pensive contemplation, even hints of acceptance.

  “We have already sworn to guard the secrets of the Temple of Whispers against pain of death,” Aisha said. “The Heartspring will be just one more secret that will never pass our lips.”

  “Especially if it means we can stop people from dying and kick Gatherer ass in the process,” Kodyn said with a savage grin.

  With that final barb, the Secret Keepers’ resistance caved. Resignation and reluctance shone in the eyes of the Secret Keepers.

  “So be it,” Ennolar said. He addressed Kodyn and Aisha. “You may accompany my Secret Keepers to the Heartspring to deal with those responsible for the poison.” He held up a pudgy finger. “You depart in one hour.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Evren forced down the twinge of anxiety in his gut. He’d memorized enough of the tunnels’ layout to have a decent idea which way he needed to go to ascend to the Cultivator’s Tier. But if there was someone in the Serenii passages, he might run into trouble on his way.

  Slow and cautious, he told himself. He slipped one of his jambiya from its sheath and held it in a reversed grip, blade pressed against his forearm. The sleeves of his simple Earaqi tunic hid the steel, preventing it from glinting in the dim light, yet he could strike out in an instant if threatened.

  Drawing in a deep breath, he closed his eyes and listened to the sounds around him. Beyond the steady thump, thumping of his heartbeat, the tunnels were all but silent. Not even a whisper of wind met his ears.

  Yet he had heard someone moving through the passages ahead of him. The question is, where?

  He remained motionless for a full minute, his breathing quiet, ears attuned to even the slightest hint of movement.

  There! A faint but clearly discernible sound: the scuffing of sandals or boots on stone, straight ahead, in the direction he needed to go to reach the Cultivator’s Tier. A moment later, the sound came again, followed by more.

  He stifled a curse. Not just one, but multiple people ahead of me.

  The presence of people in the tunnels meant he had to find a longer route or try to slip past them unnoticed. He didn’t know his way well enough to try an alternate path, so his only choice was to go through.

  Thankfully, the darkness of the tunnels made creeping along a simple matter. As long as he remained on the wall opposite the glowing gemstones, he’d have no problem staying hidden in shadow. It took effort to move quietly, to keep his boots or his clothing from making noise, but he managed to keep his pace slow and steady.

  Doubt nagged at the back of his mind as he slipped toward the source of the sound. Who, exactly, would be using these passages? According to Kodyn, few people outside of the Temple of Whispers knew of the Serenii tunnels beneath Shalandra. A handful of Keeper’s Priests numbered among that few. And, they’d guessed, the Gatherers as well.

  Keeper’s teeth! Realization struck him like a sledgehammer to the face. What if it’s the Gatherers?

  The cultists had somehow found a way to get around Shalandra unseen. The day they’d attacked Suroth’s mansion, they’d gotten from the hideout on the Artisan’s Tier to the Keeper’s Tier far faster than Evren or Kodyn.

  Icy feet danced down his spine. What if the Gatherers have another hideout here in the tunnels? Scores of cultists had escaped after the attack on Briana’s home. No one had seen or heard of them for the last two days—they could be hiding out, licking their wounds and planning their next assault.

  Evren’s jaw clenched. Not if I find out what they’re up to and stop them!

  He had no illusions that he could take on an army of bloodthirsty death cultists on his own. Five or ten, certainly, but not dozens. Yet he had no intention of charging in, blades swinging. He only needed to find their hideout, perhaps even overhear some of what they had planned, and he could wreak all sorts of havoc on their devious plans.

  Wouldn’t that be a nice little present to shove down their throats? After everything they’ve done to Briana, Rothin, Nessa, and Suroth, it’s no less than they deserve!

  Anger rose within him at the thought of Briana and Hailen trapped within the Secret Keepers’ temple. Hailen had fled Voramis to escape the confines of the House of Need, only to wind up a prisoner in the Temple of Whispers. Briana had been forced to make the impossible choice just to stay alive. The blame for their circumstances lay squarely with the Gatherers—he owed the cultist bastards a bit of misery in return.

  Hard resolve stifled the last of his nervousness. A fierce smile twisted his lips as he stalked toward the source of the noise. He was sick and tired of being hunted—by the Ybrazhe and Gatherers both. The time had come to do the hunting in return.

  He welcomed the silence and darkness of the tunnels; he’d spent months training with the Hunter to move without a sound, to guide
himself by feel. Light would certainly help him cover ground more quickly, but at that moment, knowing what lay ahead of him, he basked in the wall shadows. No one would see him coming.

  The passage arrived at an intersection, with three branches splitting off from his position. Pausing, Evren summoned the image of the Secret Keepers’ map to his mind. If he remembered correctly, the tunnel to his left led toward the western edge of the Cultivator’s Tier and exited just outside the Keeper’s Crypts. To his right, the path headed east toward Death Row, but continued through the mountain until it arrived at the shalanite mines on Alshuruq’s eastern slope. According to the map, that passage had been closed off centuries ago.

  But the sounds of movement came from the passage directly ahead of him. That tunnel would take him to an opening just south of the wall that separated the Cultivator’s Tier from the Artisan’s Tier. He tried to picture the layout of Shalandra atop the Serenii tunnels, and realized the location of that exit would be within a few streets of the hideout where he and Kodyn had found evidence of the cultists.

  It has to be the Gatherers!

  Nervous tension set Evren’s nerves tingling as he caught sight of a tiny flicker of light far in the distance. This wasn’t one of the red-glowing gemstones set into the wall, but the dancing yellow-orange light of a torch. No, not one torch, he saw as he slipped closer. Three torches at the intersection ahead. After the darkness of the tunnels, the light seemed almost blindingly bright.

  Ten figures stood in the circle of torchlight. Their hooded cloaks were pulled back, revealing the faces of young men and women. All wore the bright red headbands of the Earaqi.

  Evren slipped toward the nearest gemstone and pressed his hand over it, blocking off the light. He couldn’t get any closer for fear of alerting the people ahead to his presence. Yet from this distance, he had to strain his ears to hear their conversation.

  A man’s voice drifted down the tunnels toward him. “…received word from our contact in the palace that Aterallis will stand trial before the Keeper’s Council, and that the Necroseti will convict him.”

  “With that kind of evidence, how could they not?” a woman responded. “Even men as foolish and arrogant as Madani and Natoris are smart enough to recognize the gift we gave them. That threat to their power will be eliminated with his death.”

  Evren sucked in a breath. He didn’t know who Aterallis was or why his death was important, but the implications were clear. The Gatherers had a hand in influencing whatever events currently unfolded in Shalandra—and someone in the palace was helping them manipulate the Keeper’s Council.

  “How goes your part of the plan, Leyon?” asked the first voice.

  “The Mahjuri and Kabili are primed,” replied another man. “The Indomitables played their role better than we could have hoped. The violence and chaos on the Slave’s Tier has stirred up the anger and hatred we’ve fostered for these long months.”

  “Excellent,” the woman said. “Aterallis’ execution will only fan the flames even hotter. With your people in place, Leyon, we can begin the next phase.”

  The words sent a shiver down Evren’s spine. No one ever said things like “next phase” when speaking about good things. The words alone had a nefarious connotation, reeking of evil and treachery.

  “My Earaqi are ready to deliver the weapons we’ve gathered to the right people at the right time,” the man Leyon replied.

  “If the Keeper’s Priests act as our comrade in the palace has predicted,” said the first man, “they will want to be rid of Aterallis as soon as possible.”

  “Execution at sundown?” the woman asked.

  “Precisely.” The first speaker nodded. “And when that time comes, Leyon, you and your people need to be ready to capitalize on the crowd’s anger.”

  “We will be in place long before nightfall.” Leyon turned to the three men and one woman beside him. The four nodded assent.

  “Good.” The first man turned to the woman that had spoken. “Then Nilea, send word to our master that all is in readiness. With Aterallis’ death, a new era dawns in Shalandra. An era in which we, Hallar’s Warriors, his chosen servants, will usher the city into a glorious future.”

  Evren sucked in a silent breath. Hallar’s Warriors? He’d heard that name once before—spoken by Annat, the Syndicate thug that had alerted the Gatherers to the location of Briana’s house on the Artisan’s Tier. Annat had mocked the name, but now, it sent a chill down Evren’s spine. No one with peaceful intentions would call themselves a name like that.

  His eyes returned to the intersection ahead in time to see the hooded cultists. The light of the torches disappeared down the northern, eastern, and western passages, leaving Evren alone in the darkness.

  For a moment, Evren hesitated, uncertain of what to do now. He couldn’t follow all three groups of cultists. Worse, he didn’t even know what they had planned—he’d only heard fragments of the conversation—so he didn’t know how to stop them.

  What in the bloody hell does it all mean? His mind raced as he tried to put together the pieces of what he’d heard.

  Aterallis arrested and guaranteed to be convicted. He’d never heard of this man or woman, so had no idea why their conviction could have such a dramatic effect on Shalandra. Yet, judging by the way the cultists spoke of it, it sounded like the spark that would set the city ablaze.

  Weapons gathered to be delivered into the “right hands”. He didn’t know whose hands those were, but he was fairly certain they weren’t thinking about keeping the peace in Shalandra. The crowds he’d spotted on the Slave’s Tier earlier could quickly turn ugly—weapons would only escalate things until the situation became an all-out bloodbath. Innocent people would die along with Indomitables, Keeper’s Blades, Gatherers, and anyone else caught up in the violence.

  People “in place” before nightfall, right after a sundown execution. Executions tended to draw crowds, and the cultists had made it clear that the crowds would be easily riled up. Evren had to agree; he’d seen the hostile looks and angry mutterings that permeated the city. He knew the situation could deteriorate with one wrong word or action—they very nearly had the night of the attack on Suroth’s mansion.

  If the Gatherers wanted to incite violence, they had the perfect storm of chaos—either by sheer rotten luck or their own creation. Judging by their words, he leaned more toward the latter. If they had given whatever evidence led the Keeper’s Council to convict Aterallis, they had manipulated circumstances until it all culminated in one final terrible outcome: civil war in Shalandra.

  That morning, Evren had sworn a silent vow to find a way to improve conditions in Shalandra for the Mahjuri, those condemned to misery, poverty, and starvation. Now, those same people were being played, the flames of their anger and resentment fanned to serve the will of Hallar’s Warriors, the Gatherers, or whoever the bloody hell was pulling the strings. He might not be able to feed every Mahjuri or single-handedly stop an army of Indomitables from rampaging through the Slave’s Tier, but he could damned well fight to prevent a war that could rip Shalandra apart.

  But how? The question froze him in place. He was one man, and the Mahjuri numbered in the hundreds of thousands. He could run through the streets shouting until his voice grew ragged and it would have about as much effect as a worm trying to burrow into a diamond.

  Going to the Pharus or Lady Callista himself would be folly and a monumental waste of time. He’d spend hours trying in vain to convince the Indomitables to let him in. Kodyn and Aisha might have better luck than him, but who knew where in Shalandra they were? Briana was effectively a prisoner in the Temple of Whispers alongside Hailen. While the Secret Keepers wielded some power in the city, they literally had no voice to try to calm the people.

  There was only one person he could turn to for help. A person with some measure of influence in the Keeper’s Tier, the ear of Lady Callista, and the gratitude of the Pharus.

  Issa. His jaw clenched. I’ve got to find Issa
!

  Last he’d seen her, she had been marching east along the Way of Chains, escorting a man—likely the Aterallis mentioned by the Gatherers, Hallar’s Warriors, or whatever these people called themselves. In the time he’d taken to find the secret passage, she’d likely have reached the Cultivator’s Tier. Now, with his delay, he’d have to run his heart out to catch her before she arrived at the Palace of Golden Eternity.

  Blackfinger would have to wait. The threat of Ybrazhe paled in comparison to what would happen if the Gatherers could whip up an already-angry crowd. He knew where to find the Syndicate’s hideout, and it would still be there after the danger had passed. But right now, the future of Shalandra hung in the balance.

  Without hesitation, he set off at a run. His steps led north, toward the passage that would take him up to the Artisan’s Tier. There, he had a vague idea of where to find the tunnels to guide him up to the Keeper’s Tier—very likely the same one the Gatherers had used the night they attacked Suroth’s mansion. Only this time, the passages would be used to save Shalandra, not destroy it.

  Even as he ran, the futility of his task weighed on him. Shalandra was enormous, and his chances of locating Issa bordered on impossible. One wrong turn, one wrong decision, and he’d be half a city away from the only person he could count on to help him.

  Yet he had to try. He’d heard every one of the Hunter’s stories—fighting a horde of bloodthirsty bandits, defeating evil demons, slaying stone-skinned monsters, stopping hundreds of thousands of innocent people from being executed. Every one of those stories had one common thread: an impossible situation with no way out. But the Hunter had fought on, too bull-headed and determined to quit. In the end, he had accomplished the impossible.