Trial of Stone

by Andy Peloquin

  “Which could be why he came to Praamis.” Kodyn exchanged a glance with Aisha.

  The same thought had just occurred to her. “If the Gatherers stole her from the priests, they’d want to get her far enough away that they couldn’t just snatch her back.”

  Briana’s face had gone pale. Aisha felt a momentary stab of pity for the girl. Briana’s captivity hadn’t been kind, and though the girl had recovered some, it would take far longer than a few weeks for her to recover. Aisha herself still struggled to deal with the aftermath of her own enslavement by the Bloody Hand. She’d spent much of it in a mind-numbed fog induced by Bonedust, a powerful narcotic, so she remembered little of the ordeal. Yet those few memories she retained were vivid enough to wake her up at night. The physical scars might have healed, but emotional and mental scars took longer.

  “But now that she has returned,” Suroth continued, “the Necroseti will learn of her presence. They have eyes and ears everywhere in this city. Even in my own household.” He turned a sorrowful gaze on Briana. “I believe Eldesse aided in your abduction.”

  “E-Eldesse?” Briana’s face went white.

  Suroth nodded. “She, along with two others, is still missing. Four more have been found dead.”

  Briana clapped a hand to her mouth. “But she-she wasn’t just my maidservant. She was my friend!” Tears filled her eyes. “Since I was a little girl…”

  “Which made the betrayal all the more surprising.” Suroth pulled Briana close. “Yet, the fact that she disappeared the same night you were taken proves beyond a doubt that she was a pawn of the Keeper’s Priests. And not the only one, I am certain.”

  “So you’re worried that these Necroseti priests are going to try to take Briana again?” Kodyn asked.

  “I would not put it past them.” Suroth’s lip curled into a disgusted grimace. “They have done far worse to others of the Dhukari, though this is the first time that I know they have moved against a member of the Keeper’s Council. I am the only member not of the Necroseti, and I am outside their control. I have no doubt they would use my only child against me, even though I have convinced the world that she is only my adoptive daughter.”

  Aisha’s brow furrowed. She’d noticed when Nessa emphasized the word “adopted” upon their arrival. “Why the ruse?” she asked. “Why is it important that she is not your child by blood?” By Kodyn’s curious expression, she could tell he’d been wondering the same.

  “Secret Keepers are not permitted to bear children.” The Arch-Guardian shook his head. “The Temple of Whispers can guard the secret of her heritage, but if it became known around Shalandra that Briana was my daughter by birth, it would eventually leak out to the other cities and the other Secret Keepers around Einan. My friends here in Shalandra might be able to overlook it, but the rest of my order would see it as a violation of our sacred oath to the Mistress.” His expression grew solemn. “Which, truth be told, it is. Yet, even though it took my beloved wife from me, I have never once regretted my decision.”

  He pulled Briana tight and held her for a long moment. When he broke off the embrace, moisture filled his eyes. Aisha pretended not to notice as he wiped his cheeks.

  “For the sake of my daughter, I must not be her father by blood,” Suroth signed. “Yet that will not stop the Keeper’s priests from trying to use her against me. If they have inserted more spies into my household, they will receive word of Briana’s return before the day is out. I fear they will come for her again.”

  “Don’t you have guards?” Kodyn asked. “People you can trust to protect her?”

  “Until Eldesse, I would have said yes.” Suroth’s face grew grim. “Yet Eldesse’s husband, one of the highest-ranking members of my household guard, also played accomplice in Briana’s abduction. I can trust Nessa and a few select staff, as well as Rothin, the head of my guard. As for the others…” He shook his head. “I have tried my best to inspire loyalty in the Intaji, Zadii, Kabili, and Earaqi that serve me, but the Necroseti’s coffers are far deeper than my own.”

  The answer struck Aisha like a bolt of lightning to the forehead. “We’ll protect her.”

  Kodyn turned to her, his expression curious. Suroth and Briana’s eyes widened—the expressions accented the startling similarities in their features.

  “You?” Suroth signed.

  “Yes, us.” Aisha gestured to her assegai, strapped to her back, and the sword hanging at Kodyn’s hip. “We’re more than capable of protecting her if it comes to a fight.” She met the Secret Keeper’s gaze steadily. “And, most important of all, you can be damned certain that we’re not Necroseti spies. Which is a lot more than you can say for most of the people around you.”

  “You are clearly not Shalandrans.” Suroth frowned. “You, perhaps, could pass for one of us, with the right clothing. As for him.” He gestured to Kodyn. “He will stand out like a behemoth in a poppy field.”

  “Is that a problem?” Aisha couldn’t help grinning at the comparison. “Is it so uncommon for Shalandrans to hire outside protection?”

  “Uncommon, yes.” Suroth nodded. “Unheard of, no. He will draw plenty of attention, that much is certain.”

  “Aisha, can I talk to you for a moment?” Kodyn asked, a pointed look in his eyes.

  Aisha followed him a short distance into the garden, away from the gazebo and out of earshot of Arch-Guardian Suroth and Briana, who had begun an animated conversation of dancing fingers.

  “We’re here for a very specific reason,” Kodyn told her. “I’m here for the crown, and you’re here for…” He trailed off. Evidently Ria hadn’t told him her true purpose for coming. “Then there’s the matter of the Gatherers. I promised my mother we’d make sure they don’t come back. It’s going to be hard to do all of that if we’re playing bodyguard day and night.”

  “We can do that. All of it.” Aisha told him. “And keep Briana safe at the same time.”

  Kodyn snorted. “Seems a tall order!”

  Aisha cocked an eyebrow. “Not up for the challenge?”

  Kodyn glared. “It’s not that. It’s—”

  “Listen, you’ve got almost a year to complete your Undertaking,” Aisha insisted. “More than enough time, even for such a tall order as sneaking into the palace and stealing the Crown of the Pharus.”

  Kodyn’s eyes darted around, nervous that someone would overhear them.

  “But you know as well as I that the Arch-Guardian is the best one to get you in the right place to get your hands on that crown.” Aisha fixed him with a meaningful glance. “And I’d say there are few people better-suited to helping us dig up the secrets of the Gatherers than a Secret Keeper. You heard him talk about his ‘contacts within the Keeper’s priesthood’. He’s one of the most powerful people in the city, and we’ve got the perfect way to get in his good graces. This is the best way to get what we came here for!”

  Kodyn’s expression grew pensive. She recognized the stubbornness in his eyes—she’d seen its match during her few encounters with Ilanna, Kodyn’s mother and Master of the Night Guild. Yet, as Ria had always emphasized, even the most stubborn person—mother and son—could be convinced to see reason with the right approach.

  After a long moment, Kodyn nodded. “You’re right. It is our best play.”

  “We can make it work,” Aisha told him. “We always knew Briana was our way into the palace. Now, with her father on our side, you’ve got a real shot of actually pulling off the crown job.”

  “The way you say it almost makes it sound like you doubted me.” A shred of hurt seeped into Kodyn’s voice and eyes.

  “There’s a difference between doubt and common sense.” Aisha grinned, but Kodyn didn’t return the smile. “I’ve known you long enough to know that once you set your mind to something, you’ll do it. But figuring out how to do it is the tricky part, the part that a lot of people don’t get right. Now, with the Arch-Guardian’s help, we’re closer to sorting out the how than we were when we left Praamis.”
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br />   Her words seemed to mollify Kodyn, and his frown faded. “So be it. Looks like we’re going to play bodyguard.”

  Together, they strode back to where Arch-Guardian Suroth and Briana stood.

  “We’ll do it,” Aisha said. “We’ll keep your daughter safe.”

  Suroth’s expression darkened to a grim, glowering anger as his fingers signed, “And why in the Mistress’ holy name should I trust you, two thieves, that have come here to steal the Crown of the Pharus?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “This is bloody insane!”

  Issa couldn’t argue with the trainee’s assessment. These odds are damned impossible! She and her ten Indomitables-in-training faced nearly five times their number across the training yard. Another of Tannard’s little “lessons”.

  Her first week as a prototopoi had been a blur of beatings, torments, and humiliations under the Invictus’ stern gaze. The Igogi, the rigorous training regimen that turned raw recruits into disciplined Keeper’s Blades, had been made even more challenging by Tannard’s determination to break her body and spirit.

  The Invictus awoke her a full hour before the other trainers roused Kellas and Etai from slumber. By the time they emerged into the training yard, Issa had already been running in full gear for an hour. The clanking of their armor as they ran laps distracted her from her meditation, making the brutally challenging task of standing one-legged on a wooden fence post all but impossible.

  Breakfast was the closest she came to a moment’s peace, but a moment was all she had. Tannard gave her less than five minutes to devour her meal before sending her off to her lectures with Invictus Dyrkton, one of the Elders of the Blades. There, she had an hour to absorb as much of the history of Shalandra and the Keeper’s Blades as possible—the punishment for failing the Invictus’ test ranged from beatings to another half-hour run in full gear.

  Combat practice and battle training occupied the rest of her morning. Inevitably, Issa found herself at a disadvantage, often facing two or three times the number of opponents, sometimes with inferior weaponry and handicaps imposed on her by Tannard.

  The meager lunch of rough-ground grain flatbread and watery soup barely quenched her hunger and failed to give her the energy required to muscle through the intense hour of strength training that followed. By the time she got through her afternoon lessons of statecraft, survival skills, herbology, or ethics—all vital for a Keeper’s Blade, according to Invictus Tannard—her stomach would be in knots and she’d barely manage to choke down another meal of hard bread and soup, this time accompanied by a single strip of salted meat.

  Dinner gave way to sparring sessions. She faced her enemies empty-handed, with daggers to their two-handed swords, or, on those rare occasions when Tannard allowed her the use of her flammard, pitted against two or three Archateros under strict orders to show her no mercy. By the time the sun set, she was too tired to do more than collapse into bed. She’d be roused less than half an hour later for the evening task of stealing treats, food, and trinkets hidden in the rooms of the older, more experienced Blades. Failure, as ever, was rewarded with a beating.

  Yet the sort of beating she’d take today would far exceed her usual punishment. Worse, the ten Indomitable trainees would suffer with her.

  “The object is simple,” Invictus Tannard rumbled. He thrust a finger toward a bright blue pendant that hung at the far end of the training yard. “The trumpet rings the moment you claim the flag. That sound means victory is yours. Fight until you hear it or you can fight no longer.”

  Issa stifled a snort. Easier said than done. Four battle lines—six wide and two deep—stood between her company and their objective. The enemy wore heavy Indomitable armor while those with Issa wore only padded jerkins. She and her Indomitables—six young women, with four men barely into their mid-teens—carried wooden batons and shields but faced steel swords.

  “A Keeper’s Blade must always be prepared to face the impossible.” The Invictus’ voice was hard, cold. “A servant of death should know no fear, even against insurmountable odds. If the Long Keeper has marked you, the largest army on Einan will not stop you from dying. Until that day, you are invincible.”

  Issa had one consolation: the steel swords had no edges. She and her company of trainees wouldn’t be hacked to pieces by sharp blades. Death by bludgeoning was still very much a potential outcome.

  Eleven of us against forty-eight of them, Issa thought. How in the Keeper’s name are we going to do this?

  If she charged in a sharp-tipped spear formation, she might actually punch through the first, even second battle line. But she’d get bogged down at the third line, then quickly surrounded and slaughtered. She’d fail before reaching the halfway mark.

  Her mind raced. She couldn’t win this with brute strength or superior skill. This was a time to outthink rather than outfight the enemy.

  She studied the ten trainees assigned to her. All smaller than their enemies, weaker, doubtless far less skilled. Yet Killian’s words, the words that had carried her to victory in the Crucible, echoed in her mind.

  “Always make your enemy underestimate you. Make them see you as nothing but an Earaqi girl until you’re ready to spring your trap.”

  She wasn’t the only low-caste warrior in their company. All of those assigned to her wore Earaqi red or Mahjuri black, with only one white Zadii headband. None of them would have the extensive martial training common in the Academies. Instead, they’d know the brutal, efficient tactics—little more than street fighting with bladed weapons—taught at the Institutes of the Seven Faces. That, and any skills they’d picked up during their years roaming the streets of the lower tiers.

  “They know there’s no way we’re getting through,” Issa told her company, “but with the Invictus watching, they know we’re going to have to try. So we’ll give them what they want. We’re going right through the middle, spear formation.”

  “Fastest way to get killed!” snorted one of the young men, a Mahjuri by the name of Nysin. “We’ll get through one, maybe two lines before our momentum runs out.”

  Issa nodded. “Exactly.” Nysin had come to the same conclusion as her; he might have a better understanding of tactics and strategy than the others. “But we’re not going to try to cut our way through to the pennant. We’re not going to fight like the Dhukari and Alqati we face. We’re doing this street-style.”

  She looked at each of them in turn. “Which of you is the fastest runner?”

  Two of the Earaqi girls exchanged glances. The taller, a slender young woman by the name of Rilith, pointed to the other. “Enyera, probably.”

  “Good.” Issa turned to the shorter of the two. “I want you at the rear of our position and ready to run like your life depends on it.”

  “I can do that.” Enyera, a short girl just on the well-built side of petite, raised an eyebrow. “But there’s no way I can get around four lines.”

  “Think you can get around two?” Issa asked. “No shield or armor to weigh you down, just that club to defend yourself?”

  Enyera glanced down at the truncheon in her hand, her expression skeptical. After a moment, she shrugged. “I suppose we’ll find out.”

  “Then watch for your opening. There will be a moment after we get bogged down, before they surround us, that you’ll have a gap to slip through. If we can punch through to the third line before they stop us dead, you’ve just got one line to get around. That fourth line may be so focused on moving forward to encircle us that they won’t notice you skirting the third line. You’re our best chance of getting that pennant.”

  Enyera’s lips tugged upward. “I’ll do what I can.”

  “As for the rest of us,” Issa turned to the other nine trainees, “it’s our job to hit them with everything we’ve got and keep their attention on us long enough for Enyera to get through. It’s going to be brutal, but if there’s one thing we can do, it’s take a beating!”

  She saw agreement etched into the eyes of h
er company. The Mahjuri had it worst of all, but life as an Earaqi was hard, often more so than the Kabili that served in Shalandra’s mines. Judging by the scars crisscrossing the Intaji youth’s hands, he knew the meaning of toil and suffering. The well-fed, well-dressed, pampered youths of the Dhukari were soft. Even the Alqati lived comfortable lives by comparison to the lower castes. The Invictus had done her a favor when choosing her company.

  “For the first time in our lives, we’re not only permitted to strike a member of the upper caste, we’re required to.” A savage grin split Issa’s face and she spoke in a low growl. “Make them hurt.”

  Answering smiles blossomed on the faces of her company. Rilith even laughed as she hefted her baton. “With pleasure.”

  “Spear formation,” Issa called. “Hit them hard and don’t stop until we’re through to the third line.”

  Her company formed up, and Issa’s gut tightened as she took her place at the tip of the spear.

  She tightened her grip on her two wooden batons—Tannard’s idea of magnanimity—and rolled her shoulders in anticipation. Her eyes darted toward the Invictus, who stood watching from the sidelines.

  You won’t break me, she swore silently. Throw everyone in Shalandra at me. It won’t stop me.

  With a deep breath, she raised her right-handed weapon and shouted, “Charge!”

  She raced toward the enemy, her small company thundering on her heels. Her long legs carried her across the cleared space in a matter of seconds and, with a roar, she slammed into the front rank of trainees.

  Her wooden batons flashed out to block a high chop and a thrust from the two combatants in front of her. Her momentum carried her through the first rank, then the second, but she had enough time to lash out with powerful blows of her truncheons. Wood struck flesh with dull thumps and two of the enemies sagged, only to be knocked aside by the trainees charging behind Issa.

  First line!

  Triumph surged within her chest as she pounded the five yards toward the second battle line. She poured as much speed into her legs as she could manage and crashed into her enemies with the force of a runaway carriage rolling down Trader’s Way. She grunted as a dulled steel blade clipped the side of her head, another striking off her collar bone with jarring force. Her answering blows smacked into the skull and forearm of the enemies in front of her. She winced at the crack of bone but had no time for pity. Even as the blunt steel sword dropped from her enemy’s hand, she hurled her right-handed truncheon at another foe and scooped up the falling blade before it struck the sand.