Heirs of Destiny Box Set

by Andy Peloquin

  His mother’s dying wish had been to commend him into the care of the Lecterns in the hopes that he would learn reading, writing, and everything else that made the Master’s Temple the trove of wisdom in Vothmot. The Lecterns served Kiro, father of the gods, and few other priests in the city commanded as much respect.

  If his mother knew the truth of what went on inside these walls, would she have condemned him to this life anyway?

  His days included book learning aplenty, but far worse things besides. Things no one had told him he would have to endure—in silence, else face punishment in the form of beatings, starvation, or more abuse.

  The priests claimed to serve the Master, the god of virtue and nobility. There was no virtue in the clandestine, bare-handed fights organized by the ninth-year apprentices and condoned by the Lecterns. There was no nobility in what Lectern Uman—and many other Lecterns besides—did to them in the darkness of their cells.

  “Take this.” Daver was suddenly beside him, pressing something hard and cold into his hand. “When he comes back—"

  “Daver!” Evren’s eyes widened as he stared down at the knife he gripped. A plain, utilitarian blade with a wooden handle, the sort the Lecterns used at their elaborate feasts. The sort of blades Dracat and Rhyris stole from the kitchens to throw into their sparring ring when the fighters were too evenly matched or the bout dragged on too long.

  His eyes went to Daver. “How did you get this?” he demanded. “How did you sneak it in here?”

  “With the straw.” Daver pointed to their mattress.

  “If the Lecterns find it, they’ll—"

  “Punish me?” Daver’s voice went hard. “What could they do to us that they haven’t already done?”

  Evren had no argument for that. A day of starvation and thirst counted among the mildest of Lectern Tinis’ consequences. Nothing could be worse than Lectern Uman’s “prayers”.

  A dangerous light appeared in Daver’s eyes. “When he comes back, you stick that in him and see how he likes it!”

  “And what happens when the Lecterns find his body in our cell?” Evren demanded. “What will they do to us?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care!” Daver shouted. “I just can’t…do nothing!” His voice cracked, and his shoulders slumped.

  Evren knew the feeling. He’d spent the last four years trapped in this nightmare. The Master’s Temple was a place of learning and wisdom, and one of torment and misery. He’d tried his best to stay out of trouble, to appease Dracat, Rhyris, and the other ninth-years leading Black and Silver Towers. He’d dedicated himself to learning, tried to remain in Lectern Tinis’ good graces, even volunteered for extra duties in the Grand Chapel. Yet, every time he’d thought his life was improving, something like this happened to remind him of the truth.

  He couldn’t live this life much longer. He’d end up beaten to death in a bare-fisted fight or succumb to madness to escape the horrors around him.

  No, he had a third option.

  “Then, we don’t do nothing,” he told Daver. “We do something. We escape!”

  Chapter Two

  “What?” Daver’s eyes flew wide. “Escape?”

  “It’s our best hope,” Evren said. He’d made up his mind the second those words left his mouth. He couldn’t spend another minute in this place. “It’s no worse an idea than killing Lectern Uman.”

  “But Evren, where would we go?”

  “I don’t know.” Evren shook his head. “Anywhere but here.”

  “The Lecterns won’t just let us go,” Daver persisted. “They’ll find us, bring us back.”

  “We’ll run all the way across the Whispering Waste if we have to,” Evren said. His mother had told stories of the vast white sand desert to the southwest of Vothmot. Surely the Lecterns couldn’t reach him that far away. “We can figure it all out once we get outside, but we need to leave now, before Lectern Uman comes back. The midnight service is the shortest of the day. Even if he stretches it out to show off for the Caliph, it won’t be more than an hour until he’s back. I don’t plan on being here, and I’m not leaving without you.”

  Daver’s face had gone a terrified shade of pale. He might be the same age as Evren, but life’s hard knocks hadn’t toughened him up. He had come to the Master’s Temple the sickly son of a minor Padishah of Vothmot, and though he’d recovered from the Bloody Flux, he would never be as strong as Evren—in mind or body.

  “Listen, Daver,” Evren said, gripping the boy’s shoulder, “we’ve got to watch out for each other. You were going to kill Lectern Uman to save me, so there’s no way I’m leaving without you. But we have to go now if we’re going to get out. The longer we delay, the sooner we’re discovered missing.”

  Fear and hesitation filled Daver’s eyes. “But, we are…wardens of the Lecterns. Our parents gave us—"

  “They gave us to the Lecterns, but that doesn’t mean we’re their slaves!” Evren snapped. “Come on, Daver! This can’t be the life you wanted. So what if we go hungry on the streets? I’m hungry now! So what if we’re cold and sleeping on hard stone? That’s no better than this cell. The only difference is that out there we decide what we do. And we can fight back!”

  Therein lay the main difference between the two of them. Evren was a fighter—even before the ninth-years dragged him into their fight ring. Daver was too scared to stand up for himself, which was why Evren had stood up for the younger boy. No one else would care for the apprentice.

  “Evren, I…” Daver’s voice quivered as he drew in a deep breath. “I trust you. If you think we can escape, I’m with you.”

  Relief washed over Evren. For a moment, he’d felt genuine fear that Daver would refuse to leave and had dreaded having to face a choice to leave his friend or stay to suffer more abuse—even now, he wasn’t certain which he’d have chosen.

  “Good,” Evren said with a firm nod of his head. “Then we leave now. Give me your spare robe and your blanket.” He rolled the items into a bundle with his own blanket and robe—his only possessions—and slipped the knife inside. The temple kitchens might not even notice its absence.

  Thoughts of the kitchens made his stomach rumble, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since their meager breakfast of cold oats and sliced pears.

  “We’ll take a detour by the kitchen and see if we can’t lift a few things to keep us fed,” he told Daver. “Maybe grab another knife. Never know what’ll come in handy on the streets.”

  He had no idea what to expect outside the temple—his mother had been a seamstress, and he’d lived a comfortable, if simple life before being given to the Lecterns—but, like everything else he’d faced here in the temple, he’d adapt. Adaptability had kept him alive in every fight, even against apprentices twice his size.

  “What about Seth and Wekker?” Daver asked in a quiet voice. “Are we going to leave them?”

  Evren’s gut clenched. The third-years were even smaller and weaker than Daver, but they were all the way across the temple in the Black Tower. “We can’t get to them,” he said, his heart heavy with sorrow. “Not if we’re going to get out. But maybe we can come back for them another time.”

  “You promise?” Daver asked. His eyes fixed on Evren’s face with a burning intensity.

  “I promise.” Evren spoke the words without hesitation. He’d say anything to get Daver out now. He could always apologize for the lie later.

  He padded on sandaled feet to the door of his cell, opened it, and peered out. Lamplight flickered on bare, silent stone corridors. At this hour of the night, all of the apprentices would be in their cells. A few of the eighth- or ninth-years might be sneaking around the upper levels of the temple to take bets on tomorrow’s fight—a fight he planned to miss.

  “Let’s go,” he whispered to Daver. They crept out of the cell and shut the wooden door behind them, wincing at the groaning of the rusted hinges. The sound of quiet snoring echoed from the next cell over, and someone whimpered in another.

  Evre
n’s heart ached as he padded in silence along the corridor. He hated the thought of leaving the rest of these apprentices behind to their cruel fates, but he couldn’t take them all with him. A mass escape would be far harder to obscure.

  Together, he and Daver crept through the corridor, up the stairs, and into the temple proper. At this late hour, the halls were mostly empty, with the majority of the Lecterns—those not crowding into the Grand Chapel to gawk at the Caliph—either abed or devoted to late-night study.

  He’d just turned toward the kitchens when a trio of green-and-silver robed Lecterns emerged from one of the temple’s meditation chambers at the end of the hallway. Evren ducked back around a corner and pushed Daver against the stone wall, heart hammering. When he peered around the corner to watch their movements, a sigh of relief escaped his lips as the priests headed in the opposite direction.

  If they ran into any Lecterns, he’d have to think quickly to come up with a valid explanation as to why he and Daver were roaming the temple this late at night. Perhaps he’d say that Lectern Tinis had demanded their presence to continue his reprimand. His split lip and Daver’s bloodied forehead could sell the ruse well enough.

  The stone corridors of the temple’s main level were simply furnished, lacking the trappings of the upper floors but adorned with just enough religious statuary and ornamentation to appeal to worshippers. Oil lanterns cast soft shadows across the corridors and filled the temple with a soothing warmth—warmth that only went skin deep, never reaching the apprentices’ cells below.

  The smell of baking bread drifted down the hall as they approached the kitchens, and Evren’s stomach growled so loud he nearly jumped. Soon, the aromas of roasted meat, potato stew, and Lectern Nallin’s famous cinnamon honey loaves joined the bouquet of delicious scents. Evren swallowed the saliva that flooded his mouth and forced himself to keep his pace slow, stealthy.

  He peered around the corner, his eyes scanning the lamp-lit kitchen for any sign of life. His fists clenched in frustration as he caught sight of Lectern Nallin working a ball of soft dough with a rolling pin. The Lectern whistled a pleasant tune as he applied a liberal coating of cinnamon and sugar to his loaf. A steel rack behind the balding Lectern held easily forty or fifty more loaves cooling fresh out of the oven. It took all of Evren’s self-control not to rush across the kitchen and fill his pockets—he was hungry enough to eat an entire tray on his own.

  Instead, he ducked below the level of the wood-topped kitchen counter and crept toward a plate of roast chicken scraps left from the Lectern’s dinner. Lectern Ordari, the temple’s cook, had doubtless set the discarded meat aside to feed his pet hound, but the dog would have to go hungry tonight.

  Evren lifted the plate silently off the counter and held it close to his chest as he scooted back toward the door to the kitchen. Fear sparkled in Daver’s dark brown eyes, but a hesitant smile broke out on his face as Evren handed him a handful of the cold poultry. Pressing a finger to his lips, Evren led the way past the kitchens.

  He couldn’t go out the front, not with all of the Lecterns, Under-Lecterns, and late-night temple-goers—including the Caliph’s numerous entourage—between him and the double doors that led into the Court of Judgement, Vothmot’s temple plaza. Even if he and Daver managed to slip through the entire temple unseen, the Wardens of the Mount, Vothmot’s city guards and protectors of the Master’s Temple, would stop them without hesitation.

  Instead, he turned down the corridor that led toward the rear of the temple and the Gardens of Prudence.

  “Where are we going?” Daver hissed in his ear.

  “Trust me,” he whispered back to the smaller apprentice. “I know another way out.”

  He’d only heard of it by chance; two eighth-years had spoken of it within his earshot as he lay dazed and recovering after a vicious bout against Athin, a Black Tower sixth-year. He’d gotten just enough information to convince him he could find it.

  The corridor ended in a high-arched entrance that opened onto a marble walkway leading into the Gardens of Prudence, the Lecterns’ haven of peace and meditation. At this time of night, the gardens should be empty, lit only by a few oil lanterns around the pool and seating area. No Wardens would be posted at the entrance; a wall ten paces high ringed the property to provide privacy and keep “undesirable riffraff” out.

  The Gardens of Prudence were an oasis of beauty amidst the dry, dusty city of Vothmot. Lush green grass stretched three hundred paces across and thirty wide, with orange and lemon trees dotting the lawn. Bright-colored flowers grew in neat rows beside strawberry bushes, the handiwork of Lectern Veros. Fountains bubbled merrily at the northern and southern corners of the lawn, and the Lecterns’ sitting area—comprised of stone and wooden furniture—occupied the southwestern corner of the property.

  Evren’s steps led to the northeast, past the paved marble walkway that descended into the Enclave’s secret tunnel. The Lecterns would inevitably search that way out, and even if he could somehow bypass the complex locking mechanisms that sealed the gate barring entrance to the passage, the tunnel ran straight and uninterrupted for half a league before letting out into the desert. That way promised only capture or death.

  Instead, his steps led toward the thick hedges that lined the grassy expanse within the Gardens of Prudence. A shudder ran down his spine as he passed the diamond-shaped raised pool with its ornate stone walls, crystal clear water, and blue-tiled floor. He’d endured too many of Lectern Uman’s “prayers” in its shallow depths.

  He risked a glance over his shoulder and, finding the garden blessedly empty, he pushed through the hedges. Cool darkness enveloped him as the thicket obscured the glow of the flickering lamps. With only dim moonlight to see, he had to grope his way along the wall.

  The sweet smell of roses came as a welcome relief. The two eighth-years had spoken of a rope ladder tucked beneath a rose bush, and this was one of the few spots in the garden where roses grew. He hissed as the thorns pricked his hands and scratched his arms, but he kept fumbling around the ground until his hands closed around hempen coils.

  Metal scraped as he tugged the rope ladder free of its hiding place. The ladder had two steel hooks at one end, doubtless meant to hook onto the top of the wall, as the eighth-years had described. It took a few tries—and every clink of steel on stone made him wince—but finally, he got one of the ladder’s hooks lodged securely.

  “You go first,” he told Daver. “No arguments.”

  Daver’s mouth snapped shut, but his eyes remained wide and filled with mingled fear and apprehension. Evren refused to allow himself to fall prey to the anxiety that thrummed in the back of his mind. If he gave any thought to what happened next, how they’d survive outside the temple, he might never leave. He had to get out first, then worry about the future after.

  His heart hammered a furious beat against his ribs as he watched Daver climb the rope ladder. The boy grunted and gasped with the exertion. The wall was just ten paces tall, but it felt like an hour passed before Daver finally reached the top.

  “We’re stuck!” Daver called down. “There’s no way down the other side.”

  “Anchor the second hook,” Evren said. “I’ll figure it out when I’m up there.”

  When Daver had done as instructed, Evren pulled himself up the rope ladder. It proved far more difficult than he’d imagined, given the sway and sag in the knotted rope rungs. Fire coursed through legs, arms, and shoulders as he pulled himself onto the lip of the wall.

  True to Daver’s word, there was no way down on the far side of the wall. The faint light of the moon shone on a muddy alley bordered by buildings of crumbling brick and stone.

  “Help me gather this up!” he told Daver. “This is our way down.”

  Together, they hauled the rope ladder up and dropped the bundle on the outside of the wall. The metal hooks clinked into place on the stone top of the wall, and the rope creaked as Daver clambered down slowly.

  Evren’s fear multiplied as
he realized how exposed he was. Anyone who entered the Gardens of Prudence would spot him perched atop the wall and raise the alarm. He could do nothing more than lie flat on the stone and hope his grey apprentice robes were too dull to be visible.

  A squelching thump echoed below him, and he glanced down to see Daver sprawled on the muddy ground of the alley. Quick as Lectern Ityer’s pet mongoose, Evren hurried down the ladder.

  “You hurt?” he asked, crouching beside Daver.

  “No,” the younger boy said. “I just lost my footing on…that.”

  Evren recoiled from the shape Daver indicated. A corpse, silent and still. It lay facing the wall, so he couldn’t tell if it had been a man or woman. The stink filling the alley made it clear the corpse had gone undisturbed for days. At least that meant few people other than the ninth-year apprentices came this way.

  He tried in vain to dislodge the hooks holding the rope ladder in place but gave up after a few futile attempts. They needed to put as much distance between them and the temple as possible before Lectern Uman discovered their absence.

  He helped Daver to his feet then hesitated, uncertain what to do now. The alley ran for twenty paces to the north and south, bordered by the temple walls and the backs of the crumbling buildings, then connected into more of the narrow back streets that fed into the environs around the Court of Judgement.

  He had no idea where to go, but he didn’t care. He was free of the Master’s Temple, free of their torment. He’d exchange all the uncertainty on Einan for his freedom any day.

  Chapter Three

  “Can’t…keep…running!” Daver panted from twenty paces behind him.

  Evren ground his teeth but slowed his speed. “We’ll take a break, but we’ve got to keep moving.”