Heirs of Destiny Box Set

by Andy Peloquin

  Issa tore the short sword from his thick-fingered hand and swung it at the next thug in the short line. The man, caught off-guard by the suddenness of her attack, had no time to raise his sword or dodge. Her stolen blade sheared halfway through his neck and ripped a gash in his throat. Blood misted in the air from his severed jugular vein.

  The third man, a pencil-necked thief with darting eyes and quick fingers, actually dodged her left-handed blow. He drew a dagger and swiped at her, forcing Issa into a desperate lunge to the side. But instead of pursuing the thief, she finished off the third of the nearby thugs with a savage swipe of her sword. The heavy blade chopped into the side of his neck and he fell, gurgling, a pool of crimson turning the dust to mud around him.

  Issa whirled around in time to knock aside a vicious dagger thrust. She dodged a swipe, ducked beneath a high lunge, and drove her sword up into the man’s stomach. A perfect strike, one Killian had forced her to repeat a hundred times. The heavy short sword drove beneath the man’s ribs, sliced open his lungs, and pierced his heart.

  Pain flared along Issa’s back, a hot line of agony that ran from her right shoulder blade down her ribs. She threw herself forward, tackling the dying man. A tug at her clothing told her the knife blade had missed her flesh by a hair’s breadth.

  She had no time to tear her sword free of the bleeding thug, so she drew the wooden cudgel from her belt. When the scrawny thief lunged at her, she didn’t bother blocking the blow. Her club crunched onto his extended forearm. Bone shattered and the little man cried out, his blade falling from numb fingers.

  Issa whipped the club across, cracking the skull of the second thief, then brought it back to slam into the side of the wounded man’s head. Both fell, their bodies thumping against the ground moments apart.

  “Bitch!” came a roar of rage from behind her.

  “Issa!” A familiar cry echoed from nearby.

  The sound of her name startled Issa so much that she faltered in her movement. Agony exploded in her left shoulder. She staggered backward, her arm going numb from the blow of the club held in the thug’s hand.

  The heavy-necked man that had been calling out orders snarled at her. “I don’t know who you are, but—”

  He never finished his sentence. Steel suddenly burst from his chest, stained glistening crimson. His words cut off in a spray of blood and a weak cough. He stared down stupidly at the weapon, then up at Issa. Confusion twisted his face and darkened his eyes. He half-turned toward the wall, but collapsed weakly to the ground.

  Issa’s eyes widened at the sight of the javelin protruding from his back. Yet the sight that awaited her when she lifted her eyes to the wall of Killian’s smithy stole her breath.

  A man stood in the smithy, a solid wall of steel defending the gap in the crumbling masonry. Crimson-colored Earaqi cloth encircled his forehead, a sharp contrast to his silvery-white hair and beard. Issa knew she should recognize those dark eyes, the worry lines etched into his aged face, and the breadth of his shoulders anywhere, but the figure before her wore the black steel armor of a Keeper’s Blade and wielded a two-handed flammard in gauntleted fists.

  She blinked, squinted, and blinked again. No mistaking it. It was impossible, and yet she did recognize him.

  Grandfather?

  Chapter Six

  Kodyn had to admit that the look on the captive militant’s face truly was priceless. Surprise and suspicion mingled with a healthy dose of gut-wrenching terror as the man awoke and found himself the prisoner of the mute, brown-robed Secret Keepers.

  He and Aisha stood against one of the room’s bare stone walls, watching in silence as two Secret Keepers gave the man’s bonds a final check. Confident the prisoner wouldn’t escape, they bowed to Uryan, Ennolar, and a third Guardian—a man with a full head of tightly-curled hair and a bushy beard to match.

  When the wall slid shut behind the departing priests, the three Guardians exchanged glances. “He’s all yours, Thevoris,” Ennolar’s fingers signed.

  Nodding, the bearded Secret Keeper strode around behind the man. The prisoner’s eyes widened in alarm and he craned his neck until he could no longer follow the Guardian’s movements. Thevoris produced a vial from his robes and worked the cork until it came free with a loud pop. The sound echoed in the silence of the room and made the captive militant jump.

  “Do your worst,” growled the man. “I am one of Hallar’s Warriors, chosen to usher in the Fina—”

  Thevoris moved so quickly the militant had no time to react. The Secret Keeper’s left hand clamped on the captive’s jaw, locking his mouth open, and his right emptied the contents of the vial into his mouth. A flick to the man’s throat triggered his swallow reflex. Thevoris released him and stepped back, a contented smile on his face.

  “What was that?” Fear flitted across the man’s face, replaced a moment later by stubborn defiance. “It doesn’t matter. You don’t scare me.” He lifted his head. “Death holds no fear for me. I am a servant of the Long Keeper. The afterlife is my promised reward, and your actions only hasten my eternal rest in the Sleepless Lands.”

  Ennolar shot Kodyn a wry smile. “Do you want to be the one to tell him that it’s not going to kill him?” his fingers said.

  Kodyn answered in the silent hand language. “No?” He cocked an eyebrow. “What will it do?”

  “Make him very, very uncomfortable.” A fierce grin split the bald Secret Keeper’s face.

  Kodyn stepped forward. “Like you say, death would be the easy way out. I’m sorry to tell you that draught you just took isn’t going to send you to your eternal reward. But it’s going to make the rest of your time on this world a whole hell of a lot more miserable.” He was certain the Secret Keepers didn’t mind a bit of exaggeration for the sake of theatrics. Then again, judging by Ennolar’s expression—like that of a cat standing over a particularly meaty and slow-moving mouse—it might not be hyperbole.

  “Misery, I can endure, boy.” The man snarled the word like a curse. “As I have every day since I was born, cursed to scratch out a miserable existence while men like these priests grow fat on my labor.”

  “Earaqi, I take it?” Kodyn smiled. “Good to see we’re getting to know each other. In case you couldn’t tell, I’m not from around here.”

  The captive glowered at him, his mouth clamped stubbornly shut.

  Kodyn walked slowly around the man. “Here’s the thing, Tosser—you don’t mind if I call you that, do you? Tosser has a nice ring to it. Really gives you a sense of who you’re dealing with, doesn’t it? Like, he’s a real prick, that Tosser. Or, boy, that Tosser, he’s something else!”

  He felt a vicious glee as the man’s eyes darkened. Given how much suffering he’d caused, he deserved all the torment Kodyn could heap on him. A part of him, a maliciousness tucked deep within his mind, actually looked forward to seeing what Thevoris’ potion would do.

  “Anyways, you Tosser,” Kodyn continued with a too-bright smile, “as I was saying, I don’t really need anything from you. I already know why you’re here. You’ve come to get the very important articles the Arch-Guardian’s daughter has been hiding in here.”

  Tosser’s deepening scowl told him he’d struck a nerve. Confirms that theory nice and easy.

  Kodyn gave a dismissive wave. “I could waste my time trying to press you for answers about who sent you and who’s giving you orders and all that, but you and I both know that you’re too strong and brave and handsome and smart to give in to the questions from me. As you said, I’m just a boy.”

  He stopped in front of Tosser and gave the man a predatory smile. “But here’s the truth, Tosser.” Crouching, he dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Those priests back there, the ones that just gave you that strangely mysterious dose of something Keeper-damned awful, they’re all hot and bothered over the fact that you and your group of Hallar’s chosen cow-buggerers stormed their temple. Let me tell you, they’re real fond of things being all dark and secretive in here. Y
our friends made a mess of their house, and now they’re eager to show their appreciation.”

  As he spoke, his fingers moved behind his back. “Give us one of those scowls, Uryan.”

  Tosser’s eyes darted over Kodyn’s shoulder and his face whitened. Kodyn didn’t need to look back to know just how menacing Uryan’s sharp features could appear when she turned on the glare. The middle-aged Guardian did angry like a professional.

  “Honestly, I’m just doing you a favor, here.” Kodyn smiled and gave the man a patronizing pat on the head. “The longer I’m here talking with you, the more time I give their alchemical potion time to kick in. Maybe it’ll be something that knocks you unconscious before they start whaling on you.”

  A loud cracking of knuckles from behind him added delicious emphasis.

  “Although,” Kodyn said, his tone musing, “if I know these Secret Keepers, they’re more likely to give you something that will keep you awake while they pound you like a Feast Day tambourine.” He shrugged. “A roll of the dice, I suppose.”

  The man swallowed, and sweat pricked on his forehead.

  “Not looking so hot, Tosser.” Kodyn pretended a worried frown. “Need anything? Maybe a bite to eat, a cup of water?”

  Moisture began to pour from the man’s head, cheeks, and neck, dripping down his face and onto his simple tunic.

  “Yeah, probably a bit of water right about now.” Kodyn shot a questioning glance back at Ennolar.

  The Guardian signed back, “It’s just getting good.”

  The man’s stomach gave a loud gurgle, and the prisoner doubled over, a look of agony twisting his face.

  “Damn!” Kodyn whistled. “That sounds bad. Like your stomach’s eating you from the inside out.”

  A groan escaped the man’s clenched teeth.

  Kodyn sat back on his heels. “You know, I’ve heard the stories of what some of the Secret Keepers’ acids can do.” He spoke in a musing tone, as if talking to himself. “They won’t just turn your stomach into soup. They’ll melt through wood, stone, even metal. That’s got to be bad.”

  Another groan, louder this time. The man’s tunic was soaked and sweat ran down his face in thick rivulets.

  “The problem is, I don’t really know what they want from you.” Kodyn shook his head. “I mean, it’s not like they can talk to me or tell me what they’re after. Boy, I just hope that someone comes along to—”

  “Graaahhh!” A tormented cry burst from the man’s lips. “Agggghhhhh!”

  “Is that a happy aggghhh, Tosser? I can never tell.” Kodyn gave a theatrical huff. “And to think we were just having such a nice time together.”

  “What do you want?” the captive screamed.

  “Me?” Kodyn feigned innocence. “I mean, a nice meal would come in handy right about now.”

  The man’s stomach chose that moment to growl, so loud it echoed off the walls.

  “Please!” For the first time, a hint of desperation pierced the prisoner’s stubborn façade. “I’ll tell you anything, just make it stop!”

  Kodyn glanced at Ennolar, who gave him an encouraging nod.

  “Here’s the thing, Tosser.” Kodyn’s jocular tone fled, replaced by a hard, cold edge. Fury burned like molten lead in his stomach. “You and your fellows, you planned to kill my friends. I’d love nothing more than to watch the Secret Keeper’s acid turn every organ in your body to soup, then piss into the puddle.”

  The militant gasped, pain twisting his pale face. His lips were pressed into a firm line in an attempt to keep in the screams. Kodyn wanted to hear those screams—he deserved every shred of torment and more.

  “But you’re lucky that you have something I want.” He leaned forward until his face hovered a hand’s breadth from his captive’s sweat-soaked forehead. “Tell me how you knew we were here and who’s giving you orders, and maybe I’ll—”

  “The hunchback!” the man shrieked, his face twisted in agony. “We get our orders from the hunchback! He sent us!”

  Words froze on Kodyn’s lips. The word brought an image to his mind: an aging, emaciated Mahjuri with a hunched back trampled to death by the mob raging through the Sanctuary. That sight had shaken something loose in Kodyn’s brain, a memory he’d struggled to recall since Councilor Angrak’s assassination.

  That day, a man with a deformed, hunched spine and a face twisted by disease had stood in the crowd. But instead of watching Angrak arrested, his eyes had risen to the rooftops, to where Handsome the assassin crouched. The hunchback had hired Handsome to kill Angrak, to silence him before he could incriminate the Keeper’s Council for their role in embezzling shalanite from the mines.

  And he remembered where he had seen that hunchback before that day. He knew who controlled Hallar’s Warriors.

  The captive’s stomach gave one ear-splitting growl, eliciting a loud wail from the man. He writhed in his bonds, squirming and struggling against the pain. With a shuddering, gasping cry, he suddenly slumped, unconscious.

  At Ennolar’s nod, Thevoris stepped up to the man and placed two fingers against the side of his neck. “Out cold.”

  “Good,” Ennolar signed.

  “What was that?” Aisha demanded. “What did you give him?”

  “One of Uryan’s specialties,” Ennolar replied with a grin.

  Aisha and Kodyn turned to the stern-faced, scowling Secret Keeper. “I call it Plowman’s Consort.” A hint of a smile cracked Uryan’s thin lips. “Does a hell of a job loosening up constipated oxen.”

  Kodyn’s jaw dropped. “C-Constipated…?” A half-laugh, half-snort burst from his mouth. “Keeper’s teeth!”

  Aisha managed to restrain her chuckles, though not a wry smile.

  “Bloody hell, that’s vicious!” Kodyn shot a glance at the Guardian. “Will it kill him?”

  Uryan’s fingers flashed. “He’ll wish it did, because he’s going to have the worst case of flux in his miserable life.”

  That only made Kodyn laugh harder. He found it funny—he had the mental image of an ox bearing the face of the captive—but he felt a deep-seated satisfaction at seeing the man suffer. All of Hallar’s Warriors deserved a similar fate. Hells, all of the Keeper’s Council, Necroseti, and Gatherers could join them and he’d never bat an eyelash.

  Ennolar pressed a red gemstone set into the wall, and a moment later an opening appeared in the solid stone, admitting the two Secret Keepers that had bound the captive.

  “Take him away,” the Arch-Guardian signed.

  As the priests hauled the unconscious prisoner away, Kodyn turned to Ennolar. “Where are you taking him?”

  The smile faded from Ennolar’s face. “Someplace he will never be able to share the Mistress’ secrets with anyone outside these walls,” his fingers said. “The Temple of Whispers is forbidden to the outside world. Only a very fortunate—or very brazen—few ever live after stepping foot in our corridors.” His gaze darted in the direction of Briana’s room. “Something you might do well to remind your friend.”

  Kodyn couldn’t help admiring Evren for his unflinching defiance. Ennolar had come within a heartbeat of ordering his Secret Keepers to attack, but to protect Hailen, Evren had faced down the Arch-Guardian, even reached an understanding. That took a hefty set of brass bollocks and nerves of steel. Evren had proven himself capable on the streets and in a fight—hells, he’d even saved Kodyn’s life. But it was the fierce protectiveness that resonated with Kodyn.

  His entire life in the Night Guild, he’d been the victim of Bryden’s spite, enmity, and hatred for Kodyn’s mother. Master Hawk had seized every opportunity to belittle, criticize, and mistreat him. He’d wanted to break Kodyn’s spirit out of petty vengeance against Ilanna.

  Yet his censure and revilement had only strengthened Kodyn’s spirit, tempered his will hard as steel. Kodyn had suffered in silence, until the day when he no longer felt the sting of Master Hawk’s tirades. That was the day he determined that he’d be the shield to protect other weaker apprentices fro
m Bryden.

  He’d taken Sid under his wing after the younger Hawk struggled on the streets, helped him master the ways of picking pockets, locks, and targets to rob. Kodyn had given his own coin to help pay Sid’s House dues when the younger Hawk couldn’t keep up. All under Master Hawk’s nose, never saying a word to anyone.

  In that way, he and Evren were kindred spirits. Though they came from different backgrounds, cities thousands of leagues apart, they both understood what it meant to suffer at the hands of cruel men. Evren’s protectiveness over Hailen earned Kodyn’s respect. His skills on the streets and in a brawl only raised him in Kodyn’s estimation.

  "Kodyn.” Aisha’s voice snapped him back to the present. “You froze when he spoke of ‘the hunchback’. Do you know something?”

  Of course! Kodyn kicked himself for forgetting.

  Excitement blossomed within him. “Remember when I told you about the assassin’s accomplice in the crowd when Angrak was killed?”

  Aisha’s brow furrowed. “I think so.” Her eyes flew wide. “The hunchback with the twisted face!”

  “Yes, him.” Kodyn nodded. “I was certain I’d seen him before, and just now, before we fought our way into the temple, I remembered where I ran into him.”

  Excitement brightened Aisha’s expression. “Where?” she demanded.

  “In the Palace of Golden Eternity.” Triumph echoed in Kodyn’s voice. “He was there the night of Briana’s party, one of the priests in gold and black. He serves the Keeper’s Council!”

  Chapter Seven

  Aisha’s eyes widened. “I remember him!”

  Her mind flashed back to the night of Briana’s party at the palace, on their first day in Shalandra. Amidst the retinue of priests surrounding Madani and the rest of the Keeper’s Council had been one hunchback. A short, bald man, with a deformed face and crooked spine, clad in the black-and-gold shendyt and ornate golden headdress of a Keeper’s Priest.

  Hard to believe that was little more than a week ago. The thought flashed through Aisha’s mind. It felt like a previous lifetime. So much had happened since that night—Arch-Guardian Suroth’s murder, the Gatherer attack on Briana’s house, their eviction from the Keeper’s Tier, the battles on the Artisan’s Tier, and the fight to stop Hallar’s Warriors from poisoning the Heartspring—all in just a few short days.