Heirs of Destiny Box Set

by Andy Peloquin

  Aisha turned to face the embattled Blades, and her hand stretched out of its own accord. She had no need to summon the power—it sprang to her hands unbidden, dozens of spirits surging, crackling, sizzling through her veins and bursting out her fingertips. Sparks of brilliant blue-white light hurtled toward the Stumblers and crashed into the wall of snarling, clawing flesh.

  The Kish’aa leapt from Stumbler to Stumbler, hurling them backward, yet moving so fast it appeared as if the creatures had been blown away by an invisible blast of wind. Scores fell, twitching, jerking, gripped in a spasm as the power of the spirits burned away the poison that flooded their veins and twisted their minds.

  Yet, for every one that fell, ten more remained. The blast of power had opened a gap ten paces across in front of the Blades, but it would buy them only a few moments of rest. More than a thousand creatures remained, lurching up the hill, their milk-white eyes fixed on the black-armored soldiers.

  Dread sank an icy dagger into Aisha’s gut. There were simply too many to cleanse. She could summon the power of all the dead Blades in the crypts, but it might not suffice to purge the poison from all the Stumblers attacking the palace.

  Yet even if she’d had enough spirits, using so much power could kill her. The Dy’nashia pendant stored the power, but she channeled it through her body. It could simply burn her from the inside out as it had Imbuka. Already, she could feel her nerves growing raw, ragged from so much energy. She would die if she kept using the power, but she would die if they faced the Stumblers with steel alone.

  An impossible choice, and she could find no answer.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Kodyn’s eyes widened as the wall of Stumblers suddenly flew backward, as if hurled by an invisible hand. The creatures lay jerking and writhing on the ground, more and more of them falling by the second.

  Whoa!

  He shot a glance over his shoulder and found Aisha standing behind him, right hand outstretched. The strange blue-white sparks danced in her eyes, a mark of her Spirit Whisperer powers. He’d seen what she could do—the spirits had saved his life before—but never on such a massive scale. She had brought down nearly a hundred Stumblers in the space between heartbeats.

  Yet worry twisted her face. “I-I can’t stop them all!” she said, lowering her hand. “There are too many.”

  Kodyn frowned and turned back to the ranks of Stumblers. The creatures had been thrown back, but only for a few seconds, and easily a thousand or more lurched up the sloped path toward them.

  A hand gripped his shoulder. “Whoever you are,” said a strong, firm voice behind him, “thank you. Your arrival couldn’t have come at a better time.”

  Kodyn turned to find a tall Blade with a braided goatee the same black as his hair, which hung loose around his broad shoulders. Blood spattered his face and coated his black armor a grisly crimson, and exhaustion dug deep lines into his high cheeks, thin lips, and square jaw. Yet grim resolve sparkled in his dark eyes—a determination mirrored in the eyes of every Blade behind him. Though their expressions revealed stunned surprise at what they’d just witnessed, the twenty-odd warriors gripped their two-handed swords firmly.

  “Ypertatos Lorran, this is Kodyn and Aisha,” a familiar voice put in. Kodyn’s eyes slid past the Blade, and a smile broadened his face as he spotted Etai, Issa’s fellow Blade trainee. “Aisha’s the one who warned us about Hallar’s Warriors.”

  The gurgling, rasping of the Stumblers grew louder. Aisha’s power had cleared a gap, but the creatures were closing as quickly as their lurching, tottering gait permitted. Many tripped over the prone forms of their fallen comrades, but that only slowed the approach, not forestalled it. The Stumblers would reach the line in less than a minute.

  “Is there any hope of reinforcements?” Kodyn asked.

  “No.” The Ypertatos, Lorran, shook his head, sending his long hair whipping about his face. “There is no one left to send.”

  “Every Blade in Shalandra was already committed to battle for the gates and stopping the riots,” Etai spoke up. Blood trickled from three long slashes in her forehead, but she seemed otherwise unharmed. “We are left behind to guard the crypts from a Gatherer attack.” Her eyes went to Aisha. “Thanks to your warning, Lady Callista sent the last thirty Indomitables she could spare. But with the battle raging at the palace gate, we are all that is left to hold here.”

  The faces of the remaining Blades grew grim, a light of dread expectance glimmering in their eyes. They knew what happened when too few defenders faced too many enemies. One by one, the Stumblers would bring them down, until the last few were overrun. The outcome was inevitable.

  No! Kodyn’s mind raced. We can’t lose here, not so close to the vault. If the Stumblers overran the Blades and Indomitables holding the crypts, they would swarm into the palace from the west and fall upon the defenders from behind, forcing Lady Callista to split her forces. The creatures would capture the Tomb of Hallar and the Vault of Ancients, and all hope of stopping the Final Destruction would be lost.

  But what can we do? He could fight until his last breath, but against so many Stumblers, it would be next to useless.

  He shot questioning a glance at Aisha. “There’s nothing you can do?” he signed in the Secret Keeper hand language.

  The Ghandian shook her head. “If I expend all of the spirits I gather in the crypts, I risk death. Channeling the power of the Kish’aa in such great measure will tear me apart from the inside out.” Her face grew solemn. “I am willing to fight to the death if it saves—”

  “No!” Kodyn gave a furious shake of his head. “We have to find another way.”

  His mind raced as he desperately tried to come up with another plan, a path that led away from the certain doom they faced. His eyes roamed over the rows of black sarcophagi lining the crypts. With the swords of the dead Blades, they had weapons enough for an army, but no hands to wield them. Mortal strength would never suffice in the face of so many enemies. Aisha would fight until her last breath, he knew, risking herself to save others. But he couldn’t let that happen.

  As his gaze traveled along the walls, a desperate new idea slammed into him.

  “Help them hold back the Stumblers,” he signed to Aisha. “Use just enough of your power to keep them safe until I get back.”

  At her nod, Kodyn broke from the line of soldiers and raced up the hill toward the Tomb of Hallar and the entrance into the palace.

  “Where are you going?” Etai called after him. “The battle is here!”

  Without slowing, Kodyn shouted over his shoulder. “I’m going for the only help we’ll get!” His reckless, audacious plan might be their only hope of stopping the Stumblers here once and for all.

  He sprinted up the hill, through the chamber that held the Tomb of Hallar, and east toward the Vault of Ancients. His heart hammered a furious beat in his ears as he rushed past the vault he’d come a thousand leagues to break into. He could worry about getting in when they weren’t fighting for their lives.

  His boots pounded over the stone floors of the palace, thumping in time with his pulse. Exhaustion tugged at his limbs, filled his legs with lead, but he forced himself to keep running. He had no idea if his plan would work, but he had to try. If he didn’t, the Stumblers would overrun the crypts and the battle would be over. The Iron Warlord would have his Final Destruction.

  I’ll be damned if I let that happen!

  From a young age, Kodyn had tried to emulate his mother’s determination, grit, and her refusal to give up despite impossible odds. Their current situation was as impossible as it got, which meant now was the time when he had to fight through, keep pushing, keep trying. If he stopped, they died. Their only hope of survival was to stubborn through the battle until they attained victory. At that moment, they had just one chance of defeating the Stumblers in the crypts.

  Through the palace he ran, past the Blades’ wing, down gold-and-silver-tiled corridors, around the Council Chamber, and toward the wes
tern wing. Sweat streamed down his face, soaked his tunic, and stung his eyes, but he refused to slow. He had to find Ennolar and his priests. Victory rested in the hands of the Secret Keepers.

  Hope surged within him as he spotted the offices of the Necroseti. Through an open door, he caught a glimpse of brown-robed figures hunched over a table.

  Yes!

  He burst into the room and skidded to a halt in front of Ennolar. “I need the Thunderstrikers!”

  The Secret Keepers were in the middle of all manner of mystifying experiments. Bright-colored liquids in metal pots bubbled over a glowing gemstone, and two of the priests crushed herbs and flowers in stone mortars. Uryan hunched over an unconscious Stumbler strapped to a long wooden table, poking long steel needles through its skull. Thevoris knelt beside one of the recovered victims, the Mahjuri woman with too-gaunt ribs and hollow cheeks. The stench of alchemy hung thick in the air.

  But Kodyn had no time to allow his curiosity to run rampant. He focused on Ennolar, who held a book filled with Secret Keeper runes open in his pudgy hands.

  “Please,” Kodyn begged. “The Stumblers are about to overrun the defenders holding the Keeper’s Crypts. If they get through, the palace will fall and everyone will die. The Iron Warlord will get to the Vault of Ancients unless we stop him. And the Thunderstrikers are the only way to do that.”

  Ennolar’s eyes darkened and he snapped the book closed. “I cannot risk the Mistress’ secrets being witnessed by outsiders,” the Arch-Guardian signed.

  “I saw what they can do,” Kodyn protested. “So did Briana and Hailen.”

  “The three of you are unique, special, touched by the hand of the Mistress.” Ennolar fixed him with a stern glare. “Our goddess has seen fit to give you access to some of her secrets. But not all of Shalandra is thus blessed.”

  “So you’d risk the life of every person in the palace?” Kodyn demanded. “You have the power in your hands to save everyone, yet you hesitate for fear of people learning your secrets?” Anger surged within him, a burning fire simmering in his gut. “You said the Mistress entrusted you with the task of safeguarding secrets that could shape the course of the world. Well, if we don’t stop the Stumblers and the Iron Warlord gets into the Vault of Ancients, the world will be destroyed anyway. The Final Destruction will be unleashed and you will be the ones to blame.”

  Ennolar’s face hardened. “You will not place that on our shoulders!”

  “If you don’t use your knowledge when it could save the city, then yes, I bloody well will!” Kodyn’s voice rose to a shout. “Did your goddess not share her secrets with the world for our good? To benefit us all?”

  On the road from Praamis, Briana had explained some of the Secret Keepers’ ethos, the ideals that drove the secretive priesthood. The Secret Keepers believed the Mistress, goddess of trysts and whispered truths, had given her earliest priests divine knowledge to understand the hidden things in the world, the secrets known only to the gods. The power carried a great responsibility, one the Secret Keepers took seriously. They killed and died to protect their knowledge. Yet now, they had a chance to do some good, and he had to try to convince them.

  “You have spent your life guarding these secrets, honoring your goddess the best way you know how. But do you truly believe the Mistress wants you to die here, now, like this? Ripped apart by creatures of black alchemy?” Kodyn shook his head. “I say no, Ennolar. That is not the reason you were born or chosen into her priesthood. Any of you!”

  He looked at each of the brown-robed priests in turn. “Your goddess trusted you with this power, knowing that you would use it for good. So now is the time to prove her right. Now is the time to do with her secrets what she intended from the beginning.” His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “If you don’t, we all die!”

  Doubt, reluctance, and hesitation flashed through Ennolar’s eyes in an instant. The Arch-Guardian’s face grew pensive, twisted into a frown that mirrored the turmoil in his mind. He was the highest-ranked priest of the Mistress in Shalandra, which meant all of the others in the room looked to him to make the choice. A choice that went against everything they had learned and practiced since the day they swore the oath to join the priesthood.

  Kodyn could only hope Ennolar had the mental capacity to see the truth, to understand the dire nature of their situation. If he proved as stubborn and inflexible as so many other priests, they had no hope of survival.

  Ennolar’s gaze shot toward Uryan, and once again the two shared that silent communication. No hand gestures, only the questions that sparkled in Ennolar’s eyes.

  After a long moment, Ennolar nodded. “So be it,” he signed, turning to Kodyn. “The Thunderstrikers are yours.”

  “Thank you!” Kodyn wanted to laugh, to shout, to weep in relief. He raced toward Lunus, who held out the straw-filled wooden crate with the nine remaining Thunderstrikers. Turning, he nodded to Ennolar. “I know how difficult this was for you. Yet I believe the Mistress would agree that you made the right choice.”

  Ennolar’s face grew inscrutable, but he nodded. “May her fortune smile on you,” he signed, then turned stiffly back to his work.

  Kodyn hurried from the room as fast as he dared. The wooden crate carried the dark grey clay orbs nestled on a bed of straw, but he had seen how volatile they could be. The last thing he wanted was for a jostle or stumble to set one off within the palace.

  Their lives depended on him getting to the Keeper’s Crypts with the Thunderstrikers intact.

  Sweat streamed down his face, but it had nothing to do with his pace. He clenched his jaw and focused on moving quickly while keeping his pace steady, smooth.

  His shoulders twisted in knots, anxiety roiling in his stomach. Every moment’s delay meant one more chance for the Stumblers to hurt or kill Aisha, Etai, or the Blades holding the tomb. A single minute could spell the difference between a fighting chance at victory and certain defeat.

  Through the palace he hurried, his steps leading west, back toward the Vault of Ancients. He passed the vault door without a glance, his ears pricked up for any sounds. The clash of battle and the rasping grunts of Stumblers echoed loud as he entered the stone hallway that led into the Tomb of Hallar. The Blades were still alive, still fighting.

  I’m not too late!

  Only twenty of the original thirty Blades remained in the battle line. They had been pushed back by the wall of Stumblers, and Kodyn could see the tide was turning against them. Were it not for Aisha, the Blades would have fallen long ago.

  The Ghandian woman moved behind the re-formed battle line, wielding weapons of steel and wood to strike down Stumblers that got through, summoning the power of the Kish’aa to fight for her. When one Indomitable fell beneath the weight of the Stumblers, Aisha was there to fill the gap, dagger and assegai flashing. She thrust out her palm and an invisible wave of power burst from her fingers. A dozen Stumblers flew backward, bowling over those all around and behind them like blades of grass in a hurricane wind.

  Kodyn had no time to waste. He raced down the hill, toward the golden sandstone archway the Blades fought to hold. A deep fissure ran through the stone—not so deep that it would crumble, but wide enough that he could fit his clenched fist into the fracture. The seam ran all the way up the wall to the roof.

  Quickly and carefully, he stuffed the Thunderstrikers into the crack. He’d never attempted anything like this before, had no knowledge of mining or stonework, but he had to take a gamble that his plan would work.

  We’re out of any other options!

  When all nine Thunderstrikers had been placed, he whirled toward the battle line. “Ypertatos Lorran,” he shouted over the clash of combat, “you need to break off!”

  “We hold the line!” Lorran called back. “There is no retreat.”

  Aisha shot Kodyn a glance, and her eyes slid past him to the dark grey orbs in the crack.

  Kodyn met her gaze and signed, “The Thunderstrikers are our only hope. Can you buy us a fe
w seconds?”

  Grim-faced, Aisha nodded. Drawing in a deep breath, she thrust out her right hand toward the Stumblers. Once more, the creatures were hurled backward, opening a narrow gap between the embattled Blades and the monsters.

  Kodyn’s gut clenched as Aisha staggered, exhausted, and leaned on the wall. Yet she waved away his hand. “Go!”

  Nodding, he raced the five steps to the Ypertatos. “Our only hope of holding them off is to bring the crypts down in front of them.” He spoke quickly; the Stumblers would hit them again in seconds. “But you and your men need to pull back a safe distance.”

  “How far?” Lorran demanded.

  “To the Tomb of Hallar,” Kodyn said. “You’ll still be close enough to repel them if my plan fails.”

  Lorran’s eyes darkened. “I don’t know who you are, but—”

  “Please, Ypertatos.” Etai spoke up from beside him. “They are both trusted by Lady Callista herself, I swear by the Long Keeper and my eternity in his arms.”

  The oath held a great deal of weight in Shalandra—few would risk their shot at entering the Sleepless Lands—yet even still, Lorran hesitated.

  “We’ve no time for debate!” Kodyn stabbed a finger toward the oncoming Stumblers. “They’ll hit us in seconds. If you stay and fight, we all die. But if you take a risk, if you trust me like your Proxenos does, we’ve got a fighting chance of winning here.” He met the Blade’s dark eyes. “For the sake of your men, pull back to the Tomb of Hallar and let me stop these bastards!”

  After a moment, Lorran growled. “If this is treachery or a trick, I’ll rip you to pieces myself.”

  Kodyn grinned. “Fair enough. Now get the bloody hell out of here before it’s too late!”

  Lorran turned to his men. “Fall back!” he shouted. “To the Tomb of Hallar!”

  It took the disciplined Blades three seconds to break the battle line and retreat. The least-injured recovered the bodies of their slain comrades or helped the gravely wounded to stagger up the slope.