Heirs of Destiny Box Set

by Andy Peloquin

  Daver had done his best to help, but most of the crates had been too heavy for him to lift. Thankfully, Jodech, one of Kaltris’ fellow fruit peddlers, had needed help sorting apples, so Daver had spent the day sitting on a stool in the shade.

  Evren wiped his streaming forehead and turned back toward Kaltris’ stall.

  “Give us a hand here,” Kaltris called. The old merchant was struggling with the canvas that provided a roof for his wooden stand. Evren hurried over to help him, and together they unhooked it from the roof beams and rolled it into a tight bundle, which Evren hauled over to Kaltris’ cart. As he set it down, the heavy roll knocked over a wooden crate, spilling apricots all over the interior of the wagon.

  Evren tensed in expectation of a scolding from Kaltris—if something like this had happened in the Master’s Temple, the Lecterns would have slapped him with a week of extra chores, and Lectern Uman would have paid him a visit in his cell. The dull chill seeped into his body as he stared at the merchant. But to his surprise, Kaltris didn’t snap, bark, or shout.

  “No matter,” Kaltris said with a wave of his hand. “Damned crate was about to break anyway. Just get the apricots into the one with the plums. But mind your feet. Last thing I need is more crushed fruit!”

  Evren swallowed his surprise and scrambled up onto the wagon to clean up the mess. The merchant’s reaction seemed so odd, so kind, compared to everything he’d experienced the last five years in the Master’s Temple.

  When he finished cleaning up and jumped down from the wagon, Kaltris handed him a wineskin. “It’s a cheap Vothmot vintage that’s mostly water by now, but it ought to be better than nothing.”

  With a grateful nod, Evren took a long gulp. He grimaced at the tart, vinegar-tasting wine—the Lecterns would murder anyone who served them this sort of swill—but swallowed it anyway. It was better than drinking from a horse trough.

  “Your payment, as promised.” Kaltris held out a handful of small coins. “Twenty-two copper bits. Your brother’s got your food.”

  Evren counted the coins at a glance; he’d always had a head for numbers. Kaltris had given him twenty-four copper bits. Hesitation warred within him. Pocket the coins or tell the merchant of the error? Two bits could buy him and Daver a decent meal or a spare tunic.

  After a moment, he sighed and held out the two extra copper bits. “You gave me too many.” Kaltris had treated him with decency; he hadn’t had a lot of that in his life. He might have joined a crew of thieves, but he couldn’t bring himself to steal from the old merchant. “Our deal was twenty-two, not twenty-four.”

  “I know. What sort of idiot merchant would I be if I couldn’t keep a proper count?” Kaltris’ sly smile returned. “I wanted to see for myself what manner of lad you are.”

  Evren’s eyebrows rose. It had been a test? “Why?”

  “Because I need someone strong to help run my business,” Kaltris said. “Never had sons of my own, no one to lend a hand with the things I can’t do.” He held up his hands. “Rheumatism’s getting worse. More pain, less mobility. Soon enough, I won’t be able to get out of a chair unaided. Last thing an old man wants is to face death by starvation because his body’s turned against him.”

  Evren could understand that. Lectern Hobell had a pair of apprentices to serve as his full-time caretakers. He couldn’t even feed himself and needed help to use the chamber pot or turn over in bed.

  “I’ve been watching you all day,” Kaltris continued. “You and your brother both. You work hard without complaint, and you’re smart enough to learn what I have to teach you. Now, it turns out you’re more honest than most men I’ve met. My business, what little there is, would be in good hands. If you’re willing, I’d like to take you with me on my trip to Mountainfall, day after next. Show you the ropes.”

  Evren hesitated. Life in the Master’s Temple had taught him to be wary of everything—any small gesture of goodwill could conceal ulterior motives, deceit, or abuse. He wanted to believe Kaltris. He’d seen nothing to indicate the man would harm him or Daver. And, a trip to the village of Mountainfall, two days’ ride to the southeast, would get him out of Vothmot and away from the Lecterns.

  “Yes,” he said after a moment. “I’ll collect our things, and Daver and I will be—"

  “No.” Kaltris’ face darkened. “The offer’s only for you.”

  A fist squeezed Evren’s gut. “What?”

  Kaltris sighed. “This business can barely feed me, and I’m taking a gamble by bringing you on. There’s no way I could feed the both of you.” Sorrow filled his eyes. “I need a strong lad, and your brother…isn’t. I’m sorry, but I can only afford one. You.”

  Evren’s heart sank. It had been too much to hope for, hadn’t it? Life was too cruel to give him anything good.

  “I know it’s a big ask,” Kaltis continued in a quiet voice. “Leaving your brother like that. But I had to make the offer anyway. Sleep on it. Come back here tomorrow, and if the answer’s a no, I’ll understand.”

  Evren opened his mouth to say he already had an answer, but no words came out. He felt responsible for protecting Daver. No way he could leave the smaller apprentice with Red Grinner and his crew. Yet, a part of him ached to go with Kaltris and leave his life behind.

  “I’ll…think about it,” he said finally.

  Kaltris nodded. “Good.” He groaned loudly and his joints clicked as he climbed onto the stiff-backed wooden seat of his cart. “Until tomorrow, Evren.” A snap of the traces set his old, dull-eyed mule into motion, and the cart rumbled down the avenue.

  Evren watched the cart until it disappeared around a corner, and his heart grew heavy. His eyes went to Daver, who still sat on the stool where he’d spent the day sorting produce. The smaller apprentice was busy stuffing flatbread into his mouth, alternating bites with the juicy peach in his hand. Daver wouldn’t survive on the streets without him.

  He strode over to the seated boy. “Come on, Daver. Let’s get back before nightfall.”

  “Here, this is your share.” Daver handed him a piece of flatbread, a small strip of dried meat, and a peach. He stood, brushed the crumbs from his robes, and fell in step beside Evren. Together, they navigated the late-afternoon traffic congesting the main avenue.

  The Prime Bazaar rang with the cries of merchants trying to sell the last wares of the day to the pilgrims, treasure-hunters, and Vothmoti locals coming for the evening shopping. Ox-drawn wagons and rich carriages rumbled past, and pilgrims in their grey sackcloth surged in droves toward the Grand Chapel to watch the sunset through the stained glass window.

  Evren paid little heed to the people around him. His mind mulled over Kaltris’ offer, and he was so focused on his thoughts that he barely noticed the approaching guards. Only Daver’s tug on his sleeve snapped him back to reality in time for him to catch sight of the Wardens heading right toward them. Evren’s gut tightened as his eyes fell on the tall men with curved swords, white cloaks, and chain mail coats reinforced with round metal mirrors—protection from both physical and supernatural threats, the Wardens believed. He scrambled out of the street and ducked behind a cart just as the patrol marched past.

  Heart hammering, he forced his mind to remain focused on getting out of sight safely. Relief filled him as he ducked into the alley that led between the Prime Bazaar and the Ward of Bliss. Before the sun had fully set, he and Daver reached the three-story building Swain and his crew called home.

  “Well, look who returns!” Swain called out from his plush armchair. “Let’s see your haul, then.”

  Evren hesitated. He’d worked all day for these coins, and he hated the idea of having to turn them over to Swain. Yet, it was the way things were done. He’d had to give Rhyris a share of anything he won in his fights in the temple, and it seemed he’d have to do the same with Swain.

  “Twenty-two copper bits.” He held out the coins. “Found a merchant willing to part with them.” Swain didn’t need to know how he’d gotten the money.

&nb
sp; Swain’s face registered amused surprise. “Not bad for a first day on the streets, newbie.” He turned to Daver. “And what about you?”

  “This is from both of us,” Evren said, his voice firm.

  “Izzat right?” Swain raised a dark eyebrow. “You ain’t holding out on me, are you?”

  “No.” Evren shook his head. “Twenty-two copper bits between the two of us.”

  “Well then, tomorrow you’ll just have to do better,” Swain said as he plucked nine coins from Evren’s hand.

  “You said two out of every five,” Evren growled. “Nine’s more than your share.”

  “Consider it a peace offering.” Swain’s face went hard, and a dangerous light flashed in his eyes. “Do better tomorrow, or I’ll take a larger share.”

  Evren wanted to retort, but the looming presence of four older, larger boys behind Swain stopped him. He could fight two or three, at most. Better to bide his time and bite his tongue.

  “Got it.” He choked the words out with effort then turned on his heel and stalked away.

  “Until tomorrow, newbie!” Swain called after him.

  Fury burned in Evren’s chest as he stomped toward the spot Tomaz had set aside for him and Daver. He barely tasted his meager meal. The fire in his belly and the whirling thoughts in his head drowned out everything until darkness fell and he lay alone with anger and the dilemma.

  What should he do? He’d fled the Lecterns and ended up with Swain, one torment replacing another. Kaltris had offered him a way out, but he couldn’t abandon Daver.

  Try as he might, he could find no solution to his problem.

  Chapter Six

  Evren’s eyes drooped with fatigue, but his mind refused to let him rest. By the time the first light of dawn brightened the world around him, he hadn’t slept a wink.

  The sound of rustling blankets and thumping boots echoed around him, signaling the start of a new day for the street crew.

  He rolled over and shook Daver’s shoulder. “Get up, lazybones.”

  “Just a few more minutes,” Daver protested and burrowed deeper into his ragged blanket.

  “Come on. Kaltris will be expecting—"

  “Newbie!” Swain’s voice echoed through the Warren. “Get out here, newbie!”

  Evren’s gut tightened at the imperious tone in Swain’s voice. Taking a deep breath, he climbed stiffly to his feet, already dressed, and pushed through the hanging canvas to the main area of the room.

  Swain sat in his armchair throne, and his face broadened into a grin as Evren approached. “You’re in luck. You’re spending the day with me.”

  “Doing what?” Evren asked.

  “Doing whatever the bloody hell I tell you to.” Swain’s eyes flashed. “You work for me, so you take my orders.”

  “Of course.” Evren’s mild tone concealed his anger. He’d learned to adopt the voice to placate Tinis before the Lectern compounded the punishment for some minor infraction of the temple’s myriad rules.

  “Good. Let’s go.” Swain turned on his heel and strode toward the door.

  Evren cast a glance at the space he shared with Daver. He hated the idea of leaving the smaller boy alone, but Swain wouldn’t take kindly to any hesitation or argument. He’d have to trust that Daver was smart enough to take care of himself.

  In a way, he felt a bit of relief at being called away. He still hadn’t come up with an answer for Kaltris, so he could use a few more hours to mull over the dilemma. Whatever Swain had in mind would serve as a welcome distraction.

  He fell into step behind Swain. Three older, larger boys joined them, forming a protective group around Swain. Tomaz and another swarthy boy Evren hadn’t seen the previous day rounded out their little procession as they wended through the muck-stained, refuse-clogged alleys of the Ward of Bliss.

  Evren struggled to map the route through the maze but soon gave up trying. He knew they were headed northeast, in the general direction of the Master’s Temple. As long as they didn’t get too close, he had no reason to worry.

  Swain paused in an alleyway that looked like all the others. “We’re on enemy territory now, lads,” he said in a low voice. “Mouth shut, eyes peeled. We’re supposed to parley, but the Pincers are treacherous little pricks. Never know what they’ll pull, so be ready for anything.”

  Evren had no idea who or what the Pincers were, but the wary look in the eyes of his companions made it clear that they were headed to a less-than-pleasant rendezvous.

  Around the next corner, they came face to face with six youths as dirt-covered and rough-looking as Swain and his crew. A rival gang, perhaps?

  “Well, well, if it isn’t the Red Giggler and his fingernails!” called out the boy in the middle. Taller than the rest of his crew, he looked to be about fifteen or sixteen. A scar over his right eyebrow gave his handsome face a dangerous edge, and he alone wore clothes that seemed far too presentable for their dusty meeting place.

  Swain snorted. “Be more creative with your insults, Hakim. Unless you’re too stupid to think of anything better than mocking our names.”

  Hakim scowled. “Always the life of the party, Swain.” His eyes roamed the rest of Swain’s crew and stopped when they fell on Evren. “I see you’ve brought fresh meat to my grinder. Have we already beaten the rest of your boys bloody?” He cracked his knuckles loudly.

  “Maybe,” Swain said with a careless shrug. “I came to talk, but if we can’t reach an agreement, I’m willing to settle things the street way.”

  “The only thing I’ll agree to is keeping control of the Prime Bazaar.” Hakim grinned. “So long as you keep your grubby Claws out of my prime spots, I won’t have to turn any more of your boys into swine-food.”

  “You know the Prime Bazaar is our territory,” Swain said with a shake of his head. “We’ve been running it since the Wardens swept up the last of the Crooked Hands two years ago. You Pincers took over the Court of Judgement, and the Talons have the kaffehouses.”

  Hakim shrugged. “Perhaps, but now we’re looking to expand our operations. We’re twice your size, which means we get twice the turf. The Prime Bazaar’s just right for us. Unless you can stop us, we’re taking it.”

  Swain cocked an eyebrow. “And leaving us with…?”

  “Wherever the hell else you can scrape together a few coins.” Hakim gave a dismissive wave. “I’m sure there are some pockets you can pick along Leper’s Lane. Or maybe you can set up shop outside the North Gate and lighten the purses of the rich noblemen heading out to find the Lost City. If we haven’t already lightened their purses for them, that is.”

  “Well, that just doesn’t work for me,” Swain said. “Prime Bazaar’s ours and that’s final.”

  “Then, I guess we’re doing this the fun way.” Hakim shrugged out of his bright red tunic and handed it to one of his companions. The boy had solid chest, shoulder, and midriff muscles, with nearly a dozen knife scars marring his deep gold skin. “You and me, boss against boss. Winner takes the turf. Or are you still refusing to face me yourself?”

  Swain shot the boy a mocking grin. “You’re not worth the effort.” He turned and clapped Evren on the shoulder. “I’m willing to bet even the newbie can turn you inside out without breaking a sweat.”

  Hakim scowled. “Sending someone else to do your dirty work? They should call you the Yellow Belly, Swain.”

  Swain said nothing, but anger flashed in his eyes as he turned to Evren. “Tomaz told me how quickly you took him and his crew apart, which is the only reason I let you into the Claws. Time for you to prove him right.”

  Evren raised an eyebrow. “You’re expecting me to fight him for you?”

  “Not just fight,” Swain growled. “Win. Prime Bazaar belongs to the Claws, and the only way the Pincers’ll back off is if you pound their boss to a pulp. Lose the fight, we lose the turf. If that happens, I won’t just make you pay.” His expression turned hard, cruel. “Tomaz will suffer. And your little brother.”

  Evren went c
old inside as he saw Tomaz’ pale face. From the boy’s expression, he had no doubt Swain would keep his word.

  “I’ll fight,” he said, “but not for free.”

  Swain’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

  Evren fixed Swain with a hard glare. “I win this fight, you never touch Daver again. Ever.”

  For a moment, Swain remained silent. “That’s it?” he asked, snorting. “No better room, no higher status? No coins or clothes? That’s all you want?”

  “Yes.” Evren nodded. “Those are my terms.” The same terms he’d reached with Rhyris, Dracat, and all of the other ninth-years organizing the fights in the Master’s Temple. His willingness to fight had kept Daver out of the ring. He’d fight again if it meant keeping Daver safe from Swain’s ruthlessness.

  “Done.” Swain shook his head and threw up his hands. “And here I was expecting a big ask.”

  Evren sized up his opponent as he strode around Swain. Hakim was easily a hand and a half taller than him, his shoulders broader, his arms longer. The scars on his hands, forearms, and chest spoke of surviving numerous knife and fist-fights. He stood in the stance of an experienced fighter: feet spread slightly, right foot back, knees bent in a crouch, shoulders squared, chin tucked low. Despite his mocking smile, his eyes remained fixed on Evren and a hint of wary tension lined his face.

  “You know the rules?” Hakim asked.

  Evren shook his head.

  “Last man standing’s the victor.” Hakim rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck loudly. “Try and give me a decent fight, eh? Make it a little fun at least.”

  Evren stopped just out of the boy’s reach and squared off without a word. Loud mouths never won fights.

  “You got this, Hakim!” cried one of the Pincers behind Evren’s opponent.