Storm of Chaos

by Andy Peloquin

The woman’s voice faded as Issa marched out of the building and out into the streets.

  East. Her mind raced. The cart came from the east. The Gatherers had been hiding out in the Keeper’s Crypts on the Cultivator’s Tier level, but that was to the west. But if they had approached Murder Square from the east, perhaps they had more hiding places on the Slave’s Tier.

  “Enyera, round up Rilith and Viddan!” Issa barked. “The others will continue searching the homes, but the five of us will—”

  “Sir!” An Indomitable, one conscripted from Dictator Quen’s company, raced toward her, breathless. “We found one, sir!”

  “One what?” Issa demanded.

  “A cultist,” the man responded, skidding to a halt. “We’ve found a Keeper-damned Gatherer!”

  Chapter Nine

  “Handsome is not a foe to be trifled with.” The Black Widow’s ominous words echoed in Kodyn’s mind as he slipped into a darkened alley on the Slave’s Tier. “People who go looking for him tend to wind up dead.”

  He had to admit her warning held a certain measure of foreboding—the Black Widow, spymistress of Shalandra, had actually sounded afraid of the assassin with the bright red birthmark. Yet Kodyn couldn’t simply let the threat of near-certain death stop him from getting answers.

  He needed to find out who hired Handsome to kill Councilor Angrak. He alone knew the assassin’s identity, but he couldn’t just bring the man’s name to Issa or Lady Callista Vinaus. They’d need more than just a name to hunt the assassin down.

  But if Kodyn could find the assassin’s hiding place, he could get the Keeper’s Blades involved. This was to be a scouting mission to track Handsome back to his lair and come up with a plan of attack that guaranteed a successful capture. When he took that to Lady Callista, she’d be far more likely to lend him help—in the form of a few dozen Keeper’s Blades, ideally.

  Kodyn hauled himself up the side of an empty two-story building and onto the roof. The thatching sagged beneath his weight, but thankfully held. He’d chosen this particular building both for its position and the fact that it stood next to another abandoned building that would provide him ample cover for his all-night perch. The shadows of the overhanging roof would conceal him and offer a comfortable place to watch without being seen.

  He settled into his chosen vantage point against the eastern corner of the roof. If there’s one good thing about thatching, is that it’s a lot more comfortable than hard tiles, he thought. The straw and plains grass had a lot more cushioning than clay and ceramic. He might actually get a few hours of sleep tonight.

  Not for the first time, Kodyn contemplated the other advice the Black Widow had given him. He had considered bringing along another pair of hands—Aisha would be his first choice, but Evren would do in a pinch.

  Yet ultimately he’d discarded the advice. Not only because he’d determined to simply watch and wait for Handsome, but because of how he intended to track the assassin back to his lair.

  Anyone that could give the Black Widow’s people the slip would be skilled enough to spot a pale-skinned foreigner following him through the alleys and streets of the Slave’s Tier. Even with all of his experience, Kodyn doubted he could remain unobtrusive in the streets of Shalandra, given his skin color and height.

  But the rooftops provided more than ample cover to follow Handsome unseen. During his days in Shalandra, he’d come to the realization that few people saw roofs as anything more than shelter from the elements. On the occasions when he’d taken to the rooftops, he’d seen no sign that anyone used them to traverse the city like the Night Guild did in Praamis. The steep slopes and less-than-sturdy construction of the thatched roofs made it difficult to use the rooftops to get around—though not impossible.

  The buildings of the Slave’s Tier were packed tightly together enough that he should have little trouble following Handsome. But it took an experienced Hawk to traverse the Hawk’s Highway, the network of ropes, bridges, and ladders that spanned Praamis’ rooftops. Right now, he was the only one with any experience.

  Evren had proven himself competent on the streets, but that competence might not translate to the agility required to travel the rooftops. Aisha had shown an affinity for heights on the few occasions he’d brought her up to the Hawk’s Highway, but he hadn’t had time to properly train her. That meant he had to do this part alone. Once he found Handsome’s hideout, he’d call in all the reinforcements he could summon. Master Serpent, his mentor and instructor, hadn’t trained him to be a fool. He knew his skill far outmatched the average Praamian, but when facing an assassin of Handsome’s caliber, he was smart enough to go for help rather than fighting alone.

  Warmth flooded him at the memory of those moments spent on the Hawk’s Highway with Aisha. It had taken him nearly a month to convince her to join him, and she’d spent weeks training with him on the Perch—at Ria’s insistence—to make the climb.

  But the moment they had stepped out onto the flat expanse of rooftops, a Hawk’s private paradise, he knew it had been worth it all. Aisha’s eyes had sparkled at the red-gold light of the sunset that bathed the city, stared in wonder at the hues of violet, red, orange, and blue that bedecked the evening sky. They had sat in silence to watch the sun disappear behind the western horizon. A quiet moment, yet a profound one. It was in that moment that Kodyn had learned the true depths of his feelings for Aisha. He didn’t just find her intriguing, her beauty riveting. There was something special about her—something he couldn’t put into words, yet felt as tangible as steel—that he couldn’t get out of his head.

  That had been two years ago, and his feelings for her had only grown since then. Always in his own mind, of course. He hoped she felt the same way and the look in her eyes cemented his optimism. Yet he hadn’t dared to put those things into words. He simply didn’t know how.

  Then Briana had come along and complicated matters. The Shalandran girl was remarkable in her wit, her courage, her resilience of spirit, and her elegance. She was the picture of nobility, all grace and poise and charm. He was drawn to her with an inexorability he couldn’t fight.

  It made things far too confusing, especially given Aisha’s recent behavior. She had always carried a heavy burden—no one could blame her, given everything she had endured during her captivity—but this was something new, something greater. She had begun shutting him out, keeping the secret to herself. He’d almost gotten her to open up and let him in the previous night, only to be disrupted by the arrival of Angrak’s guard patrol.

  But I’m not giving up! His jaw clenched. There’s no way I’m going to let her go through whatever she’s going through alone.

  Thankfully, he had things to keep his mind off his worry for Aisha. Right now, he could focus on finding Handsome.

  The sun had set hours earlier, and he guessed midnight wouldn’t be far off. That gave him five or six hours until Handsome showed up at the Hall of Bounty at first light. He’d use that time to study the assassin’s escape routes and, if he was fortunate, catch a few minutes of rest.

  The last few days had passed in a blur of non-stop motion. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in a proper bed, though he felt somewhat refreshed after dozing off in The Laborer’s Rest. Yet he had spent enough sleepless nights to know that if he didn’t get some real rest, his mind and body would begin to slow.

  Can’t have that, not when dealing with someone as formidable as Handsome.

  At least he didn’t have to worry about fighting. The skills he’d learned over years of training with the Hawks and Hounds would come in handy here.

  First, he had to find the man. With close to three hundred people lining up in front of the Hall of Bounty below him—not to mention the additional hundred or so before the Lower Wellspring a short distance away—he’d have a hard time spotting Handsome in the crowd. Likely the assassin would wear some sort of disguise. Unless he was the most brazen killer ever, he’d try to avoid drawing attention. That birthmark of his would make h
im stand out in a crowd, so doubtless he’d cover it up.

  Then came the matter of following Handsome. The Black Widow’s people had tried and failed to track him back to his lair. Kodyn’s tracking training with the Hounds and his ability to follow from the rooftops gave him an edge, but he had little doubt the assassin would prove elusive and clever.

  One problem at a time, he told himself. Even the hardest jobs start with getting your bearings and understanding the terrain.

  He knew his target was heading toward the Hall of Bounty, so he started with that. The building was twice the size of the average Praamian warehouse—it had to be in order to store food for everyone on the Slave’s Tier—and built of the same golden sandstone as everything else in Shalandra. Fifty Indomitables stood guard around the single entrance or patrolled around the perimeter of the building.

  A long line of ragged, emaciated Mahjuri formed before the door, stretching all the way back to the Way of Chains and east around a corner. With Murder Square a few hundred paces to the east, the majority of the people leaving the line headed west along the main avenue and used the side streets to reach their homes.

  As Kodyn watched the flow of people leaving the Hall of Bounty, he realized he’d chosen the wrong roof. His current vantage point gave him a clearer view of the people heading toward the entrance, but he’d need to reposition himself one roof to the east to see those leaving.

  Silent as a wraith, he hauled himself to his feet and leapt over the narrow gap between him and the next roof over. Much better! He grinned and settled into his new position.

  Kodyn was surprised to find the spot allowed him to overhear the conversations of the people below—specifically, of the two men standing nearest his perch.

  “…hear about that Blade?” asked one man in a low voice.

  “The crucified one?” replied the other. “Aye, gruesome, that was. With the mark of the Gatherers carved into his chest and all. A bad way to go for a warrior like that.”

  Kodyn’s ears pricked up. Crucified Blade? His mind flashed back to Issa, Etai, and Hykos, the Blades that had helped them on Lady Callista’s order. Had one of them been killed? The Gatherers would want vengeance for the deaths of those slain in the Keeper’s Crypts and the streets of the Artisan’s Tier.

  “Might be.” The first man shrugged. “But the way I hear it, that young man was Dhukari. Son of the Warden of the Southern Marches, I hear.”

  “Izzat so?” The second man’s tone grew hard. “One less of them ain’t a bad thing, I suppose.”

  The first man snorted. “I’ll say.” He cast a wary glance around and dropped his voice to a mutter, so low Kodyn had to strain to make out his words. “Now, if only we could do away with those damned Indomitables. Fewer mouths to feed would mean more for my little ones’ bellies.”

  Kodyn didn’t hear the second man’s reply as the two men advanced in the queue. Their words both put his mind at ease and set acid twisting in his gut. The dead Blade had been a young man, which meant Issa and her friend Etai were safe. Hykos hadn’t struck him as the sort to be the son of a Dhukari. There was that much, at least. He’d come to like the towering Blade in her Shalandran steel armor. He didn’t trust her fully—he could blame that on his upbringing as a thief—but as far as their mission to bring down the Gatherers went, he knew he could rely on her. And Hykos and Etai, according to Issa.

  But the fact that someone had killed a Keeper’s Blade portended turmoil for Shalandra. The peace in the city was so fragile, the people already so resentful against the Indomitables, Keeper’s Blades, and Dhukari. Something like this could be the spark that set match to the kindling of the lower castes’ enmity of the higher castes.

  Kodyn kept listening for anything else of interest, but most of the Mahjuri in line seemed subdued, cowed by the knowledge of what the death of the Blade meant for them. Most muttered under their breaths or simply held silence, shuffling forward to claim their meager rations without a word.

  Soon, the low hum of the crowd began to lull Kodyn’s tired mind and body into a restful state. He wrapped himself in his cloak and lay back, closing his eyes. Yet as he crossed his arms over his chest, he felt Suroth’s purse in his pocket.

  He drew out the velvet pouch, but hesitated to open it. Suroth’s words rang in his mind. “In the wrong hands, this can be used for truly terrible things.”

  He’d fought down his curiosity for days, but now it got the best of him. Untying the strings, he upended the purse and dumped its contents into his hand. A single smooth, round gemstone of a deep sapphire color nestled in his palm. The stone was no larger than a quail’s egg, with all its facets polished out until it was perfectly round. There were no markings, no Serenii runes, nothing to identify its purpose.

  A part of him felt disappointed at the discovery. He had little doubt the gemstone held value, though not to any gem dealer in Praamis. It looked more like zircon, but of a dark blue color he’d never encountered before.

  So what the frozen hell is it? Kodyn turned the stone over in his hands. And why did Suroth make it sound like end-of-the-world serious?

  He toyed with the stone, as if his fingers could discover answers his eyes failed to find. Yet the gemstone refused to yield its secrets. It seemed as inert as any gemstone Kodyn had encountered over his years as a thief.

  Finally, he slipped the stone back into its purse and the purse back in its pocket. He’d put off the mystery of Suroth’s gift for now; he could always return to it once he dealt with the matter of Handsome and whoever had hired the assassin to kill Councilor Angrak.

  Lying back, Kodyn closed his eyes once more. He had only a few hours until sunrise, so he determined to make the most of them. Rest would do his mind and body good after the last few days of non-stop movement.

  Yet, in the moments before sleep claimed him, a familiar face filled his thoughts: Aisha, her eyes hooded by shadows, worry etched in the lines around her eyes and mouth. Something was wrong with her—the first chance he got, he’d press her to find out what.

  She was his friend, the one who mattered most to him. Whatever troubled her, he wanted to help shoulder that burden any way he could.

  * * *

  Kodyn awoke quietly, his senses on full alert. Like all apprentices of House Hawk, he had trained to develop an innate sense of time based on the position of the stars. In Praamis, he’d had the Lady’s Bells to track the passage of time, but down in the sewer tunnels, no light or sound marked the hour. A glance at the starry sky told him he’d awoken precisely when he meant to: half an hour or so before first light.

  He shifted from his relaxed position and stretched his muscles, careful to keep his movements slow so as to avoid drawing attention from the long line of Mahjuri below.

  As the first threads of daylight appeared over the eastern horizon, the brightening sky gave Kodyn a better view of the people in line before the Hall of Bounty. Men, women, and children wore ragged clothing that did little to cover their gaunt frames. Dirt and dust stained the faces, hands, and bodies of everyone in line. Most wore the black Mahjuri headbands, but many were bare-headed—the mark of Kabili slaves. They stood dull-eyed and listless, waiting in a seemingly endless line before the Hall of Bounty.

  However, Kodyn noticed the line was moving far more quickly than it had the previous night. He caught sight of five wagons parked at the side entrance to the warehouse-like building; likely fresh shipments of food had been delivered to the Hall of Bounty, so the white-robed Ministrants doling out the meager portions to the awaiting people had more stores to draw on.

  Makes sense why Handsome would come in the morning, Kodyn thought. The faster flow meant less time spent standing in line, out in the open. Less chance of being spotted by the Black Widow’s watchers or whoever else is out looking for him.

  Kodyn scanned the crowd for anyone who could be Handsome. Errik, Master Serpent, had taught Kodyn the tricks the Serpents used to disguise themselves. Rather than wearing elaborate costumes—unless th
e circumstances called for such, of course—most of the Night Guild’s assassins relied on natural camouflage to conceal their movements. At night, that meant shadows and darkness. During the day, that typically meant the invisibility of servants, workmen, and beggars.

  Down among the Mahjuri, everyone looked like a beggar, and anyone too obviously well-fed or well-clothed would stand out. Which meant that Handsome would need to wear a disguise that made him look as dull and boring as any of the people around him. His birthmark would stand out in the crowd, but so would a mask or hood. He’d have to find some other clever way to conceal his face.

  For the wretched poor of the Slave’s Tier, the best sort of camouflage would be dirt and dust. Kodyn scanned the filthy, dusty, mud-stained faces in the queue, and a smile touched his lips as his gaze fell on one particularly dirty man. The fellow looked as if he’d rolled in the mud and mire along Trader’s Way. A thick layer of muck covered his face, predominantly on the right side of his face—a face that was far too clean-shaven to be proper Mahjuri.

  A fierce grin split Kodyn’s lips. Got you, you bastard!

  He could see why the Black Widow’s people had such a hard time following the man. His muddy disguise made him virtually indistinguishable from the rest of the people crowding the Slave’s Tier. He even had the wiry build and ragged clothing as the rest of the Mahjuri, though his sleeveless shirt revealed tightly corded muscles that contrasted with the haggard gauntness of the starving people around him. Only an experienced eye would see through his disguise.

  Kodyn watched the man as he progressed through the fast-moving queue. The more he studied his target, the more certain he grew. It didn’t matter that he’d only seen Handsome for a few seconds; there was something innately lethal about the way the man moved, the caution in each step, like a thief feeling his way through the darkness using his feet alone. And his wary eyes never stopped roving, watching everything and everyone around him.