Issa turned and studied the man.
“Please!” he begged again. “On my eternity in the Long Keeper’s arms, I swear I am not a Gatherer.”
The solemn oath, one no Shalandran would swear lightly, was the final straw.
“Bring me this Roethel,” Issa barked to the Dictator. “I would hear her testimony for myself.”
The Dictator’s expression darkened. “Sir, you’d take the word of an accused Gatherer over—”
“A spiteful neighbor with a grudge?” Issa snorted. “I’m not taking anyone’s word. But I trust my eyes when they tell me that this man is far less likely to be a Gatherer than Roethel is to be a liar.”
She took a step closer, looming over the officer. “Tell me, Dictator, do you have a family?”
The Indomitable snapped his mouth shut and pressed his lips into a stubborn line.
“I asked you a question, Indomitable!” Issa shouted.
“Yes, sir,” the man finally said.
“And tell me, Dictator, if you had a family, would you want to hasten the Final Destruction and the end of their lives?”
The officer’s jaw muscles worked, but finally he shook his head. “No, sir.”
“I thought not,” Issa snarled. “So I am willing to let this man plead his case, if only so I don’t deprive innocent children of their father and a woman of her husband. A sentiment I’m certain you, as a family man yourself, can understand.”
A silent war of wills raged between the two of them. The Dictator was easily thrice her age and stubborn as a pack of mules, but Issa refused to let him win. If he had his way, a potentially innocent Mahjuri would wind up dead. She didn’t care if she faced the Pharus himself—she would not stand silently by, not when she could do something.
After long seconds, the Indomitable officer looked away. “Geiss, Bedict, bring the old woman.”
Issa’s eyes never left the Dictator as the two Indomitables hurried from the hovel to collect Roethel. The officer actually backed up, a look of mingled defeat and annoyance on his face.
“And you two!” Snarling, Issa rounded on the Indomitables holding the man down. “Get off him. How is he supposed to speak with his face crushed against the ground?”
The soldiers didn’t even look to their Dictator for his order; they got off the man and released his arms, though they remained within striking distance, hands on the hilts of their khopeshes.
The man slowly climbed to his feet, eyes fixed on Issa. “Thank you,” he said, his voice quavering.
“You’re not out of this yet.” Issa’s voice was hard, cold. “Until I hear from Roethel, you’re still under suspicion of being a Gatherer.”
“See if she’ll swear the same oath.” The man lifted his head, defiance written in his eyes. “She knows the Long Keeper will judge her for a liar.”
Shrill protests echoed outside the hovel, accompanied a moment later by two Indomitables and a greying woman that could only be Roethel. She wore a black Mahjuri headband and hints of too-dark malachite around her eyes, but the cosmetics did little to soften the angular lines of her prim face.
“That’s the one!” Roethel fairly screamed, stabbing a bony finger at the man. “Arrest him at once!”
The accused man’s lip curled into a snarl. “Will your slander never end, Roethel? You already condemned Tonai to a beating and nearly sentenced him to death, all because he refused to marry that harridan you call a daughter.”
The woman’s face suddenly pinched into a tight frown. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she snapped, her tone miffed. “Tonai made the mistake of insulting the Pharus in public. These wise, noble Indomitables don’t make mistakes.”
Issa’s insides squirmed at Roethel’s ingratiating tone. Her Saba would call the woman “oilier than a year’s crop of olives”. That all but cemented the truth in her mind.
She stepped toward the woman. “Come.” Her mailed fingers wrapped around the woman’s arms. “I believe Lady Callista Vinaus should hear your testimony herself.”
“Lady Callista?” Roethel’s thin white eyebrows flew up. “The Lady of Blades? It would be an honor!” She straightened her clothing, as if trying to arrange her ragged clothing to appear presentable.
“I’m certain she will want to congratulate and reward you for the information that led to the capture of a Gatherer.”
“Reward?” Greed sparkled in the woman’s dark eyes. “I…er…I didn’t do it for any reward—just trying to do my duty to the city, you understand—but I wouldn’t mind if—”
“Before that,” Issa cut the woman off, “there’s a simple matter of the oath.”
The eager light of avarice in Roethel’s eyes gave way to nervous hesitation. “The…what?”
Issa nodded. “An oath. On your eternity in the Long Keeper’s arms.” She gave the woman a too-sweet smile. “I need to be certain that your testimony is true. I’d hate for anyone to be arrested on false claims. But I’m certain you’d have no trouble swearing that oath. After all, there is no risk to your immortal soul because you are clearly telling the truth. And it’s all in the name of duty to the city, you understand.”
Roethel’s face blanched, going a hideous shade of pale green-grey. “Er…” Her words seemed to have suddenly dried up. She cast about as if looking for a way to flee, and a nervous light filled her eyes as she realized four black-armored Indomitables stood between her and freedom.
“Come now,” Issa said, giving the woman’s arm a gentle tug. “A simple oath is all that stands between you and a reward for the capture of a Gatherer.”
Issa could see the war raging in the woman’s eyes. On one hand, the promise of coin, food, even prestige or elevation to a higher caste. On the other, the threat of eternal damnation, an afterlife spent in wandering among the Undying rejected by the Long Keeper.
“Er…perhaps I…er…misspoke,” the woman stammered.
“Misspoke?” Issa cocked an eyebrow. “You spoke clearly enough when you accused him of being a Gatherer.”
“I-I mean, I might have been mistaken when I said I saw him come home with blood on his hands.” Words poured from Roethel’s mouth in a panicked torrent. “It’s possible that what I thought was blood was, in fact, something else. Like red cloth.” She seized on that. “Yes, red cloth! I’m certain if you search the house you will find a bright red shirt or shawl, and that would explain what I saw as blood. It’s possible, even likely, that Samril here is not actually a Gatherer. Call it a misunderstanding and we can all forget about it, yes?”
The woman licked her lips nervously, her eyes darting between Issa, the Dictator, and the accused Samril.
Issa fought back the urge to clap the woman in irons—if only for nearly getting an innocent man killed, if nothing else. Yet she mastered her anger enough to thrust a finger toward the door and growl, “Go!”
Roethel fled without a backward glance. Fear lent wings to her feet and she fled the hovel before Issa lowered her arm.
Issa turned to the Dictator. “Get out,” she snapped. “You and your men.”
The Indomitable’s face was a stony mask, but he saluted. “Sir.” His words were clipped, tight, and he marched stiffly toward the door.
“Let this be a lesson!” Issa barked, freezing the man in place. “Exercise restraint, or I will be forced to intervene.” Her voice dropped to a growl. “And you don’t want that.”
The Dictator said nothing, but strode from the hovel behind his men.
The moment the Indomitables left, Samril’s wife and children rushed from the adjoining room and threw their arms around him, sobbing into his shirt. The man held them close and whispered soothing words in their ears.
Issa turned to leave. The man and his family had endured enough for one night.
“Wait!” Samril called.
Issa shot a curious glance over her shoulder.
With effort, Samril broke free of his sobbing family and strode toward her. “Roethel’s a vicious crone, but she
wasn’t entirely lying. She did see me coming home early this morning.”
Issa’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I was out late last night.” Samril lowered his voice. “I was in line at the Hall of Bounty for my family. But when I came home, I saw them.” His tone dropped to a whisper. “I saw the Gatherers nailing the dead Blade to the cross.”
Issa sucked in a breath. Surprise gave way to anger, as incandescent as Killian’s furnace after an hour of working the bellows. “You didn’t think to say something?” she hissed.
“And what, get myself killed?” Samril’ face hardened. “The Indomitables don’t give a damn about the Mahjuri unless they need someone to take out their anger on or to blame for a crime. Down here, you learn quick to keep your mouth shut no matter what you see. If the Indomitables don’t find a way to make you regret it, the Ybrazhe will. And now the Gatherers, it seems.”
“So why talk to me?” Issa asked. “If it’s just going to put you in danger.”
“Because you saved my family,” Samril said. “The Indomitables would have executed them alongside me for being Gatherers as well. I owe you for their lives.”
A deep sense of satisfaction settled into Issa’s stomach and she struggled to hide a smile. If nothing else, she’d done one good deed tonight. It might not make up for everything this man and his family had endured, but it was better than nothing.
“Tell me what you saw.”
“Five hooded men hauling a black cart with a cracked rear left wheel.” Samril screwed up his face in thought. “I didn’t think much of it until they went into Murder Square and started setting up the cross. Then they brought out the body and I knew they were up to no good.”
“Where did they come from?” Issa asked. “And where did they go?”
“East.” Samril nodded in the direction. “Once they were done crucifying the body and painting those words, they hauled that cart back the way they’d come.”
Issa’s jaw clenched. The man’s testimony confirmed what Nysin’s great aunt had heard, but it didn’t get her closer to finding the killers.
“I followed them.”
The words, spoken in a quiet tone, set hope surging through her.
“Where?”
“Just beyond Trader’s Way,” Samril replied. “They turned on the second street after the main avenue, but there were so few people about that they would have seen me if I followed them any farther. The Ybrazhe are bad, but the Gatherers…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “We know not to mess with them.”
“Thank you.” Issa reached for the man’s hand and gripped it. “Thank you!”
Hope surged within her. One step closer to finding Kellas’ murderer. She owed the dead Dhukari that much.
She turned to leave, but stopped at the door. “Here.” She took out a silver coin and placed it on the table. “For your family.”
Samril’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak. Issa left before he could get out the words. That coin had represented most of her personal wealth—even the hardest-working Earaqi earned next to nothing—but as a Keeper’s Blade, she didn’t need money. They did. That coin would help to feed the Mahjuri for a week.
Such a small gesture did little to combat the misery on the Slave’s Tier. The people faced death of starvation, thirst, or the Azure Rot. Few could dare to dream of a better life for their children, much less for themselves. Most would simply exist, scratching out a pitiful living, until they went to the Long Keeper’s arms. Their lives meant little to anyone outside their families, and they’d spend eternity in the common Crypt carved out for the Mahjuri too poor to afford a proper burial.
But it was a start. For this one family, it meant a great deal. Issa had sworn to serve the people of Shalandra. Her service as a Keeper’s Blade wasn’t her only choice—she would take every opportunity to leave the city fractionally better.
“Rilith, Viddan, Nysin!” Issa shouted. Her Indomitables came running, and she filled them in on what she’d learned.
“Round up the other patrols and bring them here at once.” She fixed them with a hard look. “We may not know where the Gatherers are hiding out, but we’ve got a direction to start looking.”
Nodding, the three Indomitable trainees sprinted off to summon the two Dictators and their patrols.
“Enyera,” she addressed the fastest of her patrol. “Get up to the Citadel of Stone and tell either Invictus Tannard, Archateros Hykos, or Lady Callista that we need reinforcements down here. Blades, not Indomitables.”
The Earaqi trainee cocked an eyebrow.
“More Indomitables will just throw fuel on the fire,” Issa explained in a low voice. “But the Mahjuri don’t hate the Blades as much. They won’t resent our presence.”
Enyera nodded understanding. “Yes, sir.” With a salute, she turned and raced east, toward Trader’s Way.
Grim determination hardened within Issa as she watched Enyera go. She had to hope reinforcements arrived before the situation escalated, but if not, she’d handle it herself with the Indomitables she had. The time had come to finish what she started in the Keeper’s Crypts.
Chapter Thirteen
Where in the Keeper’s name did he go? The question repeated in Kodyn’s mind as he studied the empty alley that Handsome had disappeared into mere seconds earlier. He can’t just disappear into thin air. The assassin would use a more mundane method of vanishing.
Kodyn drew in a deep breath and forced his scrambling mind to calm. Logic overrode the instinctive emotional reaction, and he broke down the methods he would use to pull a similar trick in Praamis. The sewers would be his first choice—grates, openings, and covered holes could be found all around Praamis, if a clever thief knew where to look. But as far as he knew, the city of Shalandra had no sewer tunnels, and a quick examination of the alley revealed no apertures to indicate otherwise.
That rules out the underground.
Kodyn’s gaze traveled up the walls, searching for any hidden ladders that would lead up to the rooftops. House Hawk had many such access points cleverly concealed in alleys just like this one—dead-ends that seemed to lead nowhere, which meant less foot traffic and therefore lower chance of discovery.
He limped deeper into the alley, wincing at the pain in his ankle, and scanned the walls for any hidden handholds or carved stepping stones. The debris covering the floor scuffed beneath his feet, and he winced at the loud noise. If Handsome had ducked out of sight and hid nearby, he’d overhear Kodyn. A nasty surprise could be waiting for him at the end of the alley.
Kodyn clenched his jaw and reached for the hilt of a throwing dagger. He won’t catch me off-guard.
Yet as he reached the stone wall, he found no ladders or concealed ropes that would give Handsome quick access to the rooftops. With a growled curse, he turned back the way he’d come and—
What in the bloody hell?
To his right, just a pace from where he stood, a narrow opening had been carved into the wall of the house. The craftsmanship was superb—he hadn’t seen it even when standing right next to it. It was only visible from the very end of the alley.
He hesitated a heartbeat before entering the opening. The Black Widow’s warning echoed in his mind. If he went in here, he’d be facing Handsome alone, armed only with his wits, three daggers, and his long sword. If he was hunting a Serpent, he’d certainly think twice about such odds.
Yet he had no intention of fighting Handsome. The opening led somewhere, but he had to find out where in order to summon reinforcements to help him capture the assassin. A killer as well-prepared as Handsome wouldn’t allow himself to be boxed into a location with just one way in and out.
I’ve just got one shot at capturing him, so I have to do it right. If he didn’t find every one of Handsome’s bolt-holes, the assassin could disappear for real.
Taking a deep breath, he drew a dagger in his right hand and stepped through the hole in the wall.
The o
pening led into a passage roughly twenty paces long but barely wide enough for him to squeeze his shoulders through. The stone walls scraped against the sides of his arms, forcing him to twist to move without a sound.
The passage ended at another opening, in another equally dead-ended alley. Kodyn scanned his surroundings before stepping out into the muddy, rubble-strewn lane, trying to decide which way Handsome would have gone.
After all the precautions the assassin had taken before entering the passage, it seemed unlikely that it would be used to double back on his trail again. That could only mean it led deeper into the alley, toward the north.
Heart pounding, Kodyn felt his way along the wall, the twinge in his ankle forgotten in his excitement. His fingers felt the rough surface, searching for any indication of how Handsome had escaped. Sure enough, just five steps farther down the lane, Kodyn found the next secret opening. He hurried down the passage as quickly as he could manage in the awkward twisted position. This time, however, instead of opening onto another alley, the stone passage ended at a set of stone steps carved into the blank wall.
Kodyn scrambled up the stairs but slowed as he reached the top. Poking his head out of the opening in the ceiling, he scanned the rooftops. His heart leapt as he caught sight of a flash of dull-colored cloth a few dozen paces away, two roofs over.
Got you! A fierce grin broadened his lips. You can’t escape me now, Handsome.
He climbed onto the sloping roof, ducking behind the concealment of a taller building just west of his current position. His eyes roamed the rooftops ahead, in the direction he’d seen the movement, until he once again spotted the retreating figure of the assassin. Handsome had abandoned his caution and now moved at a steady pace across the sea of thatching and crumbling stone walls.
Kodyn grinned. If he thinks he can outrun me, he’s in for a rude awakening. He’d spent every day of his last seven years running the rooftops of Praamis.
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