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

by Andy Peloquin

  Her face hardened. “But now they’ve made enemies of both the Ybrazhe and the Gatherers—and trust me, there are more Gatherers out there. Doubtless the Keeper’s Council has already managed to connect them to Angrak’s arrest. They find themselves arrayed against forces far more powerful than they could possibly imagine. It’s up to you and your fellow Blades to protect them.”

  Issa bowed. “Yes, my lady.” She opened her mouth, then hesitated.

  “Speak your mind, Prototopoi,” Lady Callista commanded.

  “I told them.” Issa’s stomach tightened as the words rolled off her lips. “They know that I’m working for you to bring any information that could prove useful.”

  Lady Callista’s eyes narrowed. “Is that so?”

  Issa met the Lady of Blades’ gaze without hesitation, trying to hide the anxiety that tightened the muscles of her spine. “Trust must be given before it is received.” The words were her Saba’s. One of her grandfather’s many wise sayings.

  The Lady of Blades’ reaction surprised Issa. For a moment, it appeared as if she recognized the words—certainly the sentiment, if not the specific phrasing.

  “A wise choice, perhaps,” Callista Vinaus said after a prolonged moment of contemplation, “if not the one I would have made. Yet I will admit that years of service in the palace has made me far more distrusting than I was as a young Blade. A friend and mentor of mine used to tell me, ‘Strike first, strike true’. When dealing with the Necroseti, that is the only way to succeed.”

  Issa’s jaw dropped at the familiar words. Her, too?

  The last time she’d spoken with Pharus Amhoset Nephelcheres, he’d repeated the words from “a Blade he once knew.”

  The same Blade that had been Lady Callista’s mentor?

  Confusion, curiosity, and doubt set Issa’s mind whirling. Had Lady Callista been mentored by the same person that trained her parents? Or, had her Saba somehow heard those words from a Keeper’s Blade and repeated them to her? Somehow, impossibly, there was a connection between her dead parents and both Lady Callista and the Pharus.

  But what? How? The questions slammed into her mind with staggering force.

  She opened her mouth to let them out. Now was the time to use Lady Callista’s goodwill to get her talking and find out more about her parents. She could learn the identity of the person that had spoken those words—the words she’d heard from her grandfather’s mouth. So many questions burned within her that they warred with each other to escape her lips.

  She never had a chance to ask.

  The door burst open and Tannard strode into Lady Callista’s rooms. Issa was stunned by the expression on the Invictus’ face. She’d never seen him without that hard, cold mask of disdain or a total absence of emotion written in his face. Now, worry sparkled in his dark eyes and his cheeks were pale, lined with something akin to unease.

  Tannard, uneasy? The thought disturbed her far more than she cared to admit.

  The ominous tone of his voice only cemented her fears. “My lady, you need to come and see this.” He turned to Issa. “You, too, Prototopoi.”

  * * *

  The crowds around Murder Square parted before a stone-faced Invictus Tannard and an enraged Lady Callista. Issa followed on their heels, horror writhing like acidic serpents slithering in her gut.

  It took all her self-control not to gasp, gape, or simply empty her stomach as she saw the body.

  Kellas—or a beaten, bloodied, and lifeless version of what had once been the proud young man—hung from a cross. He had been scourged, his limbs shattered, and his hands and feet nailed to the wooden posts. His eyes hung wide, his face slack and pale in death—a strange contrast to the bloody mark tattooed into his chest: an almost-complete circle connected to two lines that bent outward in a perfect right angle. The center of the circle depicted something that resembled a sun and moon in close alignment.

  Issa’s blood ran cold. The mark of the Gatherers!

  Her eyes fell on the words painted in a deep, dark crimson—Kellas’ blood—onto the wall behind the cross.

  “Child of Secrets, Child of Gold,

  Child of Spirits, bring the judgement foretold!”

  End of Book 2

  -----

  Kodyn, Aisha, Evren, Hailen, Issa, and Briana’s epic journey continues in:

  Storm of Chaos (Heirs of Destiny Book 3)

  Chapter One

  Death had wiped the arrogance from Kellas’ face. Once a proud warrior training to become a member of Shalandra’s elite warrior brotherhood of the Keeper’s Blades, he now hung limp and lifeless on a crude cross. His killers had stripped his armor and nailed him naked to the wooden post erected atop the platform upon which the guilty of Shalandra took their last breaths before execution. Blood trickled down his outstretched arms and shattered legs, the crimson a stark contrast with the lifeless pale hue of his bronze skin.

  Yet the thing that sent a shiver down Issa’s spine was the mark carved into his chest. The almost-complete circle connected to two right-angle lines, with a closely aligned sun and moon in the heart of the circle.

  The grisly sign of the Gatherers, worshippers of the god of death. A final insult to the fallen youth, accompanied by a warning to all of Shalandra.

  “Child of Secrets, Child of Gold,

  Child of Spirits, bring the judgement foretold!”

  The murderer had emblazoned the words onto the wall behind Kellas, painted in the murdered Blade’s blood.

  A fist of iron squeezed Issa’s heart and her mind reeled. How could this happen?

  It seemed impossible to even consider. Kellas was a Keeper’s Blade, blessed by the Long Keeper himself, a strong and competent swordsman. Issa hadn’t liked him—his hauteur and scorn of her lower caste had more than earned her ire—yet she could recognize his skill as a warrior despite his prototopoi status.

  Sheer horror rooted her in place. If the Gatherers can do this to one of us, what else are they capable of?

  The Gatherers had already invaded the Palace of Golden Eternity, attempted to assassinate the Pharus and the Keeper’s Council, slain Arch-Guardian Suroth, and attacked the Artisan’s Tier in an attempt to capture Briana, the Arch-Guardian’s daughter. Issa had dared to believe her raid into the Keeper’s Crypts had eradicated the last of the cultists. The grisly sight before her proved that the death worshippers were far from defeated.

  A terrible thought sent a shiver down her spine. What if they did this in retaliation for my attacking their hideout? She had been the one to lead a small company of Indomitables into the tombs to attack the Gatherers’ sanctuary. Is Kellas dead because of me? She’d loathed the Dhukari and when the chance had come to take out her frustrations on him in the training yard, she’d relished every moment. Yet never had she wanted him dead. Not like this.

  “Prototopoi!”

  A sharp command pierced Issa’s chilly stupor. She blinked, swallowed the acid surging into her throat, and turned toward the speaker.

  “Keep the crowd back!” Callista Vinaus, Lady of Blades, the highest-ranked military officer in Shalandra, shouted at her. The commander’s strong features were hard but a fire of fury blazed in her eyes. “Now!”

  The authority in Lady Callista’s voice snapped Issa back to reality. Sensation flooded her limbs and she sucked in a shuddering breath. The roar of the crowd washed over her, nearly deafening her. People shouted, wept, or hurled curses. A few openly cheered.

  Fear sent adrenaline racing through Issa’s muscles and spurred her to action. She raced to join Invictus Tannard and the other Keeper’s Blades forming a solid wall of black steel, flesh, and grim-eyed determination between the crucified body and the surging, seething crowd. None of the ten Blades had drawn swords, yet one look at the anger and hatred in the eyes of the wretched Mahjuri swarming around them told Issa that the situation could grow dire. The crowd could turn into a raging mob in a heartbeat.

  Issa risked a glance over her shoulder and found Lady Callista leapi
ng onto the platform and striding toward the body on the cross. The Lady of Blades closed a mailed fist around the nail driven into Kellas’ right wrist and tore it free with a mighty wrench. A second Blade supported the Dhukari’s limp body as Lady Callista ripped out the three remaining nails.

  The roar of the crowd swelled, the animosity thick as a stormcloud that filled Murder Square with an almost tangible tension. Lean, ragged figures in black headbands of tattered cloth and fraying rope glared at the heavily armored figures arrayed before them. Issa felt a hundred eyes hurling menacing looks her way.

  “Death to the Dhukari!” called a voice from the throng.

  “SILENCE!” Lady Callista’s voice boomed out like a thunderclap above the voice of the crowd. The woman had turned away from the Blade’s body and now faced the multitude. The command in her voice had an instantaneous effect. The voices of the crowd dimmed to a low hush, fearful and reverent in the face of the Lady of Blades.

  “This man was Dhukari,” Lady Callista shouted, thrusting a finger at Kellas’ corpse, “yet he was also a servant of the Long Keeper. He swore oaths to protect the city of Shalandra—each and every one of you—until his final breath. And this is how you repay that vow? You scorn his corpse, mock his death?” A storm of fury cracked her usually stoic mask. “Have you no shame?!”

  Issa could feel the rage emanating from the woman, and the forcefulness of Lady Callista’s presence humbled her. This was no highborn gentlewoman navigating the cesspool of Dhukari politics. The Lady of Blades that stood there was a beast of battle and blood, a force of nature, an authority so imperious and imposing that the crowd fell silent beneath her furious glare.

  “The Keeper’s Blades are your shields against darkness and danger!” Lady Callista’s eyes drove burning daggers into every man and woman in the throng. “Remember that next time you open your mouth to cheer at the sight of this desecration.”

  The ragged, gaunt-cheeked Mahjuri actually exchanged glances, the shame burning in their eyes. An all-consuming silence descended over Murder Square—not so much as a child’s cry or the shuffling of sandaled feet broke the stillness.

  “And to the evildoers out there, heed this warning.” Lady Callista raised her voice until it seemed to ring off the golden sandstone walls. “You have raised your hand against the Keeper’s chosen. We are coming for you. We will find you. And when we do, you will give answer to the Long Keeper for your crimes against one of his servants.”

  With a nod to the Blade that carried Kellas’ body, the Lady of Blades descended from the execution platform and strode toward the crowd.

  Tension coiled Issa’s muscles into knots. Lady Callista’s speech had shamed the Mahjuri but hadn’t dulled the fire burning in their eyes. Just days earlier, an innocent man had been beheaded on this very platform, all because the Indomitables needed to blame someone for the desecration of a statue of Hallar.

  Issa held her breath. One wrong word, one tiny action would be all it took to set fire to the kindling of the Mahjuri’s anger—anger at being mistreated, deprived of food and water, condemned to a life of poverty and misery.

  Yet the crowd parted in silence before the Lady of Blades, opening a path to the Way of Chains. A few white-haired Mahjuri even bowed their heads and closed their eyes as the Blades bore Kellas’ broken, bloodied corpse away from Murder Square. The only sound to break the stillness was the tromp, tromp of heavy boots as Invictus Tannard, Issa, and the other Keeper’s Blades formed ranks behind their commanding officer and their fallen comrade.

  * * *

  An hour had passed in silent vigil, and still Issa couldn’t shake the memory of Kellas’ face. Pale, his features slack, all traces of the man he’d once been—proud, domineering, calculating, and confident—washed away by death.

  Everywhere she looked, she could see that face etched into the blank stone walls of the Secret Keeper’s temple. She doubted she would erase that memory anytime soon.

  Issa glanced to the figures beside her. Lady Callista had insisted that Issa and Invictus Tannard were to be permitted entrance into the Temple of Whispers, to carry Kellas’ body to the Secret Keepers for examination. Tannard’s face had grown even harder than usual, his expressionless features hardening into a cold, stony mask. He said nothing, simply waited in silence for his commander to speak.

  The three of them straightened as one sandstone wall slid open—no door or seam she could see, but such was the mystery of the Temple of Whispers—and a trio of brown-robed Secret Keepers emerged. At the fore of the group strode a short, round man. His white Zadii headband made his shaven and waxed head appear a perfect oval shape, with only a single braided lock of hair hanging down his back. Behind him came two women, one with dark purple hair and eyeliner to match, the other with a hatchet-face drawn into permanent lines of displeasure.

  “What has your examination uncovered?” Lady Callista asked.

  Without a word, the foremost Secret Keeper handed the Lady of Blades a parchment. Lady Callista took it, and her face grew harder as she read its contents.

  “You’re certain?” she demanded.

  The bald man nodded and reached out a pudgy finger, tapping on a few lines scrawled onto the papyrus.

  A low growl emitted from Lady Callista’s throat as she studied the scroll one last time. “Thank you,” she said to the rotund priest. “If you find anything else, you will let me know at once.”

  The Secret Keeper’s fingers moved in a series of gestures, and he bowed.

  Lady Callista narrowed her eyes. “And when this matter is complete, Ennolar, we will have words about your replacing the Arch-Guardian on the Keeper’s Council. Your standing amongst the Venerated makes you best-suited to take Suroth’s place.”

  The bald man’s florid face froze, his expression growing unreadable, his spine rigid as the stone walls surrounding them.

  “The Anointing of the Blades is two weeks away,” the Lady of Blades said. “Despite the Necroseti’s recent attempt to set up one of their own as the final Councilor, there must be a Secret Keeper. You are the only ones who know the secrets of the Vault of Ancients and the rituals of Anointing.”

  The priest, Ennolar, hesitated a long moment before bowing. The other two Secret Keepers mirrored his obeisance. In near-perfect unison, the three turned and strode from the room.

  Silence hung in the room as the wall slid shut behind the departing priests. Tannard’s rumbling voice shattered the tense stillness. “Tell me.”

  Lady Callista’s jaw muscles worked and the fires of rage burned in her eyes as she turned to face Issa and the Invictus. “Poison.”

  The single word punched into Issa’s stomach with the force of a charging ox. Somehow, it made the Dhukari’s death even worse. Not the glorious end in battle of a warrior, but cold-blooded murder plotted by a coward.

  Tannard took the parchment from Lady Callista and read it in silence.

  “The Secret Keepers found traces of Crimson Deathcap poison in his organs.” Lady Callista’s face darkened. “Or, the liquefied sludge that remained. The only mercy is that he died before they crucified him.”

  The Invictus held the scroll out to Issa. “Read it.”

  A tremor ran through Issa’s hands as she took the scroll. The words written there seemed to blur, her eyes refusing to focus. Only a few words—words like “seizures”, “loss of muscle control”, “paralysis”, and “total organ failure”—registered in her mind.

  It felt so strange to see such a cold, analytical dissection of a human being—not just anyone, but one that had been alive mere hours earlier. To think of Kellas dying this gruesome death, his body dissolving from the inside out, killing him despite the Keeper’s Blessing, sent a shiver of revulsion down Issa’s spine.

  “What are your orders, Proxenos?” Tannard’s voice had gone cold, emotionless.

  “Bring him to the Citadel.” Lady Callista’s shoulders seemed to droop beneath a great burden, and her expression grew solemn. “We will commit him
to the Keeper’s Crypts at sundown. He deserves the final honor of joining the ranks of Blades guarding Hallar’s final resting place.”

  “Of course, my lady.” Tannard bowed.

  “And once he is laid to rest, we will find those responsible.” Lady Callista’s mailed fist clenched so hard her gauntlets creaked. A fire as hot and bright as Dalmisa’s volcanic heart burned in her eyes. “By the Faces of Justice and Vengeance, we will make them pay!”

  Chapter Two

  Evren thought he’d vomit as he stared down at the corpse on the floor of Killian’s forge. Beneath the ragged clothing and the thick layer of dirt, blue blisters dotted the boy’s skin, oozing noxious pus. The same sickly blue crept up the veins of his neck and turned his pale, slack-featured face a hideous color.

  Shock paralyzed Evren for a long heartbeat. He gaped at the youth—the Azure Rot had claimed the boy before his eyes.

  “Keeper’s beard!” Killian’s gasp echoed beside him.

  Three small figures darkened the door of the smithy, casting shadows across the metal shaving-strewn floor. Three young Mumblers, around the same age as the victim on the floor, stopped dead, their faces going as pale as their lifeless comrade.

  “Stay back!” Evren shouted. “Don’t get near him!”

  The three froze, and their eyes widened in panicked horror as they caught sight of the body on the floor.

  “Destes, get to the Hall of the Cruori and summon a Trouvere!” Killian barked an order. “Kellin, Benem, spread the word among the other Mumblers that they’re to stay away from the smithy until the Bloody Minstrel’s priests have hauled Undon away.”