“No, they didn’t.”
Evren raised a questioning eyebrow. “Unless she’s like the Hunter—”
“No, that wasn’t the Black Widow. That was someone else.” Kodyn met Evren’s curious gaze. “Or, she’s not the same woman I talked to the first time I met the Black Widow.”
“Then who was she?” Evren asked. “You think she was some kind of decoy?”
“Maybe,” Kodyn said, “either that or a false face for the real Black Widow.”
He’d come to the realization that the woman was different within seconds of hearing her speak, and he had to admit it was a clever plan. One that had clearly paid off, given what had just happened.
The sound of angry voices from the street below silenced him. Heart hammering, he peered over the ridge of the roof, Evren beside him.
The thugs from the brewery flooded onto the street, their eyes darting into every corner and shadow of the houses and alleys. Some even began banging open doors and barging into homes to search for him and Evren.
Kodyn’s mind raced. The moment he’d leapt out of the window, the plan had come to him. He knew they could outrun the thugs, but that wouldn’t bring them any closer to finding the Gatherers. They had to think smart if they wanted to track down the cultists.
“Now we follow them back to their hideout.” He spoke in a low voice, his lips close to Evren’s ear. “They’ll lead us to the Gatherers.”
“If they’re actually the cultists,” Evren muttered back. “Look more like Ybrazhe to me.”
Kodyn frowned and peered over the crest of the roof once more. He had to admit Evren had a point. The hard-faced, thick-limbed, bull-necked men reminded him of the Bloodbears—the Night Guild’s strong-arms and skull-crackers—all heavy muscles and brute strength. They didn’t exactly seem the sort to favor stealth and clever deceit when they could just punch their way through any obstacle.
Dread settled like a rock in Kodyn’s stomach as an idea struck him. He gestured for Evren to duck back into cover with him.
“What if the Gatherers are working with the Syndicate?” he asked in a low voice.
Evren pondered the words. “Might explain how they’re hiding so well. Ybrazhe control the lower two tiers.” He nodded. “We follow them and find out.” Something about his words seemed to conceal a hidden meaning, and his face had grown tight, as if strained by fear. Yet at that moment, with their enemies mere paces away, Kodyn decided it would be best not to dig too deep.
We focus on getting out alive, then we get answers.
Kodyn gave him the thumbs up, and together they clambered up to watch the thugs below.
The men—now close to a dozen—had begun to spread out, but Kodyn could see their frustration mounting as the search proved fruitless. Their scowls deepened and their angry shouts grew louder. Finally, one of the men, a smaller, rat-nosed fellow who shouted at the ruffians, shook his head and barked an order to his men. Kodyn didn’t overhear the words, but the meaning was clear: they had called off the search.
The thugs moved in a tight group west, in the direction of Trader’s Way. Kodyn waited until they disappeared around a corner before slipping over the upper ridge of the roof and sliding down on the far side. Together, he and Evren dropped to the ground.
“Hey.” He stopped Evren with a hand on his arm. “Thanks.”
Evren turned back to him, curiosity etched into his eyes.
“I owe you a throwing knife.” Kodyn shot him a grin.
“I’ll hold you to that.” Evren returned the smile. “It was my best one, too.”
Kodyn chuckled and, together, they set off in silent pursuit of the thugs. As they reached the avenue, they split up, with Evren taking the south side of the Artificer’s Courseway and Kodyn hanging on the north side.
Following the group of men proved all too easy. They moved in a tight-knit pack, like wolves among the flock of shoppers and merchants flooding Industry Square at midday. People gave way before them, casting fearful glances over their shoulders at the rough-looking men.
As Kodyn anticipated, they headed toward Trader’s Way, the broad avenue that would take them downhill toward the two lower tiers. Yet to his surprise, the smaller man, doubtless the leader, broke off from the group. The thug actually doubled back on his trail, slipping into the crowd and heading east.
Curiosity burned within Kodyn. Where do you think you’re going?
He scanned the crowd until he caught sight of Evren. When the young man glanced his way, Kodyn tapped his chest and pointed at the one man that had broken off from the crowd of thugs. Evren gave him a thumbs up and pointed at the group descending toward the lower tiers.
With a nod, Kodyn turned and pursued the lone thug. A single target proved far more difficult to pursue among the thick morning crowds. His gut tightened as he lost sight of the man for a moment, fearing that the thug had spotted him and ducked out of sight. Relief flooded him when he caught a glimpse of the thug a few dozen paces ahead of him, exiting Industry Square.
He hurried to catch up, closing the distance until he slipped along fifteen or twenty paces behind the man—close enough that he had no fear of losing him, yet out of the man’s immediate radius of awareness. Hunching to hide his height, he dogged the thug through the entire Artisan’s Tier.
His gut clenched as the man turned north, climbing the hill in the direction of the Defender’s Tier. When he pulled back his cloak, Kodyn spotted a gold-and-red headband—the mark of an Earaqi serving in the household of a Dhukari on the top tier. Immediately, suspicion flared within him. What the hell is a thug like him doing with a Dhukari servant’s headband?
Reaching into his cloak, Kodyn drew out the headband of braided green and gold cloth that had belonged to Hailen. He tied it on with quick, deft movements, slipping the plain green headband into his pocket. Yet a part of him couldn’t help feeling nervous as he followed the thug toward the Defender’s Tier gate. He had marched into exile from the Keeper’s Tier beside Briana. He could only hope that none of the Indomitables that had been on duty the previous day stood guard now.
The guard took one look at his headband and waved him through without a second glance. Kodyn waited until he was through the gates to let out the breath he’d been holding.
As he expected, the thug made a beeline for the Keeper’s Tier, though he flowed through the traffic on Death Row with the grace of an experienced thief. Kodyn had to pick up his pace to match the man’s speed, and he found himself breathing hard as they ascended the steep incline to the Keeper’s Tier.
Traffic thickened around the gate, and Kodyn’s jaw clenched as he saw the people, carts, and palanquins herded into two lines by the black-armored Indomitables. The guards took their time scrutinizing each person entering the Dhukari tier. Evidently recent events had caused them to tighten security.
The thug passed through the gate a full minute before Kodyn stepped up to the guards. Thankfully, the Indomitables seemed far less interested in a Dhukari’s foreign servant than the young Earaqi that had no plausible excuse for being on the uppermost tier. When they found a knife hidden beneath his cloak, they hurried to surround the man. Kodyn seized advantage of their momentary distraction to slip through the gap in the ranks.
His heart hammered as he hurried up the incline, his eyes scanning Death Row. He’d lost sight of the man and lost ground with the delay. He had to hurry to close the distance with his quarry and find him wherever he’d gone.
I can’t lose him, not when I’ve come so far! He was so close to discovering where the Syndicate thug was headed, who on the Artisan’s Tier he was working with.
Relief washed over him as he caught sight of gold-and-red to the east. Just a flash of color that disappeared around a corner, but he’d spotted the man. He hurried to follow, abandoning all pretense of caution in order to catch up.
Cold dread turned his blood to ice as he saw the thug turn down a now-familiar street. The man strode past the black-robed Necroseti guards and approac
hed the tradesman’s gate of the mansion that had belonged to Arch-Guardian Suroth. Mere seconds after he hammered on the small side gate, it swung open to admit him.
By the Keeper! Acid surged in the back of Kodyn’s throat. The Ybrazhe—and perhaps the Gatherers as well—were in league with Councilor Angrak.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Evren had little trouble following the pack of thugs down Trader’s Way. The heavy-muscled, rough-looking men proved about as stealthy as a herd of stampeding mountain goats. Their only attempt at any sort of disguise or subtlety was when they slipped their weapons—mostly daggers and clubs, though a couple held short swords—beneath their clothing as they passed the Indomitables guarding the gate to the Cultivator’s Tier.
But instead of continuing down to the Slave’s Tier, the place where Evren had seen Snarth meet with Annat, they turned west along the Cultivator’s Tier.
Evren’s brow furrowed. What are they doing here on the Earaqi level? According to Killian, the Ybrazhe controlled both of the two lowest tiers, yet the Slave’s Tier was said to be their primary stronghold. Curiosity burned within him as he followed the men westward along Commoner’s Row. Let’s see where you’re headed.
Their steps led closer to the cliff that served as the western border of Shalandra—and the final resting place of all of Shalandra’s dead. For a moment, Evren thought they might actually enter the Keeper’s Crypts. It would make a hell of a hideout, once you get past all the dead people.
The thugs suddenly tensed, their manner growing immediately suspicious and furtive. Evren caught sight of an Indomitable guard patrol emerging from within the tombs and marching toward them along the main avenue. People gave ground before the black-armored soldiers, though not without glares and dark looks at their retreating backs. Evren had no need to hide—he wore the red headband and simple clothing of an Earaqi, so he looked like any other laborer on the tier, though his Vothmoti accent would mark him as an outsider when compared to the softer, more musical cadence of Shalandrans—but the men he followed scuttled across the street off down a nearby alleyway.
Evren’s gut clenched as he realized the passing patrol would cut him off from his targets for precious seconds. Not only the guards, but the people that swirled around them like eddies in a tide pool. He’d have to shove his way through those clustered men and women to get across the street and chase the thugs into the alleyway.
Come on, come on! He gritted his teeth and counted the seemingly endless seconds until the patrol passed. He shouldered between a pair of angry-looking Earaqi men and darted down the alley into which the thugs had disappeared. He scanned up and down the narrow lane, but his heart sank. They were gone.
Damn it! He clenched his fists in frustration, mind racing as he tried to figure out where they could have gone.
The thugs hadn’t had time to get far—he’d only been a few seconds behind them—and at their pace, they could only have ducked into one of the houses facing the alleyway. Three were too decrepit to be a proper hideout; the crumbling walls, sagging doors, and empty windows revealed empty structures. Evren discarded another building as he saw a pair of laughing children playing a game of Capture the Caliph—or Capture the Pharus, likely the name of the Shalandran version nearby.
That left just three buildings. One was a single-story hovel with a ragged thatched roof. Thick layers of dust covered the front stoop and the door hung ajar, revealing empty darkness. The other two were solid-looking two-floor buildings with heavy wooden doors that were closed and, Evren guessed, barred from within.
It has to be one of those two.
Lucky for him, the two stood side by side. He adopted the most casual, nonchalant manner he could as he strode down the alley in the direction of his targets. His head never moved but he scanned the buildings from the corners of his eyes. No guards stood out front to serve as a convenient signpost, but one of the two buildings seemed to have a more solid door, and the window coverings had been pulled down.
His fists tightened as the door to the second building opened, but the man who emerged wore priestly robes—the rust red of a Malady Singer, priest in service of the Bloody Minstrel, god of disease, plague, and horrible music—rather than the rough spun clothing of the thugs Evren had followed. Through the door, Evren caught sight of emaciated figures lying on the floor. A terrible chorus of moans, groans, and retching drifted from within, accompanied by the terrible reek of festering wounds and disease. The face of the one man nearest the door was covered by blue blisters that oozed pus—doubtless the others bore a similar affliction.
Shuddering, Evren hurried past the building and ducked around a corner. No way the thugs would get anywhere near that sickness if they didn’t have to. Which meant the first of the two buildings would be the hideout.
He made a mental note of the building and its position in relation to Commoner’s Row, the Keeper’s Crypts, and the Path of Sepulture, the main avenue that ran between the Slave’s Tier and the Artisan’s Tier on the western edge of Shalandra. On his own, he couldn’t take on that many thugs. But with Kodyn, Aisha, and maybe even one of the Keeper’s Blades, they’d have a much better chance of taking down the Black Widow’s killers—and keeping one alive long enough to question.
Careful not to draw attention from any watchers in the building, Evren sauntered on his way as casually as he could manage. The moment he was out of sight, he broke into a run. His steps led east, back toward Trader’s Way. The knowledge of the thugs’ hideout could be useful in the right hands.
Evren’s face split into a fierce grin. And I know just the hands.
It took him over an hour to reach Killian’s smithy—he took the usual precautions to avoid anyone following him along the Artificer’s Courseway, and he chose the longer route that led to the front entrance of the forge on Smith’s Alley. He found Killian standing over a huge anvil, pounding a glowing metal rod with his heavy smith’s hammer.
He didn’t interrupt the smith at work, but Killian seemed to sense his presence. When he looked up, the usually calm man grew suddenly tense, his brows furrowed and eyes fixing on him with a nervous wariness Evren hadn’t seen before.
“What are you doing here?” the blacksmith demanded in a curt tone. “Did anyone see you enter?”
“Nice to see you, too,” Evren retorted. “With a warm welcome like that, how could I not want to tell you everything I’ve uncovered? And no, no one saw me. I took the long way around.”
Killian’s face relaxed, though anxiety still glimmered in his eyes. “Sorry for being brusque, just had a lot going on lately. Did you hear that someone killed the Black Widow?”
Evren nodded. “I was there in the room with her when they shot her.”
Killian’s bushy eyebrows shot toward his hairline. “What in the Keeper’s name were you doing there?” Suspicion flashed in his eyes and his huge shoulders bunched, tension written in his posture and expression.
“I’m working with Lady Briana and her bodyguards,” Evren explained. “I told them everything, including our little arrangement.”
The blacksmith’s eyes narrowed. “You what?” he growled.
“They know that I was spying on Suroth for you.” Evren spoke in a calm, even tone, meeting the blacksmith’s glower without flinching. “And they don’t care. Or, they care more about getting vengeance for the Arch-Guardian’s death than anything I might have shared with you.”
Killian’s eyes flashed. “Which has been precious little,” he said in a half-snarl.
Evren raised a mocking eyebrow. “Other than the fact that one of your own trusted Mumblers intended to betray you to the Ybrazhe. Or where on the Slave’s Tier you can find the Syndicate.”
After a moment, Killian’s scowl faded and he inclined his head. “Fair point.” He blew out a long breath. “Let’s just write my mood off to nerves. The attempt on the Black Widow’s got me rattled, that’s all. If someone’s willing to go after her, it means they’ve got big brass bollocks and aren’
t afraid of repercussions.”
“It’s the Ybrazhe,” Evren said. “Or, at least, I’m fairly certain it’s them.”
Killian’s eyes narrowed. “Why only fairly certain?”
“Thugs tend to look alike, no matter who they serve.” Evren frowned. “They could have been Gatherers, mind you, but they looked much more like the Ybrazhe I saw with Snarth.” He fixed Killian with a piercing gaze. “What if I told you I followed them back to their hideout?”
“You did?” Killian straightened, his expression suddenly animated. “Tell me where to find them and I’ll consider our balance even.”
Evren grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He couldn’t afford to waste time keeping an eye on the Ybrazhe’s hideout, but Killian had a whole crew of Mumblers he could use to watch the thugs. If the Syndicate had the blacksmith rattled, this little nugget of information would be worth a small fortune. “But before I tell you, I’m going to ask something in return.”
Killian’s scowl returned. “What?” His voice was flat, hard.
“No more of this ‘barter of information’ nonsense.” Evren met the man’s gaze. “We both have something the other wants, so let’s just agree that we’re going to help each other out because it’s in both of our best interests. I find out something useful, I get it to you as soon as I can. You find out anything I need to know, you do the same.”
Killian raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Sounds more like a partnership than a business arrangement.”
“Call it whatever the bloody hell you want.” Evren gave a dismissive wave. “You’ve clearly got your hands full, and I’ve got enough to worry about without adding one more thing to my list. But if we can help each other out, then we’re going to do it.” He thrust out a hand. “Do we have a deal?”
Killian stared down at his hand for a long moment, eyes filled with suspicion. Something unreadable passed across his face but finally he gripped Evren’s hand and shook. “We do.”
Heirs of Destiny Box Set Page 59
