Heirs of Destiny Box Set

by Andy Peloquin

  Silence hung like a fog in the vault, the tension so thick Evren could cut it with his jambiyas. Long seconds passed as Evren’s heartbeat hammered in his ears. Lady Callista’s face was frozen in a mask of fury, her eyes inscrutable. Evren met her gaze; if he dropped her gaze, showed even a hint of weakness, she would tear him to shreds like the wolf she was.

  “Callista.” The Pharus’ voice echoed quietly from the vault door. “He’s right. What we face is bigger than this. If what we have just learned is true, we are at war with a threat far beyond our ability to deal with alone. Once again, we are in need of him to survive, to triumph. We need all of them.”

  Callista growled, an animal sound rumbling with anger. She lowered her sword but the flinty edge in her eyes never softened. “When this is over,” she snarled, “we will have words.”

  Evren’s gut tightened. The steel in her eyes promised torment and death. Yet he refused to allow his fear to show. “Of course, Lady Callista.” He forced a mocking smile to his lips. “I look forward to surviving long enough to hear them, no matter how shouty they are.”

  Behind Lady Callista, the Pharus scowled, displeasure twisting his face. Yet a moment later, his irritation was replaced by curiosity. “All this you’ve just told us—the story of Kharna, the Devourer, the Serenii, and all—”

  “Not a story.” Evren set his jaw in a stubborn line. “Every word the truth.” A half-truth, at least. Not everyone could handle the full revelation.

  “As you say.” The Pharus gave a dismissive wave. “You said you heard it from the Hunter of Voramis.”

  Evren nodded.

  “And the Hunter is…” He seemed to puzzle over the words. “…a half-demon?”

  “That’s right.” Evren met the man’s gaze. “They’re called Bucelarii.”

  The word provoked a strange reaction. The Pharus’ face went ashen, his eyes flying wide. “B-Bucelarii?” He seemed to stagger, as if struck a physical blow.

  Evren cocked his head. How does he recognize the name? Few outside the Cambionari knew the word, or its meaning.

  Pharus Amhoset Nephelcheres turned to Lady Callista, his skin suddenly pale, his expression almost nauseated. “Before he died, my father told me that Hallar, Shalandra’s founder, was Bucelarii. I had no idea what it meant, any more, I suspect, than he did. And yet…” He trailed off.

  Evren sucked in a breath. Keeper’s teeth!

  “If that is true,” the Pharus said, his voice strangled and strained, “then I, like my father and my father’s father and all my ancestors before me, are all descendants of demons.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The Pharus’ words staggered Issa. Of everything she’d learned today—the existence of Stumblers, the Iron Warlord’s true demonic nature, Killian’s status as a former Keeper’s Blade secretly in service to Lady Callista, and more—this came as the crowning jewel.

  Pharus Amhoset Nephelcheres, her father, was descended from the demons that had unleashed chaos, bloodshed, and death on a mind-boggling scale during the War of Gods.

  That means I am, too.

  The realization drove a dagger into Issa’s gut. She turned to stare at the Pharus, searching his face for any hint that he’d inherited even a fraction of his demonic ancestors’ inhuman nature. Yet she saw only a man, pale-faced and horrified—so very human, just like her.

  Her mind struggled to accept what she’d heard, but the significance set her thoughts reeling. Acid surged in her throat and she stumbled out of the vault, away from the entrance. Away from the terrible secrets of her past, her future.

  “Issa!” Lady Callista’s voice echoed in the corridor behind her.

  “Please,” Issa gasped, turning to face her mother, and held up a hand to keep her back. “I just…I just need a moment.”

  Worry darkened Lady Callista’s eyes. “Are you hurt?”

  Issa shook her head. “I-It’s just a lot. All at once. You, the Pharus, demons.” The fact that she was descended from demons.

  Hykos’ words flashed through her mind. “The Keeper’s blessing, one of the marks of his favor. We heal faster than the average person. A wound that might take a week for most to recover from will have us down for five days. A shattered bone will take six weeks to heal compared to eight for any normal person.”

  She’d believed herself chosen by the Long Keeper, called to serve in the Blades and receive his blessing. Yet that had been a lie. Her ability to heal, her stamina, her strength of body and spirit, they came not from any divine gift. It was the curse of her blood…her demon blood. The thought brought acid surging into her throat, stole the strength from her limbs.

  Lady Callista nodded, a sympathetic look on her face. “Of course.”

  On legs that had suddenly grown stiff, heavy, Issa walked a few paces down the corridor. She couldn’t go far; the sounds of battle echoed through the corridors, coming from the near distance. The Stumblers had gotten into the palace, and they would attack soon.

  But not yet. Issa would face that battle when it came. For now, she just needed a few seconds alone, to marshal her strength and determination. The truth tasted so bitter, and left her reeling.

  She leaned against the wall and slid to the floor, resting her head between her knees. She closed her eyes, as if blocking out the world could push the memory of what she’d just heard from her mind.

  “Issa?” A familiar voice echoed beside her, quiet but filled with concern.

  Issa’s eyelids snapped open and she looked up to find Hykos. He’d returned from delivering his message to the Secret Keepers, and now stared down at her with worry furrowing his brow.

  “You okay?” the Archateros asked. “You look like you’ve just completed the Blades’ Two Hundred.”

  The physical exhaustion of the training paled in comparison to the feelings roiling within Issa at that moment. The revelations weighed on her mind, adding to the burden left by the truth of her parents and grandparents. Sorrow and the pain of loss tugged on her limbs, squeezed her heart in a fist of iron. She could scarcely breathe, scarcely think. It was all too much. Too many deaths. Too many bitter truths. Too much suffering. She felt as if she’d shatter.

  “I’m just…” Her words trailed off, buried beneath a tempest of confusion, fatigue, and anguish. “I feel like I’m drowning. Every time I think I’ve adjusted, a new wave crashes atop my head and drags me down once more.” She clenched her fists so hard her hands trembled, yet it failed to drive the numbness from her limbs. “So much has happened in the last few weeks, each adding on a new weight until I feel like I’m going to crumble. Like I’m not strong enough to keep fighting.”

  With a grunt for his pained leg, Hykos leaned against the wall and slid to a seat on the floor beside her. “I know that feeling all too well.”

  “You?” Issa raised an eyebrow. “You’re always so calm, so self-assured.”

  Hykos chuckled. “Means I’m a better actor than I thought.”

  Despite her dour mood, Issa couldn’t help grinning.

  “No, the truth is that I feel that way all the time.” Hykos shook his head. “This life we were chosen to, the life of a Keeper’s Blade, it’s one of constant challenge, endless dangers, and the very real threat of death. We are put in impossible positions and are asked to make unimaginable decisions. The choices we are forced to make, they can weigh on anyone.”

  “So how do you do it?” Issa asked. “How do you bear that burden?” She felt as if a weight dragged on her shoulders, pulling her down to the floor with inexorable force. The clench of her jaw and the forced stiffness in her spine were the only things keeping her upright when she wanted nothing more than to collapse.

  “Do you remember the words of our oath?” Hykos met her eyes, a small smile twisting his handsome face. “The one we swore after passing our trial of stone?”

  Issa hesitated. Much of that day remained a blur of excitement and trepidation.

  Hykos’ smile broadened. “The words were, ‘Do you swear to se
rve the city of Shalandra and its people to the best of your ability, until the Long Keeper chooses to gather you into his arms?’”

  “Of course.” Those words rang clearly in Issa’s mind every time she faced a decision. She’d sworn the oath with all her heart and striven her utmost to live up to them.

  “Those words, ‘the best of your ability’, they’re what keep me going when I feel ready to crumble.” Hykos’ dark brown eyes met hers, glimmering with resolve and courage. “The Long Keeper doesn’t expect perfection from us; all he expects is that we do our damnedest, no matter what. As long as I know I’m fighting with every ounce of strength, doing my best to live up to my oath, it’s enough.”

  His fortitude and assurance consoled her, his presence by her side as comforting now as it had been since the first day they met.

  Issa found herself drawn toward him. He was just two years older than her, yet he had a depth of maturity, of wisdom that reminded her of her grandfather. He had Saba’s strength of spirit and body, the determination and moral certainty she’d come to respect and love. He reminded her of the good, noble, and loyal Blade she had always dreamed of being.

  But it was more than that. Just being near him felt good. Easy. She never doubted where she stood with him, never wondered his true opinion of her. She could relax and be herself without fear of how he’d perceive her. No judgements or recriminations in his eyes, only comfort and reassurance.

  Closing her eyes, she leaned her head on his shoulder. “Thank you, Hykos. I’d never have made it this far without you.”

  The Archateros remained unmoving for long seconds, silent and stiff. Slowly, he relaxed and shifted toward her, reclining his weight against her. “From the moment I saw you, I knew you were going to do great things.” He spoke in a quiet voice. “I’m glad I was here to see it, to see the person you’ve become.”

  In that moment, the burdens of life, of her destiny, of her service to the city lifted from her shoulders. She felt free, weightless, relaxed for the first time in what seemed an eternity. Everything faded around her, and she and Hykos floated alone in a bubble of perfect calm. For a few blessed heartbeats, the world was at peace.

  A shout of alarm shattered the moment. “Fall back!”

  The pounding of heavy boots and the clattering of steel armor echoed down the stone hallways. Issa was instantly on full alert, leaping to her feet and drawing her flammard. Hykos moved more slowly, pushing off the wall to stand, and Issa offered her hand to help him upright. He’d barely found his feet when a contingent of black-armored soldiers charged around the corner and barreled up the corridor toward them.

  “Protect the Pharus and Lady Callista!” Blood stained Ypertatos Ormroth’s face, armor, and hands, and his voice rang with grim purpose. “We hold this hallway at all costs!”

  The sight of the soldiers drove a dagger of fear into Issa’s gut. So few of them! Only ten Blades remained standing, among them the broad-shouldered Chirak, Ormroth with his braided black beard, and the bald, scarred-faced Elder Dyrkton. Issa’s heart leapt as she spotted Etai among the survivors; her fellow prototopoi was supporting two wounded Indomitables hobbling down the hall toward their position.

  Yet she saw no sign of Killian’s bushy beard or flashing eyes. Or Aleema’s bright smile.

  Sorrow flared to life within her, but she shoved it down. Her grandmother and the blacksmith had chosen to fight in defense of Shalandra. They’d vowed to protect the city and if they’d died, it had been to fulfill those oaths. A fitting end for a Keeper’s Blade.

  With effort, she pushed against the grief that threatened to overwhelm her at yet more losses. For now, she had to focus on surviving, on keeping her friends, the Pharus, and Lady Callista alive long enough to claim the secrets of the Tomb of Hallar and win the battle. She could mourn later.

  “How the hell did those Stumblers get behind us, Archateros?” Ormroth shouted at Chirak.

  “They came from the Pharus’ dungeons,” Chirak rumbled. Pain twisted her craggy face, and she hunched over her left side. “I don’t know how they got in, but—”

  “It doesn’t matter, Ypertatos,” Elder Dyrkton put in. “What matters is that we hold this position at any cost.”

  “Yes, Invictus.” Ormroth snapped a salute and turned to the few remaining Blades and Indomitables under his command—a meager thirty, most wounded, some gravely. “Find anything we can use and get barricades up now. We cannot let these creatures reach the Pharus. We hold here or die trying!”

  The wounded, battered soldiers fell to the task of mounting their defense—one, final desperate defense—with dogged resolve and grim faces.

  Whirling, Issa raced back toward the vault. The Lady of Blades and the Pharus stood in the center of the stone chamber, with Hailen, Aisha, Briana, and Evren nearby. Kodyn, however, was over by one wall, his brow furrowed in contemplation.

  “Whatever you’re going to do, do it quickly,” she called. “We’re out of time!”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Kodyn’s jaw dropped. The Pharus, descended from Bucelarii? He’d seen the Hunter of Voramis up close and personal, and the assassin had radiated an air of quiet, confident menace not even Master Serpent could match. Then there were his black eyes, the midnight-colored iris inhumanly dark against the whites. The memory still sent a shudder down Kodyn’s spine.

  “Thousands of years have passed since Shalandra’s founder disappeared,” Pharus Amhoset Nephelcheres said. “More than a hundred generations of my family. All of us have lived under the shadow of our great ancestor.” Darkness settled into his eyes, making his ashen face appear somehow paler in the white light of the glowstones. “Yet I always believed Bucelarii referred to a title or honorific, never…this.”

  “Sorry to be the one to break that particular bit of news, then.” Evren’s voice held a hint of remorse. “But if your great-great-great ancestor was Bucelarii, that means you are, too. Or, at least, some little bit of you is, I guess.” He turned to Hailen. “Can’t say I know all that much about this sort of thing. Bloodlines are your area of expertise.”

  Hailen turned up his palms. “I only know what Father Reverentus and the Beggar Priests told me. He called it ata…atav.” His brow furrowed. “Atavism, I think. Something about a trait common among my ancestors popping up even if it’s believed disappeared for generations.”

  “Like in plants!” Briana’s eyes brightened. “Roses can bloom red for decades, but once in a while, a bush can bloom white or pink. My father had one such flower in his garden. He told me…”

  Kodyn’s attention wandered as Briana dove into a complex explanation behind the concept of “atavism” and how it affected the roses in Suroth’s garden. As she talked, he allowed his eyes to roam over the details of the vault. The stone walls, ceilings, and floors with those mystifying lines and patterns, some glowing, others inert stone. The six pedestals, the four in the corners empty and the relics placed only on the two in the center. The glowing blue-white light that marked the path to safety.

  Something about it all felt strangely…off.

  But what? Brow furrowing, he tried to focus on what he wasn’t seeing, something that should be there but wasn’t. That proved easier said than done. Finding the missing object always proved more difficult. Frustration mounted as long seconds passed and still he hadn’t—

  The realization slammed into him. The glowing lights in the floor!

  Six threads of blue-white light ran from the vault door and into the center of the room before branching off to the six pedestals. They were the path to safety, the way to avoid the traps. Yet instead of stopping at the pedestals, they branched into two paths that ran around the stone columns, then rejoined on the far side and run toward the walls. Only when they reached the four corners of the room did they stop.

  That was what had struck him as odd. The Serenii had proven themselves minimalists in their architecture and engineering, using the least amount of resources for maximum efficiency and potency. He un
derstood why the lights marked the safe paths to tread, yet there was no reason to waste the magic and power to point to the walls beyond.

  Unless the walls mean something.

  Curiosity burning as bright as the glowing gemstones, Kodyn followed the trail of light across the floor toward the pedestal at the northeast corner of the vault. The glowing line stretched toward the corner but turned just before reaching it, trailing off against the northern corner of the east wall.

  Kodyn studied the wall. It appeared as the same ornately patterned sandstone, etched with complex mandalas that set his head spinning. But his mind flashed to the wall that had concealed the door to the Vault of Ancients, and the blank stone that had hidden the Serenii tunnel entrances. The ancient race had loved their hidden runes and alchemical magic. What if they had used it here as well?

  Digging into his pouch, he drew out the glowstone and held it up to the wall. Instantly, a small circle flared to life, a green brilliance that drew his attention. Just as with the vault door, the light of the glowstone darkened a small chunk of golden rock to a deep black. Excitement set Kodyn’s hands trembling and, heart racing, he reached out to touch the stone. It sank into the wall with a loud click.

  Kodyn leapt back, every muscle tense, his senses on the alert for any threat. Nothing happened.

  Brow furrowing, he stepped closer to study the indentation left in the wall. The hole was square, barely large enough for him to fit two fingers. He tried pressing the stone again, and still nothing happened. No clicks, thunks, or rumbling of stone on stone.

  What in the frozen hell? His mind raced. He’d been so certain of—

  “Kodyn?” Hailen’s cry sounded behind him. “What did you do?”

  Kodyn whirled. “What happened?”

  Hailen stood a few paces behind him, on the far side of the nearest pedestal. His eyes were fixed on the flat surface. Yet it was flat no longer. Through the dust covering the pedestal’s top, a long, conical indentation was visible.