Heirs of Destiny Box Set

by Andy Peloquin

  That was what Evren had to do now. He faced a terrible evil and had little hope of success. The enormity of his mission threatened to shatter his willpower, to drag him down beneath the burden of futility. But he’d be damned if he gave in to that sense of helplessness. If he did, if he gave anything less than his absolute utmost, Shalandra would be destroyed, and everyone he loved along with it.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Issa had never seen anyone walk to their own execution with such grace and calm. Aterallis stood tall, poised, far more composed than anyone Issa had ever seen walking onto the wooden execution platform of Murder Square. Peace and quiet acceptance filled the eyes of the man called “Hallar Reborn” and “Child of Gold”. He had no fear of death. Eternity in the arms of the Long Keeper awaited him.

  The crowd around Murder Square was anything but calm. Men and women shouted angry threats in protest of the injustice or stood quietly with their sorrow, weeping, their tear-rimmed eyes fixed on the man that had preached peace and joy. Aterallis’ disciples tried to keep pace, calling out to their master or hurling impassioned pleas on the deaf ears of the Indomitables.

  Anger seeped into the bones of everyone on the Slave’s Tier that afternoon.

  “This isn’t right!” growled Nysin from a step behind her.

  Issa knew she ought to snap at the young Mahjuri Neophyte—such sentiments would only add to the tension of the situation—yet she couldn’t argue with the statement. Despite the evidence that had been uncovered, it seemed impossible that the man who strode between her and Etai could be capable of such cold-blooded violence.

  But she had her orders. Lady Callista had made clear her decision and the importance of upholding the Keeper’s Council’s ruling. Though it grated on her conscience, she would fulfill her duties. She owed Lady Callista her loyalty and faithful service.

  “Child of Spirits!” came a cry from the crowd.

  “Child of Gold!” another voice echoed.

  “Child of Secrets!” called out a third.

  “Save us from the judgement foretold!”

  The crowd took up the chant, the words echoing from a dozen lips, a hundred, finally a thousand. The sound washed over Issa with near-tangible force. A deep, simmering anger echoed in the cry, outrage at the Indomitables and Keeper’s Blades responsible for the execution.

  The cry followed Issa west along the Way of Chains, swelling to a roar as they approached Murder Square. A wall of Indomitables four ranks deep formed a solid barrier of steel and flesh between the platform and the angry crowd. The black-armored soldiers parted to make way for Issa and her company. One group of young Earaqi tried to surge through the gap, to break Aterallis free of Issa’s grip. They were brought down by Indomitables with heavy clubs and solid shields.

  The light of the setting sun cast a rosy glow over Murder Square. But instead of filling the air with a gentle beauty, it seemed to coat the golden sandstone, the rust-colored wood, and the jostling people in a bloody hue.

  Issa’s stomach tightened as she caught sight of the figure standing silent on the execution platform. Even beneath the polished steel war mask and the snarling lion helmet that hid his features from view, Issa would recognize the man anywhere. Those broad, sloped shoulders, hulking size, and thick-fingered hands gripping a six-foot-long flammard could only belong to Invictus Tannard.

  Another man stood beside Tannard, barely tall enough to reach the Invictus’ shoulders. He had the pudgy build of the Necroseti and wore an ornate shawl and ostrich feather headband of black and gold.

  Issa, Etai, and their Indomitables marched their prisoner toward the notched and blood-stained chopping block in the center of the platform. Aterallis didn’t hesitate at the sight of the death that awaited him. He strode calmly up the stairs and onto the execution platform. When they stopped, he turned to face the crowd with a placid, almost contented smile on his face.

  The Necroseti stepped forward, cleared his throat, and unrolled a scroll. The chanting of the crowd swallowed up his reedy voice. He tried again, louder, but the throng drowned out his voice with ease.

  Aterallis raised his hands, and immediately a reverent hush fell over the crowd. Issa held her breath—she’d never seen such power, not even wielded by the Pharus himself.

  The Keeper’s Priest scowled at the entire crowd as he lifted the scroll and read. “Aterallis of the Dhukari, son of Naemedra, Minor Divinity of the Necroseti, stands before you convicted of crimes against Shalandra.” His voice rang out across Murder Square. “The murder, torture, and desecration of a Keeper’s Blade. The murder of ten Indomitable recruits.”

  Angry shouts rose from the crowd. “A mistake!” cried one. “A trick of the Keeper’s Priests!” called another. Soon, the entire throng echoed protests of Aterallis’ innocence.

  Tannard nodded to the two Indomitables that had taken up position by the drums. The soldiers slammed their arm-length drumsticks onto the tight-stretched hides, and a loud boom, boom, boom echoed across Murder Square. They continued pounding the drums until the people fell silent.

  The black-and-gold-robed priest’s face was pinched into a tight frown. “By order of the Keeper’s Council and in the name of Pharus Amhoset Nephelcheres of Shalandra, Guardian of Dawnbreaker, Chosen of Hallar, Word of Justice and Death, and Revered Servant of the Long Keeper, you are hereby sentenced to death.”

  The priest seemed to be struggling to keep his expression blank. He failed miserably. Smug contentment stained his pudgy face as he rolled up the scroll and turned to Aterallis. “Does the condemned have any final words?”

  “I do.” Aterallis gave the priest a smile. Issa was shocked to see genuine warmth in the man’s expression. His eyes held no trace of anger, fear, or hostility, simply peaceful acceptance.

  He stepped forward and raised his voice to the crowd. “My brothers and sisters, do not weep for me, and do not let my death drive you to anger. For I go to a better place, a place of peace, joy, and rest in the arms of the Long Keeper.”

  Aterallis’ head turned and his eyes scanned the crowd. Everywhere he looked, crying people fell silent and angry glares faded.

  “Our god has blessed me to spend these days among you. Now, I am being sent to prepare a place for you to join me. The day of the Final Destruction approaches. Be ready, my friends, my family. The Long Keeper comes for us all. He will bear us up in his embrace, where we will spend an eternity in the beauty and wonder that is the Sleepless Lands. Live not for this life, but for the next.”

  A reverent hush fell over the crowd as Aterallis’ strong voice faded.

  Aterallis turned to Tannard and gave him a courtly bow. “Blessed are you who serve our god. Carry out your duty, noble warrior of death.”

  With that, he knelt and laid his head on the execution block.

  “No!” An angry roar burst from the crowd, and three broad-shouldered Earaqi youths rushed the wooden platform upon which their Child of Gold knelt. The light of the setting sun glinted off short belt knives clenched in their fists.

  Ice slithered down Issa’s spine as the nearest Indomitables raised their khopeshes to strike. The three unarmored Earaqi would die in a heartbeat, but their blood would incite the crowd to violence. A few dozen Indomitables and Blades wouldn’t be enough to turn back the tide of death and chaos.

  Issa had never moved so fast in her life. Fear lent wings to her feet as she raced the two steps toward the edge of the platform and leaped. She flew over the spiked helms and upraised swords of the Indomitables, landing with a crash before the charging Earaqi.

  She thrust out a hand. “Stop!” Her voice thundered with all the authority she could muster.

  The three Earaqi skidded to a halt, shocked surprise piercing the anger burning in their eyes.

  Issa faced the youths, determination solid in her stomach and her hands empty. Baring steel would only escalate the tension; she had to find a way to stop the situation from getting out of hand.

  Issa fixed them with a hard glare
. “Don’t do this! Don’t make this worse.”

  “Worse?” one of the youths shouted. “You’re about to execute a man who has done nothing but preach peace and justice.”

  “Peace and justice,” Issa retorted, thrusting a finger at their daggers. “Not violence.” She held up her hands. “You heard him speak, yet you resort to bloodshed? That is not the way of the Child of Gold.” She didn’t believe Aterallis’ preachings, yet if she could use his words, his message to avert disaster, she would. “It is only in adversity that our faith in the Long Keeper is tested, is it not?”

  The three Earaqi youths exchanged glances, uncertainty written in their eyes. Hope blossomed within Issa’s chest as their daggers wavered, lowered a fraction. She was getting through to them.

  “There is no need for blood.” Issa shook her head. “This is justice.” Saying the words rankled her to her core; she couldn’t believe Aterallis was guilty, but the Keeper’s Council had sentenced him to death. Much as she hated it, Issa had no choice but to carry out Lady Callista’s orders.

  The Earaqi’s faces hardened, and anger blazed in their eyes. Yet before they could move, another voice—strong, rich, ringing with conviction—echoed behind her.

  “Behold, the messenger of peace clad in the trappings of war!” Aterallis’ voice held no trace of mockery, only approval, even a hint of respect. “Look well, my brothers and sisters, and heed the example of Shalandra’s truest servant. Trained in the way of violence, yet seeking to avert it without drawing weapons. Follow her example, and pursue peace with the same fervency. Let her actions guide your steps, for the sake of this life and the next.”

  Silence hung thick in Murder Square. Not a single person stirred or dared to move. Even the wind fell quiet, as if it, too, stopped its endless roving to bear witness to the fateful moment.

  Three daggers clattered to the stone of the Way of Chains, and the Earaqi youths melted into the crowd.

  Issa turned back toward Aterallis. The man still knelt, but he sat upright, his eyes fixed on her.

  “The Long Keeper chose well,” Aterallis said, a beatific smile on his face. “You are the hope for a better future.”

  The words pierced Issa to the core. Somehow, he seemed to see through her, his gaze piercing the core of her being. She could do nothing, say nothing, simply meet his calm stare in silence.

  “Until we meet in the next life, daughter of Shalandra.” With a nod to her, he once more placed his head onto the execution block and closed his eyes.

  Issa’s gut tightened. This is so wrong. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the man. Suddenly, she understood why the people loved him. Not because he preached grace, peace, and justice, but because he was its embodiment. In that moment, she knew the truth. He could never be the killer.

  Yet it was too late.

  The whole Slave’s Tier seemed to hold its breath as Tannard lifted his sword. Razor-sharp steel shone in the fading sunlight, rays of red-gold casting shadows across the curving metal length. Issa’s ears filled with the slight humming of the vibrating steel.

  A fist of iron squeezed her heart and she found herself unable to breathe. She could only track the movement of the rising blade, hovering above Tannard’s head, a dark, glittering finger of death thrust into the golden sky.

  Steel sang as it fell. A dull thunk echoed across Murder Square. Aterallis’ severed head fell into the basket with a quiet thump, accompanied by the drip, drip of his blood.

  Silence permeated Murder Square, so all-consuming it felt as if every living thing surrounding Issa had died with Aterallis. Her own heart seemed suspended between beats, refusing to continue pounding in mute farewell to the Child of Gold.

  Suddenly, Murder Square was awash with sound and movement: weeping, shouting, wailing, angry outbursts and recriminations. Issa tensed out of instinct, a hand reaching for her sword in expectation of the rush of angry Mahjuri seeking to take out their fury on the executions. She opened her mouth to order her Indomitables to form a defensive formation and prepare for attack.

  Yet no onslaught came. Instead, every man, woman, and child—Mahjuri, Earaqi, Kabili, and the few Zadii and Intaji sprinkled among the crowd—sat down on the Way of Chains. Their eyes remained fixed on the headless body of the one they had hailed as Hallar Reborn, sorrow etched into the lines of their faces and heads held high in defiance.

  Aterallis had gotten his final wish. The people of Shalandra protested their fallen Child of Gold, but they had chosen peace.

  Somehow, that made it all the harder for Issa to stomach.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Ennolar shot Aisha, Kodyn, and Briana a dour expression before stalking from the chamber. Tianath and the other Guardians made to follow, but the spark of Thimara’s life flared to brilliant life within Aisha as the stern-faced Uryan turned to go.

  “Guardian Uryan!” Aisha called out. “A moment, please.”

  The middle-aged woman froze, her spine rigid. When she turned, she fixed narrowed eyes on Aisha’s face. “What?” her fingers asked, a short, sharp motion, her thin lips pressed into a white line. Clearly she hadn’t forgotten what Aisha had told her of Thimara.

  Now, confronted by the Secret Keeper’s stern gaze, Aisha found herself at a loss for words. Thimara’s spirit hummed within her, an urgency and burning desire surging in her chest like a cresting wave. Yet a sense of frustration resonated in Aisha’s mind as Thimara tried to communicate through her. A moment later, an image of the Secret Keeper’s final moments danced in front of her eyes. Aisha found her eyes drawn to the ink-stained parchment beneath the dying Thimara’s quill pen.

  Her brow furrowed. Is that what she wants? She didn’t dare touch the pendant around her neck—it likely belonged to the Temple of Whispers, and she had no desire to draw Uryan’s attention to it. Without it, she would lose her connection to the spirits and would be forced to rely on the Whispering Lily.

  Which meant she had to puzzle out the meaning of Thimara’s image on her own.

  “Thimara kept notes, right?” she asked, hesitant. “On her research into the Azure Rot.”

  Uryan gave a stiff nod.

  “Could there be something in there to indicate exactly what she uncovered before her death?”

  The stern-faced woman’s eyes narrowed “If she had discovered the source of the Azure Rot, she would have reported it to me at once.”

  Aisha nodded. “Yes, but I believe it’s possible she learned the truth too late to let you know in person.” She paused, uncertain how to say what she had seen. “Perhaps she tried to write something with her last breath?”

  Uryan inhaled sharply. “How could you know that?”

  Aisha debated a long moment how to answer that question. The last thing she wanted was to be locked away in the Temple of Whispers for the Secret Keepers to learn the truth of her Umoyahlebe powers—or condemned to join the madmen in the Illusionist’s Temple.

  Uryan saved her from having to respond. “She had a piece of paper in her hand when I found her.” Pain darkened her face and a barely perceptible tremor ran through her hands as she continued. “It contained nothing but scribbles.”

  “May I see it?” Aisha asked.

  “Why?” A short, sharp gesture accompanied by a suspicious glare.

  “Because I may see something you didn’t,” Aisha said. It was a lame answer, yet better than trying to explain the truth. “I’m certain you knew Thimara better than anyone else, but if there’s even a chance that I could help, isn’t it worth taking that chance?”

  Uryan’s lips pressed into a near-invisible line, her face drawn and pinched. Finally, she gave a minute shrug. “I will bring them before the hour of departure arrives.” She paused a moment, her hands held out as if intending to speak. But she seemed to think better of it and turned away, arms by her side.

  Thimara’s emotions burst to life within Aisha as the Secret Keeper strode from the room. Sorrow, longing, remorse, and devotion so strong it thickened her throat.


  “Aisha?” Kodyn’s voice echoed behind her. “What’s wrong?”

  Aisha swallowed the rising lump and turned to face the young man. “Nothing.” She smiled. “Things are actually better than I expected.”

  Kodyn cocked an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  Aisha nodded. “Before her death, Thimara cracked the truth of the poison that is causing the Azure Rot. She tried to write it down. There’s a chance, a small one, that she’ll be able to explain the cause through me.” She screwed up her face in thought. “All I got from her last time is a vague sense of what was wrong, but maybe when Thimara’s spirit looks at her notes, she might be able to help me understand it better.” She shrugged. “I know it sounds mad, but—”

  “Hey, if it helps us save the people of Shalandra and neutralize this poison, I’m all for it.”

  Kodyn’s reassuring grin brought the lump back to her throat. But this time, the feelings were all hers. She couldn’t help loving his staunch support of her, given how mad her words sounded. A near-overpowering urge to kiss him gripped her.

  Warmth suffused her and brought a smile to her lips. “Well, until she brings it, I say we focus on getting ready for the attack on the Heartspring.” She drew her assegai and made a show of studying the spearhead. “I don’t know about you, but I haven’t had a chance to sharpen my weapons since the day we arrived in Shalandra.”

  “Fair point.” Kodyn pulled his own daggers and winced at the nicks in the blades. “Errik would kill me if he saw the state of my weapons.”

  “Kill the both of us.” With a grin, Aisha produced a pair of whetstones from within her pouch and tossed him one. “Better get to it, then.”

  They sat on the bed, side by side, near enough that Aisha could reach out and touch him if she wanted. Yet his presence alone and his bright smile was all the reassurance she needed.