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

by Andy Peloquin

  “We all mourn her passing, Uryan,” Ennolar said. “But she is in the Long Keeper’s arms now.”

  Aisha sucked in a quiet breath. Uryan! The second name carved into the windowsill, joined within the heart. She meant something to Thimara, which was why the spark had flared to life. She ached to press more—for Thimara’s sake as well as her own—but Ennolar continued speaking before she could raise question.

  “But without Thimara to conduct a thorough examination on the Gatherers’ bodies, we have uncovered all we can.” Ennolar’s face twisted as if the words were sour to him.

  “I thank you,” Briana said with a little bow. “For your time and the respect you have shown my father by helping me.”

  “The daughter of our Arch-Guardian will always be welcome,” Uryan said. “And, perhaps the day will come when you, too, will take up the mantle of your parents.”

  Her ominous words sent a shiver rippling down Aisha’s spine. The way she signed those words, it appeared as if she intended to give Briana no choice in the matter.

  The Secret Keepers truly would die—and kill—to protect their goddess’ secrets.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Kodyn was moving even as the thug lifted his crossbow. He leapt into the shadows of the room opposite the window and ripped the sword from his sheath. The moment the bowstring twanged, he charged the bowman, blade driving forward in a low thrust.

  A meaty thwack sounded behind him just as his blade punched into the man’s gut, just above the belt. With a high-ringing cry of pain, the man fell back, crossbow falling from his hands and clattering to the ground. For an instant, his huge bulk blocked the doorway.

  That instant was all Kodyn needed.

  “Go!” he shouted to Evren as he raced toward the window. His gut clenched as he caught sight of the Black Widow slumped face-down on the floor, a dark stain spreading outward. He didn’t need to check her pulse to know she was dead—there was no mistaking the sound of a crossbow bolt driving home in flesh.

  Yet he paused as his eyes lighted on the purse in her hands. Suroth’s words echoed in his mind. “In the wrong hands, this can be used for truly terrible things.” He couldn’t let these bastards get their hands on whatever it was the Arch-Guardian had intended to give the Black Widow.

  The sound of crunching wood echoed behind him as he bent to scoop up the purse. Light flooded the room as Evren burst through the shutters and out of the window. He landed lightly on the brewery’s thatched roof and slid down the slope toward the ground.

  Kodyn followed without hesitation. He dove through the window and landed in a roll, coming to his feet in time to slide after Evren. Something flew up and past his face, close enough to ruffle his hair. He gasped—there had been an unmistakable flash of steel. As he slid down the roof, he glanced up and found a thug slumped over the windowsill, a dagger buried to the hilt in his neck.

  Eyes wide, Kodyn glanced down at Evren. The young man stood in a fighting crouch, throwing dagger still poised to throw. Kodyn dropped the one story to the street beside him, flexing his leg muscles to absorb the impact. Reflexes honed over years on the Perch and the Hawk’s Highway saved him from twisting his ankles on the shattered remains of a rotting wooden beer barrel. The moment his feet hit the ground, he took off running.

  “That way!” He thrust a finger down the back alley.

  Evren took off first. Kodyn paused only long enough to cast a glance over his shoulder. A brutish face appeared above the slumped-over corpse of the thug, dark eyes fixed on him.

  “Run!” Kodyn shouted as loud as he could. “Into that alley!”

  Evren didn’t need to be told twice; even with his shorter legs, he reached the narrow street five steps ahead of Kodyn. Kodyn marveled at the young man’s speed and agility. Evren had the build of a Fox but the grace and celerity of a Serpent.

  Yet right now, running wasn’t the best plan. The assassination attempt had given them an opportunity he’d be a fool to let slide through their fingers.

  “Evren!” he hissed as they rounded the corner and ducked into another alleyway out of sight of The Banded Brothers Brewery’s rear exit. “This way!”

  Ahead of him, Evren skidded to a halt and looked back. “What are you doing?”

  “Up here!” Kodyn thrust a finger toward a nearby rooftop. “Quickly!”

  Confusion furrowed Evren’s brow. “Why hide when we can lose them in the back streets?”

  “Because we don’t want to lose them,” Kodyn insisted.

  Evren’s eyes went wide as realization dawned. Without hesitation, he raced toward Kodyn. “Give me a boost.”

  Kodyn crouched, fingers interlaced between his bent legs. When Evren stepped onto his hands, he straightened and pushed upward. A grunt escaped his lips as he shoved. Evren might be smaller than him, but the boy’s compact frame had heavy muscles.

  Evren grabbed on to the roof thatching and hauled himself up with ease, then turned and reached down a hand to Kodyn. Kodyn stepped back, took a quick running start, and vaulted off a first-floor windowsill to get enough height. His fingers closed around Evren’s wrist and he felt the young man’s grip tighten around his hand. With surprising strength, Evren hauled him upward until Kodyn could scramble onto the sloping roof beside him.

  Together, they clambered up the roof, scaled the upper ridge, and dropped onto the opposite sloping side. They lay side by side on the rooftop, gasping for breath, shielded from view.

  “What the bloody hell was that?” Evren hissed. “They killed the Black Widow!”

  “No, they didn’t.”

  Evren raised a questioning eyebrow. “Unless she’s like the Hunter—”

  “No, that wasn’t the Black Widow. That was someone else.” Kodyn met Evren’s curious gaze. “Or, she’s not the same woman I talked to the first time I met the Black Widow.”

  “Then who was she?” Evren asked. “You think she was some kind of decoy?”

  “Maybe,” Kodyn said, “either that or a false face for the real Black Widow.”

  He’d come to the realization that the woman was different within seconds of hearing her speak, and he had to admit it was a clever plan. One that had clearly paid off, given what had just happened.

  The sound of angry voices from the street below silenced him. Heart hammering, he peered over the ridge of the roof, Evren beside him.

  The thugs from the brewery flooded onto the street, their eyes darting into every corner and shadow of the houses and alleys. Some even began banging open doors and barging into homes to search for him and Evren.

  Kodyn’s mind raced. The moment he’d leapt out of the window, the plan had come to him. He knew they could outrun the thugs, but that wouldn’t bring them any closer to finding the Gatherers. They had to think smart if they wanted to track down the cultists.

  “Now we follow them back to their hideout.” He spoke in a low voice, his lips close to Evren’s ear. “They’ll lead us to the Gatherers.”

  “If they’re actually the cultists,” Evren muttered back. “Look more like Ybrazhe to me.”

  Kodyn frowned and peered over the crest of the roof once more. He had to admit Evren had a point. The hard-faced, thick-limbed, bull-necked men reminded him of the Bloodbears—the Night Guild’s strong-arms and skull-crackers—all heavy muscles and brute strength. They didn’t exactly seem the sort to favor stealth and clever deceit when they could just punch their way through any obstacle.

  Dread settled like a rock in Kodyn’s stomach as an idea struck him. He gestured for Evren to duck back into cover with him.

  “What if the Gatherers are working with the Syndicate?” he asked in a low voice.

  Evren pondered the words. “Might explain how they’re hiding so well. Ybrazhe control the lower two tiers.” He nodded. “We follow them and find out.” Something about his words seemed to conceal a hidden meaning, and his face had grown tight, as if strained by fear. Yet at that moment, with their enemies mere paces away, Kodyn decided it would be b
est not to dig too deep.

  We focus on getting out alive, then we get answers.

  Kodyn gave him the thumbs up, and together they clambered up to watch the thugs below.

  The men—now close to a dozen—had begun to spread out, but Kodyn could see their frustration mounting as the search proved fruitless. Their scowls deepened and their angry shouts grew louder. Finally, one of the men, a smaller, rat-nosed fellow who shouted at the ruffians, shook his head and barked an order to his men. Kodyn didn’t overhear the words, but the meaning was clear: they had called off the search.

  The thugs moved in a tight group west, in the direction of Trader’s Way. Kodyn waited until they disappeared around a corner before slipping over the upper ridge of the roof and sliding down on the far side. Together, he and Evren dropped to the ground.

  “Hey.” He stopped Evren with a hand on his arm. “Thanks.”

  Evren turned back to him, curiosity etched into his eyes.

  “I owe you a throwing knife.” Kodyn shot him a grin.

  “I’ll hold you to that.” Evren returned the smile. “It was my best one, too.”

  Kodyn chuckled and, together, they set off in silent pursuit of the thugs. As they reached the avenue, they split up, with Evren taking the south side of the Artificer’s Courseway and Kodyn hanging on the north side.

  Following the group of men proved all too easy. They moved in a tight-knit pack, like wolves among the flock of shoppers and merchants flooding Industry Square at midday. People gave way before them, casting fearful glances over their shoulders at the rough-looking men.

  As Kodyn anticipated, they headed toward Trader’s Way, the broad avenue that would take them downhill toward the two lower tiers. Yet to his surprise, the smaller man, doubtless the leader, broke off from the group. The thug actually doubled back on his trail, slipping into the crowd and heading east.

  Curiosity burned within Kodyn. Where do you think you’re going?

  He scanned the crowd until he caught sight of Evren. When the young man glanced his way, Kodyn tapped his chest and pointed at the one man that had broken off from the crowd of thugs. Evren gave him a thumbs up and pointed at the group descending toward the lower tiers.

  With a nod, Kodyn turned and pursued the lone thug. A single target proved far more difficult to pursue among the thick morning crowds. His gut tightened as he lost sight of the man for a moment, fearing that the thug had spotted him and ducked out of sight. Relief flooded him when he caught a glimpse of the thug a few dozen paces ahead of him, exiting Industry Square.

  He hurried to catch up, closing the distance until he slipped along fifteen or twenty paces behind the man—close enough that he had no fear of losing him, yet out of the man’s immediate radius of awareness. Hunching to hide his height, he dogged the thug through the entire Artisan’s Tier.

  His gut clenched as the man turned north, climbing the hill in the direction of the Defender’s Tier. When he pulled back his cloak, Kodyn spotted a gold-and-red headband—the mark of an Earaqi serving in the household of a Dhukari on the top tier. Immediately, suspicion flared within him. What the hell is a thug like him doing with a Dhukari servant’s headband?

  Reaching into his cloak, Kodyn drew out the headband of braided green and gold cloth that had belonged to Hailen. He tied it on with quick, deft movements, slipping the plain green headband into his pocket. Yet a part of him couldn’t help feeling nervous as he followed the thug toward the Defender’s Tier gate. He had marched into exile from the Keeper’s Tier beside Briana. He could only hope that none of the Indomitables that had been on duty the previous day stood guard now.

  The guard took one look at his headband and waved him through without a second glance. Kodyn waited until he was through the gates to let out the breath he’d been holding.

  As he expected, the thug made a beeline for the Keeper’s Tier, though he flowed through the traffic on Death Row with the grace of an experienced thief. Kodyn had to pick up his pace to match the man’s speed, and he found himself breathing hard as they ascended the steep incline to the Keeper’s Tier.

  Traffic thickened around the gate, and Kodyn’s jaw clenched as he saw the people, carts, and palanquins herded into two lines by the black-armored Indomitables. The guards took their time scrutinizing each person entering the Dhukari tier. Evidently recent events had caused them to tighten security.

  The thug passed through the gate a full minute before Kodyn stepped up to the guards. Thankfully, the Indomitables seemed far less interested in a Dhukari’s foreign servant than the young Earaqi that had no plausible excuse for being on the uppermost tier. When they found a knife hidden beneath his cloak, they hurried to surround the man. Kodyn seized advantage of their momentary distraction to slip through the gap in the ranks.

  His heart hammered as he hurried up the incline, his eyes scanning Death Row. He’d lost sight of the man and lost ground with the delay. He had to hurry to close the distance with his quarry and find him wherever he’d gone.

  I can’t lose him, not when I’ve come so far! He was so close to discovering where the Syndicate thug was headed, who on the Artisan’s Tier he was working with.

  Relief washed over him as he caught sight of gold-and-red to the east. Just a flash of color that disappeared around a corner, but he’d spotted the man. He hurried to follow, abandoning all pretense of caution in order to catch up.

  Cold dread turned his blood to ice as he saw the thug turn down a now-familiar street. The man strode past the black-robed Necroseti guards and approached the tradesman’s gate of the mansion that had belonged to Arch-Guardian Suroth. Mere seconds after he hammered on the small side gate, it swung open to admit him.

  By the Keeper! Acid surged in the back of Kodyn’s throat. The Ybrazhe—and perhaps the Gatherers as well—were in league with Councilor Angrak.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Evren had little trouble following the pack of thugs down Trader’s Way. The heavy-muscled, rough-looking men proved about as stealthy as a herd of stampeding mountain goats. Their only attempt at any sort of disguise or subtlety was when they slipped their weapons—mostly daggers and clubs, though a couple held short swords—beneath their clothing as they passed the Indomitables guarding the gate to the Cultivator’s Tier.

  But instead of continuing down to the Slave’s Tier, the place where Evren had seen Snarth meet with Annat, they turned west along the Cultivator’s Tier.

  Evren’s brow furrowed. What are they doing here on the Earaqi level? According to Killian, the Ybrazhe controlled both of the two lowest tiers, yet the Slave’s Tier was said to be their primary stronghold. Curiosity burned within him as he followed the men westward along Commoner’s Row. Let’s see where you’re headed.

  Their steps led closer to the cliff that served as the western border of Shalandra—and the final resting place of all of Shalandra’s dead. For a moment, Evren thought they might actually enter the Keeper’s Crypts. It would make a hell of a hideout, once you get past all the dead people.

  The thugs suddenly tensed, their manner growing immediately suspicious and furtive. Evren caught sight of an Indomitable guard patrol emerging from within the tombs and marching toward them along the main avenue. People gave ground before the black-armored soldiers, though not without glares and dark looks at their retreating backs. Evren had no need to hide—he wore the red headband and simple clothing of an Earaqi, so he looked like any other laborer on the tier, though his Vothmoti accent would mark him as an outsider when compared to the softer, more musical cadence of Shalandrans—but the men he followed scuttled across the street off down a nearby alleyway.

  Evren’s gut clenched as he realized the passing patrol would cut him off from his targets for precious seconds. Not only the guards, but the people that swirled around them like eddies in a tide pool. He’d have to shove his way through those clustered men and women to get across the street and chase the thugs into the alleyway.

  Come on, come on! He gritted his teet
h and counted the seemingly endless seconds until the patrol passed. He shouldered between a pair of angry-looking Earaqi men and darted down the alley into which the thugs had disappeared. He scanned up and down the narrow lane, but his heart sank. They were gone.

  Damn it! He clenched his fists in frustration, mind racing as he tried to figure out where they could have gone.

  The thugs hadn’t had time to get far—he’d only been a few seconds behind them—and at their pace, they could only have ducked into one of the houses facing the alleyway. Three were too decrepit to be a proper hideout; the crumbling walls, sagging doors, and empty windows revealed empty structures. Evren discarded another building as he saw a pair of laughing children playing a game of Capture the Caliph—or Capture the Pharus, likely the name of the Shalandran version nearby.

  That left just three buildings. One was a single-story hovel with a ragged thatched roof. Thick layers of dust covered the front stoop and the door hung ajar, revealing empty darkness. The other two were solid-looking two-floor buildings with heavy wooden doors that were closed and, Evren guessed, barred from within.

  It has to be one of those two.

  Lucky for him, the two stood side by side. He adopted the most casual, nonchalant manner he could as he strode down the alley in the direction of his targets. His head never moved but he scanned the buildings from the corners of his eyes. No guards stood out front to serve as a convenient signpost, but one of the two buildings seemed to have a more solid door, and the window coverings had been pulled down.

  His fists tightened as the door to the second building opened, but the man who emerged wore priestly robes—the rust red of a Malady Singer, priest in service of the Bloody Minstrel, god of disease, plague, and horrible music—rather than the rough spun clothing of the thugs Evren had followed. Through the door, Evren caught sight of emaciated figures lying on the floor. A terrible chorus of moans, groans, and retching drifted from within, accompanied by the terrible reek of festering wounds and disease. The face of the one man nearest the door was covered by blue blisters that oozed pus—doubtless the others bore a similar affliction.