He didn’t know how long he spent seated, slumped against the golden sandstone wall—it might have been five seconds or five hours—but finally the dizziness and sickness passed enough that he could lever himself to his feet. The analytical part of his mind took stock of the injury; as long as he didn’t lose consciousness, he should be fine.
I’ve got to keep going, he told himself over and over. I’ve got to get to Hailen in time.
Twice more—that he could remember—he had to pause in his ascent of Death Row to let the nausea and vertigo pass. Each time, the effects grew noticeably less, his brain recovering from the jolt. Even the headache began to dim until he could move faster without fear of emptying his stomach
The journey to the Keeper’s Tier, which had taken him just over an hour before, now seemed to take an eternity. Evren risked another bout of dizziness to glance at the sun and found it had dropped dangerously close to the horizon. Night would fall within half an hour. He had to hurry to reach Suroth’s mansion before Samall and his conspirators went for Lady Briana.
His heart leapt as the gate of the Keeper’s Tier came into sight. The guards took one look at his headband and let him through, though not without close scrutiny. He knew he looked a sight—bloodied forehead, staggering like a drunk—but he didn’t care.
He half-ran, half-shambled east along the Path of Gold. I made it!
His relief died a moment later when he spotted a group of dark-robed figures slipping down the alley that led to the rear entrance of Suroth’s mansion. The tradesman’s gate swung open and Samall appeared in the archway, a small lantern in his hand. At his low hiss, Kuhar and more than twenty other figures in dark robes slipped from the shadows and raced toward the back way in.
Evren had arrived too late.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Issa’s two-handed sword carved a deadly arc through the air. The Shalandran steel blade hacked off one assassin’s arm at the shoulder and plowed through his ribcage before biting deep into his spine. The man screamed and collapsed, sliding off Issa’s sword as she stepped back into a Silver Sword guard stance. The next assassin that came at her died with her sword tip through his stomach—the same thrust Tannard had used on her in the mock battle earlier that day.
“Assassins!” she shouted again. Not out of fear for her own safety, but to alert Kellas, Etai, and the other guards protecting the palace. If there were other assassins, she needed to sound the alarm at once.
Six robed figures charged in a rush. Issa knew what they intended—close the distance and get inside the reach of her flammard, where their long swords and daggers could give them the edge—but that knowledge did little to help her. Though she took one down with a quick cut that opened a gash in his throat, the other five closed the distance before she could recover. Their long swords and knives flashed at her chest, arms, throat, face, and legs.
Her Shalandran steel armor saved her life. Blades rang on her gauntlets, breastplate, and helmet, hard enough to knock Issa back a step. She allowed herself to be driven backward—she had to keep her face, the only vulnerable body part, away from their blades. And she needed to clear space to swing her sword.
Her quick upward cut caught one of the assassins in the stomach. Issa heard a clang of steel on steel followed by a cry of pain as the Shalandran steel hacked through whatever armor the man wore beneath his robes. Issa whipped the pommel of her sword into the face of another opponent. Teeth shattered, cartilage crunched, and blood gushed from his nose and split lips.
Issa hissed as one dagger carved a slash across the bridge of her nose, and responded by driving her shoulder into the assassin’s chest. The spikes in her armor punched through his armor and slammed against bone. In the second it took the man to recover, Issa straightened, released her grip on her sword’s hilt, and seized it by the blade. The heavy steel pommel, hilt, and crossguard clubbed the man into unconsciousness.
She whirled to face the remaining two assassins, flammard held in the half-swording grip popular at the Academy of the Windy Mountain. The heavy sword could do enough blunt force damage to shatter an enemy’s skull, and the shortened grip on the blade made it as versatile as a club or mace.
She drove the pommel into one man’s gut, whipped the crossguard into the other man’s face, and dragged the razor sharp edge across the first’s throat. Even as the assassin collapsed, hands clasped to his gushing neck, Issa reversed her grip on the sword and brought the blade spinning across in a blindingly fast horizontal strike. The steel blade separated the man’s head from his shoulders like a hot knife through tallow.
Issa found herself alone, surrounded by eight dead or dying men, and her heart sank as she saw the remaining seven assassins racing down the corridor. Without hesitation, she leapt over her dead enemies and gave chase.
Determination spurred her on—she had to get back to Etai and Kellas before they were overwhelmed by the attackers. Her marvelous segmented plate mail made barely a sound as she ran, the weight almost negligible after long days spent running and training fully-armored. By the time she reached the main corridor, she had closed within ten yards of the assassins.
Her stomach clenched as the clash of steel echoed from her post, followed by a cry of pain. Etai!
Issa charged around the corner in time to see the remaining seven assassins join the five already attacking Kellas and Etai. Six more corpses lay at the Blades’ feet, but Etai was stumbling back, a hand pressed to a bleeding wound in her cheek. Her one-handed grip on her sword sufficed to block the next attack, but Issa could see that the two assassins would break through her guard at any second.
Three dark-cloaked assassins kept Kellas tied up, though the Dhukari youth seemed to be holding his own. However, with their backs against the Council Chamber’s double doors, they couldn’t retreat.
Issa couldn’t get to them in time, not with the seven assassins in her way. All she could do was buy them a split second.
“For the Long Keeper!” The cry burst from her lips with every ounce of strength she possessed.
It worked. The seven assassins nearest her whirled, blades sliding free of their sheaths. But the five locked with Kellas and Etai made the mistake of glancing over their shoulders at the new threat. Kellas seized advantage of the momentary distraction to hack down one of his enemies and finish off one of Etai’s.
Issa’s sword, backed by all her strength and the force of her charge, sheared through an upraised arm, laid open the assassin’s chest, and carved a deep gash into the thigh of the assassin on her left. The two men fell with cries of pain. Issa strode through the widening puddle of blood to attack the assassins behind the dying men. Two more assassins fell to her twin hacking strokes, and her armor turned aside one lucky blow aimed at her chest.
Kellas’ sword punched through the stomach of the rearmost assassin. Issa’s heart leapt as she saw Etai cut down another.
Three enemies remained, and as one, they reached within their cloaks. Issa caught a flash of glass as the nearest assassin drew out his hand—she severed his arm with a backhand stroke before he could throw it at her. Etai dodged the glass object thrown at her, and it shattered on the gold-enameled door behind her with a loud crash. A moment later, the Mahjuri girl drove the tip of her flammard into the man’s chest.
Issa’s blood turned to ice as the third assassin drew out the glass object and prepared to hurl it at Kellas. The Dhukari youth had gotten his feet tangled in the arms of a fallen assassin, and his eyes had left his enemies for that single second.
Issa never hesitated. Her desperate one-handed blow shattered the assassin’s forearm. The limb bent at a terrible angle, and the glass object fell from useless fingers. Issa removed his head as the glass shattered on the ground.
The moment the falling body struck the pool of liquid seeping from the glass vial, a loud hissing filled the air. Issa felt her meager lunch coming up at the stink of charred flesh—not burned by fire, but eaten by something as corrosive as the sulfuric aci
ds used by Killian to pickle his steel and remove impurities.
She leapt backward. “Watch out!” she called to Kellas and Etai. “That stuff in their glass bottles was acid!”
Etai gave the body a wide berth, but Kellas stared down, wide-eyed and pale-faced, at the bubbling, smoking mass of flesh that had once been an assassin. After a moment, he lifted his eyes to her.
“Y-You…saved me?” Confusion knitted his brows.
“Why in the bloody hell would you do that?” Vitriol dripped from Etai’s words. She fixed Issa with a disgusted look. “After all he’s done?”
Issa shrugged. “He’s a Blade.” Sure, an arrogant, hot-headed prick. But the Long Keeper had chosen him just as he’d chosen her and Etai. As Tannard had told them, the Long Keeper did not make mistakes.
The sound of clashing steel from down the eastern corridor snapped her into motion. “Stay here!” she shouted as she turned and sprinted away. “Hold the door and make sure the Keeper’s Council is safe!”
Even as she turned into the intersecting corridor, Issa knew she’d find assassins sneaking around to the Council Chamber’s side entrance. The Pharus, the Lady of Blades, and the Keeper’s Council would all be within. All targets for assassination gathered in a single room. Her only hope was that the two Blades guarding that side entrance would hold long enough for her to reach them.
But when she sprinted around the corner, Issa found only one figure locked in combat with the six assassins assaulting the door. A woman, bare-headed, long hair hanging loose around her shoulders, yet clad in the black plate-mail of a Keeper’s Blade and wielding her two-handed flammard. Five corpses lay on the ground around the broad-shouldered, well-muscled form of Callista Vinaus, Lady of Blades.
Issa couldn’t help marveling at the lethal grace of the Proxenos. Lady Callista finished off two of the assassins before Issa took a single step, and another fell a heartbeat later. But the sight of two assassins reaching into their robes spurred Issa to greater speed. She brought her flammard’s tip slicing across the backs of the two rearmost enemies’ necks. The Shalandran steel hacked through flesh, blood vessels, and bone. The assassins flopped forward, spines severed.
And then there was only Lady Callista, alone in a pool of blood, the bodies of fifteen assassins at her feet. Sorrow clutched at Issa’s heart as she spotted the acid-twisted corpses wearing black plate mail among them. Those unfortunate Blades hadn’t received warning in time.
Lady Callista seized Issa’s arm. “Protect the Pharus!” she commanded. “Leave the assassins to me.”
“Yes, Proxenos!” Issa saluted, but Lady Callista had already stalked off bare-footed through the puddles of blood.
Issa sprinted into the Council Chamber and found a scene that would be laughable if not for the corpses littering the floor. The six Necroseti of the Keeper’s Council huddled in a corner, pudgy faces twisted in fear as their eyes fixed on the ten dead bodies near the door. Judging by the positons of the bodies, the assassins had managed to get through the Blades and within five paces of the massive marble table dominating the room before they’d been taken down. Nine assassins and one figure in dull brown had died here.
Pharus Amhoset Nephelcheres stood in a wary crouch, bloody dagger gripped in his hand. A fierce light shone in his eyes as he saw Issa enter the room.
“What’s happening out there?” the Pharus demanded. “How many have fallen?”
“I know of just two casualties, My Pharus.” Issa held her sword in a firm grip. “But don’t worry, Bright One. They’re not getting through me!”
The Pharus actually straightened and gave her a calm smile, a strange expression given the blood staining his face. “I can see that.”
With grim determination, Issa turned toward the door, ready to cut down any assailants who entered. Her commander had given her an order; she’d die before she failed now.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Aisha glanced nervously at the sky. The sunset shades of purple, gold, and orange had given way to dull grey-blue as the daylight faded. Where is he?
Kodyn had been gone far too long. The meeting with the Black Widow should have taken him no more than two or three hours—including time to reach the Artisan’s Tier and make the return journey. The fact that he hadn’t yet returned worried her. He was more than capable of taking care of himself, yet he was alone, weaponless save for a few daggers, and in an unfamiliar city.
Her stomach clenched as an image flashed through her mind: a ghostly, ethereal Kodyn stared at her with empty eyes, his mouth open in a scream.
No. She forced the image away. He’ll be back soon. He probably just got delayed or found something interesting. The thought rang hollow in her mind. Try as she might, the nagging worry refused to leave her alone.
To distract herself, she toyed with the smooth wooden shaft of her assegai and replayed over her encounter with the Kish’aa in the Temple District. Truth be told, it wasn’t a distraction—it was all she’d been able to think about since Kodyn left. Those pleading cries of “Justice” repeated by a thousand spectral lips, rising in a crescendo until she had no choice but to run.
The Whispering Lily had opened her ears to the call of the spirits, but she could not understand what they wanted. Perhaps that was what had driven her father mad. Endless pleas for help, help he could not give. Suddenly, she understood the quiet hopelessness that had glimmered in her father’s eyes. He’d heard the Kish’aa and found himself drowning in turmoil that even death could not ease.
The effects of the Whispering Lily hadn’t fully worn off. Like a hangover after too much rum, Aisha felt a quiet throbbing in the back of her mind, and Radiana’s presence within her felt far more noticeable than it had before. She almost imagined she could hear Briana’s mother whispering in her mind.
She didn’t know if it was real or her imagination—so far from the Spirit Whisperers of Ghandia, she had no one to ask. She’d have to muddle through it on her own.
A sharp prickling suddenly coursed down her spine. Like an itch, but painful and persistent. Issa ground her teeth and tried to ignore it, but it came again, more forceful this time.
“Ow!” A spark crackled between her fingertips, scorching her skin.
Her brow furrowed as she stared down at her hand. The blue-white light of Radiana’s spirit danced beneath the flesh of her palm, bright enough to light up the evening shadows.
What is it? It almost felt like Radiana wanted to tell her something.
Suddenly, Aisha’s hand darted forward, as if the spark had triggered an instinctive reaction in her muscles. Aisha’s eyes went wide—not only at the strange, jerky motion, but at the sight she saw beyond her outstretched hand.
Close to thirty figures in dark cloaks moved through the settling gloom. None looked up toward her, concealed beneath the shadows of an overhanging mangrove tree, but she could see them clearly limned in the light of the torches burning in the courtyard.
For a heartbeat, she hesitated. Those figures could just be servants going about their tasks. Yet a moment later, when a loud clatter echoed from somewhere in the distance, the figures froze as if fearful of being discovered. In that instant, Aisha’s senses screamed that they were interlopers. No servant would act so suspicious.
Radiana’s spirit sent a jolt of energy down Aisha’s spine. Instantly, her senses went on full alert and she spun to race across the garden to the gazebo where Briana sat with the pale-skinned servant, Hailen.
“Something’s going on,” Aisha said as she pounded into the circle of light cast by the twin oil lanterns hanging from hooks on the gazebo’s pillars. “There are cloaked men inside the mansion.”
Briana paled, her eyes going wide, and her hand flew to her mouth. “Th-The Gatherers?” She gave a little shudder. “T-They’ve come for me again!”
Aisha shook her head. “I don’t know, but—”
“No!” The terrified cry burst from Briana’s lips and her arms wrapped protectively around her waist. “Y-You
can’t let them take me. Not again. I-I can’t…” She trailed off as tears brimmed in her fear-filled eyes.
Aisha crossed the distance to Briana in two long steps. “Listen to me,” she said in a firm voice and gripped Briana’s arm hard. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. We’re going to get through this.”
Aisha shot a glance at the servant. “Do you know how to sound the alarm?” she demanded.
Hailen nodded. “Yes.” To her surprise, he produced a knife from his belt. The blade was utilitarian, well-honed, and worn by use—not the sort of weapon she’d expect from a servant. “I can fight, too.”
“No! Go sound the alarm.” Aisha commanded. “We need to alert the guards that there are intruders in the mansion.” Twenty would be too many for her to defeat alone.
With a nod, Hailen dashed from the garden.
Aisha shook the girl, trying to snap her out of her panic. “We need to get inside, now! There’s no way to defend this garden. We can lock ourselves in your room and hold them off.”
Briana was a barely coherent mess of tears. Finally, Aisha simply lifted the girl to her feet and half-dragged, half-carried her down the stairs. She wouldn’t let Briana’s panic get them both killed.
The Dhukari girl’s rooms were two adjoining suites—one a bedroom, the other a sitting area with plush couches and ottomans. Depositing Briana on the bed, Aisha raced toward the door that led out into the hall, slammed it shut, and threw the deadbolt. She cast about for anything that could be used to block the entrance. Her gaze settled on a heavy four-drawer oak dresser.
She turned to Briana. “Help me barricade the door.”
To her dismay, she found the Shalandran girl frozen in terror. Briana’s face had gone deathly pale and she quivered like a leaf in a hurricane.
“Briana!” Aisha shouted. “I’m trying to protect you, but I need your help.”
Trial of Stone Page 34
