Heirs of Destiny Box Set

by Andy Peloquin

  Yet that only made Evren’s task all the more difficult. The Necroseti guards had reached the smithy and found Issa, which meant the way would be clear back up to the Keeper’s Tier. A nagging doubt told Evren that the guards wouldn’t take Issa to the palace. After Tinush’s death and his assault on Madani, the Keeper’s Priests would doubtless be holed up in their temple stronghold.

  All because of me. The burden of guilt weighed heavy on Evren’s shoulders. He had been the one to attack the priests. Tinush had died of shock and fear at being surprised. It didn’t matter that Evren hadn’t pushed him; the old priest’s death would be ruled a murder. And Issa was taking the blame for it. Madani had seen her clinging to the wall, had recognized her. Evren’s sneak attack from the back had only delayed the inevitable.

  He ran, not for himself or for Shalandra, but for Issa. She deserved better than to die at the hands of treacherous men. Men that had used criminals, cultists, and militant fanatics to usurp the Pharus’ rule and take control of the city for themselves. Turning Killian’s evidence over to Lady Callista—or, if he couldn’t find the Lady of Blades, the Pharus directly—would be the final piece she needed to clap the Council in chains.

  Or so Evren hoped. With Blackfinger’s testimony, there was a chance that they could bring down the Keeper’s Council once and for all.

  But only if he reached the palace and found Lady Callista. To do that in time to save Issa, he’d have to hurry. The Necroseti guards had moved with haste, as if they knew that they could only succeed in dragging Issa into the Hall of the Beyond as long as none of the Keeper’s Blades raised a hand to stop them. With all of the Blades concentrated on recapturing the city gates and the Elders locked away in the Fortress, there was no one to stop them.

  Evren clenched his teeth. Lady Callista will stop them! The Pharus had summoned her to the palace to protect him after an assassination attempt. Evren simply had to find her in the palace and deliver the document sitting in his pocket.

  He tightened his grip on the coin Killian had given him. The strange silver disc, with the “X” etched into the reverse, would give him access to the palace, but only if he found the right servants—one with a thread of silver in her gold-and-white headband. A faint hope, but he had no other choice. Issa’s life hung in the balance.

  It felt strange to be so concerned with the Keeper’s Blade. He’d never felt any sort of kinship with soldiers, warriors, or anyone on the right side of the law before. His years as a thief had made him wary, suspicious of anyone in power. But over the last few days, he’d seen a new side to Issa. What surprised him most was that he’d come to think of her as something of a friend. The thought of her being executed or imprisoned in the Hall of the Beyond drove an icy dagger into his gut.

  After all she’d lost—her parents at a young age, and now her grandfather—she deserved better. Evren knew the pain of those losses. He had seen his mother die before his eyes, lived a life without ever knowing his father. That had formed a strange sort of kinship between them, at least in his mind.

  So he’d fight to keep her alive, just as he had with Hailen, with Daver, with all of his friends. If there was one thing Evren knew how to do, it was fight. He would run until his feet fell off, would shout until his throat burst, if it meant he could save a friend.

  He slowed as he approached the sandstone cliff, his eyes scanning the shadows for the entrance to the secret tunnels. His questing fingers found the notches in the stone and he triggered the concealed opening without hesitation. The wall had barely rumbled open before he squeezed through the narrow gap and raced up the dimly light corridor.

  The tunnel flew by in a blur of black and red, the sound of his pounding boots echoing off the low stone ceilings. His heart hammered against his ribs, his legs burned from the exertion, and his lungs begged for air, but he forced himself onward.

  He had to reach the palace before the Necroseti guards dragged Issa into the Hall of the Beyond.

  The guards would have to march east along the Artificer’s Courseway, up Death Row, then west along the Path of Gold. Thanks to the Serenii tunnels, Evren had a more direct route to the Keeper’s Tier. Yet without Kodyn’s lockstone, he had no way to sneak into the palace. His only hope lay in talking his way past the guards.

  Sweat streamed down his face, his neck, soaked into his tunic. He ran until his muscles gave out and his lungs threatened to burst. Finally, he had to stop for a break. He leaned against the wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The steep incline sent fire racing down his lower back and legs, and he’d only reached the Defender’s Tier. His parched throat begged for water, wine, ale, even that horrible uzum—anything to quench his thirst. The morsels of food he’d eaten in Killian’s smithy could only sustain him for so long.

  Yet after only a few moments of rest, he shoved off the wall and lurched up the tunnel. His feet ached and his legs protested with every step, but slowly his shambling walk grew faster to a slow jog, then a run. Gritting his teeth against the pulsing pain in his body and the growling of his now-empty stomach, he forced himself to keep moving.

  Up the hill he raced, through the darkened tunnels, with only the pounding of his heart and the crimson light of the glowstones for company. He heard nothing through the blood rushing in his ears; he could be surrounded by enemies, yet he’d never know it. His eyes fixed firmly on the passage ahead.

  I’m coming, Issa!

  Reaching the level of the Keeper’s Tier, Evren turned right and dashed east along the dimly lit tunnels. He had only a few hundred paces to go, but it felt as if he raced across the Whispering Wastelands. Yet instead of thunder and boiling black stormclouds, Evren faced only dark emptiness. The utter stillness of the underground passages mocked his exhaustion and urged him to greater speeds.

  It seemed an eternity before he reached the passage that would lead him out of the tunnels and onto the Keeper’s Tier. Hope surged within him, momentarily driving back his pain. He called on the last of his depleted reserves of strength and raced the thirty paces up the passageway toward the blank wall and slammed his palm into the gemstone that triggered the opening.

  He nearly collapsed as the stone slid aside and spilled him onto the Keeper’s Tier. A cool breeze and the faint glow of twinkling stars greeted him as he staggered up the alleyway, heading north toward the Path of Gold.

  The tunnels had opened just west of Death Row, just a hundred paces from the broad gate that barred entry to the Palace of Golden Eternity. Evren shot a desperate glance south toward the gate that led toward the Defender’s Tier. Relief flooded him; he saw no sign of the silver-armored spearmen marching through the walls of Indomitables holding the entrance. All he saw were servants erecting a pavilion tent. Forty Indomitables and a handful of Keeper’s Blades stood nearby, forming a protective circle around a smaller tent.

  What’s that all about?

  He had no time to wonder. He’d reached the Keeper’s Tier ahead of them, but that was just the first difficulty to get past. He still had to find a way into the palace. And, with the assassination attempt on the Pharus, he was all but certain the guards would carefully scrutinize anyone trying to enter the palace without good cause. With his plain Earaqi clothing, the mere sight of him would raise the guards’ suspicion.

  He racked his brain for the best approach to get through the Indomitables holding the gate. He still had the red-and-gold headband he’d been given upon acceptance into Suroth’s household, which marked him as the servant of a Dhukari. His ragged, torn, filthy clothes marred the appearance, but with enough bravado, he might be able to pull it off.

  For Issa’s sake, I’ve got to try! He removed his red headband and tucked it away, yet didn’t replace it with the Dhukari headband. He’d have to approach this another way.

  Leaning into a limp, he stumbled up Death Row toward the Palace of Golden Eternity.

  “Please!” he called out as he approached the closed gate. “Help me!”

  A postern gate appeared and t
wo Indomitables stepped through the narrow opening. “Stop where you are!” shouted one. The two vertical silver stripes that cut through the blue Alqati band on his spiked helmet marked him as a Dictator. “Unless you’re here on urgent business, the palace is—”

  “Yes!” Evren gasped. “Most urgent business!” He lurched forward as if a heartbeat from collapse, barely catching himself on the soldier’s arm. “My master….sent me…with a message!”

  “What message?” the Dictator snapped. He shook Evren off and took a step back. “And who is your master, Kabili?”

  “Not Kabili.” Evren winced as he drew out the strip of red-and-gold cloth. “Earaqi…personal manservant…to Omvoris.” He pulled the name out of thin air; he gambled that the low-ranked Indomitable wouldn’t know every Dhukari that occupied the Keeper’s Tier. The headband was what mattered most.

  Evren leaned on his knees, drawing in theatrically large breaths. “My master…trapped in the Slave’s Tier…rioters attacking his house!” He filled his voice with panic. “He sent me to…beg Lady Callista…for help.”

  The Dictator and his companion exchanged skeptical glances.

  “Please!” Evren clung to the soldier’s breastplate as if for dear life. “I barely made it through the riots with my life, only by hiding who I truly was. My master can’t hold out much longer. If he dies and I failed to deliver his message, I will be put to death for my incompetence!”

  The soldier’s eyes dropped to the red-and-gold cloth in Evren’s hand. A battle of indecision warred in his mind. He’d doubtless seen the callous cruelty of Dhukari; slaves and servants were as mistreated in Shalandra as anywhere else on Einan. Evren’s bruises and split lip added to the argument. The very convincing desperation in his eyes and the panic tingeing his voice went a long way toward making up his mind.

  With a grunt, the Dictator shoved Evren away. “Yerrit!” he barked. “Take him where he needs to go.”

  “Sir!” The Indomitable behind him snapped a salute.

  “Thank you!” Evren squeezed out a tear, a brilliant smile creasing his face, and slipped past the soldier toward the open gate.

  “Watch him.” The Dictator’s low murmur to his companion reached Evren. “And find out who this Omvoris really is.”

  Evren’s gut clenched. Suspicious bastard. Then again, it was the Dictator’s job to be wary, especially of strange-looking young men in ragged clothing telling fanciful tales.

  But that fanciful tale had worked. He was inside the palace. Now I just need to find one of Lady Callista’s private servants.

  Evren half-ran, half-stumbled across the broad plaza that stood between the wall and the palace. He paid no attention to the ornamental details of the colossal building or the stone-carved face of Hallar above the palace. All that mattered was finding Lady Callista before it was too late to save Issa.

  Armor clattered and weapons clanked as the Indomitable hurried to keep pace beside him. Evren was tempted to break into a run and lose his lead-footed shadow, but that would get him nowhere. He’d simply raise suspicion and get himself clapped in irons. The only way to get to Lady Callista would be to continue playing the ruse.

  “What’s his business, Yerrit?” called one of the ten black-armored Indomitables stationed at the front entrance.

  “Servant of some Dhukari named Omvoris, here to see Lady Callista.” Yerrit slowed as he approached the double doors. “Says his master’s in trouble down on the Slave’s Tier.”

  “Rough for him.” The Indomitable—his single horizontal silver stripe marked him as a Sentinel—shrugged. “Lady Callista’s got the palace buttoned up tighter than a miser’s bunghole. No one’s in and out, save for Indomitables, Blades, and palace servants.”

  Evren’s gut tightened. “Please!” He poured a healthy dose of panic and fear into his words. “My master—”

  “Your master’s not the only person in the city suffering,” growled the Sentinel. “Now, give me the message and I’ll see it relayed to Lady Callista. After that, turn around and go back the way you’ve come.” The man loomed over Evren. “Got that, Earaqi?”

  A cold, analytical calm descended over Evren. His eyes darted to the man’s jaw, right where the bone connected with his skull. One hard blow would bring the Indomitable down. But then he’d have to face the other ten. No way he’d get through.

  Despair flooded Evren. He couldn’t fight his way past, and his lie had failed. He was out of options.

  Clenching his teeth, Evren shoved back against his mounting despondency. He couldn’t give up, not so close to his destination. Issa was counting on him. He had to try, had to get through to Lady Callista. If he didn’t, the Keeper’s Council would lock Issa up, likely execute her in the Hall of the Beyond. Even if Madani let her live, he’d likely use her as leverage against the Lady of Blades.

  What could he do?

  At that moment, the double doors opened and a pair of palace servants emerged, carrying wineskins and a cloth sack heavy with what appeared to be food.

  “Dinner, lads,” called out one, a grey-haired woman with a white-and-gold headband and deep smile lines around her mouth and eyes. “Nothing fancy, but—”

  Evren froze as he caught sight of the second servant. A smaller woman, younger, with five black beauty marks dotting her angular cheeks and sharp chin. Yet his eyes rose to the cloth band encircling her forehead, where a single thick thread of silver interlaced with the gold-and-white fabric.

  His heart leapt. One of Lady Callista’s servants!

  Before the Sentinel could react, Evren threw himself around the soldier and lunged at the younger servant. “Please!” he begged. “My master, Omvoris, needs help!”

  The woman recoiled, staggering backward, her face twisted in shock. Yet recognition glimmered in her eyes as Evren opened his palm to reveal the coin face with the “X” etched into its surface.

  Strong hands seized Evren and dragged him away. A blow to his gut doubled him over and drove the air from his lungs. He gagged, gasped, and tried to wrestle free. In the space of two heartbeats, he was thrown to the ground, his arms wrenched behind his back, and his face ground into the stone. The weight of a knee pressed into his spine painfully.

  “Wait!” A woman’s voice echoed from above behind him. “Lady Callista will want to see to this traitorous spy personally.”

  “What?” Yerrit’s words came out in a panicking half-shout. “You think—”

  “Of course!” the woman snapped. “Masquerading as a Dhukari servant, even carrying this headband.”

  The fabric of cloth was torn from Evren’s hand.

  “But Lady Callista will see to his questioning.” The woman’s voice deepened to an angry snarl. “She’ll find out who sent him soon enough.”

  A tense, nervous silence hung in the air for a moment. Evren struggled to breathe, his face crushed against the hard sandstone of the entrance.

  Finally, the Sentinel’s voice pierced the stillness. “As you say, Ivita.” His words rose to a barked order. “You four, haul this treacherous filth before Lady Callista. He tries anything, put a dagger in him.”

  “Yes, Sentinel!” Four mailed fists pounded on steel breastplates.

  Evren was hauled roughly to his feet and dragged westward into the palace. Two Indomitables kept a firm hold on his arms while the other two marched behind him. The servant called Ivita led the way through the gold-and-silver-tiled halls and high-arching corridors. Evren’s heart hammered; every second’s delay could cost Issa her freedom, but he had to go along with the ruse. Or what he hoped was a ruse. Ivita could very well be marching him to the dungeons and his execution.

  Chapter Forty

  Exhaustion settled onto Kodyn’s shoulders as he followed the brown-robed Secret Keeper down the plain stone corridor toward Briana and Hailen’s room. He hadn’t had a chance to sleep since the night he stalked Handsome—too much had happened for him to enjoy the luxury of sleep. Now, he felt ready to collapse beneath the weight of fatigue.

/>   He’d done his part. The Secret Keepers had the black alchemical poison and they would discover its true purpose. Groebus had escaped to safety, but he and his master wouldn’t be going far. The attack on the Temple of Whispers had failed. He had stopped them. That had to have earned him a few hours of sleep before he dove back into the fray.

  Aisha would tell him to rest. She’d say something like, “You stop thinking smart when you’re tired.” And she’d be right. The incessant activity of the previous days—bloody hell, since he left Praamis—had drained him in mind, body, and spirit. He needed to close his eyes, to take a few moments to recover from his exertions. Maybe then he’d be able to get past the anger and hatred he felt toward Groebus and the Iron Warlord, the true culprits behind all the misery in Shalandra. He needed to think straight to come up with a plan to deal with them.

  He let out a long breath as the stone door slid open and he stepped into the familiar room. The sparse furnishings, unadorned walls, and bare floors were a welcome change. Here, he could be safe among his friends, if only for a few minutes.

  Hailen and Briana sat hunched over the desk, intently studying Suroth’s journal. Briana glanced up at the sound of his entrance. Her tired, red-rimmed eyes flew wide as she recognized him.

  “Kodyn!” She leapt to her feet and raced toward him, throwing her arms around his neck.

  Kodyn grunted at the impact but returned her tight hug. It felt good to once more be with his friends. He needed it, needed the peace and comfort of their presence.

  Briana clung tightly to him, almost desperate, a tremor running through her petite form. “When none of you returned after yesterday morning, we were getting worried.” Emotion thickened her voice. She pulled away and quickly scrubbed moisture from her cheeks.

  “Us?” Kodyn forced a light, dismissive laugh. “We’re not that easy to get rid of.” Yet his airy tone belied his true emotions. Over the last few days, he’d come close to death too many times to count.