Heirs of Destiny Box Set

by Andy Peloquin

  Of course. Evren’s heart sank. “They’ll capture and execute the Pincers, meaning you can take over their turf.”

  “Soon, the Claws will be the most powerful street gang in Vothmot, with me as their head,” Swain crowed. “We’ll be stronger than the Crooked Hand ever was, and in a year’s time, we’ll have control of the entire city. Any gangs that don’t join us will be crushed.”

  “A clever plan,” Evren admitted. “I see just one tiny flaw. We’re not dead yet.”

  Swain snorted. “Easily remedied.” He turned to Rosser. “Kill him.”

  Doubt flashed in Rosser’s eyes, but only for a moment. He moved away from the door and stepped toward Evren.

  Evren squared off, fists raised, the same stance he’d used to take Hakim and Engerack down. “You sure you want to do this?” he asked, his face going hard. “Remember Engerack.”

  Rosser hesitated mid-step, then stopped. He turned to Swain. “Boss, maybe we’re better off—"

  “Do it!” Swain shouted. His face purpled with rage, and a wild light shone in his eyes. “I am your boss! Obey my orders.”

  “But, boss—"

  Swain stepped up to Rosser and, with the speed of a darting snake, slashed the boy’s throat. Rosser gasped and clapped his hands to the gushing wound.

  “I have no use for cowards in my ranks,” Swain snarled and drove the dagger into the boy’s chest. Blood splashed his clothing, face, and hands as he pulled the blade free. Rosser’s collapsing body hit the wooden floor of the building with a loud thump. He lay still, wide eyes fixed on Evren, horror written in his gaze.

  Evren was too stunned by Swain’s cruelty to take advantage of his momentary distraction. By the time he blinked away his surprise, the Claw leader had turned a bloodstained glare on Evren. “Your turn,” he sneered.

  Evren’s eyes never left the Claws’ leader as he wrapped his tunic around his right hand. Only a fool went into a knife-fight bare-handed.

  Swain rolled his eyes. “A broken knife? Pathetic!”

  Evren ignored the taunt. He’d never wielded a dagger, but he’d watched enough knife-fights among the apprentices to know they always ended with both combatants bleeding.

  Swain, however, seemed perfectly comfortable with his blade. He moved in a low crouch, weight resting on the balls of his feet. His knife never stopped weaving circles in the air. Evren tensed, and it took effort to wrest his eyes from the blade. Watching the weapon was a mistake; he had to keep his eyes on Swain’s body, to anticipate the boy’s movements and attacks.

  He saw the quick forward shuffle coming and was already ducking the blow when Swain slashed high with his knife. But he wasn’t fast enough to evade the blade completely. He sucked in a breath as the dagger carved a line of fire into his left shoulder, then continued traveling upward to gouge his scalp just above the ear.

  Swain whipped the blade across in a backhand stroke, and Evren threw himself backward just in time to evade the slashing blow that would have carved open his forehead. Swain came on fast and low, his knife stabbing a dozen times in the space of two seconds. Evren gave ground but circled to his left instead of retreating backward. He had to stay on Swain’s weaker side, force the boy to use less-controlled backhand attacks.

  “Clever, clever, clever,” Swain growled, a wicked smile twisting his lips. “Thinking you can avoid my dominant hand. How about this?” He tossed the knife to his left hand, then came at Evren in a rush.

  This time, Evren didn’t dodge the slashing strike aimed at his neck but stepped forward and raised his left arm in a cross-block that caught Swain’s forearm. At the same time, he dropped his right arm and brought the stump of the dagger thrusting toward Swain’s armpit. Swain spun out of the way at the last moment, but the severed blade caught him along the ribs.

  Swain bellowed and charged, his knife driving at Evren’s chest, stomach, neck, face, and legs. Only instinct and years spent dodging powerful punches saved Evren from being stabbed. He twisted and slipped out of the way, then brought his own dagger up toward Swain’s chin. When the Claw ducked to the side to evade the blow, Evren drove his left fist into the boy’s face.

  The force of the punch rocked Swain back on his heels, and Evren followed up with two more quick jabs. The moment Swain’s knife hand dropped, Evren slashed his blade along the boy’s forearm. Swain hissed again and his knife clattered to the ground.

  But he recovered quickly and rushed Evren, arms outstretched. It was the same move Engerack had used on him in his cell, but Swain was far smaller than the seventh-year apprentice. Evren stepped back with his right foot, shifted his weight to his left, then drove his knee up into Swain’s face. Bone and cartilage crunched, and the force of the blow knocked Swain to the side. He collapsed to the floor, his face striking hard wood with jarring impact. Evren leapt atop Swain’s back before the boy could recover and drove his knee into the spinal column—not hard enough to shatter bone but enough to send a clear message.

  “Enough, Swain!” Evren cried. He pressed the stump of his knife blade against the side of the boy’s neck. “I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

  “Coward!” Swain snarled through broken teeth and split lips. “You’re too weak to kill me, just like Rosser and Tomaz and all the rest of them. You’re all weaklings, which is why none of you will ever be a leader. You don’t have what it takes to—"

  Evren slammed the pommel of his kitchen knife into the base of Swain’s skull, and the flow of vitriol fell quiet. Silence filled the small building. Evren drew in a deep breath, then winced at the ache in his ribs. The dagger wound in his shoulder stung, which only added to the pain in his face, head, chest, and stomach. He’d taken too many beatings tonight.

  His mind raced as he tried to figure out his next move. If he killed Swain, he and Daver could return to the Claws. The street gang might believe a tale about Rosser and Swain being caught by the Wardens, and there would be no one to dispute his story. Perhaps he could even lead the Claws, using his skill with his fists to protect them from the other gangs.

  Yet, just as with Lectern Uman, he couldn’t bring himself to kill. Swain was his enemy, and he wouldn’t stop until Evren and Daver were dead. But he’d be no better than Swain if he murdered the unconscious boy. Swain might be a cruel, vicious, bloodthirsty bastard, but Evren wasn’t. He wouldn’t let Swain’s decisions define his.

  A wild idea came to his mind. Before he could reconsider, he unwrapped the tunic from his right hand and used the edge of his shattered knife to cut it into long strips. He bound Swain’s ankles, knees, and wrists, then stuffed a wad of cloth into the boy’s mouth for good measure.

  He sat back on his heels, staring down at the unconscious Claw. What now? He couldn’t report the boy to the Wardens—he needed to stay as far away from the city guards as possible, especially after tonight’s robbery and Lectern Uman’s death. Maybe if he brought Swain back to the Claws and explained what had happened, they would deal with him their way. He had no idea what sort of justice or punishment they’d inflict, but at least he wouldn’t be the one to kill Swain.

  “Oh, Swaaaaain!” The singsong voice from outside the building snapped Evren from his thoughts. “Swaaainy Swaaain!”

  Heart hammering, Evren crept over to the window and peered out.

  Ten figures stood arrayed in front of the building holding torches and oil lanterns. Evren immediately recognized the one at the front: taller than the rest of his crew, with oddly rich clothing, a handsome face, and a scar over his right eyebrow.

  “Come out, Swain!” shouted Hakim, leader of the Pincers. “We’ve a score to settle tonight.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Evren ducked below the window before the Pincers caught sight of him and walked in a low crouch back to where Daver still sat against the wall.

  “We’re in trouble, Daver,” he said in a low voice. “Those guys outside are here for Swain, but they’ll be pissed at me, too. We’ve got to hope they don’t have anyone watching the back way
out. Once we’re outside, we’re going to have to run. Think you can make it?”

  “I-I’ll try,” Daver replied, his voice weak.

  Evren turned to the house’s back door and struggled to lift the heavy locking bar holding it closed. With effort, he managed to get one end of the beam off its supports, then dropped it to the ground and hauled at the other end.

  “Not coming out, Swain?” Hakim called from out front. “I know you’re in there. The Mistress smiled on us tonight, she did. Just our luck to find you here on our turf, with just a few of your gang to keep you company.”

  Evren shoved hard on the door, but it only opened a hand’s breadth before clunking against something solid. He tried again, and again the door refused to budge.

  “Damn it!” He shoved his face into the crack in an attempt to see what was blocking the way. He caught the barest glimpse of debris piled high in the alleyway outside the door.

  “There’s no way out, Swaaaaaiin!” Hakim sang out. “That back alley’s piled so high with crap there’s no way you’re getting out and, if you try anything, I’ve got two of my boys ready to bring you down. Your only choice is to come out the front door and take your beating like a man. I promise I’ll stop my lads before they break every bone in your body.”

  Evren’s gut clenched as he pushed. True to Hakim’s words, the debris was piled high outside the door. No way he’d get the door open from inside.

  He whirled and scanned the rest of the room for any other way out. The single-story house had no windows, and the crumbling roof wouldn’t support Daver’s weight, much less his. Ten boys waited for him outside the front door. The moment Hakim saw his face, he’d order his crew to fight. Evren could take a few, but not that many.

  “Last chaaaance!” Hakim called. “Come out like a man or die like a coward.”

  Evren’s mind raced. What could he do? He was trapped. If he was alone, he’d risk breaking out the front and fighting his way through the boys. But with Daver in tow, he couldn’t take the chance. Daver was already too weak from one beating; he wouldn’t survive another.

  “You made a mistake coming here,” Hakim said. His voice had lost the mocking singsong tone, replaced by a hard edge. “What sort of leader would I be if I let your actions from this morning stand?”

  Dread writhed in Evren’s gut, but he clenched his fists. Crouching, he slithered through the darkness toward the front door. If he opened the door, maybe he could lure Hakim’s crew into the house. He’d be outnumbered, but he might be able to surprise the Pincers long enough to make an opening for Daver to escape.

  A crash echoed from the outside of the house, and something wet and viscous splashed through the cracks in the door. The acrid odor of lamp oil reached Evren’s nostrils, accompanied by half a dozen more crashes. A clay jar flew through the window and shattered on the floor beside Rosser, spraying oil across the dead Claw.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

  A torch hurtled into the room and landed a finger’s breadth from the puddle of oil. Evren had a second to dive back toward Daver before the fuel ignited. A loud whoosh filled the little house and flames licked across the wooden floor. Within seconds, the bright tongues of fire engulfed Rosser’s body.

  Evren stared in horror as an oil lamp sailed through the window and landed a hand’s breadth from the bound and gagged Swain. Liquid flame splashed across the ground, and one tongue of fire latched onto Swain’s pant leg.

  Without hesitation, Evren leapt across the room, caught Swain by the shirt, and dragged him away from the window. He beat at the flames eating through the unconscious boy’s pants until only charred cloth remained.

  But another jar of oil flew through the window, followed by a torch that lit it on fire. By the time Evren wrestled Swain’s body away from the flames, the entire house was a blazing inferno.

  The light of the burning roof and walls illuminated the interior of the building, and Evren’s heart leapt as he caught sight of the boarded-up pet entrance. He threw his shoulder against the barrel and strained to roll it aside, then set about wrestling with the wooden boards covering the opening.

  His heart sank as he ripped the last board free. His shoulders would never fit through there.

  “Let me,” Daver said.

  Evren whirled to find the smaller boy standing beside him.

  Daver bent to study the compact entrance. “I can fit.”

  “Go!” Evren moved aside. “I just need you to clear me a path so I can open the back door and drag Swain out.”

  “You’d save him?” Daver asked, wide-eyed. “After what he tried to do?”

  “He might be a bastard,” Evren said, “but we don’t have to be.” The Lecterns’ abuse hadn’t broken him; he wouldn’t let Swain’s viciousness define who he was.

  Daver got to his hands and knees and shoved his head through the small gap. A few moments of scrabbling at the debris outside got him through, and Evren’s heart leapt as Daver’s feet disappeared. He stooped, seized Swain’s tunic, and hauled the unconscious Claw toward the rear door.

  The crackling of the fire grew louder, and the beams of the roof began to collapse at the front of the house. Entire sections of the northern and western wall crumbled from the heat of the flames. In less than a minute, the entire house would come down around him.

  Evren tightened his grip on Swain’s collar and kept dragging the unconscious boy the last few paces to the door. The fabric of Swain’s shirt ripped, and Evren fell backward, a shred of torn cloth in his hand. He quickly recovered and reached for Swain again. His hands had just closed around Swain’s shirt when a roof beam collapsed right in front of him.

  Swain gave a weak “uggh” as the heavy wooden support slammed into his chest, crushing his ribs and midsection. Blood spattered Evren’s face, and Swain’s eyes flew wide. His lips moved but no sound came out. With a weak gasp, Swain’s eyes rolled back and his head sagged to one side.

  Evren felt that same cold chill seeping into his body as he stared at the dead Claw. For a moment, the heat of the burning roof beam was forgotten in the horror of watching Swain die right in front of him.

  “Evren!” The back door muffled Daver’s voice. “Evren, I think I’ve cleared enough for you to get out.”

  The words snapped Evren from his trance. He turned to go, when glinting metal caught his eye. Around Swain’s neck hung the Lectern’s pendant he’d taken from Evren two days earlier.

  Swain’s words from earlier popped into Evren’s head. “The Lecterns aren’t the sort to let their apprentices run away. They won’t stop hunting until they find you. Or your bodies.”

  Swain had been right. The Lecterns would only give up the hunt if they believed Daver and Evren were dead.

  Swain was the same size as Evren, and he wore Evren’s crescent moon pendant. Once the fire had burned away his features, no one would be able to tell Swain’s corpse apart from his.

  He whirled toward the back door. “Daver!” He threw his shoulder against the wood with every ounce of strength. The door scraped against crumbled bricks and piled debris but slid open enough for him to see the smaller apprentice outside. “Daver, give me your pendant, now!”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it!” Evren insisted.

  Firelight gleamed on the crescent moon pendant Daver held out. Evren snatched it up, turned, and dropped the necklace into Swain’s outstretched hand. The platinum would survive the fire. If the Mistress’ luck smiled on him, the Wardens and Lecterns would believe Evren had died trying to escape the fire. The two pendants would tie the two corpses to the missing apprentices. It was the best he could hope for.

  He turned and ran, and with two running steps crashed into the back door. The hinges groaned and the wood bent, but the door swung wide enough for him to squeeze through. He tripped over the debris piled high and landed face-first in a pile of muck.

  “Let’s go!” He scrambled to his feet and clambered onto the piles of crumbled brick and human detri
tus. “We’ve got to get far away from here before the Wardens come to investigate the fire.”

  He slogged through the ankle-deep muck—a foul mixture of stagnant rainwater, urine, and the Keeper knew what else. The stink assaulted his nostrils, but the smoke of the burning building grew thicker with every passing second.

  Evren tensed in expectation of a fight as he approached the mouth of the alleyway. Hakim had said he had people watching the alleyway. His heart sank as he caught sight of the young boy standing against the wall at the far end of the narrow lane. He clung to the shadows, grateful for the crackling of the fire to conceal the sound of his movements through the debris. The lookout’s attention was so fixated on the pillar of fire consuming the house that he failed to notice Evren slipping through the darkness. Evren dropped the night-blind boy with a single punch to the jaw.

  He cast a glance toward the main avenue in time to see mirror-armored Wardens running toward the blaze, white cloaks streaming behind them. Seizing Daver’s hand, he raced deeper into the back alleys and away from the temple.

  Toward freedom.

  Epilogue

  Evren pulled his stolen hat lower and bent forward to hide his face. He glanced back at Daver, who stumbled alongside him. The smaller boy looked exhausted—a night spent running and hiding among the back-alleys around the Court of Judgement hadn’t done his battered body much good—but he tried his best to keep pace. Evren knew the rough-spun clothing they’d stolen would rub the wounds on Daver’s back raw, yet Daver hadn’t voiced complaint. They both knew the importance of finding a way to safety.

  Evren had only one place he could consider safe right now.

  His legs wobbled as he teetered the last few steps toward the Summer Market and Kaltris’ still-closed stall, and a sigh of relief escaped his lips.

  Jodech glanced up at his approach, and the man’s dark eyes went wide. “Keeper’s beard, lad, what happened to you?” Concern furrowing his sun-darkened forehead.