Most wore the white and brown headbands of Zadii or Intaji, complete with three or four black dots to mark their station. The Zadii clustered to one side of the room, unwilling to let their priestly or scholarly robes be soiled by the workmanlike Intaji. The artisan’s half of the brewery proved far more raucous and boisterous than the scholar’s side, where the men and women sipped thick beer in controlled, graceful silence.
Kodyn had chosen a table on the north side of the room, where a few Earaqi and pale-skinned foreigners clustered to avoid the Intaji and Zadii factions. Evren watched the young Praamian out of the corner of his eyes. After everything they’d discussed and discovered the previous night, he could almost feel a sort of kinship with Kodyn. Their backgrounds might have been opposite in many ways—he, an orphan sent to the Master’s Temple, and Kodyn the son of a powerful thief—but they also had a great deal in common beyond their shared skills and affinity for larceny. In many ways, Evren could almost see glimpses of who he might have been had he chosen to work with a crew or one of the street gangs of Vothmot rather than running on his own.
A part of him envied the visible bond between Kodyn and Aisha. They had more than a friendship; it was the sort of camaraderie between equal counterparts. Each brought a different set of skills to the table yet they were a balanced match for each other.
And call me crazy, but I could have sworn there was a little spark between them. Evren hid a grin. Definitely more than just a friendship, if I don’t miss my guess. Though, given how Lady Briana looks at Kodyn, there’s a chance things could get complicated.
He found himself wishing he had people he could call comrades and friends like they did. The Hunter and Kiara were more like surrogate parents or mentors than comrades. Until yesterday, Hailen had been like a little brother to him. It would take time for Evren to grow accustomed to the older, more mature youth Hailen had become.
Which left Evren alone. He had no one to lean on for help or advice—not that he needed the former or wanted the latter. He had to be strong for himself, as he had been since he began fighting in the Master’s Temple. A part of him recognized that the requisite self-reliance was what had made him strong. Another part, however, found it a lonely prospect.
A tendril of hope began to take root deep within Evren. He didn’t dare dwell on it, much less voice it aloud, yet he couldn’t shake it. Maybe he could find more than just common ground with these young men and women. Perhaps they would progress beyond allies fighting a mutual battle…perhaps as friends, one day?
It would be nice to have friends.
The arrival of their drinks snapped Evren back to the task at hand. “Four Spider Legs, as requested,” said the portly bartender with a smile and a wink. “Careful, lads. These go down hard.”
“Spider Legs?” Evren cocked an eyebrow at the finger-sized glasses with the strange black liquor. “Looks like poison to me.”
Kodyn grinned and reached for his drink. “Doesn’t taste too bad.” He knocked the drink back in a single pull and struggled visibly not to cough.
Evren followed suit. The alcohol had a spicy edge, like ginger, cloves, and cinnamon, not too sweet but with a potency that reminded him of laghwain, the Vothmot equivalent of Voramian agor. He’d had worse drinks, though few that burned such a fiery trail down his throat.
“Strong, isn’t it?” Kodyn chuckled.
“Like a donkey kick in the bollocks.” With a grimace, Evren reached for the next glass.
“Don’t.” Kodyn shook his head. “Those two aren’t for us.”
Evren’s brow furrowed in curiosity, but Kodyn said nothing, simply leaned back against the stone wall and folded his arms across his chest. When the Praamian gave no sign of speaking further, Evren relaxed as well. He mirrored Kodyn’s comfortable posture, though his eyes roamed the crowd of day-drinkers, searching for anyone out of the ordinary.
No one seemed to pay them extra attention. They got no more than a few cursory glances, especially after a group of Intaji bakers took up a loud Shalandran drinking song. Kodyn seemed unperturbed as time passed, so Evren forced himself to be patient as well.
Finally, after nearly three-quarters of an hour, the bartender strode toward their table, picked up the two remaining drinks, and drained them in two quick pulls. “This way,” he muttered, and turned toward the wooden stall that Evren had believed led to the pissing trough out back.
But instead of the privies, Evren found himself in a low, narrow corridor that ran northward for ten paces before ending in a wooden staircase. The bartender flattened himself against the wall and motioned for them to go up.
Squeezing past the portly man proved a difficult task, but they managed to get around his bulk and climb the stairs. Kodyn, in the lead, pushed open the door at the top without hesitation and strode in.
The room within was dark, with only a thread of light glimmering through a crack in the shuttered window.
“Two of you now?” came a woman’s voice from the darkness.
Evren couldn’t see Kodyn beside him, but he could have sworn the Praamian stiffened.
“Though not from Praamis, this one,” the woman continued. To Evren’s ears, she sounded older one minute, then young the next. A clever trick, one adopted by mummers in a play. Without seeing her face, he couldn’t pin down her age. Then again, that was likely the point. “Not Shalandran either, though you certainly dress the part. I’d guess Vothmoti?”
Shock coursed through Evren. How could she know? Vothmot lay an entire continent to the north, and as far as he knew, travel between the two cities was virtually nonexistent.
“I take it he’s joined your enterprise?” the woman asked Kodyn.
“Yes.” The young man’s words came out tight, clipped. “I trust your permission extends to him as well?”
The Black Widow gave a soft chuckle. “If he is working with you, then the Night Guild’s offering extends my protection to him as well.”
Curiosity burned within Evren. He had a fairly good guess at what had transpired between Kodyn and the Black Widow—paying a fee or bribe to local crime-bosses was fairly standard practice—but something about Kodyn’s manner was off.
Evren’s instincts screamed at him. Something is wrong. He didn’t know what, but he could feel the tension radiating off Kodyn in tangible waves. Evren resisted the urge to reach for the jambiya tucked into the back of his belt—Hailen had gotten them out of Suroth’s mansion along with the Serenii artifacts—but their weight reassured him. He’d follow Kodyn’s lead. As long as Kodyn continued talking, he’d hold his peace. But if it came to a fight, he’d be ready.
“I trust Ennolar delivered on his end of the bargain?” the woman asked.
“Yes, he did,” Kodyn replied. “He gave us the map of the Serenii tunnels, though he failed to warn us that it could be written in invisible ink.”
Evren was glad the darkness masked his surprise. This had come as all new information to him.
“But we unlocked its secrets, so we’ve got our way into the palace,” Kodyn continued.
“Excellent,” came the reply from the darkness.
“Allow me to apologize for failing to arrive after I requested our previous meeting.” Kodyn’s voice held an edge of nervous tension. “I ran into a crew of Gatherers and had to follow them back to their hideout.”
“The house to the west.” A statement, not a question. “The one-story structure near the cliff?”
Again, surprised raced through Evren. “You know about that?”
“Too late for it to be of any use, as you’ve discovered by now.” A hint of irritation echoed in the woman’s voice. “The Gatherers have proven far too slippery even for my net to catch.” Her anger made her sound older, dispelling any hint of girlishness. “Thus far.”
“We are going to find them,” Kodyn said, defiant and determined. “No matter what, we will hunt them down and put an end to them. For Arch-Guardian Suroth and the good of Shalandra.”
“How dutiful o
f you.” The Black Widow’s words held only a small hint of mockery. “It seems your time with the young Dhukari woman—or, I should say, Zadii now—has made you feel right at home in our fair city.”
“The Gatherers came to my city, too.” Kodyn’s voice rang with steel. “They murdered innocent children in their foul rituals. Eliminating them is for the good of all Einan, not just Shalandra.”
“I suppose that logic is sound,” the Black Widow replied calmly. “Dare I ask how you intend to find the Gatherers after they have eluded not only me, but the Indomitables and even Arch-Guardian Suroth’s people?”
Kodyn remained silent a long moment. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “Truth be told, I was hoping you’d have something helpful to offer, something to put us on the right path.”
“Perhaps I might.” Her tone grew thoughtful. “But, as you know, ours is a world of give and take, buy and sell. What sort of spymaster would I be if I gave all of my secrets for free?”
“Not for free.” Cloth rustled beside Evren and Kodyn’s hand appeared in the small beam of light. In his palm lay nestled a velvet pouch. “I set the last meeting with you because Arch-Guardian Suroth instructed that I give this to you.”
Evren strained to see the object in Kodyn’s hand. Aside from a hint of roundness, he could see no indication of what lay within.
“Ahh, of course.” The Black Widow sounded pleased. “Suroth always was as good as his word.” She took the purse; it didn’t clink, which meant it held no coins. Just that single round object—Evren was gripped by a burning desire to know what in the bloody hell the Arch-Guardian had sent.
She hefted the purse in a slim, graceful hand. “Suroth promised me this to seal our agreement. My help in his efforts to hunt down the Gatherers in exchange for this little trinket.”
Evren felt fairly certain that her flippant tone belied the importance of the object.
“I have taken up his mission,” Kodyn said, his voice strong, ringing with confidence. “Along with the protection of his daughter. If you had an agreement with him, then the pact still holds with me.”
Silence hung thick in the room for long seconds. For a moment, Evren thought the Black Widow had left—he’d always loved hearing the Hunter’s stories of the secret passages that allowed him to slip in and out of his meeting places unseen and unheard.
Nearly a minute passed before her voice broke the stillness. “As you say, so it shall be. Let it never be said the Black Widow does not honor her agreements.” Again, a moment of silence before she spoke. “I told you that the Gatherers have slipped my nets, but that is not quite the full truth. Though I could not tell you where they are currently, I can tell you that my eyes in the city have tracked them to the western side of the Cultivator’s Tier. I suspect that you will find them in—”
She never finished the sentence. Light flooded the room as the door burst open, revealing eight hulking figures crowding the staircase beyond. Blood glistened on the edges of the long knives and short swords in their hands.
The man in the lead held a raised crossbow, a bolt set in its cradle. “Death to the Black Widow!” he snarled and pulled the trigger.
Chapter Nineteen
Issa was awake and on her feet before the door to her spartan room finished swinging open. Exhaustion tugged at every muscle—Tannard hadn’t given her more than three hours’ rest after last night’s patrol. Yet she stood straight, her jaw clenched, bracing herself for whatever bile the Invictus planned to heap upon her this morning, whatever cruelty disguised as a training lesson he intended.
Instead of Tannard’s cold, hard features, Issa found herself face to face with a servant. The woman wore a kalasiris of gold and white stripes, with white leather straps that hugged her breasts and shoulders tightly. Her headband bore Zadii white interlaced with the gold threads, and her eyes were rimmed with thick bands of kohl. Five black beauty marks visible were on her cheeks and chin, which hadn’t yet begun to show the lines of age.
“Issa of the Keeper’s Blades, you are summoned to attend Callista Vinaus, Lady of Blades.”
Issa’s senses were immediately on full alert. The last time she’d seen Lady Callista had been outside the Throne Room, after receiving the Pharus’ commendation for saving his life. The Lady of Blades had said, “We will speak again soon.” Soon, it seemed, was now.
What does she want with me?
“I am to escort you to Lady Callista.” The servant studied her simple undertunic and bare feet. “Allow me to help you prepare yourself.”
Issa blinked, but quickly shoved down her surprise and set about donning her armor. The black Shalandran steel was made of segmented plates fitted together with breathtaking skill, and it offered both near-impenetrable protection and supreme freedom of movement. Donning the suit of plate mail, however, proved a complex task, given the numerous fastenings required to buckle, strap, and cinch everything securely in place. Even after nearly two weeks of practice and with the servant’s help, it still took more than a quarter of an hour.
Finally, the last belt was tightened, the last strap fastened. The servant stepped back, looked her up and down, then nodded. “That will do.”
“Let’s go,” Issa said.
“This way, if you please.” The serving woman gestured for her to follow, then set off at a pace that Issa could only describe as a demure scurry, eyes downcast, sandaled feet shuffling quickly. Issa had no problem matching her pace, her long legs eating up the ground.
Issa glanced out the window; the sun had nearly risen over the eastern cliff face, which meant she’d managed two, maybe three hours of sleep. Definitely more than Tannard wanted me to have. She hadn’t seen the Invictus since he stormed out of the library last night. If the Keeper smiles on me, I’ll never see him again.
Her hopes were dashed a moment later as she caught a glimpse of him striding across the training yard in their direction. They met him climbing the stairs on the western end of the Citadel’s north wing.
Tannard’s eyes narrowed as he caught sight of Issa and the servant. “Where is she going?”
“She has been summoned by Lady Callista, Invictus,” the woman replied in a respectful tone.
“For what purpose?”
“My Lady of Blades did not see fit to confide in me.”
Issa hid a grin at the hint of scorn in the woman’s voice. Evidently being a servant in the palace could make even a Zadii feel brazen in the stone-hard face of Invictus Tannard.
“However,” continued the woman, “she said nothing about discouraging you from accompanying me. I’m certain she will give you the answers to your questions that she sees fit to.”
Tannard’s expression grew impassive. “So be it.” He fell into step beside Issa. “Let us see what the Lady of Blades desires.”
They descended the stairs, their steps leading in the direction of the stone tunnel that connected the Citadel of Stone with the western end of the Palace of Golden Eternity. Once inside the palace, the servant led them along a plain corridor that ran westward, in the direction Issa knew lay Hallar’s Tomb, the final resting place of Shalandra’s founder and greatest hero.
A huge stone door stood at the end of the corridor, flanked by a pair of Keeper’s Blades in full black armor and lowered war masks. However, the servant led them down a smaller adjoining corridor and stopped at a doorway that looked as plain and innocuous as all the others along the hall, save for the two Blades standing guard outside the door. Both bore the three gold bands of an Ypertatos, ten-year veterans, around the rim of their lion-fanged helms. They stepped aside for the servant and Issa, but held up a hand to stop Tannard.
“Lay a finger on me and you lose the arm,” Tannard growled. His helmet bore a fourth gold band, his rank as their superior clearly visible. Even without it, his broad shoulders and hard face made him an imposing figure.
The Blade’s expression revealed an internal war: determination to carry out his orders to protect Lady Callista, and instinctive fea
r of the hulking Invictus threatening him. Finally, and he stepped aside to let Invictus Tannard pass.
The servant pushed the door open and led them into what turned out to be an office. Shelves laden with books, scrolls, and stacks of loose parchments lined the northern and eastern walls, and an assortment of bladed and blunt weapons hung on the western wall. The remaining wall bore no decoration, simply a small hanging shelf that was empty save for what looked like a bundle of sky blue cloth.
The room’s furnishings were simple: a pair of comfortable armchairs off to one side of the room, with a broad desk and a solid wooden chair in which Callista Vinaus sat. The Lady of Blades wore full armor, though her lion-fanged helmet sat on the desk beside her elbow. Her two-handed flammard rested against the wall behind her, well within arm’s reach.
Lady Callista looked up as they entered and she smiled at the sight of Issa. Her expression tightened as Tannard shouldered through the door behind her.
“Thank you, Ivita.”
“Of course, my lady.” With a bow, the servant Ivita retreated from the room.
Lady Callista’s eyes went to Tannard. “You may leave us as well.”
“Proxenos, Issa is my trainee, and as such—”
“The matter I intend to discuss with your prototopoi has nothing to do with her training.” Lady Callista’s voice held a commanding tone. “You may leave.”
Tannard’s expression stiffened, the lines around his eyes growing tight. Yet he simply nodded and gave a stiff-spined bow. “Yes, Proxenos.”
Issa stifled a delighted grin. Tannard had humiliated and derided her for so long, it felt wonderful to see him receive even a fraction of his own treatment.
The Lady of Blades sat back in her chair and fixed a pensive frown on Issa as she waited for Tannard to leave. Even after the door had clicked shut behind the departing Invictus, Callista Vinaus remained silent. Once again, there was incomprehensible meaning in the way she studied Issa from head to toe, as if searching for something…but what?
Heirs of Destiny Box Set Page 56
