Issa swallowed the anxiety roiling in her stomach. “Yes. Figured I’d come pay you that visit I promised I would. Seems like I interrupted something important. Sorry about that.” She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The blacksmith would survive—that was all that mattered.
Killian chuckled, which led to another groan. “They were just about to spill all the Ybrazhe’s secrets. I had them right where I wanted them.”
“Sure.” Issa snorted. Too long had passed since she last saw the blacksmith—the day of her acceptance into the Keeper’s Blades. It felt damned good to see him again. She hadn’t realized how much she missed his wry humor and strong presence until now.
Confusion twisted Evren’s face. “You know each other?”
Killian gave a dismissive wave. “Long story.”
“For another time,” Issa finished. “Right now, Killian, Evren tells me that you’ve got proof we need to deal with Councilor Angrak. We need to get it to Lady Callista now.”
Killian’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “Lady Callista, eh?” He shot a questioning glance at Etai and the Indomitables.
Issa shook her head. “They’re just here to help us get you out. But these two—” She indicated Evren and Kodyn. “—are proving surprisingly adept. Almost as if you trained them yourself.”
Evren’s eyes widened a fraction, and Issa could see the questions piling up on his tongue.
She didn’t give him time to speak. “I need that shalanite sample, Killian. And the deed proving Angrak owned the Ybrazhe’s hideout. Where can I find it?”
The blacksmith’s brows furrowed. After a moment, he let out a long sigh. “My strongbox. You remember how to open it?”
Issa nodded, a hopeful grin splitting her face. “Thank you!” She whirled to Etai. “You can sort this mess out?”
“Go!” Etai told her.
“I’ll tell you everything later, I promise.”
“I trust you,” Etai replied. “Now get to Lady Callista before it’s too late!”
“I’m staying,” Evren said. “Can’t leave this old man alone for one second else he gets himself in trouble.”
Killian’s answer was colorful, littered with anatomical impossibilities, and salty enough to taint an ocean.
Kodyn slipped up beside her. “I’m with you.” He tapped his chest. “With those last pieces, we’ve got everything we need.”
“Let’s go!” Without hesitation, Issa turned and raced out of the mill. Kodyn pounded along behind her, his long legs matching her speed.
Issa led them straight toward Killian’s smithy. She felt a pang of homesickness as she entered the dark, soot-covered forge. It was as hot and humid as she remembered, with that same stink of burning metal and singed hair. For five years, she’d spent every free moment training in the yard or pounding glowing steel on the anvil in the center of the smithy. She’d worked the bellows until her arms ached and sweat soaked her tunic, and she’d quenched countless crude swords and daggers in the barrel of fresh water Killian had made her haul from the Lower Wellspring.
This place had been like her second home—she often felt more at ease in the forge than at home. Here, she hadn’t needed to hide her secrets from Killian as she had with her grandparents.
She shoved the sentiments down deep. Focus, Issa! You’re running out of time. They’d lost nearly half an hour rescuing Killian—had it been anyone else, she wouldn’t have wasted the time. If we don’t get this to the Keeper’s Tier now, it’ll be too late.
Issa shoved aside the soot-stained tools and bits of scrap metal that littered the darkest corner of the room. The mess was simply a ruse, a mask to disguise the truth of what lay beneath. She grasped the last remaining bar of pig iron and heaved on it. The handle pulled up the three planks covering that section of the floor, revealing a sizeable steel strongbox beneath.
Glancing over her shoulder, she found Kodyn staring down at the safe with a wry expression. Issa shielded the locking mechanism from his view with her body until the lock clicked and the door sprang open.
Triumph surged within her as she caught sight of a small glass jar containing a pile of black dust and stone shards. Beside it lay a rolled up parchment. She snatched both up, tucked the jar into her armor, and opened the scroll. “Property Deed” was emblazoned across the top in bold words, and Councilor Angrak’s name leapt off the page as she scanned its contents. With a grin, she sealed the strongbox, replaced the wood and camouflaging mess. Kodyn pitched in and within seconds, they had the forge back to its usual messy-looking state.
Issa stood and nodded her thanks. “We’ve got to get to the palace now!”
Mischief twinkled in the young man’s eyes as he pulled out a gold-and-green headband. “Race you there.”
Issa rushed out the door, Kodyn on her heels. A glance at the sky told her it was well past the tenth hour of the morning. The journey to the Keeper’s Tier would take the better part of an hour. It would be close.
Yet she’d made that trek just the previous day. It would be grueling, a punishing pace that had nearly killed her, but now she had a reason to run it. Instead of Tannard’s cruel disdain, victory awaited her at the end. Lady Callista was counting on her, Briana and her friends as well. She’d push until she dropped if it meant completing her mission.
Hope lent wings to her feet as she and Kodyn raced down Smith’s Alley, then turned east along the Artificer’s Courseway. People cleared out of the way as they saw her pounding toward them. Clad in the black armor of a Keeper’s Blade and running at full speed, she was as terrifying as a charging horse.
Her legs ached and her lungs burned by the time she reached Death Row. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to keep moving, keep running up the steep incline. Kodyn matched her pace with little apparent difficulty, his armor and weapons far lighter than hers. A part of her felt pleased to see the sweat streaming down his face, to hear the steady, measured rhythm of his breathing.
One look at her armor and the Indomitables let her through the gate without question, though they shot wary glances at Kodyn. To her relief, they said nothing, simply let them pass unstopped.
They pounded past the Warrior’s Path, up the incline, and toward the gate that opened into the Keeper’s Tier. Her eyes drifted toward the enormous golden sandstone building that dominated the uppermost level of Shalandra. The seven spires—one for each of the Seven Faces of the Long Keeper—rose like shining fingers thrust into the clear blue sky.
That was her destination: the Hall of the Beyond, the place where Angrak would undergo the final rituals to accept him into the Keeper’s Council. She just had to find Lady Callista before Angrak reached the temple and they could arrest the Dhukari for his complicity with the Ybrazhe—and perhaps the Gatherers—and treason for his theft of shalanite.
Come on! Issa willed herself to run faster. We can’t be late.
Her heart sank as she caught sight of the knot of well-dressed men, women, and children clustered around the last gate. The Indomitable officer’s words flashed through her mind. The Keeper’s Tier would be thick with Dhukari, Alqati, and any member of the lower castes that would be permitted to watch Angrak’s procession to the Hall of the Beyond. Less than half an hour remained for her to reach Lady Callista. She’d never make it if she didn’t get through these crowds.
“Move aside!” she shouted. “Make way!” Fatigue deadened her voice and strained her lungs, yet she forced herself to keep running.
Thankfully, the people at the gate heard her shouts. One look at her racing up toward them and they scrambled out of the way with alacrity. Yet as they reached the gate itself, the long lines of people forced them to slow. Issa shouldered her way to the front of the queue, where the Indomitables allowed her and Kodyn—on her explicit orders—to pass.
Through the gate, the crowds thinned out enough that they could resume their mad dash. Here, Kodyn’s lack of armor made for easier progress. He could dart between walking people and dodge pala
nquins with an agility only possible for someone not weighed down by twenty pounds of steel. Issa’s throat grew hoarse, her voice ragged, from shouting at people to clear a path. She fought down the near-overwhelming urge to bull over those too slow to get out of her way.
“This way!” She turned west on the Path of Gold, toward the golden sandstone temple looming in the distance. The lofty spires and towering walls drew closer with every step, yet the sun refused to slow its steady rise to the pinnacle of the sky. She could almost feel the minutes slipping by, time passing at an inexorable pace. Though her lungs begged for air and her muscles threatened to give out, she dug deep within herself and summoned one last burst of speed.
Just in time to see a dense wall of people stretched across the broad avenue, too thick for her to charge through. The procession must have passed her, which meant these were the people marching along behind the rear of the honor guard. An honor guard that Lady Callista would lead—one of her duties as the Lady of Blades, regardless of her feelings toward the Necroseti.
No! This wasn’t how it ended, not so close to triumph. She had an image of charging Tannard’s ranks with her Indomitables, bursting through and ringing that bell to claim her victory. Only this time, it wouldn’t be a training exercise—the fate of Shalandra depended on her reaching Lady Callista before noon.
Roaring a wordless cry, she raced toward the packed line of people. The cheers and shouts drowned out her cries so she lowered her shoulder and drove into the ranks of well-dressed Dhukari and Alqati. Like a plow through soft earth, she sliced through the lines, knocking people aside and hurling them to the ground. A few snarled up at her—snarls that trailed off when they caught sight of her black armor and snarling lion helmet—but she had no time for apologies. All she could do was keep running, keep pressing through the ranks.
She burst through the foremost line of people so suddenly she staggered, off-balance, and would have fallen if not for Kodyn. The young man grabbed her arm and steadied her. With a thankful nod, she took off up the street, racing along between the slow-moving honor guard of Indomitables and the cheering, shouting crowd.
Despair dragged on her limbs as she saw Angrak at the head of the procession, less than fifty yards from the threshold of the Keeper’s Temple. Swallowing the acid that surged in her throat, Issa scanned the crowd until her eyes fell on a familiar figure. Tall, imposing, clad from head to toe in black plate mail, a huge two-handed sword on her back, Callista Vinaus strode at the head of a company of ten Keeper’s Blades just five yards behind Councilor Angrak.
“Lady Callista!”
The cheers of the crowd drowned out her call. She summoned every last shred of speed, one fatigue-numbed foot in front of the other, pounding along toward the front of the ranks. Kodyn followed in her wake, lending the strength of his arms and the breadth of his shoulders to clear a path.
Closer now, just twenty yards away. Councilor Angrak’s palanquin had reached the gate of the Hall of the Beyond. In less than a minute, he’d pass through the walls. Once within the safety of the temple, he would be beyond their reach.
Desperate, Issa tried once more. “Lady Callista!” The shout, backed by the force of her desperation, cut through the din, echoing along the street between chanting cries.
Issa’s heart leapt as Lady Callista’s helmeted head swiveled toward her. She shoved free of the crowd and stumbled the remaining distance to the Lady of Blades.
“My lady!” she gasped. Exhaustion dragged at her legs and she fell to one knee. “My lady.” It was all she could say, all the strength she could muster. Every ounce of strength went into staying upright when her body screamed at her to collapse. She’d pushed too hard, run too far, fought too long without food and rest.
Yet, somehow she managed to summon the energy to pull out the glass jar and deed of property and raise them to Lady Callista. “My lady.” A final breath, then the burden on her arm diminished as the Lady of Blades took the items from her.
“And there’s this.” Triumph shone through the runnels of sweat streaming down Kodyn’s face as he held out the two parchments.
Lady Callista snatched the documents and studied them for a brief moment. She tore off her war mask and fixed Issa with a beaming smile. “It is enough.”
Issa felt her strength give out, and exhaustion dragged her head low. A strong hand gripped her arm and pulled. Looking up, she found Kodyn trying to help her.
“Come on,” he told her. “Stand up. This is your victory, too.”
He helped her up, grunting with the effort, and supported her under one arm. Issa blinked the blur of fatigue from her vision and fixed her eyes on Lady Callista.
Councilor Angrak’s palanquin had stopped to unload its passenger. The fat Necroseti was dismounting to cross the threshold on his own feet, as tradition demanded. Those seconds of delay cost Angrak everything.
Lady Callista marched toward the priest, surrounded by ten Keeper’s Blades in full black armor. Five raced ahead to bar the man’s entrance into the temple while the Lady of Blades headed directly for Angrak.
Stunned surprise and amazement rippled through the crowd of the Dhukari and Alqati lining the streets. Over the sound of their shocked mutters, Issa heard the strong, clear voice of Callista Vinaus, Lady of Blades, ring out across the Path of Gold.
“Angrak of the Dhukari, by order of Pharus Amhoset Nephelcheres, Guardian of Dawnbreaker, Chosen of Hallar, Word of Justice and Death, and Revered Servant of the Long Keeper, I hereby arrest you for treason!”
Chapter Forty-Six
“Where do you think you’re going?”
The barked words came from behind Evren. He glanced over his left shoulder to find the Indomitable Dictator glowering at him.
“I’m helping him get home.” Evren gestured to Killian, who leaned against his right side for support.
“He’s going nowhere until he answers a few questions,” the officer snapped. He studied Killian through narrowed eyes. “Starting with why the Ybrazhe was so interested in him in the first place.”
Evren tried to keep his expression nonchalant despite the clenching in his gut. “Does it have to be now, in his condition? Poor old man’s so banged up he can hardly walk.”
Killian looked anything but old—he had the barrel chest, thick arms, and broad shoulders of his profession—yet he did an admirable job of appearing bedraggled. The bruises ringing his eyes, a pair of split lips, and skinned hands sold the façade well enough.
“Sit,” growled the Dictator.
“Dictator Lykis, yes?” Killian’s tone was calm, a pleasant smile on his face. The expression sent a shiver down Evren’s spine. He looked and sounded like the Hunter—the assassin was at his most dangerous when he appeared controlled and congenial.
“What’s it to you?” the officer scowled.
“Allow me to give you the only answer you need to hear right now.” Killian leaned forward and whispered something in the Dictator’s ear. No more than a few words, but it had a marked effect on the man. His jaw muscles worked and his eyes darkened, his spine going ramrod straight as Killian pulled away.
“Of course.” The Indomitable nodded and stepped aside. “I’m certain we can find you in your smithy if we require anything else from you.”
“Thank you, Dictator Lykis.” Killian’s bland smile widened. “And do give Executor Tuckyr my regards, won’t you?”
The Dictator’s pale-faced silence was his only response.
With a nod, Killian set off at a slow shuffle, wincing with every step and leaning on Evren for support. Evren grunted beneath the blacksmith’s prodigious weight but kept moving. The last thing he needed was for any of the Indomitables or the Keeper’s Blade, Etai, to start asking too many questions. Questions he had no intention of answering.
To his relief, the Blade was busy conferring with the other Dictator and snapping orders. Though young, she seemed to handle the pressure of the situation with surprising adroitness. Evren couldn’t help wonderi
ng who she’d been before she joined the Keeper’s Blades.
But the fleeting thought faded the moment they stepped outside. Six bodies lay on the streets—four Syndicate thugs, most likely the watchers, and two in the black half-plate armor of the Indomitables.
“Poor bastards,” Killian muttered beside him. Evren was surprised to hear genuine sorrow in the blacksmith’s voice. It was good to know that Killian, despite his devious and scheming mind, was still a decent man at heart. Or, at least decent enough to mourn the men that had died to rescue him.
Evren’s mind raced as he helped Killian hobble through the streets that led from Miller’s Alley to Smith’s Alley. What in the bloody hell was that with Issa? The Keeper’s Blade hadn’t just recognized the blacksmith—there had been a spark of genuine warmth between the two of them, a familiar, friendly banter only developed through frequent interaction. They know each other, and more than just a passing acquaintance. But how? And what’s the connection between the blacksmith and the Keeper’s Blade?
Killian had waved away his earlier question; he determined he’d try again later, once the blacksmith was in a more receptive mood. Right now, Killian seemed unwilling to do anything more than get off his feet and lick his wounds.
As they shuffled into the forge, Evren caught sight of two small boys staring at them from a three-story building on the far side of Smith’s Alley. By the time he had settled Killian into the smithy’s lone chair, the two boys had descended from their perch and slipped through the door.
“Spread the word,” Killian told them in a quiet voice. “The Ybrazhe’s been dealt with, for now. It’s safe to come home.”
With silent nods, the boys raced out of the forge and disappeared from view.
“What do you mean, dealt with?” Evren’s eyes narrowed. “We took down thirty, maybe forty of the Syndicate altogether. That can’t be all of them!”
“Not even a quarter.” Killian shook his head. “The one you killed—”
Crucible of Fortune: An Epic Fantasy Young Adult Adventure (Heirs of Destiny Book 2) Page 40