More men appeared from the side street and thronged toward Aterallis, surrounding him in a protective wall. They greeted the Mahjuri that had remained, embraced them, and spoke quiet words of comfort and acceptance.
Issa let out a breath. Bloody hell, that was too damned close!
The Indomitables behind her seemed to relax as well, and armor clanked as the men and women released half-drawn weapons.
With a gesture for her Indomitables to stay in formation, Issa strode toward Aterallis. “Thank you,” she called when she drew within speaking range. “That could have gotten out of hand. You saved a lot of lives today.”
Aterallis turned toward her. Issa was struck by the light shining in his eyes—a light of joy, compassion, peace. A beatific smile split his face. “From what I hear, so did you.” He glanced at one of the men beside him—the Mahjuri Issa had saved mere minutes earlier. “You are not like the others. You may carry the weapons of war, but you have a heart of peace.”
He held out a hand to her. “Lay down your arms, shed your armor, and join me. Lend your voice and the strength of your presence to save the people of Shalandra from the woes of this world. For you are a light shining in the darkness, all that stands in the way of the evils that threaten the innocent.”
The words caught Issa by surprise. The last thing she’d expected was an invitation to become one of his followers. Yet the conviction in his voice, the air of peace that hung like a refreshing breeze about him, it almost made her want to accept his offer.
But she had her place. He had spoken the truth about her: she wielded weapons of war to bring about peace in Shalandra.
He seemed to see the truth written in her eyes, yet his face revealed no disappointment. Instead, his smile grew. “Your path is yours to choose. When the Final Destruction comes, the Long Keeper will welcome you into the Sleepless Lands.”
Issa felt at a loss for words as Aterallis allowed his followers to lead him away. Damn! Her mind reeled beneath the force of the man’s presence. He really is as powerful as they say.
Nysin had explained why this man, the one the Mahjuri called “Hallar Reborn”, could prove such a threat. He offered the people hope of a better afterlife, and the people hailed him a messiah, a savior. He wielded a power that Lady Callista, the Pharus, and the Necroseti never could. Lady Callista ruled through military might, the Pharus through the power bestowed to him by right of birth. The Keeper’s Priests had their Dhukari wealth and prestige. Yet Aterallis had forsaken it all, chosen to live among the poorest of Shalandra.
He had the people’s love and respect. A few gentle words had calmed the angry crowd. A shudder ran down Issa’s spine. She could only imagine what he could do if he wanted to rile up the populace.
Turning, Issa strode back toward her Indomitables. Curiosity burned within her at the sight of Nysin, Rilith, and Viddan standing beside Dictator Quen. One look at their dour faces told her they hadn’t had any luck finding the Gatherers’ cart.
Damn it! She gritted her teeth.
“Sorry, Issa,” Nysin muttered as she reached them. “We’ve been looking for hours, but it’s like trying to find the single piece of corn in a pile of horse droppings.”
Viddan shook his head. “Worse. We’ve found close to a hundred carts, each more rundown and decrepit than the last. But none with a cracked rear left wheel.”
Issa growled a silent curse. Mahjuri were the Wretched, outcasts, yet they served one critical function in Shalandra: they collected debris, emptied troughs, and hauled away the contents of chamber pots from the three lowest tiers. Enterprising Mahjuri could almost earn a living comparable with the lowest-paid Earaqi, and their hand carts were the key to their meager livelihood. There would be thousands of carts on the Slave’s Tier.
“Keep looking,” Issa growled. “That is the only thing we have to lead us to the Gatherers.”
Her three Indomitables exchanged tired glances. Issa’s fatigue matched theirs—she hadn’t slept in close to two days—but they had to keep looking. The situation had very nearly turned ugly; the sooner they found the Gatherers, the sooner the Indomitables would cool down and peace would return to the Slave’s Tier.
“Yes, sir!” With a salute, the three of them moved off to continue the search.
A new sound reached her ears: the tromp, tromp of heavy booted feet marching at double-time speed. Despair washed over Issa. She had spent her entire night fighting to quell the Indomitables’ rampage, but now more had come to throw fuel on the fire. She wanted to scream in rage—she had no more strength to fight another company, to shout more bloodthirsty soldiers into submission.
Yet as she turned to face the patrol, hope surged within her. In the light of the rising sun, she caught sight of Hykos at the head of the Indomitables. Five Sentinels and a score of Protectors marched at his back. Their eyes held no trace of the frenzied, near-berserk light that twisted the faces of the rampaging soldiers she had fought all night. Grim determination hardened their faces as they marched in neat, disciplined ranks.
Issa nearly wept in relief.
Instantly, Hykos and the high-ranking Indomitable officers began barking out commands to the soldiers nearby. Ten-man patrols hurried off down every side street to restore order and get the situation under control.
It took all of Issa’s willpower to remain upright. Every muscle and limb threatened to give way. Tension drained from her body and she let out a long, slow breath. For the first time in hours, she relinquished her grip on her sword, sliding it back into its sheath on her back. Her fingers, wrists, and forearms ached from carrying the heavy blade, yet the pain faded beneath the cool wave of relief that bathed her at the sight of Hykos’ face.
Enyera appeared from the ranks of Indomitables. Dark circles lined her eyes and sweat plastered her hair to her forehead, yet a resolute expression hardened her face.
Relief surged within Issa at the sight of her trainee. “You got here just in time.”
Yet the severity of Enyera’s expression set Issa’s heart racing.
“I have orders to escort you to the Alqati Tier,” Enyera said.
Confusion furrowed Issa’s brow. “Orders from whom?”
Enyera’s eyes darkened. “The Elders of the Blades command your presence at once.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Hello, there!” Kodyn grinned. “Lovely place you have here. Could use a bit of cleaning, but—”
He threw himself to one side and flared out his cloak, twisting his body to the side as he fell. Time slowed to a crawl as the crossbow tracked his movement and Handsome’s finger squeezed the trigger. The cable snapped tight—a heartbeat slower than a regular crossbow—and the steel arms flexed forward, sending the broad-headed bolt hurtling toward Kodyn. Pain flared along the side of his neck as the steel tip carved a bloody furrow into the skin.
Kodyn hit the ground and came to his feet in a roll, unsheathing and hurling a throwing dagger in one smooth motion. Handsome batted aside the flying blade with his crossbow even as his hand shoved forward a lever set into the stock. A spring-loaded bolt flew out of the end of the bow, straight at Kodyn’s chest.
He had a single instant to act, dropping into a crouch. The bolt whistled mere inches from the side of his head.
Kodyn’s heart hammered in his ribs as he reached for another knife, but Handsome didn’t give him time to draw. The assassin charged in silence, sliding home another lever in the wooden stock of his crossbow. An arm-length spike extended from the nose of the crossbow and clicked into place. Handsome pulled back the bow for a forward thrust that would drive the sharp, narrow tip through Kodyn’s leather armor and into his chest.
In desperation, Kodyn twisted at the last second, barely in time to avoid being skewered. The tip of the spike snagged on the right pauldron of his armor and knocked him staggering backward. Handsome bared his teeth in a snarl, shoving hard to drive Kodyn against the wall. Kodyn read the man’s intentions clearly: pin him and stick him. A plan Errik, Maste
r Serpent, had taught him to use against smaller, faster opponents.
And Kodyn was smaller than Handsome. The assassin stood a few fingers taller and broader in the chest, his arms all lean, corded muscles.
But Kodyn was also faster. He allowed the assassin to shove him backward, but his free right hand whipped around and crashed into the side of Handsome’s head. The wide grip of the push dagger slammed into the assassin’s temple with stunning force. Handsome stumbled, the tip of his crossbow-spike ripping free of Kodyn’s armor.
In the instant that the weapon flew wide, Kodyn lashed out with a straight, quick punch at the assassin’s midsection. The finger-length blade of his push dagger punctured Handsome’s stomach, and Kodyn’s other fist pummeled the wound a moment later.
Handsome cried out in pain, his right hand releasing its grip on his crossbow’s stock to clutch at the bleeding wound. Kodyn’s fists were a flurry of lightning-fast punches—hard knuckles bruising flesh while sharp steel punched through muscle and organs.
The assassin staggered backward, bleeding from a half-dozen wounds in his stomach. He fixed Kodyn with a curious glare. “Who…are you?” he snarled, jaw clenched against the pain. “What do you…want?”
“Answers!” Kodyn pointed the bloodied push dagger at him. He forced confidence into his voice to mask the frantic beat of his heart. “Tell me who hired you to kill Councilor Angrak.”
Handsome’s red-marked face hardened. “No.” A single word, but it echoed with unyielding defiance.
He rushed Kodyn again heedless of his wounds, both hands gripping the stock of his crossbow. Kodyn bared his teeth in a growl and tore his long sword free of its sheath. His first chop bent the steel spike but failed to turn aside the momentum of Handsome’s charge. The assassin slammed into him with the force of an enraged bull, lifting Kodyn off his feet and driving him against the stone wall.
Sparks flared to life in Kodyn’s vision. The world whirled around him, violently dizzy, and Kodyn gasped as pain coursed through his chest, ribs, back, and skull. He crumpled, dazed, his vision blurry. The stupor lasted only a heartbeat, but it was more than enough time for Handsome to bring back his leg for a kick.
A steel-toed boot collided with Kodyn’s gut, just beneath his ribs, knocking the breath from his lungs. Kodyn sagged, fighting to draw in even a thread of air. Agony burst to life in his torso and set his head pounding.
With a silent sneer, Handsome lifted his crossbow high and prepared to drive the crooked spike home in Kodyn’s side. Desperate, Kodyn lashed out with the dagger in his right hand. A weak blow, but the blade was sharp. The flesh of Handsome’s ankle parted beneath steel. Kodyn shoved harder, trying to drive the narrow, teardrop-shaped blade into the heel, slice the tendon, anything to slow the assassin down.
Handsome cried out and stumbled backward, tearing the knife from Kodyn’s hand. Pain twisted the man’s face as all his weight landed on his wounded leg. Blood gushed from the deep gash and Handsome fell, hard.
The assassin collapsed onto his back, but his single retreating step had carried him near the hole of the vertical shaft. Kodyn heard a loud snap as Handsome’s spine struck the lip of the shaft. His strong body went limp, his spinal cord severed. His head and shoulders fell into the hole and slowly, one heartbeat at a time, dragged his weight down.
“No!” The word burst from Kodyn’s lips in a pained gasp. He threw himself toward the assassin, reaching for the man’s ankle to stop him.
Too late.
Cloth and leather slid from beneath Kodyn’s fingers as the weight of Handsome’s body dragged him into the shaft. A long heartbeat later, a gut-wrenching thump echoed from far below.
Acid churning in his stomach, Kodyn scrambled toward the hole in the floor and looked down. Handsome’s body lay in a shattered heap on the hard stone ground. Yet a hint of hope pierced his dismay—Handsome still lived, gasping for breath, his limbs twitching.
Kodyn climbed down the ladder as fast as his bruised, battered body permitted. He had to stop and catch his breath, but he forced himself to continue the descent until he reached the assassin. The man was dying, his skull as shattered as his arms, legs, and ribs. He had seconds, not minutes, before death claimed him.
“Who hired you?” Kodyn seized the assassin’s shirt and shook him. “Which of the Necroseti paid you to kill Councilor Angrak?”
Coarse laughter bubbled up between Handsome’s bloodstained teeth. “Good…luck…with that!”
“Tell me!” Kodyn screamed in the man’s face. “Was it Madani? Natoris? Which one?”
Handsome’s jaw clamped firmly shut, his mouth pressed into a tight line. He made not a single sound as life fled from his shattered body. With a last defiant glare at Kodyn, his eyes rolled up and his head hung limp.
Kodyn remained motionless a long moment, glaring at the dead assassin. It took his fingers long seconds to unclench and release Handsome’s blood-soaked shirt. The body fell back to the ground with a quiet thump and lay still.
Damn it, damn it, damn it! He pounded a fist against the dead man’s chest. He’d come so close; if only the stubborn bastard hadn’t insisted on taking his secrets to the Long Keeper’s arms.
Again, he let out his anger and frustration on the body—Handsome wouldn’t mind. Yet this time, his fist clinked against something hard within the assassin’s clothing.
Curious, Kodyn reached into the inner pocket of Handsome’s cloak and his fingers closed around a long, smooth object. The light leaking through the narrow opening in the stone wall shone on a glass vial with a cork stopper and a dark grey liquid swirling within.
What in the Keeper’s name is this?
Curiosity burned within him, yet he’d spent enough time around the poisoners and alchemists of House Scorpion to know better than to pop open the cork and smell or taste its contents.
A quiver ran through his hands, setting the liquid within the glass vial trembling. Chills seeped down Kodyn’s spine and stole the warmth from his limbs. He found his legs suddenly weak, his arms heavy. The realization struck him with the force of a sledgehammer to the gut: I nearly died!
He had faced death before—any fall from the Hawk’s Highway could prove fatal, and he’d fought off dozens of Gatherers less than two days earlier. Yet that had been different. Then, he’d known his skill and speed could save him. Here, however, there had been no doubt in his mind: Handsome could have killed him. Only a generous helping of luck had spared his life.
If only that luck had kept Handsome alive long enough to talk!
Kodyn swallowed the acid surging in his throat and forced himself to focus on the body before him. He’d found this strange vial of whatever-in-the-bloody-hell it was hidden in Handsome’s clothing. Perhaps he could find something else—something to point him in the direction of whoever had hired him to kill Councilor Angrak.
He rifled through the dead man’s pockets—it felt wrong, macabre, yet he had no time for nerves. His search yielded little: two well-forged straight daggers, a handful of Shalandran coins, and a silver locket that held a crude, faded etching of a woman’s likeness. Yet no proof of who had hired him.
Damn! Kodyn sat back on his heels and tried to think of what to do next. Maybe there’s something in his lair that I missed the first time.
Standing, he moved toward the ladder and began to climb, but his shaking hands and trembling legs slowed his pace. It was a natural reaction to the near-death ordeal—Errik had warned him about it, something even the bravest warriors and killers experienced—but at that moment, it was slowing him down.
It seemed an eternity later before Kodyn reached the top, gasping and out of breath. He pulled himself into the room and scanned the small chamber for anything he might have missed. Right beside the shaft, he spotted a small wineskin that hadn’t been there when he entered.
Handsome must have brought it to add to his collection, Kodyn thought, shooting a glance at the empty wooden casks.
He gave the room a thorough once-over
again, this time checking beneath the straw-tick mattress, overturning the blankets, and searching the floor for any hiding places or secret caches. He no longer needed to worry about the consequences of disturbing the assassin’s lair.
His search turned up two purses heavy with coin, a smaller velvet purse filled with gemstones, and a parchment that seemed to accompany an account at the Coin Counter’s Temple. Handsome had earned a living commensurate to his name—a small fortune lay tucked literally beneath his bed, and more stored in the Reckoners’ vaults.
Coin aplenty, but nothing that ties him to the Keeper’s Council or the Necroseti! Kodyn ground his teeth in frustration. All that, only to come away empty-handed.
Well, not quite empty-handed. The coins and gemstones would come in handy for bribes or as a gift to the Black Widow. And that vial with the dark grey potion seemed an odd thing for an assassin to carry.
Master Serpent had told him of assassins that carried poisons—both to use against their enemies and to ingest in case of capture. Yet this was like no poison Kodyn had seen on the shelves of House Scorpion.
So what the bloody hell is it? Handsome was far beyond answering his questions, so he had only one way to find out. Time to get back to Temple of Whispers.
With a final glance at the assassin’s lair and the shattered body at the base of the shaft, Kodyn scrambled down the ladder and out of the exit that opened onto a back alley of the Cultivator’s Tier.
If anyone can figure out what’s in this vial, it’s the Secret Keepers.
Chapter Twenty
Aisha slowly drifted out of her dreams—dreams of running through the Ghandian plains with Nkanyezi, training with her mother, and sitting at her father’s feet while he regaled her with stories of the Kish’aa. Sleep retreated one peaceful heartbeat at a time, releasing her from the warm embrace of rest and back into the world of wakefulness.
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