Chapter Eight
The darkness of the night did little to dispel the nervous tension writhing in Evren’s gut. The cloud cover provided shadows to conceal him and the others as they snuck through the alleys toward the rear of the Master’s Temple, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that had settled over him. The stink of the rotting corpse against the wall, still undiscovered by the Wardens, twisted his stomach.
Too much could go wrong. Even if the older apprentices hadn’t told the Lecterns of their back way out, there was always a chance the Wardens would post men to watch the rear of the temple. Someone could be in the Gardens of Prudence despite the late hour, or an apprentice could be awake as he crept into the cells. Then there was the matter of Swain. Evren didn’t fully trust the Claws’ leader, even with that binding oath he’d sworn.
A hint of his anxiety faded as he found only empty darkness and silence in the alleyway that ran along the temple’s outer wall. The rope ladder he’d used to escape hadn’t been moved, which meant the Wardens and Lecterns hadn’t thought to search the rear of the temple. If his luck held, he could get in and out without being discovered. Once this was done, he’d never have to return to the Master’s Temple again. Swain would have his big score and might relax his vigilance long enough for Evren and Daver to flee with Kaltris. He could leave Vothmot and his old life behind.
He stopped at the rope ladder and waited for Swain, Tomaz, and Rosser, one of Swain’s bodyguards, to catch up.
“Got that second rope ladder?” he asked.
Rosser, a large, curly-haired lad with equal parts muscle and fat, removed a satchel from his shoulder and pulled out the coils of rope. Rags wrapped the metal hooks at the end of the ladder, the perfect padding to muffle the sound of steel on stone.
“Once we’re up, we leave one rope ladder hanging down the outside of the wall so we can make a quick getaway,” he told the others.
Swain turned to Rosser. “You’re with the newbie. Stick with him and help him get his brother out. As for you, Tomaz, you’re with me.”
“You remember where to find the valuables?” Evren asked.
“Of course,” Swain snapped. “Fifth floor of the temple proper, the High Lecterns’ level.”
“Good.” Evren nodded. “The valuables in the Grand Chapel and the Master’s Nave are worth more, but there’s a higher chance of you being spotted. But there’s more than enough in the halls outside the High Lecterns’ chambers to make it worth your while.” Between the Fehlan ice candles, brass candlesticks, and gold and silver statuettes, Swain ought to come away with more than enough loot.
“There better be.” Swain’s eyes shot Rosser a meaningful look. The bigger boy wasn’t there to help Evren so much as make sure he didn’t try to run off.
He shot a glance up at the sky. The thick cloud cover offered more than enough darkness, but he’d waited until well past midnight to be certain the Master’s Temple would be as empty and silent as possible.
“The apprentices will be awakened in a few hours for morning lessons, so we’ve got to move while they’re all still asleep in their cells.”
Swain thrust a chin toward the ladders. “After you, newbie.” He lowered his voice to a menacing whisper. “Anything goes wrong, I’ll hunt you down and cut you to pieces. Clear?”
Evren responded with a grunt. He’d expect no less from the Claws’ leader. He clambered up the rope ladder he’d left hanging in his escape while Swain scaled the one they’d brought for the break-in. He peered cautiously over the wall and scanned the Gardens of Prudence for any movement. Only the merry bubbling of the fountains reached his ears, and the flickering light of the oil lanterns revealed an empty garden.
He gave Swain a thumbs-up and pulled himself onto the top of the wall. Swain helped him haul up one of the rope ladders and hook it onto the inside of the wall. Evren shimmied down first, followed by Swain a minute later.
Evren’s heart hammered as he turned away from the wall and crept through the shadows toward the hedges. Most of the Lecterns would be abed at this time of night, but some of the older priests tended to take late-night walks to combat their insomnia. And, if Rhyris and Dracat had a fight on for tonight, there could be apprentices and priests both slinking around the temple.
He had to hope his luck held. Daver was counting on him.
The hedges rustled as Swain, Tomaz, and Rosser crouched beside him. “Anything?” Swain asked.
“No signs of life yet.” Evren’s gut clenched. “But that doesn’t mean there aren’t Lecterns or apprentices roaming around inside. We’ve got to make this quick.”
“Ten minutes.” Tomaz nodded. He patted the empty sack hanging from his shoulder. “Get what we came for and get the hell out.”
“This isn’t our first job, you know.” Swain’s voice was tight, curt. “You’re the newbie here.”
“I’m also the only one who knows his way around,” Evren retorted. “Just stick to the route I drew out for you, and you’ll get in and out unseen.”
They’d spent the afternoon and evening planning the heist, and he’d drawn a crude map from his memories of the temple’s interior. He’d never be an architect, but it would guide the others to where they needed to go.
He drew in a deep breath. “Go!”
Slipping free of the hedge, he pounded past the raised stone pool, across the pristine laws, and up the marble stone walkway toward the shadows of the rear entrance. His gut clenched as he slithered into the tunnel, but he found only an empty temple ahead. He skirted the pillared main nave and slipped in silence toward the hallway that led toward White Tower.
Swain and Tomaz turned onto the ascending staircase to the temple’s upper floors, leaving Evren alone with Rosser. He was keenly aware of the larger boy’s presence at his back, the sound of his loud breathing. Doubtless Swain had given Rosser instructions of what to do if he tried to pull anything. So be it. He had no reason to deviate from the plan until after he’d freed Daver. Swain would get what he wanted, and Evren would get his friend.
His breath caught in his lungs as a sleepy, white-haired priest—he recognized the ebony cane and wispy white hair of Lectern Estland—hobbled out of a meditation chamber and into the hall. Evren hauled Rosser down a side passage that led to White Tower, albeit in a more circuitous route.
To his relief, they encountered no more Lecterns or apprentices as they slipped down the lamp-lit corridors, and his heart leapt as he reached the entrance to White Tower. Down the stairs he went, then he turned into the plain stone hallway that would take him to the apprentices’ cells and Daver.
He slowed and clung to the wall as he slipped toward his cell, pulse pounding in his ears. The chambers nearest the entrance belonged to the older apprentices. His and Daver’s cell was the tenth door down. He couldn’t risk anyone waking up as he tried to free his friend.
Rosser’s breathing sounded terribly loud in the silence, and the boy’s thick, too-large boots made far more noise than Evren would have liked. After just three steps, he’d had enough.
He whirled to Rosser and pressed a hand against the larger boy’s chest. “Stay!” he mouthed and pointed down to the bigger boy’s feet. “Too loud. Keep watch.”
Rosser tensed but nodded. “Go,” he muttered.
Heart hammering, Evren glided in silence toward his cell. His mouth grew dry as he passed three cells, four, then five. It took all his self-control to keep his breathing steady and quiet, to maintain a slow pace when he wanted to break into a run. Every minute spent in the temple increased the chance he’d be caught.
He froze as he heard voices from within the eighth cell down, and his hand dropped to the dagger at his belt. He had no desire to use it, but he wouldn’t let anyone stop him from freeing Daver.
The tension drained from his shoulder as he recognized the voice. Garnet, a fifth-year apprentice, had a tendency to walk and talk in his sleep. The sleeping boy rattled off a stream of loud gibberish for a long moment before the cell f
ell silent again.
Evren blew out a silent breath and continued creeping toward the tenth cell. He froze as he saw the new addition to his cell door: a padlock securing the deadbolt. The Lecterns had locked Daver inside his cell—so which Lectern had the key?
He shot a glance back at Rosser. If the older boy was a thief, perhaps he knew how to pick locks. Rhyris had boasted about the skill he’d picked up from studying one of the many books in the Vault of Stars, but Evren had never seen it done.
But Rosser made far too much noise, which raised the chance one of the sleeping apprentices would be awakened. No, he had to find another way.
An idea popped into his mind. He drew his dagger and shoved the blade between the two shanks of the padlock. The steel was strong, but would it be stronger than the iron padlock? He gave a few experimental twists, but the dagger’s blade bent from the strain.
He hesitated, uncertain if he should continue trying. The crude kitchen knife was his only weapon, and he’d need it if Swain tried to come after him and Daver, or if he had to fight his way out of the temple. Yet, he’d come all this way to free Daver. He could find, buy, or steal another blade.
He twisted the padlock, tightened his grip on the dagger’s handle, and gave a short, sharp tug on the knife. Two loud snaps echoed in the corridor in quick succession, followed by the clunk of the lock and the tinkling of the steel blade hitting the stone floor. Evren’s gut tightened as he stared at the shattered knife, but he pushed aside the momentary worry and reached for the deadbolt. He winced at the groaning of the door’s hinges as he pushed it open and slithered inside the cell.
“Daver?” he hissed into the dense blackness. “You in here?”
“Oh, he’s in here.” The cold voice sent a shiver of fear down Evren’s spine.
A firestriker sparked in the darkness, and a tiny tongue of fire illuminated Rhyris’ angular face.
“Welcome back, Evren,” the older boy said with a cruel grin. “Good to see you haven’t forgotten your old pals.”
The ninth-year touched the firestriker to the wick of a candle, and the faint light shone on the four figures in the cell.
Evren’s gut clenched as he caught sight of Daver’s prone form. The smaller boy lay curled in a heap, blood trickling from wounds on his face, his back a mess of red stripes from Lectern Uman’s cane. Filthy rags held him bound and gagged, and fear filled his eyes as he stared up at Evren.
Rhyris and Dracat stood above Daver, a wicked light gleaming in their eyes. Dracat lit a second candle from Rhyris’ and turned to Evren with a vicious smile. “You skipped out on your fight two nights ago. It’s only fair you make up for it now.”
Ice ran down Evren’s spine as he turned to the last figure in the room. Engerack, a seventh-year apprentice, stood taller than even Rosser, his huge body made of solid muscle. He flexed fists the size of Lectern Nallin’s famous Wintertide ham hocks and rolled his huge neck with a loud crack.
A smile spread Engerack’s heavy features. “Looks like we’re getting that fight after all.”
Chapter Nine
Evren looked from Daver to Engerack to Rhyris and Dracat. “No.” He shook his head. “I’m not going to fight.”
“No?” Rhyris cocked an eyebrow. “You make it sound like you have a choice.”
“The minute we heard your little weakling friend here was caught, we knew you’d be back for him,” Dracat sneered. “We’ve had eyes watching the back wall ever since, just so we could be ready.” He shook his head. “I didn’t think you’d be foolish enough to come back tonight, but Rhyris was certain.”
The sound of twenty cell doors opening echoed in the corridor behind Evren, accompanied by the stampede of slapping feet. He glanced back and found dozens of apprentices—many from Grey and Black Towers as well—crowding around the door. Eagerness shone in their eyes as they watched the confrontation.
Rhyris folded his arms. “Your choice is simple: fight or watch Engerack here shatter every bone in your little friend’s body.” He gestured down at Daver. “We won’t kill him, though. He’ll live the rest of his life a cripple, and it’ll all be on your head.”
“Those are my options?” Evren cocked his head. “Seems like I lose either way. Even if I fight, I still end up locked away in here.” He pressed the stump of his shattered knife to his own throat. “I’d rather die than stay in the temple one more hour.”
Rhyris and Dracat’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Engerack seemed confused by this development. The seventh-year had the strength of an ox and the wits to match. Too many knocks to his head had dulled his mental edge.
Evren fixed the two ninth-year apprentices with a hard glare. “There’s only one thing I’ll fight for: freedom. For Daver and me. I win, we walk out of here.”
“And if Engerack wins,” Dracat snarled, “the Lecterns find two corpses in this cell tomorrow.”
Evren’s gut clenched. “So be it.” He had no other choice, no better outcome. Survival and freedom were worth wagering his life. “Where are we fighting?”
Rhyris swept an expansive gesture at the bare stone walls of the cell. “Right here, of course!” A broad grin stretched his face. “No sense dragging it out or hauling you through the temple to the usual storage chamber. Less chance of the Lecterns catching us in here.”
Evren drew in a deep breath, then nodded. “Fair enough.” He turned his back on Engerack, removed his tunic, and folded it neatly. He handed the shirt and his shattered knife to Gadid, a sixth-year Crystal Tower apprentice standing beside the door. “I’ll be expecting that back in a minute.”
He spoke in a confident tone, but anxiety simmered within him. His stomach twisted in knots as he turned to face Engerack. The larger boy had squared off, his massive fists raised, a smile of anticipation twisting his lips. Evren could see it in Engerack’s eyes: the bigger boy was ready to rip him apart.
Engerack was taller, heavier, stronger, and had longer arms than him. The seventh-year apprentice had more fights under his belt, better technique, and a high tolerance to pain. All Evren had was a will to live. If he lost, he died, and Daver with him.
He had one more advantage: he knew every detail of the cell. Four long steps wide and five steps long. Smaller, now that Rhyris, Daver, and Dracat occupied the far corner of the tiny room. He knew each stone, crack, and indentation in the floor, every irregularity in the walls. He’d paced this cell a thousand times, and his feet slid across the uneven stones with easy familiarity.
Engerack took one quick shuffling step forward and jabbed his massive right fist at Evren’s face. Evren slipped the punch—Engerack started every fight the same way—then threw a sharp punch at the bigger boy’s stomach. The apprentice didn’t bother to block the blow. Evren winced at the pain in his knuckles; it felt like he’d struck the stone walls.
The flickering light of the candle made it hard to see, and he barely caught sight of Engerack’s follow-up punch in time to duck. Right into Engerack’s rising knee. The impact snapped his head up and back, and he stumbled backward to crash into the stone walls.
A single cheering shout rang out in the cell, but Rhyris’ angry hiss turned the cries of the onlookers to low whispers. This far below ground, there was little chance the Lecterns would overhear, but the ninth-years weren’t going to take any chances.
Evren pushed off the wall and shook his head to clear it. When he wiped his face, his hand came away bloody. Engerack’s knee had re-opened his split lip.
The larger boy’s eyes had gone flat, all expression drained from his face. The seventh-year might struggle with reading, writing, and sums, but when it came to fighting, he was as close to a savant as Evren had ever seen. His size gave him an advantage over every opponent—all but the near-insane Oldsek—and his understanding of bare-handed fighting techniques made him deadly.
Evren squared off, chin tucked close to his shoulder, balance spread between his left and right feet. He couldn’t charge Engerack—it would have as much effect as a lamb ch
arging a rabid wolf—so he had to find another way to get through his opponent’s guard. The seventh-year was slower than him, barely. If he could slip past the bone-shattering punches, he might have a chance of laying Engerack out.
He ducked right, then left as Engerack jabbed at his face, then he slithered out of the way of a body shot. His answering punch to Engerack’s liver struck hard muscle as the boy twisted his torso. Evren had to throw himself backward to avoid the powerful right cross aimed at his nose. He crashed against the wall again, but this time Engerack didn’t pause to let him recover. The boy crossed the distance in one long step and laid into him with vicious body blows and hooks.
Evren desperately tried to protect his face and ribs, but Engerack was too experienced to be predictable. He punched high and low without discernible pattern, sending pain shivering through Evren’s sides as his massive fists struck bone. Evren brought his knee up into the larger boy’s groin, but Engerack caught it on his thigh. The impact knocked him backward a single pace, long enough for Evren to lift his foot, step on a stone protruding from the wall at his knee level, and leap at the boy. His flying punch cracked into Engerack’s jaw with bruising force.
The seventh-year actually staggered back a second step, and Evren followed up with a low kick that snapped into Engerack’s knee. The boy wobbled for a heartbeat, giving Evren a chance to bring his knee up into the underside of Engerack’s chin. The big apprentice’s head snapped backward and he fell onto his back.
A gasp of surprise echoed in the cell as all eyes watched Engerack’s fall. But before Evren could draw in a single breath, Engerack rolled to his feet and charged with a furious roar. Massive arms wrapped around Evren’s waist, lifted him from the ground, and slammed him into the wall.
Evren’s head and back struck stone with jarring force. The world spun crazily around him as he slumped atop the messy pile of straw that had served as his bed. A moment later, pain blossomed in his ribs, his face, and his ribs again. Engerack’s fourth kick knocked the breath from his lungs.
Heirs of Destiny Box Set Page 210