Heirs of Destiny Box Set

by Andy Peloquin

  A thick wall of caustic stench told him they’d reached Groebus’ laboratory. The noxious odors of alchemical potions twisted his nostrils and set his stomach churning as his captors dragged him through a doorway and into a new room with stone floors. Through his peripheral vision, Kodyn caught sight of the legs of tables and stools along one wall. Along the other, glass bottles and jars, clay urns, and leather pouches adorned wooden shelves.

  Suddenly, Kodyn was falling, dumped by his captors onto the floor. It took all his self-control not to use his arms to break his fall. His head struck the stone and sparks danced before his closed eyes.

  “Still out, eh?” came one man’s voice. “Musta hit him harder than you thought.”

  “Youngsters.” The second gave a derisive snort. “I was taking hits twice that hard from my father when I was half his age.”

  “Sure you were.” The first man’s feet moved away. “Now keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t try anything.” Keys jangled from the far side of what sounded like a fairly spacious room. “Once he’s taken the draught, I want to get him in with the herd quickly. I’ve seen enough mutations for one lifetime, thank you very much.”

  Kodyn cracked an eyelid. One of his two captors stood over him, sword point held a finger’s breadth from his throat. If Kodyn tried anything, he’d end up bleeding out in an instant.

  The other man stood before a heavy wooden door, with a key inserted into what appeared to be a solid deadbolt lock.

  The lock clicked and, as the man swung the door open, a strange gurgling sound—like the rattling of sodden cloth flapping in a heavy wind—echoed from within. The militant holding the sword took his eyes off Kodyn for an instant and glanced toward the noise.

  Kodyn attacked. His right hand slapped the blade aside, his left flashing out to seize the man’s ankle. His leg snaked around behind the militant’s knee, breaking the man’s balance. Kodyn pulled and the man fell hard. Kodyn rolled out from beneath the collapsing militant, tore the dagger from his right boot, and struck out. The sharp blade punched through leather armor and slid between ribs. The man coughed, spraying blood, and fumbled at the hilt of the blade embedded in chest.

  At that moment, the second militant turned toward Kodyn. He stopped, stunned, and his eyes flew wide at the sight of his dead companion. “Wha—?”

  But Kodyn was already moving. He scooped up the fallen man’s sword and leapt toward the last captor. Too far for a proper attack, he struck low, driving the blade into the man’s leg. Bone crunched beneath the thrust and the sword sliced through tendons and ligaments. The man fell with a high-pitched cry of agony. Kodyn hacked at the man’s neck, cutting off the wailing shriek.

  The battle ended in the space of three heartbeats. Kodyn scrambled to his feet, heart hammering, his eyes fixed on the two dead bodies. A tense, almost breathless silence hung thick in the lab.

  Kodyn’s ears pricked up for any sounds of alarm as he scanned his surroundings. It was definitely a laboratory, complete with heavy-laden shelves overflowing with alchemical ingredients both familiar and strange, a stool next to the table, which was cluttered with glass vials, beakers, pestles, mortars, and a host of metal tools.

  The room stretched for twenty paces to his left, with row after row of shelves standing between him and the far wall. Alchemical lamps hung on the wall, their bright white light glittering off thousands of bottles filled with liquids of every conceivable hue.

  Kodyn’s eyes snapped back to the heavy door as the strange rattling sound echoed from within. He had no idea what the sound could be, and the room within was dark.

  Yet a shout from up the stairs drove all thoughts from his mind. The sound of racing footsteps grew louder. Kodyn had a single heartbeat to think, to find someplace to hide. He had little doubt the militants would search the rows of shelves, and he couldn’t fight his way through scores of enemies.

  He had just one choice.

  Heart pounding, he raced toward the door and pulled it open. Thick, all-consuming darkness met his gaze, and only that strange rattling sound echoed within. As the thumping of boots on the staircase grew louder, he slipped into the door and pulled it closed behind him.

  Not a moment too soon. Through the grille, he had a clear view of the half-dozen or so militants that raced into the lab, swords drawn, eyes scanning the shelves.

  “Fan out and find him!” shouted one. “Rudis, Vysur, Keyth, check the shelves. You two, you’re with me! If he’s headed down the escape tunnel, it’s up to us to cut him off!”

  The six men immediately raced out of sight. Yet their words filled Kodyn with hope. Escape tunnel? It sounded as if there was another way out, one that didn’t involve climbing those stairs.

  Then the strange gurgling, rattling came from behind him again, louder this time, just a pace behind him. Something slithered down his side. A hand, with grasping fingers that tugged at his clothing. Sharp nails dug into his flesh and he hissed. Another hand, then a third, and still more.

  Keeper’s teeth!

  Horror thrummed within Kodyn and he shoved against the door, pushing it open. He leapt into the laboratory and spun, skin crawling from the strange sensation.

  The sight of the thing that emerged from the room froze Kodyn’s blood in his veins.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Issa!”

  The sound of her name brought Issa whirling around in time to see Evren burst from the shadows and thunder toward her.

  “There’s a mob on its way!” he shouted. “We’ve got to get out of here!”

  Fear spiked Issa’s pulse. That was precisely what she’d feared. She and thirty Indomitables couldn’t fight off a throng of armed and angry rioters. Especially not with her prisoners. She turned back to the nine bound Ybrazhe thugs kneeling on the ground. Evren’s words had filled their eyes with a bright, defiant glare. The rioters were on their side. They believed they were about to be rescued.

  Not a chance I’m letting that happen!

  “Get them on their feet!” Issa barked at her Indomitables. “We’re moving out!”

  None of the soldiers needed to be told twice; they’d all heard Evren’s warning and knew the danger if they didn’t make themselves scarce.

  The Ybrazhe thugs, however, refused to cooperate. All nine of the heavily-muscled men struggled against the soldiers hauling them to their feet. One even managed to shout, “Indomitables, over here!” before a Dictator silenced him with a blow to the gut.

  Issa’s jaw tightened. She couldn’t fight her own people, nor put her Indomitables at risk. There was only one solution.

  She raised her flammard high and fixed the man with a hard glare “For crimes against the city of Shalandra and its people, I, Issa of the Keeper’s Blades, sentence you to die.” Black steel flashed in the light of the burning building, blood sprayed, and a head rolled.

  All eyes locked on her. The Indomitables appeared stunned, but not half as shocked as the Ybrazhe thugs. Their surprise turned to horror as Issa strode on to the next Syndicate brute. “For your crimes, I sentence you to death.” Her sword flashed again and another headless torso thumped to the street.

  Fear and panic twisted the face of the third man in line, a smaller, wiry thief. “For your crimes against the city, I sentence you to death.”

  His defiance cracked and he cowered as she raised the sword. A grim satisfaction filled Issa. She had him.

  “Unless, of course, you are willing to provide evidence of your complicity with the Keeper’s Council.” She spoke in a hard, cold voice. “If you are willing to give a sworn testimony before the Pharus, your sentence will be commuted to life in prison.”

  The thief’s eyes widened. Issa saw the hesitation written there as he wrestled with the choice. Life in a cell or death on the streets? For a self-serving Syndicate crook, the decision was clear.

  “I will speak!” he shouted. “I will tell you everything, just don’t kill me!”

  A couple of his comrades growled insults at h
is cowardice, but most added their voices to his offer of cooperation.

  Issa’s jaw clenched as she pointed to the last two defiant thugs. “Kill them.”

  She steeled her face, hiding a wince as the Indomitables put an end to the Syndicate brutes. She had no desire to kill them, especially not here, not like this—it felt like murder, even after all they’d done. Yet in the battle for survival and for the sake of the city, she had no choice.

  “Let’s go!” In the thirty seconds it had taken to crack the Ybrazhe’s resolve, the sounds of the approaching mob had grown louder. “Get them to the passages!” She turned a hard gaze on the Ybrazhe captives. “You are all sentenced to death. My soldiers will not hesitate to carry out your execution on the spot if you do anything that puts us in jeopardy. Your only hope of having your sentence commuted is to reach safety with us.”

  Resignation filled the eyes of the five remaining captives.

  “This way!” Evren waved her north, toward the wall. Issa had seen him sneak through the streets; if anyone could get them out of harm’s way, it would be him.

  She couldn’t help noticing the look he gave her before turning away. It held no recrimination there, simply a deep sadness. As if he acknowledged the necessity of her actions but hated the brutality.

  The time will come when I am asked to give answers to the Long Keeper for what I’ve done here. Her cold-blooded actions brought a rush of acid to her throat, yet she knew she’d done the right thing. The end of the Syndicate meant peace in Shalandra. Those deaths had been crucial to restoring order and putting an end to the riots. And her men counted on her to get them to safety.

  They raced through the streets, hauling the captive thugs along between them. One tried to take advantage of the haste to make a break for it. Issa cut him down without a second thought. After that, the remaining four showed little sign of resistance. They ran as fast as their thick legs could carry them.

  “Go!” Evren thrust a finger down an intersecting alley, one that led north toward the cliff face. The roaring of the crowd echoed loud from a street a few hundred paces south.

  Issa and her Indomitables hurried past, but Evren remained behind, likely to watch for any signs of pursuit. Issa led the way toward the looming wall, her heart hammering a desperate beat against her aching ribs. The wounds in her legs had stiffened, the ache intensifying with every step. Gritting her teeth, Issa forced herself to keep moving. Now wasn’t the time to give in to pain.

  Sounds of looting and the glimmer of torchlight ahead sent Issa racing down a back lane two streets from the cliff face. Their path led farther west, toward the secret entrance, but they had to skirt whoever lay ahead. Better the detour than risk a fight. It would take just one shout to bring the throng rushing in their direction.

  Something moved in the shadows to her right. Issa’s head whipped around, her eyes scanning the darkness. She blew out a breath as Evren appeared around a corner and sprinted toward them.

  “We’ve lost them for now,” he hissed, “but we’ve got to hurry! They could turn this way at any moment.”

  “Go!” Issa thrust a finger ahead. “Get the tunnels open.”

  With a nod, Evren dashed ahead and ducked into the alley that led north, toward freedom. By the time she and her Indomitables rounded the corner, he had reached the wall and was fumbling along its surface for the Serenii symbols that marked the opening. Relief flooded her as the door slid open, revealing the passages into darkness.

  One of the Ybrazhe thugs gave a terrified yelp as the Dictator shoved him into the opening, but none of the others made a sound. The sight of the glowing gemstones and the strange markings carved into the wall shocked them into silence.

  Issa only relaxed when Evren slipped into the tunnel at the rear of their line and the stone door rumbled slowly closed behind him. They were safe, with prisoners, and the threat of the Ybrazhe was all but ended. A good night, by any measure.

  That didn’t mean she’d take any chances with her captives. “Any of these bastards makes a move,” Issa growled to the Protector leading the Indomitables, “put a blade in them. We only need one of them to talk.” The order felt cruel, harsh, like a command Invictus Tannard would give. But in times of war—and Issa knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Shalandra was at war, with itself and threats within its own walls—drastic actions often proved necessary.

  “Please!” begged one, the thief that had been first to crack. “We’ve already surrendered and agreed to speak. We won’t do anything.”

  “Tell that to your comrade back there,” Issa snarled at him. “He put my men in jeopardy, trying to run like that.”

  “We’re only following orders,” protested the man. “Blackfinger’s—”

  “Blackfinger has been dealt with.” Evren’s voice cut in. “Your Syndicate is broken.”

  “And unless you wish to have your heads adorning spikes in Murder Square, you’ll tell us everything you lot have planned for the city.” Issa loomed over the man and her voice dropped to a growl. “Everything.”

  A desperate light shone in the man’s eyes. His eyes darted toward his comrades and he opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

  Issa pressed the curving edge of her flammard against his throat. “Speak!”

  “I…” The thief hesitated, his eyes again flitting to the other captives, and he licked his lips. “I-I don’t know much. I’m just a Crewman.” He tilted his head toward the man nearest Issa. “But Taghban, he’s a Crew Leader and—”

  “Nahril, you craven bastard!” snarled the man. “I should have slit your cowardly throat years ago when—”

  A meaty thump echoed off the tunnel walls as an Indomitable silenced Taghban’s tirade with a mailed fist to the face.

  Nahril turned back to her, his eyes pleading. “I swear, by my eternity in the Long Keeper’s arms, Taghban’s the only one left who knows the full truth of Blackfinger’s deal with the High Divinity. But I’ll tell you anything else you want to know. Just don’t kill me!”

  The man’s words sent a chill down Issa’s spine. The…High Divinity? She’d known the Ybrazhe had deals with the Keeper’s Council through Angrak, a highly placed Necroseti. But High Divinity Tinush, the highest-ranked priest of the Long Keeper? A dagger of dread twisted in her gut.

  Words poured from Nahril’s mouth as he spilled everything he knew about the Syndicate’s plans. Yet Issa heard none of it through the swirling chaos in her thoughts.

  “Sir?” The quiet question snapped her back to reality. She turned to find the Indomitable Protector standing beside her. “Orders, sir?”

  Issa cocked her head. “Orders?” She blinked at the man, her mind reeling. The discovery of Tinush’s treachery had knocked her off-balance.

  “To do with them.” The Protector motioned to the three remaining captives, including the bloodied, glaring Taghban. “As he said, we only need that one alive.” He drew his belt dagger and waved it at the thugs. “The city would be better off rid of these scum. They’ve plagued the lower tiers for long enough.”

  Nahril’s pleas for mercy only grew louder. The three burly thugs, however, remained silent, a defiant light in their eyes. If death came for them, they would face it on their feet.

  “No.” Issa felt suddenly drained, exhaustion and pain washing over her. “We promised they would live. We take them to Lady Callista. She will decide their fates.”

  She shouldered her way to the front of the column, Evren beside her. As he passed, she caught a glimpse of his expression. The approval in his eyes filled her with surprising warmth.

  Yet as she marched up the passages, that warmth turned to a cold, hard anger that formed in the pit of her stomach. Taghban the Crew Leader would give her what she needed to point Lady Callista at the Keeper’s Council, and the Lady of Blades would bring the Necroseti down once and for all. With her mission fulfilled, Issa would be free to go help her grandparents.

  I’m coming, Saba and Savta. The bloodstained, helmeted face of her gr
andfather flashed in her mind’s eyes. I’ll save you so you can finally tell me the Keeper-damned truth!

  * * *

  “What do you mean, she’s not here?” Issa snarled.

  The Indomitable Sentinel retreated beneath the intensity in her voice. “Lady Callista was summoned to the palace by the Pharus on a matter of urgency.”

  Issa bared her teeth. “What could be more urgent than the fight to save the city?”

  “An attempt on the Pharus’ life.” A new voice echoed in the room. Issa turned to see Invictus Dyrkton stride into the room. “The Pharus demanded that she personally see to his protection.”

  Anger surged within Issa. Now wasn’t the time for the Pharus to pull rank. Lady Callista was needed here, on hand, to deal with the riots. And she had to be here when Taghban gave up the Keeper’s Council.

  “I will see to the questioning of your prisoners personally,” Dyrkton said. “We will extract the answers from them and see that Lady Callista is informed of everything we learn.” He rested a gauntleted hand on her shoulder. “Your actions are to be commended, Prototopoi. Archateros Hykos relayed Ormroth’s report to us as the Ypertatos went off to join the battle.”

  “Sir, if I might—” Issa began.

  “Your part is done, Prototopoi.” The Invictus shot her a stern glare. “You will do no good to anyone if you’re too exhausted and wounded to fight. Go, refresh yourself and rest. We will call upon you at first light.”

  Issa’s jaw muscles worked. She couldn’t come out and tell him that her grandfather was a Keeper’s Blade, holed up in Killian’s smithy and fighting for his life. The Invictus would never believe her.

  Yet, he’d ordered her to rest, so he’d demand answers if she marched out the front gate. To get to her grandparents, she had only one choice: the secret tunnel in the Fortress. She might not have Hykos’ headband, but from what she’d seen in the palace, the door opened from inside even without a special stone.