Crucible of Fortune: An Epic Fantasy Young Adult Adventure (Heirs of Destiny Book 2)

by Andy Peloquin

  Angry shouts echoed from ahead, and Issa was immediately alert, every muscle tense. Her stomach tightened as she caught sight of another Indomitable patrol standing around Hallar’s Triumph, a statue of Shalandra’s founder. Or, what had once been a statue. Someone had defaced it, hacking off both strong arms and head, until only a truncated torso and legs remained. Painted across the sandstone base of the statue, bright red words proclaimed “The Child of Secrets has come to save us”.

  The patrol of black-armored guards stood over a pitiful figure huddled against the base of the statue. The man could have been forty or eighty, barely more than a pile of rags, loose-hanging skin, and protruding bones. Blood trickled from cuts in his lip, nose, and forehead from where the Indomitables had struck him with their truncheons.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Issa demanded. She marched double-time, the thump, thump of her company’s boots a reassuring presence at her back.

  One of the Indomitables cast a glance at her, but the retort died on his lips as he caught sight of her Keeper’s Blade armor. “Hallar’s Triumph has been desecrated, and this Mahjuri is guilty of the crime.” He spat the word like an insult.

  “How do you know he was guilty?” Issa stopped in front of the Indomitable—a low-ranked Dictator, judging by the two vertical silver lines cutting through the blue Alqati band on his helmet. She locked eyes with the man. “Did you see him desecrating the statue?”

  “No.” The Indomitable’s expression grew stubborn. “But that doesn’t mean—”

  “Did any eyewitnesses identify him as the one responsible?” Issa glanced around. The streets were all but empty, though a few onlookers had gathered to watch the spectacle. “Any witnesses at all?”

  “No.” Again, the stubborn face to accompany the denial.

  Issa drew herself up to her full height and tried to sound authoritative. “So what proof have you that he is guilty of the crime?” The Indomitable might not know she was nothing more than a trainee.

  The Dictator shrugged. “We found him lying here, beneath the statue. And there’s fresh paint on his robes.” He gave the gaunt man a savage kick in his bony ribs, and when the Mahjuri folded up around the Indomitable’s boot, Issa caught a hint of red paint staining the back of his threadbare shendyt.

  “That is your evidence?” Issa raised an eyebrow and folded her arms. “A few drops of paint?”

  “Yes, and that is all the evidence we need.” The Indomitable met her disbelief with dispassion. “There was a crime committed and this one was found at the site. Seems fairly cut and dry, if you ask me.”

  “Cut and dry because he’s actually guilty, or because it gives you a convenient victim to punish?” Anger raised Issa’s voice to a shout. “A man so weak that he can barely stand somehow managed to desecrate this statue and paint these words without getting a drop of that paint anywhere except his back. Which, of course, could never have come from him huddling against the freshly-painted statue for any chance of shelter from the wind?”

  As Issa’s voice rose, the Indomitable’s face hardened, anger smothering any expression. “Yes,” he snapped.

  “And because he is Mahjuri, no one will defend him!” Issa shouted. “No one on this tier dares to speak up in his defense because you will simply accuse them of being guilty.”

  “Guilty’s guilty.” The Indomitable shrugged. He thrust a finger at the man. “Unless anyone says otherwise, he’ll swing in Murder Square for the crime.”

  “Do you not see the injustice of that?” Issa wanted to scream, to shout, to draw her sword and hack the man down where he stood. “You are going to kill a man for being too weak from hunger and thirst to be somewhere else when a crime was committed?”

  “He’s a Mahjuri,” came the dispassionate response. “One less mouth to feed.”

  Issa’s jaw dropped. For a long moment, anger stole the breath from her lungs, burned away words before they could form on her tongue. Finally, when she spoke, her voice was low, hard. “What is your name, Dictator?”

  “Nular,” the man replied. He straightened, defiance written in his eyes. “And I, unlike you, am actually a sworn member of the Indomitables, Prototopoi.” He sneered the word in the same insulting tone the older Blades did. “That sword you carry doesn’t give you any authority over me. I serve my Executors and the Lady of Blades. Not some snot-nosed trainee too young and stupid to know when to keep her mouth shut and walk away.”

  Instinct and common sense wrestled with Issa’s fury. To the Earaqi, the Indomitables and all members of the Alqati military caste were barely one step below the near-godlike Dhukari. The rational part of Issa knew that interfering with the Dictator could have dire consequences for her future in the Blades—the city’s elite often worked closely with the Indomitables. But right now, she wanted nothing more than to drive her mailed fist into Nular’s face. He wasn’t arrogantly smug like Kellas or cruel and cold like Tannard. He was worse: he simply didn’t care that what he was doing was clearly wrong. To him, the fact that the man was Mahjuri was excuse enough to haul him away to Murder Square.

  Rationale won the battle…barely. Issa’s fists clenched so tight she could almost feel the steel gauntlets bending, yet she managed to rein in her tongue and step aside as Dictator Nular marched the old man in the direction of Murder Square.

  With a growl of fury, Issa whirled and stalked toward Trader’s Way, mind racing. If she could alert one of her superiors to what had happened—surely Hykos would be sympathetic to the Mahjuri man’s plight and help her work the news up the chain to the Elders or even Lady Callista—she might be able to get the man pardoned before he was strung up or beheaded in Murder Square.

  A hand gripped her arm. “Don’t!” Nysin’s voice was quiet behind her, but fear echoed in his words. “Whatever you’re thinking, just don’t. Anything you do is just going to get us in trouble!”

  “Don’t you care?” Issa whirled on the Indomitable trainee. “Those are your people they’re beating, starving, and killing!”

  “Of course I care.” Nysin’s eyes blazed furious and hot. “But I can’t help my people if I’m stuck in the same dung-pit as they are. That means I have to shut my mouth and let shite like this happen. All so that I can become a proper Indomitable and then maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to make a difference.”

  Issa’s eyes darted between the trainees in her patrol. All were low-ranked Mahjuri, Kabili, and Earaqi. They understood what it meant to be helpless and it showed in their eyes. The unfairness of the situation made her want to scream.

  Yet, much as she hated to admit it, they were right. They couldn’t do anything for the same reason she had resisted the urge to strike Dictator Nular. It would do nothing to help the situation for the Mahjuri man, but it would make things worse for her.

  She turned away from her patrol. “Company march, double-time!” Her voice rang out clear and strong, but inside, she felt utterly weak, impotent. She was glad that her helmet and the shadows of the night hid the tears of frustration that slipped down her face as she marched away from the innocent man that she had just allowed to die.

  * * *

  Issa remained silent—outside her commands to her Indomitables—for the rest of the night. When the patrol ended, she led them back to the Indomitable barracks and left them there without a word. The journey back along the Defender’s Tier, through the gates, and west along the Path of Gold had given her time to brood. By the time she reached the Citadel of Stone, her frustration had transformed once more into the seething, boiling rage.

  She stalked into the library, where Tannard spent the midnight hours studying, and marched up to the Invictus.

  “Invictus, you must do something!” she snarled. “There is an innocent man about to be executed for a crime he didn’t commit.”

  Tannard didn’t even look up from the book in his hands. “What, exactly, do you expect me to do?”

  “Speak to the Indomitable Dictator that arrested him and get the man released.”<
br />
  Tannard snorted. “I’ll just get right on that.”

  Issa slammed a mailed fist into the wooden shelf beside the Invictus. “Damn it, Tannard, you can’t just—”

  Tannard moved so quickly Issa didn’t have time to react, seizing her wrist with one hand and her neck in the other. He gripped her arm so tight she wanted to cry out, but couldn’t for the force of the grip around her throat.

  “You do not speak to your commanding officer in that tone.” Tannard’s eyes blazed. “Is that understood, Prototopoi?” He spat the words like a farmer cursing an early frost.

  Issa met his glare with stubborn defiance. “You...must…intervene,” she growled around the constricting grip.

  His fingers tightened around her throat so hard Issa thought he’d snap her neck. Yet still she refused to give him the satisfaction of flinching, cowering, or backing down.

  “I must do nothing but what I am ordered to by my superiors.” Tannard’s voice had gone soft, dripping with menace. “Are you my superior, Issa of the Earaqi?”

  “So…you would…stand by…” Issa struggled to speak, even as her vision blackened and the world turned to a hazy blur. A dim part of her mind recognized the symptoms of slowed circulation to her brain. For a heart-wrenching moment, she feared Tannard would simply choke her to death.

  Yet a second later, the iron grip around her throat loosened and oxygen flooded her lungs. She gasped, her legs sagging, and barely managed to catch herself on the bookshelf before hitting the floor.

  A shadow loomed over her. “There’s nothing to be done for the Mahjuri,” Tannard said, his words barely above a hiss. “Some battles should not be fought.”

  He turned to leave, the sound of his boots thumping on the floor.

  “That is not the way of the Blades!” Issa called after him in a strangled voice. “You have spent these last days hammering into me the knowledge that the Keeper’s servants never run from a fight, no matter how impossible the odds.” Arms trembling with rage, exhaustion, and dizziness, Issa shoved herself up to one elbow. “Or were those all the empty words of a coward?”

  Tannard actually paused at the door. His back was turned to her, concealing his face. Yet his words made his feelings plain. “Yours are the words of an idealistic fool. Those are always the first to die.”

  With that, he strode from the library and closed the door behind him, leaving Issa alone on the floor.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “As you already seem to know,” Kodyn began, “Aisha and I are from Praamis, and we belong to the Night Guild.”

  Evren nodded. “Then maybe skip to the part that I don’t know.” The quip shot from his mouth before he could rein in his wisecrack. The Hunter and Kiara had both pointed out that Evren’s tongue tended to run away with him when he was in tense, nervous, or dangerous situations. Nothing they’d done to date had proved effective at curbing that tendency.

  Kodyn scowled. “If you’d shut up and actually listen, maybe I’d have a chance.”

  “Keeper’s teeth!” The tall, dark-skinned warrior, Aisha, rolled her eyes. “It’s like watching hunters measuring the size of their kills.”

  Lady Briana actually laughed. “Men and their egos.”

  Kodyn’s scowl deepened and Evren saw a snarky retort forming on the Praamian’s lips. Yet he managed to rein it in with visible effort.

  “Right.” Kodyn’s tone was droll, his expression revealing his irritation. “So, to be fully accepted as Journeymen, Aisha and I have to complete an Undertaking, one worthy of earning our place in the Night Guild and befitting the power of the Watcher in the Dark, the patron god of thieves.”

  Evren raised an eyebrow. “Like the Trials of Wisdom of the Lecterns?” He’d been lucky enough to flee the Master’s Temple long before he had to worry about undergoing the initiation rites, which included reciting ancient tomes word for word and memorizing more useless facts and figures than should be possible.

  “Sure.” Kodyn gave a vague wave. “So, for my Undertaking, I chose to steal the Crown of the Pharus.”

  “Because he couldn’t just do something nice and simple,” Aisha said to no one in particular. “Just like his mother, he is. Always has to be the best.”

  Kodyn shot Aisha an ugly look.

  The girl raised her hands. “Hey, you know I’m right. There were many things in Praamis you could have chosen for your Undertaking. But you decided that you had to one-up your mother, so here we are.”

  The words set Evren’s curiosity burning. There’s got to be a good story behind that. He’d have to ask about it sometime. But not just yet. First, he needed to find out just how much he could trust—or at least work with—the Night Guild. After what the Hunter had told him about the criminal organization, he didn’t exactly get a “friendly partner” vibe from them.

  Then again, these two don’t seem all that bad. He hadn’t had much interaction with them, but they appeared to genuinely want to protect Briana. He could understand that—he’d have done anything to keep Hailen safe. And they haven’t killed Hailen or me yet, even after they discovered us in Suroth’s office. That’s got to count as a point in their favor.

  “Go on,” he told Kodyn.

  “The Crown of the Pharus is stored in the Vault of Ancients, the same place as your Blade of Hallar.” Kodyn looked to Briana as if for confirmation, and the Dhukari girl nodded. “So, if you really are here on the mission you say you are, then maybe we can work together to figure out how to get in.”

  Evren pursed his lips. “Does she know?” He turned to Briana. “Is it too much to hope that your father happened to tell you the secrets of the vault?”

  Briana’s face fell, and Evren kicked himself for his insensitivity.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “And I’m sorry about your father. I didn’t know him, but I know that losing a parent’s got to be tough.”

  “Thank you,” Briana said, and it actually sounded genuine. “But to answer your question, no, my father did not confide in me all of his secrets. He was, after all, a Secret Keeper, trained since his youth to guard his knowledge with the fervor of a fanatic. We shared a great deal, but I know it was only a fraction of what he knew.”

  Evren ground his teeth. “So, what you’re saying is that you don’t have a way into this Vault of Ancients, right?” he asked Kodyn.

  “Not quite.” Kodyn gave a knowing grin that bordered on triumphant—a self-satisfied look that Evren found supremely irritating. “We do know that the vault is Serenii-made.”

  “Oh?” Realization dawned on Evren. “Oh! That’s perfect!” He turned toward Hailen. “All we need to do is get you to the vault and—”

  “Alas, I don’t think your brother’s blood will do the trick.” Lady Briana’s words shattered his momentary surge of hope. “Before my father’s…” She seemed to struggle with the word. “…death, he confided in Kodyn that the vault was designed by the Serenii to only open four times a year.”

  “The soonest being at the Anointing of the Blades, just under three weeks from now,” Kodyn finished.

  “So, let me get this straight, nothing we do is going to open that vault?” Evren cocked his head. “And if we’re not on hand when the vault opens at the Anointing, we’re screwed?”

  Kodyn nodded. “Pretty much.”

  “Well, damn.” Evren blew out his cheeks. “Three weeks isn’t a lot of time to figure out how to get into the palace and find the vault, but I guess between the two of us, we’ve got a decent chance. We might be able to—”

  “That’s not all.” Aisha spoke, her voice solemn.

  Of course not. Evren stifled a snort. It can never be easy even when it’s damned difficult, can it?

  “There are also the Gatherers and the Necroseti,” the warrior girl said.

  Evren’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What about them?”

  “We’re going to take them down.” Kodyn said it in the same tone one used to speak of going to the butcher’s for meat or the market for fres
h produce. “The Gatherers murdered people in Praamis—children, people I knew—and they were the ones that killed Arch-Guardian Suroth.”

  Evren turned to look at Briana. At mention of the Gatherers, a fire blazed in the girl’s eyes, driving back her earlier sorrow.

  “And we’re pretty sure the Necroseti are somehow behind it as well,” Aisha added. “The Gatherers are an offshoot of the Keeper’s Priests. Even if the cultists acted independently of the Necroseti, they’re almost certainly guilty of Briana’s first abduction.”

  Evren’s eyebrows shot up. “First abduction?”

  “Kodyn and Aisha rescued me from the Gatherers in Praamis.” Briana shot a warm smile to her two bodyguards. “They agreed to escort me back to Shalandra to ensure that I arrived safely. When I told my father what they intended with the Crown of the Pharus, he agreed to keep them on as my bodyguards. Now…” She reached out and squeezed Aisha’s hand in a sisterly gesture. “I’m only alive and safe because of them.”

  To Evren’s surprise, Lady Briana turned to regard him. “And, it seems, because of you and your brother. From what I’m told, you were the one to alert Nessa and Rothin to the threat of the Gatherers. Without Hailen’s courage, the alarm would never have been sounded in time to drive off the cultists. I owe my life to all four of you.”

  Evren blushed; he was utterly unaccustomed to compliments like this and thus had no idea what to do or how to respond. His brain generated an inarticulate mumble that rolled off his tongue like gibberish.

  “And, the Necroseti are certainly behind my current situation,” Lady Briana continued, gesturing at her surroundings. “Only they have the power to establish Angrak in my father’s place on the Keeper’s Council, in direct defiance of the tradition that a Secret Keeper has always been present to administer the trials of the Blades and accessing the Vault of Ancients.”