“I can’t believe it!” Aleema hugged her tight, with surprising strength. “I was so worried for you.”
“You, worried about me?” Issa pulled out of the hug roughly. She stared open-mouthed at her Savta. “What…what is all this?”
Aleema’s brow wrinkled into a worried frown. “There’s no time to explain.” She made to march past, but Issa grabbed her arm.
“Savta!” Confusion and anger churned within Issa. “What is—”
“Not now!” Aleema’s eyes blazed. “The time for explanations will come later, after the battle.” She tore her arm free of Issa’s grip and raced through the smithy toward the training yard. “We have to help your grandfather!”
Issa sucked in a breath. Saba! She rushed after her Savta and out into the yard. The light of the burning city illuminated the broad-shouldered figure of her grandfather. Saba faced the enemy clambering over the wagon, bloodstained sword in hand, a wall of solid black that would not be moved. His flammard wove a deadly blur of steel, cutting down his enemies. Blood turned the soil around his feet to a muddy crimson. Bodies piled high to his right and left. A heartbeat from being overwhelmed, yet he fought on, never giving ground.
Then her grandfather gave a little grunt and his sword froze in midair. Horror gripped Issa’s heart in a vise as she caught sight of the Ybrazhe thug pulling a blade free of her grandfather’s side. Blood stained the dagger’s edge—the long, curved blade had slipped through the segments of mail and found flesh and organs beneath. A gush of crimson slithered down his black armor.
A scream tore from Issa’s throat. “Grandfather!”
With a shout of triumph, the Ybrazhe thug waved his comrades forward. “Kill them all!”
Rioters and Syndicate brutes scrambled over the wagon. Issa watched, helpless, as her grandfather toppled to the ground and was swallowed beneath the surging crowd.
Chapter Thirty-Three
A creature of nightmare shambled into the light of the alchemical lamps. It had once been a man—Mahjuri, judging by the black rope headband encircling its forehead—but there was nothing human about the lurching husk that staggered through the door. Its eyes had rolled back into its head until only the whites remained and its skin had gone pale, waxy, as if it had died long ago, but its body refused to accept that. The thing moved with jerky movements, its limbs uncoordinated.
Acid rose to Kodyn’s throat. What in the fiery hell?
Then another appeared, and a second, filling the air with that gurgling, rasping sound. Eyes wide in horror, Kodyn retreated from the monstrosities until he backed into the wooden table, hard enough to set glasses clinking and metal tools clattering.
That sound brought a desperate idea to his mind.
Years earlier, during his training with House Scorpion, he’d had the misfortune to knock over a glass vial containing a particularly volatile chemical. The resulting explosion had nearly deafened him, and his eyebrows had taken three months to grow back.
He stood in a laboratory filled with alchemical potions and concoctions. There had to be something flammable within reach.
Seizing a jar, he flung it at the shambling creatures. Glass shattered against the floor and bright yellow liquid splashed across their feet. A noxious smell filled the air, the biting stench twisting Kodyn’s stomach, but nothing happened.
He didn’t stop. Kodyn hurled bottles as quick as he could reach them. The third one finally held what he sought. The moment the dark green liquid touched the foul mixture covering the ground, a loud bang echoed in the laboratory. Fires sprang to life, consuming the shambling creatures. The smell of burnt flesh, clothing, and hair thickened the air, and the gurgling, rasping cries rose to a frenzied pitch.
“He’s still in the laboratory!” The shout from down the tunnel sent Kodyn’s heart into his throat. He cast around, looking for anywhere to hide. The militants had run toward the back of the room, but their eyes would be fixed on the fire. In the shadows of one large shelf in the farthest corner of the room, he’d be out of their line of sight.
He’d barely ducked into cover when a half-dozen armed militants rushed into the room. They froze at the sight of the burning creatures and the foul wall of stench thickening the air.
“Fire!” shouted one.
“The herd’s loose!” echoed another.
“Get them back into the cage, damn it!” A third, evidently in command in Groebus’ absence, raged at the others. “And for the Keeper’s sake, get this damned fire under control!”
The six men scrambled to comply. Four threw buckets of sand at the fire in an effort to contain it before it reached the wooden shelves and the contents of the glass jars and vials stored around the room. One cut down the two burning creatures and shoved the others that had emerged from the chamber back through the doorway. The monstrosities fought back, their grasping hands tearing at the clothes, armor, and flesh of the militants. One cried out as a sharp fingernail laid open his cheek to the bone.
As the six men wrestled with the fire and monsters, Kodyn searched the laboratory for the escape tunnel Hallar’s Warriors had mentioned. Sure enough, it stood at the rear of the chamber, previously blocked from his view by a heavily-laden shelf.
His heart leapt. The way out!
He shot a glance back at the militants—they were too consumed by the blaze and creatures to notice him crouching in the shadows. He could make his move.
Yet as his feet began to move, his gaze fell on something sitting on one of the shelves: a glass bottle, the size of a large wine jug, filled with a purple liquid that seemed to glow in the light of the fire.
Kodyn’s brow furrowed. Can it be?
He hesitated mid-step. He couldn’t be certain—many alchemical potions had similar ingredients, and thus appeared nearly identical—yet he’d never seen anything else like the distinctive incandescent violet. Only the strange vial of liquid Ennolar had shown him in the Temple of Whispers.
It can’t be a coincidence! He had just one way to find out.
Drawing in a deep breath, Kodyn darted out of his hiding place. Silent as a shadow, he leapt toward the table, snatched up one of the smaller vials resting on the shelf beside the glass jug, and fled toward the tunnel at the back of the room. No shouts to “Stop!” or “Get him!” echoed behind him; Hallar’s Warriors were too busy fighting the fire to care.
Relief surged within him as he ducked into the dark hallway. Alchemical lanterns hung at intervals along the crudely carved stone passage, giving him light to see as he ran. Forty paces, sixty, a hundred, the ground sloping up toward the level of the ground. And, at the far end, a door that he could only hope led to freedom and the Keeper’s Tier.
Kodyn’s gut tightened at the sight of two militants standing guard before the door. Their swords remained sheathed but they remained wary, their eyes fixed on the passage. Kodyn hesitated only a moment—he had only one way out, even if that meant fighting through these bastards.
He tightened his grip on the long sword he’d taken from the militant—no telling what they’d done with his sword, but the edge was sharp and the blade balanced—and poured on the speed. If he could hit them before they had time to draw their blades, he might—
One man’s eyes snapped toward him, a scowl darkening his face. “There he is!”
Keeper take it! Kodyn gritted his teeth as the two men unslung huge two-handed blades—the same blades he’d seen Issa carry. The flammards were made of black Shalandran steel, stronger than Voramian metal. The weight and reach would work against him, reduce the effectiveness of his stolen long sword. The militants made no move to attack; they knew he’d come to them, and they had the advantage.
Yet he never slowed. Behind him lay only death and horror. Through that door, and the two militants that guarded it, lay escape. Freedom, and perhaps a chance to connect Groebus to the Heartspring. The small glass vial in his pocket could be the crucial piece of evidence to point the finger at the hunchback.
Ten paces closed to
five, then three. One of the militants stepped forward and executed a perfect lunge. Even expecting it, Kodyn barely had time to deflect the savage thrust. The long sword he’d taken off one of Hallar’s Warriors had a greater heft than his blade and the weight dragged on his arm, slowed his movements. Yet his sword clanged off the flame-shaped blade and knocked it aside, just enough that he could slip past its razor sharp edge. Before the man could recover and bring the sword back for another strike, Kodyn brought his long sword whipping around. The blade crunched into the side of the man’s neck and opened his throat.
The narrowness of the corridor saved him from being cut down in that instant. The second militant had scant room to maneuver his huge sword, forcing him to commit to an overhanded chop. Kodyn threw himself to one side and the descending blade whistled a hair’s breadth past his left shoulder. Pain flared in his right arm and the side of his head as he rebounded from the stone wall with jarring force.
He managed to recover and regain his balance in time to dodge the next blow, a vicious disemboweling slash. The sword cracked off the wall and flew wide, knocking the militant off-balance. In that instant, Kodyn threw himself toward the man, thrusting out with the dagger in his left hand. Steel pierced the flesh of the man’s thigh as Kodyn’s shoulder slammed into him. The two of them fell heavily to the ground.
The man’s screams of pain set Kodyn’s ears ringing, yet the militant wasn’t out of the fight yet. Releasing his sword, he closed fingers around Kodyn’s throat and squeezed. Kodyn tried to break the man’s crushing grip, but he could have been grasping at a hand of iron for all the effect it had. Finally, he resorted to a tactic he’d learned in House Fox: he brought an elbow crashing around into the man’s face and a knee into the fork of his legs. Foxes always fought dirty—survival above everything else. The twin blows dazed the man, brought him hunching over his aching groin. As the grip around Kodyn’s throat weakened, he tore his dagger free of the man’s leg and drove it into the side of his neck, just above the collar of his leather armor.
The militant gave a weak, gurgling gasp and fumbled at the wound in his throat. Crimson gushed over his fingers, spilling onto the ground. His eyes flew wide in horror as the life slowly trickled from his body until, with one last wet croak, he slumped and lay still.
Kodyn sucked in great, deep breaths. Pain flared through his shoulder and his throat felt bruised, though thankfully not crushed. With a grunt, he pushed himself up off the dead man and clambered to his feet. His head pounding, shoulder aching, he moved toward the exit. A twinge ran down his right arm as he struggled to lift the heavy locking bar from its cradle. Gritting his teeth against a cry, he heaved against the solid wooden beam. One finger’s width, two, then three, until finally he lifted it just enough to drop it to the ground with a mighty crash. He threw his left shoulder against the door and burst out into the cool evening.
A gust of wind brought air that tasted fresh and clean after the foul stench of the laboratory. The first evening stars already shone in the eastern sky, and the sun had just disappeared behind the horizon.
Kodyn stumbled away from the door and down the narrow back lane, his mind racing. What the bloody hell do I do now?
The vial in his pocket served as proof of Groebus’ complicity with Hallar’s Warriors. If he got it to the Secret Keepers, Ennolar and his priests could verify that it was the same poison the militants had tried to use in their attack on the Heartspring. They might even be able to study its components and find out what it did. That knowledge could offer the first true insight into what Hallar’s Warriors had in mind. And it would be all they needed for Ennolar, appointed by Lady Callista as Arch-Guardian and an official member of the Keeper’s Council, to order Groebus’ arrest.
Yet his heart stopped cold at a flash of movement far down the street. A palanquin, illuminated by the light of four lanterns that hung from its posts, disappeared into the darkness of the night a few hundred paces east of where he stood. Kodyn would recognize that litter—silk curtains, ornate mandalas carved into the frame, and the seven faces of the Long Keeper etched in black and gold into the four posts—anywhere.
He’d seen it outside Briana’s house the day the Keeper’s Council stripped her of her rank and banished her from the Keeper’s Tier.
Anger flared bright and hot within Kodyn. Groebus had been there, watching it all happen. He’d likely been the one to orchestrate it at the command of his master, the Iron Warlord. And now the bastard was getting away.
Not a Watcher-damned chance I’m letting that happen!
He took off down the alley, racing as fast as his feet would carry him in pursuit of the litter. Eight Kabili slaves carried the palanquin, but Groebus only had four guards in attendance. If Kodyn could catch up, he could cut down the guards and get rid of the traitorous Keeper’s Priest once and for all. After everything Groebus had done—from causing Suroth’s death to sending the Gatherers after Briana to poisoning innocent Shalandrans to ordering his men to give Kodyn something that would doubtless transform him into one of those horrible creatures in his lab—he deserved a painful death. Kodyn would settle for putting a sword in the man’s heart himself.
He shoved down the worry from his mind and kept up his desperate dash. He ran unencumbered while the litter traveled only as fast as the Kabili slaves that bore it. Every hammering heartbeat brought him one step closer to his target. Three hundred paces turned to two hundred, then a hundred and fifty.
His gut clenched as the palanquin disappeared around a corner, heading south toward the wall bordering the Keeper’s Tier. Damn it!
He raced toward the corner where the litter had turned, barely in time to see it rounding another corner a hundred paces away. By the time he reached that intersection, the slow-moving palanquin was only fifty paces ahead of him. Gripping his blade tighter, he poured on a final burst of speed to close the distance.
Kodyn was just twenty paces away from the rearmost guard when the gates of a nearby mansion swung open. Twenty armed, armored Hallar’s Warriors emerged and marched toward the palanquin.
No! Kodyn leapt into the shadows. His heart hammered against his ribs, his breath came in great gasps, and his legs burned from the effort of running, but an overwhelming anger and frustration overrode all those sensations. He was so close, only to be stopped!
The curtains twitched aside as the leader of the militants approached. Lantern light shone on two figures in the palanquin: the masked Iron Warlord and the hunched, twisted figure of Groebus.
A furious growl escaped Kodyn’s lips. He tried to slip closer, to get within striking distance of the palanquin. He just had to wait until the militants left before making his move. He could put an end to both Groebus and his master in one swift attack, then disappear into the night before the militants knew what hit them.
Yet as he drew closer, he heard the tail end of the conversation between Hallar’s Warriors and their leaders.
“Get into that temple, at any cost!” The Iron Warlord’s growling voice echoed in the night. Something about the bestial, cruel edge of his words sent a shiver down Kodyn’s spine. “Only with that key can we get our hands on the Crown and Blade.”
The words froze Kodyn in place. He had no doubt that the Iron Warlord spoke of the Temple of Whispers. Briana and Hailen were in danger!
The twenty militants slipped into the night, disappearing into the shadows of a nearby alley. At a barked command from the Iron Warlord, the palanquin moved toward the now-open gate of the mansion from which Hallar’s Warriors had emerged.
For an instant, indecision rooted Kodyn in place.
Less than thirty paces from where he stood, Groebus and the Iron Warlord were vulnerable, caught in the open. Kodyn could slip up, cut them down, and melt into the shadows. Their deaths would put an end to so much of the chaos gripping the city.
Yet the attack wouldn’t be without immense risk. Four heavily-armed militants surrounded the palanquin. Through the open gates, Kodyn could see at least
a dozen more milling about within the mansion. If his attack failed, he could find himself surrounded by fifteen armed warriors intent on killing him. Even if he managed to get away, he’d waste long minutes trying to shake his pursuers.
And in that time, the twenty Hallar’s Warriors would slip away from him.
He had no idea how the militants planned to attack the Temple of Whispers, but Groebus and the Iron Warlord had proven far too cunning to leave something like this to pure chance. They would strike at the Secret Keeper’s temple and kill anyone that stood between them and their target: the artifacts in Briana and Hailen’s room.
Kodyn grappled with the choice. Anger and hatred at the suffering in Shalandra filled him with a burning desire to kill Groebus and the Iron Warlord now. Yet doing so could mean that he failed to stop Hallar’s Warriors from attacking—or, at the very least, bring warning of the intended attack.
A sense of hopelessness washed over him. Fear for his friends and uncertainty held him frozen in place. What the bloody hell do I do?
Chapter Thirty-Four
An eternity of torment passed in an instant. Agony consumed Aisha to the core of her being, the wall of blue-white light sizzling through her body. It felt as if every nerve and muscle fiber burned, turned to ash by the power of the Kish’aa.
Yet, to her surprise, it passed as quickly as it had come. She gasped for breath as the pain receded, the lightning’s power spent. No, not spent. Consumed. The pendant around her neck sucked the power from her body with the force of a tornado, drew the crackling energy into its black depths. The fire in her limbs faded, the molten heat retreating, until Aisha could once again feel her body.
Imbuka’s eyes widened. “What?” he shrieked. He stared at her in shock.
Aisha, too, was stunned by what had happened. She’d been a heartbeat from death one moment, then unharmed the next. She could move her arms, her legs, could draw breath unhindered. She hadn’t been burned to cinders by that terrible wall of power.
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