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

by Andy Peloquin

  Shuddering, Evren hurried past the building and ducked around a corner. No way the thugs would get anywhere near that sickness if they didn’t have to. Which meant the first of the two buildings would be the hideout.

  He made a mental note of the building and its position in relation to Commoner’s Row, the Keeper’s Crypts, and the Path of Sepulture, the main avenue that ran between the Slave’s Tier and the Artisan’s Tier on the western edge of Shalandra. On his own, he couldn’t take on that many thugs. But with Kodyn, Aisha, and maybe even one of the Keeper’s Blades, they’d have a much better chance of taking down the Black Widow’s killers—and keeping one alive long enough to question.

  Careful not to draw attention from any watchers in the building, Evren sauntered on his way as casually as he could manage. The moment he was out of sight, he broke into a run. His steps led east, back toward Trader’s Way. The knowledge of the thugs’ hideout could be useful in the right hands.

  Evren’s face split into a fierce grin. And I know just the hands.

  It took him over an hour to reach Killian’s smithy—he took the usual precautions to avoid anyone following him along the Artificer’s Courseway, and he chose the longer route that led to the front entrance of the forge on Smith’s Alley. He found Killian standing over a huge anvil, pounding a glowing metal rod with his heavy smith’s hammer.

  He didn’t interrupt the smith at work, but Killian seemed to sense his presence. When he looked up, the usually calm man grew suddenly tense, his brows furrowed and eyes fixing on him with a nervous wariness Evren hadn’t seen before.

  “What are you doing here?” the blacksmith demanded in a curt tone. “Did anyone see you enter?”

  “Nice to see you, too,” Evren retorted. “With a warm welcome like that, how could I not want to tell you everything I’ve uncovered? And no, no one saw me. I took the long way around.”

  Killian’s face relaxed, though anxiety still glimmered in his eyes. “Sorry for being brusque, just had a lot going on lately. Did you hear that someone killed the Black Widow?”

  Evren nodded. “I was there in the room with her when they shot her.”

  Killian’s bushy eyebrows shot toward his hairline. “What in the Keeper’s name were you doing there?” Suspicion flashed in his eyes and his huge shoulders bunched, tension written in his posture and expression.

  “I’m working with Lady Briana and her bodyguards,” Evren explained. “I told them everything, including our little arrangement.”

  The blacksmith’s eyes narrowed. “You what?” he growled.

  “They know that I was spying on Suroth for you.” Evren spoke in a calm, even tone, meeting the blacksmith’s glower without flinching. “And they don’t care. Or, they care more about getting vengeance for the Arch-Guardian’s death than anything I might have shared with you.”

  Killian’s eyes flashed. “Which has been precious little,” he said in a half-snarl.

  Evren raised a mocking eyebrow. “Other than the fact that one of your own trusted Mumblers intended to betray you to the Ybrazhe. Or where on the Slave’s Tier you can find the Syndicate.”

  After a moment, Killian’s scowl faded and he inclined his head. “Fair point.” He blew out a long breath. “Let’s just write my mood off to nerves. The attempt on the Black Widow’s got me rattled, that’s all. If someone’s willing to go after her, it means they’ve got big brass bollocks and aren’t afraid of repercussions.”

  “It’s the Ybrazhe,” Evren said. “Or, at least, I’m fairly certain it’s them.”

  Killian’s eyes narrowed. “Why only fairly certain?”

  “Thugs tend to look alike, no matter who they serve.” Evren frowned. “They could have been Gatherers, mind you, but they looked much more like the Ybrazhe I saw with Snarth.” He fixed Killian with a piercing gaze. “What if I told you I followed them back to their hideout?”

  “You did?” Killian straightened, his expression suddenly animated. “Tell me where to find them and I’ll consider our balance even.”

  Evren grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He couldn’t afford to waste time keeping an eye on the Ybrazhe’s hideout, but Killian had a whole crew of Mumblers he could use to watch the thugs. If the Syndicate had the blacksmith rattled, this little nugget of information would be worth a small fortune. “But before I tell you, I’m going to ask something in return.”

  Killian’s scowl returned. “What?” His voice was flat, hard.

  “No more of this ‘barter of information’ nonsense.” Evren met the man’s gaze. “We both have something the other wants, so let’s just agree that we’re going to help each other out because it’s in both of our best interests. I find out something useful, I get it to you as soon as I can. You find out anything I need to know, you do the same.”

  Killian raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Sounds more like a partnership than a business arrangement.”

  “Call it whatever the bloody hell you want.” Evren gave a dismissive wave. “You’ve clearly got your hands full, and I’ve got enough to worry about without adding one more thing to my list. But if we can help each other out, then we’re going to do it.” He thrust out a hand. “Do we have a deal?”

  Killian stared down at his hand for a long moment, eyes filled with suspicion. Something unreadable passed across his face but finally he gripped Evren’s hand and shook. “We do.”

  Evren grinned and nodded. “Good. You’ll find the Ybrazhe thugs holed up in a two-story building on the Cultivator’s Tier, three streets from the Path of Sepulture, second alley from Commoner’s Row.” He gave a quick description of the building. “It’s next door to what looks like a house of disease,” he finished. “Look for the people with those weird blue blisters.”

  “The Azure Rot?” Killian grimaced. “Damn, I didn’t know it had reached the Cultivator’s Tier.” A snap of his fingers brought one of the Mumblers closer, and Killian gave him directions on how to reach the house Evren had indicated. With a nod, the Mumbler ran off, a second young boy on his heels.

  “Thank you,” he said to Evren, and his voice held genuine warmth. “I’ll admit that the Black Widow’s death has me on edge.”

  “Oh, she’s not dead.” Again, Evren found himself grinning. “The woman the thugs killed was just a decoy.”

  “What?” Killian’s eyes narrowed. “How is that possible?”

  “Lady Briana’s bodyguard figured it out,” Evren replied. “He said that the person we met with today was different from the one he met when he first arrived in Shalandra. The Syndicate killed the wrong woman!”

  Killian whistled. “You think the Ybrazhe knows?”

  “Maybe.” Evren shrugged. “But I didn’t exactly get a chance to ask them. A bit busy running for my life from a dozen armed thugs.”

  “You kept your head long enough to follow them,” Killian said. “That’s more sensible than most people would manage in that situation.”

  Evren smiled and said nothing. Killian didn’t need to know that Kodyn had been the one to come up with that particular idea.

  “Now that we’re sharing, has your search for the Gatherers turned up anything?” he asked.

  Killian scowled. “Sadly, I’ve come up empty-handed thus far. And, if I have to deal with this Ybrazhe mess, it’s going to take more of my Mumblers off their tracks.”

  “Did you ever consider that the Ybrazhe might be working with the Gatherers?”

  “No, I hadn’t.” A frown darkened the blacksmith’s face. “But, damn, I should have!” He banged his hammer onto the anvil, striking sparks. “It makes perfect sense, once you think about it. The Ybrazhe thrive on chaos and unrest, and they’d see the Gatherers as a useful tool to destabilize the city.”

  Evren nodded. “I heard Annat tell Snarth that they’d use the chaos of the Pharus’ death to claim the Artisan’s Tier. If the Syndicate wanted to take over, it would be much easier if all eyes were focused on the Pharus’ death.”

  “So they helped the Ga
therers plan this assassination attempt, knowing the succession would be a messy battle.” Killian’s expression grew musing, and Evren could almost see the gears turning and clicking in place in the man’s mind. “Without a clear hair to the throne, the Pharus would be chosen by the Keeper’s Council and the Elders of the Blade. The Necroseti would want to put some puppet Pharus in place, while the Lady of Blades would insist on their own Pharus.”

  Relinquishing his grip on his hammer, Killian set to pacing—limping, really, his leg brace clicking with every step—as he thought aloud.

  “With the city consumed by the struggle for succession, the Ybrazhe could quietly move into the Artisan’s Tier and claim it. By the time things calmed down, they would have too strong a stranglehold on the tier for the Indomitables to do anything about it, just like with the Slave’s and Cultivator’s Tiers.” He whistled. “That’s brazen as all hell. Worse, it shows a degree of forethought and cunning that the Ybrazhe hasn’t managed to date.”

  “The Gatherers are a cult that split from the Necroseti, right?” Evren asked. “The same Keeper’s Priests that control everything in this city.”

  “Damn, you’re right.” Killian’s face darkened. “I’ve heard whispers that a few high-ranking Necroseti abandoned the priesthood to join the Gatherers. That sort of long-sightedness is exactly what has kept the Keeper’s Council in power for millennia here in Shalandra.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.” Evren had known many priests during his years in the Master’s Temple. While the lower-ranked priests focused on the day-to-day labors, the Grand Lectern and his High Lecterns spent much of their time strategizing on how to consolidate their power in the city.

  Killian stumped about a few seconds longer, silent, his expression pensive. Finally, he turned to Evren. “You’re right, this is useful. This information could be very powerful in the right hands. And, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to do my damnedest to make sure it gets in those hands.” He gave Evren a nod. “You can see yourself out, partner.”

  With those words hanging in the air, he turned and hurried out of the smithy as fast as his leg permitted.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Briana’s face was a mask of calm composure as she strode out of the Temple District, but Aisha caught the glimmer of triumph sparkling in her eyes. They had just won a victory in the Temple of Whispers, albeit a small one.

  Thanks to the Secret Keepers, they knew that the Gatherers were likely Earaqi, possibly in service to one or more high-ranked Necroseti that had learned the secrets of the Serenii tunnels beneath Shalandra—the same tunnels outlined in the map Ennolar had given Kodyn. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was a start.

  And Aisha had also won a victory of sorts. She’d found Thimara—or who Thimara had been before her death. The spark within her had glowed white-hot at the sound of Guardian Uryan’s name, and Aisha had seen genuine sorrow in the Secret Keeper’s eyes as she spoke. Thimara mattered to someone in death as well as in life. She wouldn’t be forgotten, as the spirit had feared. Uryan would carry Thimara’s name etched into her mind and heart.

  Which left her wondering why Thimara’s spirit cried for vengeance. The woman had died from the Azure Rot, despite all the Secret Keepers’ attempts to stop the plague. Did she want vengeance for someone that had failed in her treatment? No, that didn’t feel right. A patient couldn’t seek out revenge against a physicker if the medicine didn’t cure them. Some illnesses were simply beyond human means to treat.

  So what does she want vengeance for? And against whom? The discovery of Thimara’s identity only added to the questions swirling in her mind.

  The buzzing in her mind grew nearly intolerable as they passed the Sanctuary. The final effects of the Whispering Lily had faded, so the voices of the dead no longer brought on such potent waves of nausea or set her head pounding. She still had to grit her teeth to cope with the pain and pressure building within her skull. Aisha nearly wept with relief as they left the Temple District behind.

  Noon lay an hour off by the time they reached Briana’s house. Curiosity burned within Aisha as she caught sight of a familiar figure standing guard outside Briana’s house. Issa, the powerfully-built Keeper’s Blade, stood towering over Rothin. Her black armor contrasted sharply with his gilded breastplate, her huge flame-shaped blade nearly twice the size of his short sword.

  Issa straightened and saluted at their approach. “Archateros.”

  Hykos returned the salute. “Prototopoi.”

  The word meant nothing to Aisha—it likely denoted Issa’s rank in the Blades. The respect in her voice as she addressed Hykos made it clear which of the two was the superior.

  Yet when Issa motioned for Hykos to accompany her, the older Blade followed a few steps away. Their hushed conversation lasted for nearly a minute before Hykos nodded.

  The Archateros turned to Briana. “Lady Briana, it has been my honor.” He saluted, stiff-backed, face solemn. “I leave you in the capable hands of my trainee.”

  Trainee? Aisha struggled to conceal her surprise. The Pharus sent a trainee to guard us? Either the Pharus insulted Briana or served as an indication of Issa’s skill. Judging by their conversation in the palace the previous day, Aisha leaned more toward the latter.

  “The honor is mine, brave Blade.” Briana inclined her head.

  “I will return to relieve Issa later tonight. Until then, may the Three Faces of Justice, Mercy, and Joy smile on you.” He turned smartly on his heel and marched off down the street toward the Artificer’s Courseway.

  Aisha cast a curious glance at Issa. She suddenly saw the young woman in a whole new light.

  In her own way, she’s an apprentice, just like Kodyn and me. She and Kodyn wouldn’t be full Journeymen until they completed their Undertaking. Though she didn’t know what Issa would have to do to become a full Keeper’s Blade, she had little doubt that much would be required of her.

  Which makes her presence here all the more curious. Is this part of her training…or something else?

  Issa had said the Pharus insisted on sending her to protect Briana, a way to pay the debt owed for Suroth’s sacrifice. If Issa was just a raw recruit, untrained and untested, she might be next to useless with that huge sword on her back. Yet the fact that Issa had killed—as evidenced by the Kish’aa that clung to her blade—marked her as competent.

  So what’s really going on here?

  The thought followed her inside the house after Briana. Curiously enough, so did Issa. The Keeper’s Blade squeezed through the doorway behind them without hesitation.

  Briana noticed as well. She turned and gave Issa a gracious smile. “Noble Blade, I am grateful for your protection, and I trust that your presence at my door will ensure my safety within my own house.”

  Aisha couldn’t help marveling at Briana’s words. She’d just complimented the Blade and given a clear dismissal in the same polite breath.

  Issa hesitated. “My lady, you will want to hear what I have to say.” She glanced around as the sound of Leya’s cooking echoed from the kitchen and Nessa bustled around the sparse room. “In private.”

  Aisha’s eyebrows rose. Things had just taken a turn for the interesting. Perhaps they’d get answers to their questions about Issa sooner than expected.

  “I see.” Briana’s smile never wavered, but Aisha caught the hint of suspicion in her eyes. “Come, then.” She turned and marched up the stairs, spine stiff, shoulders tense beneath the brown leather straps of her sheath dress. The sound of Issa’s boots thumping on the stairs filled Aisha with a similar tension as she climbed in Briana’s wake, the Blade on her heels.

  Through the open door to the bedroom, Aisha caught a glimpse of Hailen hunched over Suroth’s leather-bound journal. The Serenii artifacts lay strewn on the bed, a dagger beside them. A worried frown furrowed the boy’s brow as his eyes fell on the black-armored Blade.

  To her relief, Briana led Aisha into the upper floor’s second room, which Nessa had converted into
a sort of half-dining, half-living room. They couldn’t have the Blade uncovering anything of true significance—at least not where it involved the Serenii artifacts and Suroth’s studies.

  Issa closed the door behind her and turned to face Briana. “Lady Briana, I have been—”

  “Please,” Briana said with a shake of her head. “I am no longer Dhukari, as you can plainly see by our humble surroundings.” She gestured to the simple strip of white leather around her forehead. “You do me honor with your words, but I am simply Briana of the Zadii.”

  Issa’s jaw muscles worked, but she nodded. “Briana.” She drew in a breath. “I have been instructed by my Lady of Blades to offer my help in your efforts to bring justice to your father’s killers.”

  Briana’s expression froze into a polite mask that revealed nothing of her inner thoughts. “I see.”

  Aisha marveled at Briana’s polished façade. That veil of feigned affability could conceal all manner of secrets—Briana had clearly spent enough time among the Dhukari to master the charade.

  “And what, pray tell, does Callista Vinaus believe I intend to do?” Briana asked. “After all, I am told that your Blades already dealt with the assassins that attacked the palace. And, given my current capabilities—” She motioned with a slim hand, a gesture that encompassed the sparse furnishings. “—I have little influence or wealth to use in any such efforts.”

  Issa seemed to hesitate, her face a stern, expressionless mask of a soldier. Long seconds passed before she finally spoke. “Let’s cut the horse-shite, Lady…er, Briana.”

  Aisha struggled to mask her surprise.

  “Before I was accepted into the Keeper’s Blades, I was Earaqi,” Issa said. “I’m not Dhukari, and I don’t care about all the clever words and witty jabs. But I do care about following my commander’s orders. When she tells me that I’m to help you hunt down the bastards that killed your father and attacked the palace—not just the ones we killed that night, but all of them still alive in Shalandra—that’s exactly what I’m going do.”