Heirs of Destiny Box Set

by Andy Peloquin

  A fierce grin split his lips as he followed. He couldn’t move too quickly for fear of overtaking them or letting them catch sight of his shadow outlined by the red-glowing gemstones. Thankfully, he had a fairly good idea which path the militants would take to reach the Artisan’s Tier—only one tunnel led directly from the western side of the Keeper’s Tier to the Temple District.

  He moved as quietly as he could manage while still keeping pace with the militants. He could just see the dark outlines far ahead of him, just within eyesight yet far enough ahead that they wouldn’t see him if they happened to glance behind.

  Nervous tension tightened his shoulders and knotted the muscles of his back. Sweat soon streamed down his face from the effort of running in silence. He had to keep a tight grip on his sword to stop it from thumping against his leg, and the moisture of his palms soaked into the weapon’s leather wrappings.

  Down he went, past the Defender’s Tier, never slowing his cautious pursuit of the men that planned to attack his friends. Relief flooded him when he finally reached the Artisan’s Tier. At any moment, the militants would reach the passage that led out into the Temple District, and he could slip past them to—

  His brow furrowed. What in the bloody hell?

  Hallar’s Warriors didn’t take the way out. Instead, they turned west, continuing down the passage that led past the Temple District to the last exit in the Keeper’s Crypts.

  That made no sense. He understood why they’d use the crypts to get around Shalandra unseen—the tombs were all but abandoned, visited only by those burying or honoring the dead. But if they planned to attack the Temple of Whispers, they had no reason to travel that far west. Unless there was some other way, deeper underground, he didn’t know about.

  His answer came a moment later when they stopped at a blank section of wall. One produced a glowing object from within his pouch and held it up to the stone.

  Kodyn’s breath froze in his lungs as the mandala pattern of glowing runes lit up on the wall. A moment later, the same man pressed his hand against the center of the light and the wall rumbled aside.

  Keeper’s teeth! Horror thrummed through Kodyn’s veins. They have a lockstone!

  Somehow, Hallar’s Warriors had gotten their hands on one of the stones that gave them access to the most secure locations in Shalandra. Likely from Groebus, the same traitor that had opened the way into the Terrestra.

  Kodyn’s heart hammered a frantic beat against his ribs. They can get into the Temple of Whispers!

  One by one, the militants slipped into the tunnel. Kodyn raced toward the opening, but it rumbled shut before he could reach it. Heart hammering a frantic beat, he drew out his lockstone and triggered the secret mechanism.

  It seemed an eternity passed before the lock thunked within the wall and the section of stone slid open. Within, the light of the white gemstones shone on twenty figures rushing toward the blank wall at the far end of the tunnel. Even as Kodyn pounded down the passage, the foremost militant held up the glowstone and the lighted runes sprang to life. The rumble of stone on stone echoed terribly loud in his ears as the way to the Temple of Whispers opened.

  Ice froze in Kodyn’s veins. He stood alone against twenty militants, but if he didn’t raise a warning, the Secret Keepers would be caught off-guard. He just needed to slow Hallar’s Warriors down for a few seconds until the priests discovered they were under attack from within their own halls.

  It’s now or never, he realized as the last of the militants slipped up the staircase and disappeared into the Temple of Whispers.

  Drawing his sword, Kodyn charged up the passageway as fast as he could manage. His boots hammered on the stone steps and he threw himself through the opening just before it rumbled shut. A wordless battle cry burst from his lips as he fell upon the rearmost militant.

  The man died before he could turn, Kodyn’s sword chopping into the base of his neck, severing his spine. The second militant spun and brought his sword up to meet Kodyn’s slash, but the high strike was just a distraction. Kodyn ripped his dagger free of its sheath and swiped it along the man’s forearm, slashing from wrist to elbow. The left-handed blow caught the armored man off-guard. Pain twisted his face and he dropped his sword, gasping as blood welled from the deep gouge. His free hand went to the wound in a vain attempt to stanch the gush of crimson.

  Kodyn locked blades with the third man before the first two fell. The militant proved skilled with his stolen flammard, turning aside Kodyn’s flurry of blows with sword and dagger. He retreated a step, trying to widen the gap between them so he could swing his huge sword. Kodyn pursued, knocked aside the desperate swipe of the black steel blade, and followed up with a lightning thrust. The narrow tip of his long sword carved a gaping tear through the side of the man’s neck.

  The gagging, gasping militant tried to slow him down, but Kodyn batted away his feeble attack and raced on to attack the fourth man. He had no time to delay. The foremost Hallar’s Warriors had already slipped through the open door and entered the temple.

  “We’re under attack!” Kodyn shouted, desperation ringing in his voice. He didn’t know if the Secret Keepers could hear him through the walls of solid stone but he had to try.

  The fourth militant died quickly, Kodyn’s dagger driven into his chest. But when he tried to withdraw it, the blade caught on a rib and refused to budge. Kodyn struggled to jerk the dagger free, but had no choice but to abandon the weapon when the next two Hallar’s Warriors came at him simultaneously. He gripped his long sword in two hands and braced himself to fend off their attacks.

  His sword wove a blur of steel, its razor edge glinting in the faint glow of the temple’s lampstones. The clang of clashing blades sang out in the stone room, a cacophony that rang off the walls with jarring force.

  One strike got through Kodyn’s guard. A line of fire opened along the side of his face and cheek, and hot blood slid down his neck. Kodyn hissed against the pain but couldn’t afford to slow his desperate strikes, blocks, and parries. Against the two huge flammards, even a single moment’s delay or hesitation could cost him his life.

  The cries of wounded men echoed loud in the tunnels around him, accompanied by the thump of fists striking bodies and the crack of shattering bone. Yet Kodyn also heard the meaty sound of blades rending flesh. The Secret Keepers fought empty-handed, facing armed men wielding massive swords. But he had no time to worry for the priests’ welfare; he was in a desperate fight for his own life.

  Another sword slipped through his guard, this one opening a long, shallow cut in his leg. With a growl, Kodyn retreated a step backward, forcing the men to pursue him. The Mistress’ luck smiled on him. One of the militants splashed into the puddle of blood leaking from his comrade’s slashed forearm and his foot slipped. He wobbled, off-balance for a moment. His sword flew wide, striking the man beside him in the arm. The blow barely sliced cloth and flesh, but it sufficed to throw the militant off his pattern of strikes and counterstrikes. In the instant his gaze snapped to his flailing comrade, Kodyn buried his sword in the man’s gut.

  Before he could take advantage of the stumbling man, another militant took his fallen comrade’s place. The room in the Temple of Whispers was narrow and long, forcing them to come at him in pairs, crowded together, with no real room to swing their huge swords. Yet he also fought alone—one against far too many. If he fell, Briana and Hailen died.

  Gritting his teeth, he tightened his grip on his hilt and swung an overhand chop. Backed by the strength of his rage, it battered at the militant’s grip, slamming the crossguard into his face. Dazed, the man staggered backward and collided with his companion. The pair fell in a tangle of limbs, cloth, and steel. Kodyn dispatched the first with a quick thrust.

  And nearly lost his head in the process.

  Another militant had seized the opportunity to get in place, waiting for his perfect opening. He swung at Kodyn, a horizontal chopping blow that would have severed his neck. Only instinct and well-honed thie
f’s reflexes saved him. Kodyn dropped into a crouch, off-balance, then threw himself backward to avoid the follow-up blow. His heel struck something solid and he fell, crashing to the ground with jarring force. The fall saved his life. A sword clanged off the wall where his head had been a moment earlier. Steel struck sparks and carved a deep gouge into the stone, but the impact sent the sword rebounding, almost knocking it from the man’s grip. The militant took only a second to recover, but that gave Kodyn enough time to scramble upright and regain his footing.

  “Come on, you bastard!” he howled. One last attempt to raise the alarm and warn those within the Temple of Whispers.

  The man charged, and Kodyn met his rush with a wall of steel. He knocked aside the blow, ducked a high slash, and came up in a high thrust that sliced open the man’s throat. Crimson splashed the golden sandstone wall as the militant fell, gurgling and gasping for breath, drowning in his own blood.

  Kodyn stood alone, his heart pounding, blood staining his face and clothing. Horror thrummed within him as he fixed his eyes on the bodies littering the floor. He’d dispatched less than half the enemy; the rest had disappeared from view within the temple’s corridors.

  “Briana! Hailen!” the shout burst from his throat as he raced toward the now-closed door and triggered it with Suroth’s lockstone.

  A scene of chaos gripped the Temple of Whispers. Four Secret Keepers locked in bare-handed combat with the remaining dozen Hallar’s Warriors. In the spacious corridors, the sword-wielding militants could swing their heavy, stolen flammards with ease. The Secret Keepers fought empty-handed, with breathtaking skill, but their brown cloth robes did little to turn aside sharp steel.

  With a shout of rage, Kodyn fell onto the remaining militants from the rear. He hacked down one, hamstrung a second, and drove his sword into a third’s side. Even as the second man sagged on his now-useless leg, Kodyn brought his heavy blade whistling around in a powerful horizontal chop. Steel sheared through flesh, bone, and gristle. The man’s head flew from his shoulders, bounced off the wall, and rolled to a stop above his headless body.

  The remaining Hallar’s Warriors fell within seconds—either at the edge of his blades or the flashing fists and flying feet of the Secret Keepers.

  Silence echoed in the corridor, broken only by Kodyn’s ragged breathing and the quiet drip, drip of blood sliding off his sword. Suddenly, a wave of fatigue came crashing down atop Kodyn. He hadn’t rested or eaten since the night he’d stalked Handsome; the exertions, excitement, and emotions of the previous days flooded him with an overwhelming desire to lie down and sleep for a week. The ache in his forearms and the fire racing through the wounds in his face and leg asserted themselves, the pain impossible to ignore.

  He leaned against the wall, scanning the hall. Three of the four Secret Keepers still stood, though all bore injuries. The fourth lay still, his head hacked open by one of the flammards, gore leaking onto the bare stone floors.

  As one of the three priests straightened, Kodyn recognized him as the man that had stood guard at the front entrance.

  “Not this again!” signed the man, a wry grin on his dark face. “I’m getting sick of having to thank you for fighting in our defense.”

  “Let’s hope it’s the last time!” Kodyn gasped.

  At that moment, the opposite wall slid open and a half-dozen Secret Keepers flooded the hall. They stopped at the sight of the bodies and the blood covering the floor, and Kodyn standing with a drawn sword.

  The man that had addressed Kodyn turned to the newcomers. “Summon the Arch-Guardian.”

  Kodyn breathed a silent sigh of relief—after everything he’d endured that day, he wasn’t certain he could take another battle, even a battle of wills with the mute priests.

  As the Secret Keepers hurried away to call Ennolar, Kodyn scanned the bodies ahead of him. His eyes fell on the one that had been in the lead, a tall man with a bright red Earaqi headband, heavy leather armor, and a black steel flammard. He lay sprawled at a gruesome angle, his neck, arms, and back shattered by bare-handed strikes.

  Kodyn had eyes only for his right hand. Bloody hell, the ring! The militant wore a black stone ring identical to the ones Ennolar and the other Secret Keeper’s wore. So that’s how they got in! The question is where they got it from.

  A shadow fell over him, and Kodyn glanced up to find the bald Ennolar frowning down at the bodies strewn around the temple. Behind the Arch-Guardian, Uryan, Thevoris, and the other five Guardians issued terse, silent orders in their hand language.

  “See this?” Kodyn lifted the man’s hand. “This is how they got in.”

  Ennolar’s lip curled into a snarl. “I recognize this ring!” his hands said. “It is one of those given to the Keeper’s Council.” He crouched and glared down at it. “I’m almost certain it belonged to Councilor Madani.”

  Kodyn‘s jaw clenched. “Then that confirms what we suspected. Groebus is the one behind it. And I’ve got the proof.” From within his robes, he drew out the vial with the glowing purple liquid. “Recognize this?”

  Ennolar sucked in a breath. “Where did you get that?”

  “From the sinister underground laboratory in the mansion where I found Groebus and someone calling himself the Iron Warlord. Creepy-looking fellow, wears an iron mask to hide his face.”

  A sharp hiss sounded from behind Ennolar. The Arch-Guardian shot a glance back at Tianath, the Guardian with purple hair and eyeshadow to match.

  Curiosity flared to life within Kodyn. “You know that name?”

  “The name, no.” Tianath’s fingers moved, and her gaze shifted from Kodyn to Ennolar. “But the iron mask, yes.”

  Ennolar raised an eyebrow. “You speak of Tethum?”

  Tianath nodded. “Who else could it be?”

  “Tethum?” Kodyn cocked his head. “Who’s he?”

  “Truth be told, no one in Shalandra knows who he really is or where he came from.” Ennolar’s eyes darkened. “We only learned of his presence a few years ago, and it seemed he’d been in the city for little more than a year or two before that. He is a recluse who spends all of his time shut up in his mansion on the Keeper’s Tier.”

  “How he managed to live among the Dhukari as an outsider is just one of the mysteries surrounding the man,” Uryan put in.

  “Our attempt to learn his secrets have proven unsuccessful.” Ennolar’s face soured at the words. “We have been unable to learn anything more than the fact that he came from somewhere to the north, and he is never seen without that iron mask.”

  Kodyn’s mind raced. An outsider would never be given power in Shalandra, unless he somehow managed to take it. The fact that he called himself the Iron Warlord and used Hallar’s Warriors to his own ends hinted at a greater plan, but what it was, Kodyn couldn’t figure out.

  “I will have my people dig into this Tethum,” Ennolar’s fingers said. “But what matters most right now is this.” He took the vial from Kodyn with the caution of someone picking up a coiled serpent. “This is black alchemy, no doubt about it. And very likely the same poison intended for the Heartspring.”

  “Which means Groebus is the one behind the Azure Rot.” Anger flared within Kodyn, momentarily pushing back his exhaustion. “He’s the one that killed all those innocent people, and he’d have killed more if we hadn’t stopped him.”

  And there I was, close enough to kill him! He knew he’d made the right choice, but the fact that Groebus had escaped punishment rankled.

  “But now that we have this,” Ennolar hefted the vial, “we can break it down, analyze its components and determine its true nature. Already, examination of the sample taken from the Heartspring has yielded some preliminary findings that hint at truly foul villainy.” He placed a hand on Kodyn’s shoulder. “Thanks to you, by the time the sun sets tomorrow night, we will have the tools to defeat whatever wicked plan Groebus and this Iron Warlord have devised. Your actions tonight could very well have saved Shalandra once more.”

  Chapter
Thirty-Eight

  Blood turned to ice in Aisha’s veins at the sight of hundreds of enemies racing toward her. Armed rioters and militants spilled form the side streets and back alleys, a black tide of shouting people and torches that burned as bright as the crowd’s fury. Most carried swords, clubs, daggers, farm tools, and torches, but here and there among the crowd, she caught sight of huge two-handed swords. Hallar’s Warriors didn’t lead the charge but hung back to drive the people onward.

  Aisha had no time to rush to safety. The nearest rioters would reach her long before she could make the safety of the barricades. Even if the Indomitables let her through, she’d be cut down from behind as she climbed over.

  Her only hope of survival lay in fighting. One against thousands, she stood no chance. Not with mortal weapons. Wood, steel, and sinew could only keep her alive for a few seconds, then she’d be overwhelmed.

  She needed the power of the Kish'aa.

  Her left hand went to the pendant at her throat, her right reaching out toward the onrushing mob. Reaching deep down to the core of her being, Aisha summoned the spirits she had absorbed—the fallen Blades and their slain victims. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of souls, their lives snuffed out before their time, the sparks burning within them begging for vengeance.

  But not against the people of Shalandra. Those nearest Aisha were blown backward by a giant, invisible hand that slammed them to the ground. The wall of blue-white light washed over them, leaving them unharmed. The Kish’aa had no desire for vengeance against their fellow low-castes, those that had done no wrong. The Earaqi, Mahjuri, and Kabili had fallen victim to the guiles and treachery of duplicitous men.

  The same men that desecrated the graves of the Keeper’s Blades, disturbed the spirits surging from within Aisha.

  Fifty blue-white sparks detached from the mass of light and zipped through the crowd, straight toward those wielding the stolen flammards. All throughout the mob, men wearing the armor of Hallar’s Warriors fell to the ground, where they lay twitching, jerking, writhing in the grip of the lightning that coursed through their veins. The rioters nearest them drew back in shocked surprise. Horror and shocked surprise stalled the charge for a heartbeat.