Storm of Chaos

by Andy Peloquin

  At that moment, a messenger hurried into the War Room and strode up to Lady Callista. The Lady of Blades took the message from his hands, unfolded the parchment, and a scowl deepened her face as she read. “The Pharus has summoned me to give him an update on the situation,” she said, her face tight. “As if I’m his dog, to come to his heel whenever he calls.”

  The messenger, wearing the gold-and-silver livery of the palace, quickly backed out of the room, his eyes never leaving Lady Callista’s angry face.

  With a growl, the Lady of Blades crumpled the parchment in her mailed fist. “Damn him!” She turned to the other black-armored figures clustering the room. “Elders, I leave this in your hands. If anything should happen—”

  “You will be summoned from the palace at once, Lady Callista.” The bald soldier with battle-scarred cheeks and thin eyebrows gave her a small bow.

  With a nod, she turned on her heel and stalked from the building.

  The stern-faced soldiers that Lady Callista had addressed as “Elders”—Elders of the Blade, Evren guessed—returned to their duties, scowling down at the map, receiving and sending messages, and commanding the Indomitable Executors and Sentinels that reported for duty. Evren slipped outside to stay out of their way.

  He was surprised to find Hykos joining him on the Warrior’s Path. The Blade’s face creased into a worried frown. His eyes darted toward the door that led into the improvised War Room—toward Issa?

  The question popped into Evren’s mind unbidden, yet once there, he couldn’t shake it. When Issa and Etai appeared ten minutes later, the way Hykos straightened all but confirmed his suspicion.

  The Archateros stepped toward Issa. “You sure you can do this?” Apprehension darkened his eyes. “You’ve got no armor, crappy weapons, and no support from the Blades or Indomitables.”

  “Do you doubt me?” Issa’s face hardened. “After all the time you’ve spent training me—”

  “No.” Hykos shook his head. “I just…I know how dangerous this is.”

  Interesting. Evren stifled a smile. As Archateros, Hykos was Issa’s superior officer and, it seemed, her trainer. Yet the way he looked at her, the disquiet etched into his face, went far beyond the usual concern.

  For the first time, Evren saw Issa out of her armor. She stood nearly two hands taller than him, and her simple tunic revealed broad shoulders and heavy-muscled arms. Evren preferred slimmer, more petite women—the image of Briana flashed before his eyes—yet he couldn’t deny that the knee-length shendyt did wonders for her well-proportioned figure. The intensity in her eyes hadn’t dimmed, but somehow the mundane clothing softened her appearance.

  Yeah, I can see what he sees in her. And what she might see in him.

  Hykos was a finger taller than Issa, his shoulders as broad as hers, his bearing confident. And, Evren had to admit, the Archateros’ features had a certain handsomeness that most young women would find attractive. Beneath the armor and her role as a Keeper’s Blade, Issa was a young woman.

  Truth be told, they’re pretty much perfect for each other. All that remains to be seen is if they’ll ever figure it out.

  “I’ll be fine,” Issa said. If she had any notion of how Hykos truly felt at that moment, she gave no indication of it. “I’ve got Etai and my Indomitables.”

  “Right you do!” A jaunty call echoed from behind Evren.

  He spun to see a group of ten young men and women striding up the Warrior’s Path toward Issa and Etai. They marched with the precision of Indomitables, yet wore Earaqi clothing and red headbands. A few of them seemed almost in awe of the simple cloth bands encircling their foreheads—Evren guessed they had been Mahjuri or Kabili before joining the Indomitables.

  The ten Indomitables gave Issa a salute far less martial than expected from soldiers.

  “None of that saluting now,” Issa told them. “We need to blend in. I’d tell you to rub some dirt on your face, but it seems Nysin has already got that figured out.”

  One of the young men blushed and scrubbed at his clean face.

  Issa and Etai smiled, and all of the plain-clothed Indomitables took a moment to tease their comrade.

  Damn, Evren thought. She’s a natural leader. Even as they prepared to go on a mission this dangerous, she found time to help her soldiers relax.

  Yet one glance at the now-set sun reminded Evren of the urgency of their mission. “We need to go,” he said. “The sun’s getting real low.”

  Issa nodded agreement and relayed their mission to her soldiers. “We need to find these Hallar’s Warriors.” Her voice had a new tone of urgency. “We can’t let a few firebrands burn the city to the ground. We all have family on the tiers below. If things turn ugly, it’s our loved ones that will suffer.” She raised a clenched fist. “I refuse to let that happen!”

  The ten Indomitables echoed agreement, their faces hardening as the significance of their task settled in.

  Despite himself, Evren couldn’t help being swept up by the gravity of her words, her commanding tone of voice. Yes, she’ll definitely be a good commander one day.

  “Stay close,” Issa said, “stay unnoticed, and be ready for anything.”

  With one last check of their clothing and weapons, they set off toward the gate.

  Evren’s mind raced as he spotted the soldiers standing guard at the entrance to the Defender’s Tier, and he stopped Issa a street away. “Can you get the Indomitables at the gate to shove us around a bit on our way out?”

  Issa’s brow furrowed, puzzled.

  “It’s about appearances,” Evren explained.

  After a moment, understanding dawned in Issa’s eyes. “Of course. If we just walk through the Indomitables—”

  “—who will believe we’re actually Earaqi?” Evren finished.

  Issa hesitated. During the Fifty-Day Revolt, she’d seen what an enraged thong of Earaqi could do, the violence they could inflict. Walking among them barely-armed and without her armor would be an enormous risk.

  Yet the reward far outweighed any danger. If she and Evren could stop the situation from turning ugly, find those responsible, it would be worth any hazard.

  She nodded. “I’ll make it happen.”

  She hurried toward the nearest Indomitable Protector and carried on a hushed conversation. Confusion twisted the man’s face into a frown, but he shrugged and nodded.

  Issa beckoned for Evren, Etai, and the rest of her ten-man patrol to follow her to the gate. On the Protector’s order, a score of rough-looking Indomitables seized them and half-dragged, half-hauled them through the gate.

  Evren pretended to struggle to sell the ruse, even threw in a few curses and insults at the Indomitable’s parentage. Not too much though. One small act of violence could set the match to the kindling of the people’s anger.

  The crowds sitting on Death Row stirred at the sight of the Indomitables manhandling the “Earaqi”. A few even stood, dark looks on their faces, shouting protests at the rough treatment.

  “Get back among your own, Earaqi!” shouted the Indomitable Protector Issa had spoken to.

  Evren winced. The man was a terrible thespian.

  A hard shove set Evren, Issa, and the others stumbling toward the crowd. Hands reached out to steady them, and a few of the younger men and women in the throng approached.

  “What happened?” demanded one.

  “Bastards threw us out,” Issa growled. “There we were, doing our job of hauling stone along the Defender’s Tier, and suddenly we’re grabbed and hauled down here. It ain’t right, I tell you!”

  Voices echoed the sentiment, faces darkening.

  “Come on, lads,” Issa barked. “We’ve got to report to Sulcton. He’ll know how to make sure we’re paid.”

  Evren suppressed a grin. She’s not half bad. The Blade had come up with the fabricated story on the fly, yet made it convincing enough that the Mahjuri and Earaqi here believed it. Best of all, she’d given a reason that they were all together and traveling down to
the Cultivator’s Tier rather than joining in the protest.

  The descent from the gate toward the Artisan’s Tier took far too long for Evren’s liking. He and the soldiers had to pick their way through the seated multitudes. Curious glances followed them, but Issa, Etai, and the Indomitables answered with the same story. To his relief, few pressed for answers, content to let their fellow Earaqi pass unimpeded.

  Companies of heavy-armored Indomitables with man-sized shields watched their progress with wary eyes, yet their attention remained fixed on the protestors. Their job was to prevent violence and they had no reason to hamper the movement of a small band of young Earaqi laborers.

  The ranks of seated protestors thinned as they approached the Artificer’s Courseway. A few brave Intaji had kept their shops open, and Evren caught sight of people moving through Industry Square far to the west. Though the Mahjuri, Earaqi, and Kabili clogged the main avenue, there was enough traffic along the Artisan’s Tier that their movements drew minimal attention.

  Yet he couldn’t help casting frequent glances up at the western sky. The east was already dark, the first stars shining down on their backs. The last rays of daylight would fade in a matter of minutes.

  “We’ve got to hurry,” he said under his breath.

  Issa acknowledged with a nod and ducked down a side street. Here, only a handful of Mahjuri sat barring the streets, and they paid little attention to a handful of Earaqi. They managed to pick up the pace enough that they covered the distance to Trader’s Way before night truly fell.

  But night did eventually fall. Evren’s sense of urgency increased with every step. Hallar’s Warriors could already be enacting their plan, arming the people and whipping them into a frenzy. He and Issa had to hurry if they wanted any hope of finding them and stopping the chaos.

  Easier said than done. The Cultivator’s Tier stretched half a league to the east and west, a quarter-league wide. Issa had only a faint idea where to find the men they sought.

  The crowds of silent, seated protestors thickened as they turned onto Trader’s Way. Between the unmoving demonstrators and the nervous-looking Indomitables trying to maintain the peace, Evren and the soldiers made far slower progress descending to the Cultivator’s Tier. The dissidents had chosen the places for their protest well—Death Row provided the only access to the two upper tiers, and Trader’s Way served as the primary route for goods and merchandise flowing in and out of the city.

  It seemed an eternity before they finally reached Commoner’s Row. The sky was fully dark, the shadows thick and deep. Thousands of people blocked the main avenue, and the presence of the Indomitables was far thicker on the Cultivator’s Tier.

  Worry hummed in Evren’s gut. We’re running out of time! He expected to hear roaring, chanting, rioting crowds at any moment.

  He slipped close to Issa. “Anything?”

  Issa’s face tightened as she scanned the streets, and she shook her head.

  Knots tightened Evren’s shoulders, but he forced himself to nod. “Let me know when you see it.”

  Their journey west led them past two streets. Issa’s brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to recall the place where Hallar’s Warriors had accosted her.

  As they approached the third side street, her eyes widened. “There!” she hissed.

  Evren followed her gaze down the intersecting lane. The words “Child of Gold” had been emblazoned in bright red on the wall—as clear a signpost as he could ask for.

  He took the lead, slipping down the narrow side street ahead of Issa and the others. He had no idea where to find Hallar’s Warriors, but he’d try his damnedest to figure it out. If he didn’t, Shalandra would suffer.

  Yet as the tier’s northern wall loomed closer in the distance, Evren still hadn’t spotted anything that could serve as a militant hideout. Every two-story building looked identical, all the same neat precision that set the Cultivator’s Tier apart from the Slave’s Tier.

  Damn it! He resisted the urge to glance at the sky. The sun had long set. They were out of time. At any minute, Hallar’s Warriors would start stirring up the crowd, turning it from a peaceful throng into an angry mob.

  Wait, they have to stir it up!

  People didn’t simply go from discontented citizens to the bloodthirsty horde Hallar’s Warriors needed. It would take rousing, passionate speeches—the sort of speech that couldn’t be given in public, not with so many Indomitables on the Cultivator’s Tier.

  Hallar’s Warriors had also spoken of delivering weapons. Those weapons would have to be stockpiled somewhere, likely the same place that served as the base of operations for the militants. He needed to search for a large building. The compact, two-story structures on this side street simply wouldn’t provide ample room for Hallar’s Warriors.

  He turned to question Issa when something caught his eye. A three-story, warehouse-sized building rose above the smaller Earaqi homes off to the west, deeper into the back lanes of the Cultivator’s Tier.

  Hope surged within him, and he quickly ducked into an intersecting alley that led in the direction he needed to go. A glance over his shoulder revealed Issa, Etai, and the Indomitables on his heels, yet far enough back in the shadows that he could get close without raising suspicion.

  Reaching the street where the building stood, he crouched in the shadows of a crumbling stone wall. He scanned the lane ahead. A steady stream of young Earaqi men and women flowed into the huge double doors, and the light of lamps burning within the building revealed a small crowd gathered.

  There was no doubt in his mind. This is the hideout of Hallar’s Warriors! He had found it in time to stop the militants from stirring up the people.

  If only I knew how I was going to do that.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Aisha spun and lashed out with her assegai, carving a gash across her enemy’s forehead. The Gatherer fell back with a gasp, blood trickling into his eyes. His wild attack struck only empty air as Aisha ducked and he staggered backward, off balance. A low slash to the man’s knee drove her spear deep into flesh and severed tendons. The Gatherer collapsed hard, and Aisha finished him with a savage thrust to the throat.

  A wordless cry of rage brought her spinning around, in time to see three Gatherers charging her. Individually, their short swords would be no match for her assegai and dagger, but together, they posed a serious threat.

  But Aisha didn’t just wield weapons of wood and steel. The power of the Kish’aa within her surged to life as she called on the spirits of the dead. They had cried for vengeance against their murderers—the men and women that had poisoned them—and now they would be avenged.

  She thrust out her hand and six brilliant blue-white sparks shot out of her palm. The flickers of light hurtled through the darkness and crashed into the chests of the onrushing Gatherers. Tiny sparks they might be, but they struck with all the force of the spirits’ anger at their lives snuffed out. The impact hurled the cultists backward, sending them flying ten paces through the air, and they crashed down hard onto the stony ground. One landed on his head and his neck gave a loud crack. The other two lay in a crumpled heap, twitching and jerking as the lightning sizzled through their bodies. The smell of burnt flesh drifted toward Aisha.

  Whirling, she scanned the water’s edge for her next opponents. The eight Secret Keepers had brought down the Gatherers with ruthless precision and efficiency. Half of the original two dozen lay silent and still, never more to plague the world with their extremism. The others lay unconscious or groaning over shattered bones. The Secret Keepers moved among those still living, binding wrists and ankles, shattering fingers that tried to reach for poison capsules.

  Triumph surged within Aisha. We did it! We stopped them from poisoning the—

  “Aisha…help…me!”

  She nearly missed the weak cry, so faint, tinged with agony. For a moment, she thought she’d imagined it, or that it came from one of the Kish’aa within the pendant. The loud whump, whump of the water
wheels made it impossible to tell.

  Yet she nearly doubled over as a sharp, acidic bite wormed into her stomach. She could feel the poison chewing through her organs, cutting off her breath and sapping the strength from her muscles. Agony pierced her gut and threatened to bring her to her knees.

  In that instant, she knew. This isn’t one of Thimara’s memories. Someone is dying now!

  She spun toward the sound of the voice. Ice slithered through her veins as her eyes lighted on the figure slumped on the floor. Kodyn lay still, his pale face twisted in agony. Sweat streamed down his face yet he shivered as if freezing to death. His eyes fixed on her, his mouth open in a wordless plea.

  “Kodyn!” The scream burst from her lips as she raced the five steps toward the fallen Hawk. She threw herself onto her knees beside him, scanning for any wounds. But the sight of his sodden clothing and face and the pain in her stomach told her the truth. He had been poisoned.

  “Aisha,” Kodyn managed to gasp. He reached a trembling hand for hers, his once-strong grip now so weak.

  “I’m here, Kodyn.” Her weapons fell from nerveless fingers as she clasped his hands. “I’m here. Stay with me.”

  “Aisha…” With a faint whisper, Kodyn closed his eyes.

  Aisha sat frozen in horror, watching helpless as poison ravaged her best friend. She had no antidote, no remedy to counteract the toxin. She could do nothing to save him.

  NO!

  She wanted to scream her rage into the darkness, but that would do Kodyn no good. She had to find another way. She had to save him.

  Thimara! Her free hand went to the pendant around her neck. Thimara, there has to be a way to stop the poison before it kills him!

  Sorrow radiated from the Secret Keeper’s spirit within her. The antidote, Thimara replied.

  There is no antidote, Aisha raged silently. Her grip on the pendant tightened until the silver chain threatened to break. It won’t be ready for hours, and Kodyn doesn’t have hours. We have to find a way to save him now!

  I’m sorry. Thimara’s anguish filled Aisha’s chest, twisting her heart. Without the antidote—