Heirs of Destiny Box Set

by Andy Peloquin

  Hope surged within her. There was still so much she didn’t understand about being a Spirit Whisperer, but this, at least, she could manage. The spirits answered her call just as she answered theirs. Her true power lay in hearing their cries and convincing them to help her help them. A strange symbiosis, yet her father’s words made perfect sense.

  “A Spirit Whisperer can gather the heat unto himself until he becomes the fire,” he’d told her. She had felt that fire tonight—had become that fire. And it had saved her friends.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Issa tensed at Nysin’s yelp from two ranks behind her. She, too, had seen the two shambling figures lurching between the tombstones, but the young Mahjuri man was clearly far more superstitious than her.

  “No, Nysin,” she growled before he could complain, “they’re not the reanimated dead you’re so worried about. Just a pair of drunks or Deadeners that got lost in the Crypts.”

  “You don’t know that for sure,” Nysin mumbled, loud enough that she could hear.

  “Oh, grow a pair, Nysin!” Enyera snapped, and Issa heard a clank like a mailed fist punching an armored shoulder. Not the sort of martial decorum she ought to expect from an Indomitable, but after what they’d just endured, she was willing to let it slide.

  The tightness in her chest had steadily grown the deeper they went into the Keeper’s Crypts. Like most Earaqi, her Saba and Savta had raised her to revere and honor the dead. She lacked many of the other low-caste superstitions, but a part of her wondered where among all these gravestones, mausoleums, and sarcophagi she might find the names of her parents etched into stone.

  Once again, her mind went to the Pharus’ words. “Strike first, strike true.” Her grandfather’s words, coming from the mouth of Shalandra’s ruler. There had to be a good story behind that—she just needed to find a time and place to pose the question to the Pharus.

  Her eyes went to Hykos, marching along beside her. The Archateros might know how to find out about her parents if they had been Blades, as she suspected. Yet she pushed the thought aside. She could delve into the mystery of her past later—now, they had Gatherers to hunt.

  She had seen Gatherers moving near the tomb. Though she hadn’t recognized them as cultists at the time, she’d spotted men with those strange tattoos coming out of the Keeper’s Crypts.

  I should have thought to look there! She cursed herself for not putting the pieces together after the attack on the Pharus. At least she could make up for it now. By morning light, the cultists would be no more. She, Hykos, and the Indomitables would deal with the Gatherers once and for all.

  She held up a fist to stop her patrol and turned to Hykos. “On your lead, Archateros.” As her superior and the more experienced Blade, she expected he’d want to lead the raid.

  Hykos fixed her with a musing look and, after a moment, shook his head. “Lady Callista entrusted you with this mission, so it is yours to command.” A wry grin tugged at his lips. “Consider this a part of your training.”

  Issa saluted. “Yes, Archateros.” The tightness in her chest suddenly grew nearly suffocating, and a burden settled onto her shoulders. It was one thing to command a patrol of Indomitables to march down the street, but another thing entirely to lead them into battle. Not in a training yard, facing comrades armed with dulled blades, or in an ambush to catch poorly armed enemies unaware. The stakes of this battle were real; people she commanded could end up dead, and her along with them.

  She swallowed the surge of anxiety. “Slow and quiet,” she told her Indomitables in the most confident voice she could muster. “There are two paths that approach the Crucible of Fortune. Nysin, Enyera, Rilith, Viddan, Ket, you’re with me on the southeast path. The rest of you, accompany the Archateros to block off the north.”

  Hykos nodded, signaling agreement and encouragement in his eyes.

  “If there are too many of them, we watch and wait,” Issa continued. “I’ll send runners to find the nearest patrol, and Enyera, I want you to get up to the Defender’s Tier and alert Sentinel Imale to the situation. Get as many Indomitables as we need down here, then get to the Citadel of Stone and make sure Lady Callista gets word as well.”

  Enyera had proven herself the fastest of their lot, and a competent fighter. Issa trusted her to reach the Indomitables’ superior officer with all haste and get reinforcements.

  “We’ve a chance to stop the Gatherers here, now, once and for all.” Issa raised a clenched fist. “The future of Shalandra rests on our shoulders tonight.” Her grandfather’s words—echoed by the Pharus—flashed through her mind. “Strike first, strike true.”

  Hykos smiled. “Well said.” With a nod, he turned and slipped west, leading half of Issa’s ten-man patrol into the darkness of the Keeper’s Crypts.

  Issa glanced at the remaining five: Nysin the complainer, Enyera and Rilith her two fleet-footed Earaqi, Viddan the stoic fighter, and Ket the…well, the young Kabili trainee hadn’t done much to stand out. All five of them bore bruises and cuts from their battle beside her in the Blades’ training yard, yet their expression revealed confidence. Not only in their skills, but in her command. The burden grew a bit heavier at that realization.

  “Let’s do this,” she said in a quiet voice.

  She led them through the Keeper’s Crypts as quietly as they could manage in their half-plate mail. On the Artisan’s Tier, the graves of the intellectual Zadii and industrial Intaji revealed craftsmanship that every low-caste Shalandran would envy. The tombs of the Venerated, the priests that served what the Necroseti called the “lesser gods of Einan”—all of the Thirteen aside from the Long Keeper, god of death—were shaped into lavish resting places that reflected their service to their particular deity. Intaji stonemasons labored on the mausoleums and obelisks of their deceased with an artisan’s attention to detail.

  But as they descended the mountain, the tombs soon grew simpler—sarcophagi and coffins carved from plain stone, free of costly adornments. Her eyes roamed over the simple engravings and names etched into the gravestones, as if somehow her parents’ graves would suddenly appear before her. It was with effort that she pushed aside thoughts of the father and mother she’d never known to focus on the mission at hand.

  According to Aisha, the Gatherers had chosen the Crucible of Fortune as their base of operations. A good choice, given the sheer size of the statue. It would provide ample cover for their fires and lanterns, and lay far enough into the depths of the Crypts that the Indomitable patrols never passed that way.

  The sixty-foot statue had been erected in honor of Enwan, the hero of the Battle of Fortune’s Pass. Fortune’s Pass was a narrow gap between Zahiran and Dalmisa, the mountains to the east and north of Alshuruq. Fourteen centuries earlier, during the Red Rebellion, the Zahirani clans had come dangerously close to defeating the Shalandran forces guarding the entrances to the shalanite mines on the northern slopes of Alshuruq. An army of two hundred Indomitables had faced more than twenty thousand tribesmen, with the nearest reinforcements days away.

  Enwan, an Earaqi laborer working the mines, had watched the Zahirani clans whittling down the Indomitables until only twenty of the original two hundred remained. He had been the first to join the defense of Fortune’s Pass, and his actions led the rest of the miners to do likewise. Though Enwan fell in the bloody battle that ensued, the miners and remaining Indomitables held the pass long enough to receive reinforcements. Nearly one-third of the Zahirani tribesmen fell in that battle and the Red Rebellion ended a week later.

  Pharus Nofre-kat the Bloody had wanted to erect a statue in his honor, but the Earaqi had refused. Instead, they took a collection of everyone on the Cultivator’s Tier to afford the monument. Pharus Nofre-kat ultimately established the law that Earaqi, Mahjuri, and Kabili could be chosen to join the Indomitables and Keeper’s Blades, thereby earning a higher rank for themselves and their families. All because of one brave miner willing to die for his country.

  Once, long ago, her Saba
and Savta brought her to see it on the annual Fortune Celebration, an Earaqi festivity commemorating Enwan. She’d been too young to know the letters etched into the statue’s metal plaque, but her Saba had read them to her. “In the crucible of Fortune’s Pass, one man’s courage changed the course of history.”

  As with so many Earaqi, it had instilled in Issa the hope that she could one day escape the confines of her caste. The memory of that stern face and sharp pickaxe had driven her as she trained with Killian. In a way, Enwan had played a role in her being here this night.

  Issa crouched in the shadows of a plain obelisk and studied the camp spread out around the base of the statue. Men and women clad in the same clothing as the assassins that had just attacked Briana’s house huddled around the fires and coal-burning braziers that dotted the cleared space on the western side of the Crucible of Fortune. Crude shelters of blankets strung between nearby headstones indicated that this truly was the Gatherer’s hideout.

  But as Issa counted the enemies, her brow furrowed. So few? Aisha had spoken of hundreds, yet she could see no more than thirty. Added to the number that had fallen in the melee outside Briana’s house, that number was closer to seventy.

  Did Aisha make a mistake? In her training to become a Keeper’s Blade, Issa had learned the rudiments of scouting and estimating the numbers of an enemy force. Elder Dyrkton had emphasized the importance of an accurate count, yet made it clear that even the most level-headed scout could make a mistake. Fear tended to inflate the size of one’s foes.

  Whatever the case, Issa found herself faced with a new question: Do I attack or hold?

  She’d prepared to sit tight and keep an eye on the Gatherer camp, but finding herself confronted with such odds, action seemed the better course.

  We’ve found their hiding place, she thought, and if we can get our hands on a few of them, Lady Callista might be able to root out the rest. Better still, she may even get them to incriminate the Keeper’s Council in their actions.

  An image flashed through her mind: Lady Callista beamed approval as they hauled the entire Council into the palace in chains to stand trial for their crimes against the Pharus, all because of information obtained from the man she captured. When she’d told her Indomitables “The future of Shalandra rests on our shoulders tonight”, she might have been more right than she knew.

  The right move is to act, she decided. Scoop up as many as we can and eliminate the rest.

  She had less than ten hours to get the incriminating evidence to the palace, but that ought to be more than enough time to deal with this problem.

  She retreated a few steps, leaving the shadows of the obelisk. Her five Indomitable trainees shot glances her way but remained at their stations to watch the Gatherers.

  Slowly, careful not to let her blade rasp on steel, Issa drew her sword. The eyes of her trainees widened, but Issa met their questioning looks with a nod, then thrust a finger toward the Gatherers.

  “We attack,” she mouthed and held up a finger. “Keep one alive.”

  Five nods met her silent words, and five khopeshes slipped free of their sheaths.

  Issa waited a few seconds longer, giving Hykos and his company time to get in place. Finally, she could delay no more.

  She broke into a jog, her black, spiked plate mail silent as she ran. One step at a time, ever closer to the Gatherers huddled beneath the statue, gaining speed until she tore through the stony ranks of graves at a full sprint. Gone was the fatigue from the previous day of standing guard, the hours of training, and the fight on the alleys of the Artisan’s Tier. The Keeper’s blessing strengthened her muscles and filled her with a blazing energy.

  The clanking of the Indomitables’ armor alerted the Gatherers to the threat. The dark-robed figures leapt to their feet, drawing swords and turning to face the shadows.

  “For Shalandra!” The cry tore from Issa’s throat as she barreled toward the nearest and swung her huge two-handed blade. The Gatherer didn’t even have enough time to raise his short sword. Black steel hewed through his neck and the cultist slumped, severed head bouncing off among the headstones.

  A shout echoed from behind Issa, and she knew her Indomitables were racing to catch up. An answering cry came from beyond the Gatherers just as Hykos burst from the shadows. He’d followed her lead fast enough that he and his five-man crew hit the cultists from behind mere seconds after Issa clashed with the foremost Gatherers.

  The world narrowed in Issa’s vision as she faced another enemy. She hacked him down with a single blow and whipped her sword around in a backhand blow that tore through the next man’s throat. Steel clanged off the armor covering her left side, drawing sparks. Issa punched out with her mailed fist, shattering a third’s teeth and snapping his head back. Seizing the ricasso of her flammard with her right hand, she wielded the blade in the half-swording technique that had been drilled into her by Killian. Short, quick thrusts and vicious chops brought down two more Gatherers.

  Then came the inevitable clash as her Indomitables joined the battle, followed by a second thunderous roar of steel on steel as Hykos and his company hit the enemy from behind. Cries of pain, the ring of steel on steel, the meaty thumps of carving flesh, and curses of wounded and dying men pierced her ears.

  Issa fought at the head of her Indomitables, the tip of the spear thrusting into the assembled Gatherers. Cultists fell before them like summer wheat before the Four-Bladed Winds. Blood stained the dusty floors and splashed the golden sandstone of the Keeper’s Crypts. The stink of bile and vomit hung thick in the air from a pair of Gatherers Issa disemboweled with the razor-sharp tip of her sword. She could almost taste their fear, could see it etched into every line of their faces, yet they fought on with maniacal zeal.

  Fanaticism fell short in the face of discipline. The moment the Indomitables clashed with the enemy, they formed tight ranks and faced the Gatherers in a compact line. Their khopeshes spun and slashed, the heavy blades carving through leather, cloth, and flesh alike. Though the trainees lacked the experience of veterans, they’d spent endless hours in drills that reinforced the importance of fighting as a cohesive unit. They met the charging Gatherers with calm precision and cut them down with steady determination.

  Suddenly, Issa realized that only a handful of Gatherers remained standing. She, Hykos, and the Indomitables had caught the cultists off-guard, their attack so successful that they’d carved through the enemy’s ranks too quickly.

  “Take them alive!” she shouted. “Alive!”

  Her words had a startling effect on the Gatherers. Their attacks became wilder, more frenzied. It seemed they all but threw themselves onto her blade, as if daring her to strike them down. Her gut clenched as she realized that they were trying to die. With their avenues of escape cut off and outnumbered by the enemy, they preferred death to capture and torture.

  Issa bared her teeth in a snarl and brought her sword around in a horizontal chop powerful enough to lop off the head of the Gatherer facing her. Yet at the last second she turned her wrist. The flat of her blade slammed into the side of the cultist’s head, and he sagged, unconscious.

  The next Gatherer’s eyes went wide, darting between Issa and her fallen comrade. Issa saw the truth written in her face: death before capture.

  She wouldn’t!

  Horror surged within her as the woman dove toward the unconscious man and thrust her short sword home in her comrade’s back. At the same time, Issa saw her free hand dart toward her mouth.

  Lady Callista’s words flashed through her mind: “It seemed they had taken some sort of poison that killed them slowly enough that they could attack, yet silenced them before we could break them. But our search of the palace grounds proved far more informative.”

  Issa’s sword flashed in desperation, shearing through the woman’s arm. Too late. She could see the woman’s throat muscles working as she swallowed. But this was no slow-acting poison. The Gatherer fell to the ground and thrashed wildly, foam spewing from her
mouth. Death came quickly and violently for her and the fallen Gatherer she’d stabbed. The man Issa had brought down never woke, even as his heart pumped blood from the gaping wound in his right side.

  Issa stared down in shock at the widening pool of crimson. They’re insane! Rabid devotion to their cause of bringing on the Final Destruction drove them to fanatical extremes.

  Suddenly, she realized that the sounds of battle had gone silent. All that remained was the aftermath: gasping warriors, the cries and moans of the dying, and the meaty sounds of steel pulled from flesh and bone. Issa tore her eyes from the dead Gatherers at her feet and found herself standing amidst a pile of bodies, surrounded by ten Indomitables and one Keeper’s Blade. Blood stained their armor and weapons, and most had sustained wounds—Enyera, gravest of all, sat against a nearby headstone clutching a long gash in her forearm.

  Yet they had all survived. They had wiped out the Gatherers.

  “We’ve got a live one!”

  Hykos’ shout brought a sudden surge of hope to Issa’s chest. She leapt over the pile of corpses and raced toward the Archateros.

  Hykos crouched over the motionless form of a Gatherer. “Took him down with a blow to the head,” he said, shooting a glance up at her. “Scrambled his brains, but he’ll talk.”

  “Tie him up!” Issa barked the order to Viddan and Nysin, who stood nearby. “Now! Before he takes the poison.”

  The two Indomitables leapt into action, turning the unconscious man over and wrenching his wrists behind his back. Viddan knelt on the man’s spine while Nysin bound his wrists with stout reed rope.

  “Stuff his mouth and gag him,” Issa ordered.

  Hykos tore a strip of cloth from a dead cultist’s shendyt and jammed it into the unconscious Gatherer’s mouth. His rough movement snapped the man awake, and the realization of his situation set him thrashing violently. Long seconds passed before Nysin and Viddan managed to wrestle him under control. The gag muffled his words but nothing could hide the naked hatred that sparkled in his venomous glare.