Storm of Chaos

by Andy Peloquin

  But she couldn’t direct all of her anger at the Necroseti. They had given the order, but Lady Callista had chosen to enforce it. And she, Issa, had carried it out. She hated herself for not putting up more of a fight. She’d nearly battled an Indomitable Dictator over one helpless Mahjuri found beneath a desecrated statue. His death wouldn’t have made any difference, yet she’d refused to let the Indomitables abuse him. So why hadn’t she raised her voice in protest, knowing the potential consequences of Aterallis’ execution?

  The question followed her all the way through the Cultivator’s Tier, up Death Row, and into the Artisan’s Tier. “Because Lady Callista ordered me to” just didn’t sit right with her. She could find no satisfactory answer, and that rankled all the more.

  The sight of Lady Callista Vinaus standing at the gate to the Defender’s Tier—a solid, unmoving statue of black steel and iron willpower—only added to her worries. There was only one reason for the Lady of Blades herself to be here: she expected the worst and had come to personally ensure nothing got out of hand.

  Issa saluted as she approached the gate, and the Lady of Blades returned the salute. “Come with me, Prototopoi.” She fixed Etai with a stern gaze. “Both of you.”

  Issa and Etai exchanged curious glances but fell in step behind Lady Callista without a word. They followed the Lady of Blades to the three-story house that had been converted into a War Room. The city of Shalandra remained spread out across the broad wooden table in the center of the main chamber. Now, a multitude of thick red dots covered the two lowest of Shalandra’s tiers.

  Lady Callista turned to the two of them. “Tell me, is Death Row clogged all the way to the East Gate?”

  Issa nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  A scowl cracked Lady Callista’s stony expression. “And the Way of Chains?”

  “That’s where it’s most congested, Lady Callista.” Issa stepped up to the map and swept a finger along the Way of Chains. “It’s worst here, around Murder Square and Trader’s Way.”

  “The people are holding silent vigil over Aterallis’ body,” Etai spoke up.

  That brought another flash of anger to Issa’s gut. Aterallis’ severed head had been mounted on a spike alongside common criminals, his corpse hung in a cage above Murder Square—a final insult to the man that had preached peace, a deafening warning to all the Mahjuri that the Necroseti would not countenance any threat to their rule.

  Lady Callista growled a soft curse and stared down at the map. After a moment, she lifted her eyes to Issa. “We need to do something about those people. Things could get worse much faster than we expect if they don’t move.”

  Issa’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand. There’s no rioting, looting, or violence. They’re simply…sitting there.”

  “The peaceful protest may prove far more disruptive than any amount of violence.” Lady Callista’s face hardened into a solemn mask. She swept a hand along both Trader’s Way and Death Row. “How will the people eat if no food can get in or out of the city? And if all the Kabili are protesting, who will mine the shalanite that the Pharus exports to bring in that food. How many will starve or die of thirst because the ways to the Wellsprings are blocked off?” She shook her head. “Things are more dire than you realize.”

  She glanced around—only the Elders of the Blade and a trio of the highest-ranked Indomitable Executors stood in the room. Worry darkened all of their faces.

  “The Halls of Bounty on the three lower tiers are nearly empty. There aren’t enough stores to feed all the Earaqi. The next shipment of grain is due to arrive tomorrow morning, but if it can’t get through Shalandra to deliver the food—”

  “There will be no food to distribute.” Cold dread sank like a stone in Issa’s gut. “The starving people will just get hungrier.”

  “Until the gnawing in their bellies leaves them no choice but to take up arms against the ones they believe responsible for the famine,” Lady Callista said. “The protests may be peaceful now, but hunger drives men and women to do desperate things.” Her expression grew contemplative. “Which is why I can’t shake off the thought that the timing of this protest is deliberate. As if whoever is leading it knew that the city’s stores had run low.”

  Issa’s jaw dropped. “Leading the protest?” She hadn’t seen any individuals sparking the outrage against the Indomitables or commanding the people to sit. The Mahjuri, Kabili, and Earaqi had simply acted.

  “Yes.” Lady Callista nodded. “In every crowd or mob, there is always a small fraction of the people that lead the rest. One or two out of every hundred, but as long as they look and act with confidence, the rest will follow blindly. It is the true power—and danger—of a throng. The Keeper’s Council believed Aterallis would try to sway the people against them, and in their fear-driven haste to execute him, they took the control of the crowd from him and placed it in the hands of someone else. The question we need to answer is who.”

  Angry shouts in the distance drowned out Issa’s reply. A swelling roar echoed from the gate to the Defender’s Tier.

  Issa sucked in a breath, but fear lent wings to her feet as she whirled and raced into the street. The thirty paces to the gate felt like an eternity—would she be too late to prevent the protest from turning violent?

  Her gut clenched at the sight that awaited her. An ornate palanquin with gold-leaf adornments, silk curtains, and plush velvet curtains had passed through the gate and attempted to descend Death Row, only to find its way blocked by the seated people. The eight Kabili litterbearers sweated beneath the burden of their master, and four guards with steel breastplates and long, sharp spears stared nervously at the crowd.

  The Dhukari within the litter yelled at the top of his lungs for the crowd to make way. “Move or be moved!” the Dhukari’s shrill voice rang out along Death Row. His shouts had less effect than a madman railing at Dalmisa’s volcano to cool down.

  Hundreds of stony faces stared at him, stubborn refusal etched into their expressions. Men, women, even children crossed their arms and set their jaws in silent defiance.

  “So be it.” The man snapped his fingers at his guards. “Clear the path through this rabble.”

  The Necroseti’s guards, wisely, hesitated. They knew the danger this crowd posed, and they had no shield of Dhukari self-importance to protect them.

  “Now!” screamed the Dhukari, his face red with rage.

  With grim faces, the spearmen moved among the seated people. Their attempts to clear the way were met with hostility, angry shouts, even a few raised fists.

  Ice seeped into Issa’s veins as she raced through the gates. Already, a few of the Earaqi and Kabili on the street had risen, fires of hatred and resentment blazing in their eyes. The Dhukari’s guards, suddenly confronted by a wall of anger, hesitated.

  Issa saw the dark shape hurtling through the air a moment before the fist-sized stone slammed into one of the guards. The rock struck the man’s unhelmeted head and he fell, senseless and bleeding. The other guards stared dumbfounded at their unconscious comrade. Then the hesitation fled their eyes and fury darkened their expressions. They drew back their spears to thrust at the nearest protestor.

  “No!” Issa’s shout cracked like a giant’s whip. “Stand down at once!”

  The tone of command in her voice snapped the guards’ heads around. Their eyes widened as they recognized the huge sword in her hand, her snarling lion helmet, and full black plate mail. They hesitated, spears frozen in the air.

  Issa raced toward the Dhukari’s palanquin and ripped open the curtain. “Call your men off, and get back up to the Keeper’s Tier, now!”

  Outrage purpled the man’s rotund cheeks. “How dare you speak to me in that manner?” He drew himself up to his full, less-than-impressive height, made even less imposing by the way his gut spilled over his belt and legs. “Do you know who I am?”

  “I don’t give a damn if you’re the Pharus’ best friend!” Issa snapped. “You’re one pissy word away from turni
ng this crowd into a mob. If you don’t order your men back now, I’m going to haul each and every one of them out of here in chains myself. And you’ll enjoy the Pharus’ dungeons right alongside them.”

  Fear turned the Dhukari’s face from angry purple to pasty white and his jaw dropped. He tried to recover and snap some command, but Issa didn’t give him time.

  She seized the man’s ornate golden headband and pulled him close, until his jowled face hung an inch from hers. “If the next words out of your mouth aren’t an order for your men to pull back and return to the Keeper’s Tier, you’ll find out what Shalandran steel tastes like.” She lifted her other mailed fist for emphasis.

  Self-importance faded in the face of her authority. “P-Pull back,” he stammered, an anemic command as weak and shaky as the man himself. He swallowed, cleared his throat, and tried again. “Pull back. W-We are returning home.”

  “Excellent.” Issa released the man and stalked toward the three guards still standing. “Get your friend up and get him out of here now.”

  It took only a moment for the guards to hurry to comply. Relief shone in their eyes as they collected their unconscious comrade and dragged him back up the hill. They had known who would die first if the crowd turned hostile.

  As the litterbearers struggled to march their heavy burden up Death Row, Issa turned to study the throng of people. The vast majority remained seated, but nearly fifty of them—mostly young and middle-aged men—had risen to the defense of those threatened. Animosity and indignation stained every one of their faces.

  Issa kept both hands well away from her sword, her eyes fixed on the Earaqi that had risen. Her grim determination and unyielding will clashed with the fires of wrath burning within them. Seconds passed in tense silence as she stared down those that would turn the protest to violence. Slowly, one by one, the young Earaqi men returned to their seats.

  Face an expressionless mask, Issa turned away from the throng and marched back up Death Row toward the gate. Only once she had passed through and into the Defender’s Tier did she let out a shaky breath.

  Damn! She had to clench her fists to keep her hands from trembling. That was too close.

  “Well done.” Lady Callista nodded. “You’ve made an enemy of Raemos, but it was worth pissing off one arrogant pissant to save the city.”

  Warmth suffused Issa at Lady Callista’s praise and she ducked her head, a proud smile on her face.

  “Issa!” A familiar voice cut through the late afternoon.

  Issa turned toward the sound of the call. Her gut clenched as she spotted Evren racing down Death Row from the Keeper’s Tier. Hykos ran beside him, and one look at her Archateros’ face told Issa that the situation was dire.

  “Gatherers!” Evren gasped, breathless. “Stirring up the Earaqi!”

  Issa sucked in a breath. “What?”

  Evren thrust a finger down the hill, toward the Cultivator’s Tier. “They’re arming the people and will attack just after nightfall.” He shot a worried glance up at the sky. The sun had just touched the top of the western cliff. “We’ve got less than an hour to stop them before they turn the city into a bloodbath!”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Issa and Lady Callista’s faces grew more and more serious as Evren recounted his run-in with the cultists in the tunnels. At the mention of “Hallar’s Warriors”, Issa’s frown deepened.

  “You recognize that name?” he asked her.

  “I do,” Issa said. “But I never thought…” She trailed off, shaking her head, and growled a curse. “Damn it!”

  Everyone in the War Room looked curiously at the young Blade.

  Issa spoke in a slow, hesitant voice. “A few months ago, a group of young men approached me. They called themselves ‘Hallar’s Warriors’, in honor of Shalandra’s founder, and they spoke of ‘restoring Shalandra to the days of Hallar’. They spoke of a ‘simpler, better time, a time without the caste system’. At the time, I thought it was nothing more than idealistic drivel, and my Saba taught me to be careful of anything even remotely extremist or insurgent.” Her eyes darted toward Hykos and Lady Callista. “Obviously I rejected them. That was the last I heard of them. Until now.”

  Evren’s mind flashed back to the people in the tunnels. Most had been young men and women wearing Earaqi headbands. In the stories he’d read during his years as an apprentice Lectern, revolutionaries and rebels tended to be on the younger side. Youth leaned toward hot-headedness and idealism.

  “Do you know where to find them?” Evren asked. “From what I heard, they’re planning on stirring up the crowds, turn those peaceful crowds into a bloodthirsty mob. If that happens—”

  “People will die.” Issa nodded. “And not just the lower castes.”

  The image of an angry mob storming the gates of the Defender’s Tier sent a shiver down Evren’s spine. Once unleashed, the enraged populace wouldn’t stop with the Alqati. They would go for the ones they truly blamed: the Dhukari. Casualties on all of Shalandra’s tiers would skyrocket, but it was the Earaqi, Mahjuri, and Kabili that would suffer most.

  Issa’s jaw clenched. “And no, I wouldn’t know where to find them. Like I said, that was the only time I ever heard of them.”

  Keeper take it! Evren’s gut clenched. He’d made the choice not to follow the people in the tunnel—instead trying to get to Issa in the hopes of stopping the problem before the Gatherers, Hallar’s Warriors, or whatever these bastards called themselves ignited the fire. But if he couldn’t find them, he couldn’t stop them.

  Memories of his years spent on the streets of Vothmot returned. There, gangs and bands of thieves had divided the city into neighborhoods. Crews tended to conscript the young men and boys on their own turf rather than trying to poach from their enemies.

  Maybe these Hallar’s Warriors would be the same. They’d start out recruiting in the territory where they felt safe.

  “Where were you when they approached you?” Evren asked. “Can you recall exactly where and on which tier?”

  Issa’s face scrunched up in thought. “It was on the way back from…” She hesitated, a strange, secretive look hardening her expression. “…the Artisan’s Tier. I think it was a few streets west of Trader’s Way, on the Cultivator’s Tier.”

  Determination settled in Evren’s stomach. “If we went there now, do you think you could remember?”

  After a moment, Issa gave a slow nod. “Maybe.” She shot a glance at Lady Callista. “Under ordinary circumstances, I’d say it’s worth it, but if what Evren’s saying is true, the Cultivator’s Tier is going to be the hotbed of activity. The sight of a company of armed Indomitables led by a Keeper’s Blade—”

  “Two Keeper’s Blades,” Hykos cut in.

  Issa shot a scowl at the Archateros, but Evren spoke before she could.

  “Issa’s right.” He fixed Lady Callista with a firm stare. “Which is why you have to go in dressed like me. Incognito.”

  The Lady of Blades studied him from head to toe. He knew he didn’t look like much—his red Earaqi headband was made of crude, dyed fabric, his shendyt and tunic were simple, and his cloak had more holes than cheesecloth. Yet for this particular purpose, he had the perfect disguise.

  He fixed his gaze on Issa. “You said you were Earaqi before joining the Keeper’s Blades. You’ll blend in just fine down there.” His eyes went to the tall Archateros that had stepped forward. “No offense, Hykos, but you’ve got less chance of blending in than a bull in a field of daisies. Everything about you screams ‘soldier’.”

  A scowl darkened Hykos’ face and he opened his mouth to retort.

  Lady Callista cut him off with a raised hand. “He’s right.” She turned to Issa. “I’ll send Etai and your Indomitable trainees with you. They’ll blend in among the Earaqi.” Her jaw clenched, worry sparkling in her dark, kohl-rimmed eyes. “But you’ll have to go in without your armor, with only simple weapons.”

  Issa nodded. “Short swords, clubs, and daggers. Anything we
can easily conceal.”

  “Go.” Lady Callista said, the single word a sharp order. “Get out of your armor, and I’ll send word to your patrol.”

  Issa and Etai both saluted. “Yes, Lady Callista.”

  “But hurry!” Evren said. “They’ll make their move after sundown.” A glance outside revealed the sun had already dipped halfway below the western cliff. Daylight would fade to evening in less than half an hour.

  As Lady Callista snapped off a curt order to a messenger, the two young Blades hurried into the next room, already working at the buckles and straps of their black plate mail.

  Evren found himself alone in a room filled with stern-faced soldiers—the last place he would ever have wanted to be, given his past and present line of work. Once, he might have quivered beneath their hard, piercing stares. Now, he met their gazes without hesitation. He had nothing to fear from them. For now, they fought on the same side.

  Lady Callista broke the momentary silence. “You are the one called Evren, yes?”

  Evren’s stomach did a nervous somersault, but he kept his face an unreadable mask of calm. “I am.” He gave her his most confident grin.

  “From what I understand, you have proven instrumental in aiding Briana and her comrades in their mission on my behalf.” Lady Callista pursed her lips. “And now, you uncover this fresh conspiracy. Seems like you’re as resourceful as your friends.”

  Evren’s jaw dropped. Those were the last words he’d expected to hear from the Lady of Blades.

  “When this is over, you and I will speak again.” A sly smile touched Lady Callista’s lips. “I can always find ways to use resourceful young men.”

  Long seconds passed before Evren remembered his mouth hung agape. What in the bloody hell? Was that…a job offer? Not quite, but it came damn close. Well, that was unexpected.

  He wasn’t certain how he felt about that. He’d spent so long on the wrong side of the law—first in Vothmot, then with the Hunter—that he didn’t know how to stop thinking like a thief.