“Agreed.” Hykos grinned. “I’ll be joining you this morning.”
Issa shot him a sly smile. “If you think you can keep up.”
“Careful, Prototopoi.” Coming from him, the word held far less insult than when Tannard growled it. “You wouldn’t be the first recruit to get a big head.”
“Can’t hear you back there!” Issa called as she sprinted off across the field. “Too busy winning!”
The clanking of her armor and the pounding of her boots drowned out Hykos’ retort.
A laugh burst from Issa’s throat as she ran. Without Tannard here to torment her, she could actually look forward to the day’s training. For the first time since she’d met the Invictus, she once again felt proud and excited to be a Keeper’s Blade.
* * *
“Don’t get overconfident.” Hykos knocked aside her blow with contemptuous ease and brought his two-handed sword whistling around toward her head. “Cocky gets you killed.”
Issa responded by ducking his blow and lunged forward with a quick thrust. Hykos actually had to leap to the side to avoid the tip. Her dulled practice blade glanced off his armored side with a clang.
“Hah!” Issa recovered and transitioned to a Silver Sword defensive guard before he could counterattack.
Hykos looked unimpressed. “You know I’m taking it easy on you, right?”
“Is that so?” Issa grinned. “Maybe it’s time you actually give me your best.”
Hykos shook his head. “You’re good, Prototopoi, but not that good.”
Issa cocked an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’re scared I might actually win.”
Hykos said nothing, simply shrugged.
“Come on,” Issa said, curling her finger in a beckoning gesture. “Show me what you’ve got, Archateros.”
The young man stared at her for a long moment. Finally, he lifted his empty hand palm skyward. “You asked for it.” He stepped back into a low guard position.
Issa tensed, flammard held at the ready, eyes locked onto Hykos. His stance was confusing, half-Darting Arrow and half-Windy Mountain. She couldn’t tell where he’d attack from but didn’t waste her time trying to guess. Instead, she locked her gaze on his torso and midsection. Those muscles in his spine, chest, and abdomen would tense before he raised his arms or moved his feet. They would signal his movement even as he made it.
His attack came so fast she barely registered it. His sword swept up toward her chin, and it was all she could do to jerk her head backward. Before she could recover her balance, he whipped his two-handed blade around and drove it point-first into her chest.
The armor stopped the dulled tip but did little to lessen the impact. Pain flared through Issa’s breasts and the force of the blow knocked her backward hard enough to send her to the dirt. She fell as Killian had trained her—chin tucked to her chest, hands outstretched to slap the ground—but she’d barely hit the dirt before she found the point of Hykos’ sword at her throat.
Hykos’ face was an expressionless mask, but humor glinted in his almond-colored eyes. “How’s that, Prototopoi?”
Issa gaped up at him. His attack had caught her totally by surprise and knocked her on her back. Yet one look at his face told her he hadn’t done it to humiliate her the way Tannard had. Instead, it was simply a sign of respect—he’d given her what she asked for.
“Damn!” Her breath caught in her lungs; the blow had stolen her wind and she fought to draw in a full breath. “You really were holding back.”
For answer, Hykos grounded his tip in the dirt between his feet and held out a hand to help her up.
“No way you should have been able to move that fast,” Issa said as she pulled herself to her feet. “That was…inhuman!”
“The Keeper’s blessing.” Hykos met her gaze levelly. “Like our healing abilities, our god’s gift confers upon us speed, strength, and stamina beyond that of normal men.”
Issa’s eyes widened. “You mean I’ll be that fast one day, too?”
“Maybe.” Hykos shrugged. “It’s different for each of us. Take Chirak, there.” He gestured to a tall, strong-featured woman training with Etai. “She’s no faster than you are, but never face her in an arm wrestling match.” He winced and rubbed his wrist as if at a painful memory. “Or Byrach. He’s strong enough, but there are few of us that can match his stamina. Once, he ran a full day straight without stopping. In full armor!”
Issa glanced over to where Byrach was hammering away at Kellas’ guard. She’d noticed that the hulking man rarely grew tired, even when swinging around his flammard, which was easily a foot or two longer than the other Blades’.
“The Keeper blesses each of us in his own way,” Hykos told her. “We first see his gifts manifest during our Anointing, but it’s only as we continue to serve him that we truly understand the full scope of what he’s given us.”
Issa’s mind raced as she tried to picture what abilities she’d discover during the confirmation ceremony. She’d take Hykos’ speed any day, though enhanced strength and stamina sounded damned awesome just the same. Either way, she would be gifted with something that few in Shalandra—or all of Einan, for that matter—ever received.
“Go,” Hykos told her. “Get a drink and we’ll get back to it.”
For the first time, she noticed that the sun had risen close to its zenith, its golden radiance turning the air around her sweltering. She felt as if she’d sweat a barrelful into her tunic and padding. Some water, even water gone tepid from sitting in a wooden barrel all morning long, would be welcome.
Issa had just turned toward a nearby water barrel when a sound like thunder reached her ears. No, not thunder. The rhythmic stomp, stomp, stomp of booted feet marching in order.
Acid roiled in her stomach. Again?
To her dismay, a familiar figure appeared through the front gate of the Citadel of Stone. Tannard wore full armor, his heavy flammard carried in a comfortable rest on his shoulder. Behind him marched a full sixty-man company of Indomitable trainees, clad in their black half-plate mail and carrying dull-edged blades.
At the rear of the line came eight of the ten trainees that had fought with her the previous day. Bruised, bloodied, and battered to a man, they had survived the battle with the fewest injuries. The other two had sustained broken bones, one a concussion severe enough the Ministrants of the Bright Lady, goddess of healing, weren’t certain he’d recover fully.
Tannard led the Indomitable trainees onto the practice yard in neat formation, and they ground to a halt in precise unison. The Invictus’ eyes locked on to her. Cold, hard, no sign of mercy.
“Yesterday, you proved yourself a failure,” he growled. “Today, redeem yourself in the eyes of the Long Keeper. If you do not, you are unworthy to call yourself a Keeper’s Blade.”
Ice ran through Issa’s veins. He’s going to kick me out if I lose again?
“The greater the failure, the greater the victory is required.” Tannard’s voice was emotionless, yet Issa thought she caught a hint of disdain cracking his mask. “To prove yourself truly worthy of the Keeper’s blessing, you must face a true challenge.” He lifted his huge sword off his shoulder and grounded the point in the training yard’s sand. “Me.”
Issa sucked in a breath, and Etai’s gasp echoed from behind her. Even Kellas’ face had gone pale.
“Kellas,” Tannard said without taking his eyes from Issa, “you hold the same place as last time.”
“Yes, Invictus.” Kellas’ voice sounded somehow smaller, weaker than usual, all trace of arrogance sucked away by relief.
“The Keeper gives us the strength to bear every challenge he sends our way.” Tannard’s smile was as cold as the first snow on Zahiran’s southern slopes. “You will not stand alone.”
Relief washed over Issa. If he let Hykos fight with her, she actually had a—
“Etai!” Tannard’s words shattered Issa’s momentary hope. “You will fight with Issa.”
“Yes, Invictus.” Etai sound
ed terrified; she’d stood watching yesterday’s skirmish, had seen Issa’s small company utterly demolished.
“May the Long Keeper guide your aim and strengthen your arm,” Tannard growled. “In his service, failure is not an option.”
Chapter Thirty
It’s about bloody time!
Evren stifled a frustrated growl as he slipped out of Arch-Guardian Suroth’s mansion an hour before dawn, hot on Kuhar’s heels. Everything about the attendant—from his dark cloak and hood to his furtive glances to his surreptitious movements—reeked of villainy. If only the man hadn’t taken so damned long to make his move.
The moment they’d returned from the Palace of Golden Eternity with Lady Briana’s palanquin, Evren had ducked out of Samall’s sight, hurried to his room, and retrieved his weapons and thief’s clothing. Then he’d lain in the stables waiting for the footman to sneak out. His vantage point from the shadows of the stone building gave him a clear view of the mansion’s rear gate. No way Kuhar would be stupid enough to sneak past Arch-Guardian Suroth’s private guards at the front gate.
Evren had had to bide his time for nearly two full hours before Kuhar appeared. He’d slunk toward the back door like a rat creeping through a muddy alley and, after glancing around to be certain no one followed, slipped out of the back gate. The door had barely closed behind Kuhar before Evren slithered through the darkness after him. He was free from duties until noon, so he’d make good use of his time to track the treacherous attendant.
The weight of his boot daggers, wrist knives, and twin jambiya tucked into the back of his belt comforted him. He had no idea what he’d find when Kuhar reached his ultimate destination. If it came to a fight with Kuhar and Samall’s “brethren”, he’d be ready.
At this time of night, the Path of Gold was mostly empty, but a good deal of traffic flowed out of the palace down Death Row toward the lower tiers. Kuhar took full advantage of the palanquins and litters to slip through the gate unseen. For the next hour, he tailed Kuhar down Death Row, keeping close enough to remain within eyesight yet not alert the man that he was being followed.
Finally, just as the sun began to rise and light brightened the eastern horizon, Kuhar slipped through the gate that let out onto the Artisan’s Tier. The Indomitables paid him and the others leaving the Defender’s Tier little heed; their job was to keep out the riffraff from the lower tiers. As Evren reached them, he straightened and lifted his head so his gold-and-red headband was visible to the guards. They waved him through without a second glance.
He caught sight of Kuhar descending toward the Artificer’s Courseway. Evren sped up to close the distance to the man. But halfway down the hill, he found himself caught in a small cluster of people. It took him less than two seconds to extricate himself, but in the moments that he took his eyes off Kuhar, the attendant disappeared.
Evren raced down toward the Artificer’s Courseway and scanned the streets. Even though dawn traffic was light at this time of the morning, Evren could see no sign of the attendant. Kuhar’s dark cloak could conceal him in any of the myriad of shadows on the Artisan’s Tier. The sun would be fully risen in less than half an hour, but by then, Kuhar would be long gone.
Evren swore under his breath. Now what the bloody hell am I going to do?
Without knowing who Kuhar was sneaking messages to, he had nothing to help him convince Nessa or Briana’s bodyguards of anything amiss. He could voice suspicion, but that might only earn him scorn—and a beating if Samall found out.
He couldn’t go back to the mansion empty-handed, with no idea what dangers awaited him that evening. The clock was ticking and Hailen would be in harm’s way as long as he remained beside Lady Briana. But Evren couldn’t simply abandon his post in Arch-Guardian Suroth’s house—he needed more time to figure out how to get his hands on the Blade of Hallar.
One option remained to him: I need to talk to Killian.
The blacksmith and thiefmaster had proven himself far well-informed. If he didn’t already know of Samall and Kuhar’s plot, he‘d certainly have information that could help Evren put the pieces together.
A question nagged at the back of his mind. Could Killian be in on it?
Killian wouldn’t be the first to deal in murder and kidnapping as well as secrets. Yet, from what Evren had learned in his short interaction, the blacksmith hadn’t struck him as that sort. He might steal, lie, and manipulate with the best of them, but Evren’s intuition—honed over years of surviving in the Master’s Temple and on the streets of Vothmot—told him that the blacksmith had lines he wouldn’t cross.
Besides, if Killian was planning something like that, he’d have filled me on in it, wouldn’t he? That thought led to another. Maybe he even expected something to be going on, which is why he put me in Suroth’s household in the first place. It can’t be a coincidence that there’s a plot to abduct the Arch-Guardian’s daughter the very day after he gets me that job, can it?
Evren didn’t know, but he certainly had a way of finding out. Killian had said he expected reports—Evren had a lot of information the blacksmith would want to hear.
He turned his steps westward on the Artificer’s Courseway. Smith’s Alley was a quarter-league away from Death Row, so if he hurried, he could reach it in just under half an hour. The sun would be fully up by then, but with his gold-and-red headband, he had no reason to fear the Indomitable patrols. He’d be just one more servant on an errand for his Dhukari master.
His heart leapt when, twenty minutes later, the sound of clanging hammers echoed from a street ahead of him. He’d drawn within a hundred yards of Smith’s Alley when he caught sight of a familiar face—a face still bearing the bruise left by Evren’s fist. The youth didn’t seem to see Evren. Indeed, he was looking back over his shoulder, as if searching for something behind rather than ahead of him.
Evren slid up beside Snarth. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”
Snarth half-jumped, half-spun, hand dropping toward his belt.
“Nice to see you, too.” Evren hid a mocking smile. “Going somewhere?”
“Yes,” Snarth snapped. “To find you. Killian’s expecting a report.”
Anger purpled the youth’s face, yet Evren caught a hint of something else in his eyes. Guilt. No way he’d look like that if he was actually doing something for Killian. So what the hell is he up to?
“Oh, perfect!” Evren gave him a too-cheerful smile. “I was just on my way to see Killian myself. Why don’t we walk together?”
The offer caught Snarth off-guard. Just for a moment and he recovered quickly enough, but Evren caught it. Yes, there’s no way he’s on an errand for Killian.
“N-No,” Snarth said, the tiniest hint of hesitation in his voice. “Killian’s…busy at the moment, training the other Mumblers. I can pass your message on to him. It’s protocol. We don’t want anyone connecting you to Killian.”
“Hmm.” Evren made a show of contemplating the boy’s words, furrowing his brow and giving a theatrical frown. “You’re right. That’s good thinking.”
He let the silence drag on for a long moment, content to watch Snarth squirm. The boy’s eyes darted up the Artificer’s Courseway, back the way Evren had come, a hint of urgency written in his expression.
“So,” Snarth finally said, “your message for Killian?”
“Oh, right, of course!” Evren smacked his forehead. “Let me see…” He trailed off as if deep in thought, which only served to amplify Snarth’s irritation and impatience.
He’s definitely up to something. The boy would never be so antsy if he truly was on Killian’s business as he said.
Snarth’s face twitched, agitation etched into the tight line of his lips. “The message!”
“Yes, the message.” Evren delayed just long enough to annoy the boy, then quickly spoke. “I thought he should know that Arch-Guardian Suroth has hired two foreigners to guard his adoptive daughter. A man and a woman, and they look like they mean business.”
“That
’s it?” Snarth cocked an eyebrow, a sneer on his face. “You risk drawing suspicion to yourself and Killian for that?”
“Hey, Killian told me he wanted to know anything and everything,” Evren insisted, continuing his charade of naiveté. “This seems important.” He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Maybe the Arch-Guardian has enemies in the city, so he’s hiring outside help because he doesn’t know who in Shalandra to trust.”
He made it sound like the most important discovery of an age—on par with finding the Lost City of Enarium or the sunken continent of Aegeos. Yet, that was something anyone with even a half-functioning eye and mostly-deaf ear could figure out. Where there was power and wealth, intrigue and betrayal followed close on its heels.
Snarth nodded. “You’re right, that is information Killian should hear.” His tone made it clear he found nothing of value in Evren’s words, yet he had to continue his own pretense to avoid Evren’s suspicion. “I’ll get it to him at once.”
“I thought you said he was busy training the Mumblers?” Evren asked, all innocent curiosity.
“H-He is,” Snarth said quickly, “but he’ll see me for certain. I am, after all, one of his most trusted.”
Evren stifled a snort. Not if he knew you were up to something seriously questionable.
Outwardly, his expression showed only gratitude. “Thank you. I want to make sure Killian knows that I’m holding up my end of the bargain.”
“Very well.” Snarth nodded. “If that’s all…?”
“Right, of course,” Evren said. “I’d best get back to the mansion before anyone discovers I’ve left.”
“Can’t have anyone suspecting you work for Killian,” Snarth confirmed.
With a nod, Evren turned and hurried back the way he’d come. He didn’t glance back—he had no doubt the Mumbler was watching him closely. He moved up the street until the early-morning stalls along the avenue blocked him from Snarth’s view, and then ducked out of sight into a side street filled with goldsmith’s shops. His heart hammered as he waited in breathless silence.
Trial of Stone Page 27
