Crucible of Fortune: An Epic Fantasy Young Adult Adventure (Heirs of Destiny Book 2)

by Andy Peloquin

  Issa’s blood ran cold. Again, Tannard expected the impossible of her. She couldn’t train sixteen hours a day without at least a few hours of sleep to repair her body and restore her energy. Yet his face could have been cut from the golden sandstone of Alshuruq for all the emotion it revealed.

  “Yes, Invictus!” Issa saluted.

  Invictus stared at her for a long moment, then nodded. “Then come. You are already late for your next lesson.” Without another word, he turned on his heel and marched west through the plaza.

  Issa swallowed hard as she fell into step behind the Invictus and followed him toward the palace’s western wing—the section reserved for the Elders of the Blades and Lady Callista herself. She barely saw the plain sandstone corridors. Her racing thoughts were consumed by questions.

  Why did Lady Callista allow the Pharus to give me this assignment last night, then suddenly have Tannard come and take it away?

  It made no sense. The mission had come from Pharus Amhoset Nephelcheres himself. Though she served Lady Callista as a Keeper’s Blade, the Pharus had authority to entrust her with missions like protecting Lady Briana.

  So what did Tannard do to talk Lady Callista into putting me back into his clutches once more?

  She gritted her teeth to stop a shudder from slithering down her spine. Whatever lesson the Invictus had in mind for her, it would be a brutal one. On his first day of training, he’d ordered her to fight Hykos—a Blade with four years of experience—bare-handed. After Hykos’ beating, Issa had been forced to steal food to eat. Every day since, Tannard had heaped a myriad of challenges onto her, each one more impossible than the last. Either he wanted to break her spirit or shatter her body. Why, she still hadn’t figured out.

  Yet she was more determined than ever not to break. She’d come close two nights ago when she crept out of the Citadel of Stone to visit the home of her Saba and Savta. Only her grandmother’s words had stopped her from giving up. Her triumph in the training yard and her battle in the palace had proven that she was suited to be a Keeper’s Blade. No matter what Tannard threw at her, she’d hold her ground and fight back with every shred of strength.

  Issa shot a glance toward the northwestern corner of the palace—there, she knew, was the entrance to the Tomb of Hallar. Tannard led her southwest, toward the sixty-foot wall surrounding the palace and the long stone tunnel that connected the Citadel of Stone to the Palace of Golden Eternity.

  Hykos had explained the reason for the entrance. “In time of war, we must be able to reach the Pharus, Lady of Blades, and Shalandra’s most sacred sites without delay.” Rather than having to march east along the Path of Gold, the Blades could simply enter the Palace of Golden Eternity this way.

  The Citadel of Stone was an enormous stronghold carved out from the mountain, a solid structure that dominated the entire western end of the Keeper’s Tier. Issa knew it the moment they left the palace and entered the Citadel—the tunnels were all plain stone, sharp edges, and hard practicality.

  They stepped out of the tunnel and into a corridor that cut a path straight through the north wing to the training yard. Issa’s stomach clenched at the sight of the battle taking place there. Three figures fought in the middle of the cleared space, swinging huge two-handed swords at each other with bone-jarring force. Only the solid black armor of the Keeper’s Blades kept them from hacking off limbs or slicing flesh. Yet not even the armor could dull the impact of a flammard swung with full force.

  Etai grunted beneath a blow to her chest and staggered backward, sword dropping from its guard position. The Blade she faced—Archateros Chirak, a tall woman with heavy features and shoulders as sloped as the steep cliffs of Zahiran, the one assigned to train Etai—slammed her blade into Etai’s midsection hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs. Etai fell hard, gagging and gasping for breath. The third Blade, one Issa didn’t recognize, kicked Etai hard in the head. The snarling lion helmet saved the girl from having her skull crushed, barely. Etai collapsed, unconscious.

  Issa stifled a cry of rage. How does battering her senseless help train her? She wanted to shout, but knew it would be pointless. Chirak wasn’t Tannard; she lacked the Invictus’ cold cruelty. This lesson was intended to have purpose, though one Issa couldn’t fathom.

  “Up!” Chirak stooped over Etai’s form and hauled the girl upright. But Etai simply pretended unconsciousness. As Chirak bent over her, she seized the Archateros’ arm and twisted hard to put her into a joint lock. In the same moment, Etai spun around and drove the heel of her boot into the other Blade’s chest. The blow struck just above the breastplate, on the gorget covering the Blade’s throat. The man staggered backward, choking and coughing.

  “Very good.” Chirak’s face broke into an approving grin, albeit a small one, and she nodded. “Your joint locks need work…” She emphasized her point by spinning and twisting Etai’s wrist into a painful lock of her own. “…but that blow would have truly rendered you unconscious last week. One day, you might actually be able to hold your own in a proper battle.”

  “Thank you, Archateros!” Etai gasped, her face a mask of pain and pride. When Chirak released her arm, Etai rubbed her wrist as she strode toward her sword.

  “Archateros, are you finished?” Tannard snapped.

  Chirak looked up at Tannard, and her expression went flat, dead. “Yes, Invictus,” she replied in a monotone.

  “Good. Issa will go next.” He turned to Issa. “To the field.”

  Heart hammering in her chest, Issa strode out onto the training yard, sword in hand. She waited, stomach in knots, for the inevitable punishment she knew would come—disguised as a lesson, of course, but no less painful.

  Tannard’s face revealed nothing. “How many assassins did you slay last night?”

  “I do not know,” Issa replied, honestly.

  “According to your comrades, the count was at least eleven, correct?” Tannard looked at Etai, who shrank beneath his glare. When the Mahjuri girl didn’t respond, the Invictus turned toward the western edge of the training yard. “Is that correct?”

  Issa’s eyes narrowed as she caught sight of Kellas seated on a bench. The Dhukari youth looked like he’d taken a worse beating than she’d given him yesterday. Blood trickled down his cheeks, forehead, and from a split lip, and his nose had seen better, less flat days. All trace of arrogance was gone as he nodded. “Yes, Invictus.”

  “Eleven.” The single word was cold, spoken in an emotionless tone. His gaze locked on her. “If you can defeat eleven enemies, surely you will have no difficulty defeating six.”

  Issa’s eyes narrowed. Keeper’s teeth. By her count, six Blades stood in the training yard: Etai, Chirak, and the third Blade she didn’t recognize. Kellas on the bench and Byrach, his Archateros trainer, hovering behind him.

  She nearly vomited as she looked at the sixth Blade: Tannard himself.

  The Invictus’ eyes revealed nothing as he drew his enormous two-handed sword and strode toward her. “Blades, to me!” he shouted.

  Etai and Chirak exchanged glances, but at Chirak’s nod, the two of them hurried toward Tannard. Kellas, Byrach, and the other Blade joined them a moment later.

  “I told you that you wouldn’t escape me,” Tannard snarled in a voice pitched low for her ears.

  Issa’s blood ran cold as she faced the wall of black-armored warriors arrayed against her. Taking on Kellas or Etai alone would be challenging, but she’d seen both Byrach and Chirak fight often enough to know she had little chance of defeating them. The Invictus had more than twenty years’ service to the Long Keeper. To face any of the higher-ranked Blades would be near-impossible even on her best day.

  But to face all at once? This is cruel, even by Tannard’s measure. Her best hope would be to survive this battle with only half the bones in her body shattered.

  Yet, as her eyes came to rest on Tannard’s harsh features, resolve hardened within her. Her fingers tightened around the grip of her sword and she settled into a lo
w guard stance favored by the Academy of the Windy Mountain. She tracked the movements of her enemies as they spread out to surround her.

  Her defeat was as inevitable as the setting sun, but she would face it without fear or hesitation. She wouldn’t give Tannard the satisfaction of watching her cower.

  With a shout, she charged her nearest enemy—the Invictus himself.

  Chapter Seven

  Aisha hid a wince as she tried to match Briana’s pace. The Dhukari girl swept through the palace’s front door at a pace that belied the elegance of her glide. Aisha’s leg wound made quick movements difficult. She had to move more slowly for fear of reopening the scabbed-over cut.

  Kodyn seemed to sense her pain, for he offered Briana his arm then slowed their pace to match hers. She shot him a grateful nod—she’d never have said anything, but she was relieved not to push herself.

  “Lady Briana,” a voice called from behind them.

  Aisha spun, hand dropping to the wooden shaft of her short-handled assegai spear. Her eyes narrowed as she found another Keeper’s Blade, this one a young man, striding toward them. Somehow, the original Blade, Issa, had disappeared as they entered the palace.

  Aisha stepped in the Blade’s way, and the man stopped a respectful distance away. “My lady,” the Blade said, looking past Aisha to address Briana, “I am instructed by my commander to serve as your protector.”

  “And what of your fellow Blade, Issa?” Briana asked. Aisha glanced over her shoulder. Kodyn had interposed himself between Briana and the black-armored warrior, but Briana showed no sign of fear. Her eyes, however, revealed suspicion aplenty.

  “Called away for training, honored lady.”

  For a moment, Aisha imagined she could see a hint of worry crack the young man’s martial façade. He didn’t look much older than the other Blade, which made Aisha think maybe the two were more than just comrades.

  Interesting. She tucked the fact away in the back of her mind.

  “I am Hykos, Archateros of the Keeper’s Blades.” The young man swept a bow and when he stood, all trace of anxiety had gone from his face, leaving only a warrior’s confidence. “It would be my honor to offer my sword and skills in protection of the adopted daughter of Arch-Guardian Suroth. He was a great man, your father, respected by all in Shalandra.”

  “Thank you for your kind words,” Briana replied. “The honor is mine. I will feel much better knowing one of the Keeper’s chosen stands guard over me.”

  Aisha knew Briana well enough to recognize the change in the Shalandran girl. She’d taken on the same formal, elegant persona that she’d adopted when attending the party in the palace two nights before. Briana the Dhukari noblewoman, adopted daughter of a Councilor and socialite extraordinaire. A far cry from the girl Aisha had come to know in the weeks since they first met in Praamis.

  At Briana’s nod, Kodyn once again offered his arm. Together, they strode through the gold-and-silver bedecked halls of the Palace of Golden Eternity. Aisha fell in a step behind them, with the Blade, Hykos, beside her.

  Aisha studied Hykos from the corner of her eye. He was tall, taller than she or Kodyn, with solid musculature and a posture that spoke of confidence and skill with the two-handed blade strapped to his back. A braided tail of dark hair hung down his back—Aisha decided that it suited his broad, handsome face.

  A ripple of relief ran through her as Hykos made no move to draw his two-handed sword. She had no desire to deal with the spirits of the dead, not right now. Their meeting with the Pharus could put them on the path to vengeance for Suroth’s death. Aisha couldn’t afford to be distracted by the cries of the Kish’aa.

  Deeper into the palace they went, Briana and Kodyn in the lead with Aisha and this new Keeper’s Blade bringing up the rear guard.

  Two Keeper’s Blades stood at attention before a pair of gold leaf-bedecked double doors, which Aisha guessed led to the Throne Room. The black-armored warriors held their huge two-handed swords drawn, tips grounded between their feet, hands clasped around the hilts. Aisha’s jaw clenched as she saw the blue-white wisps floating in lazy circles around the black steel, more than a dozen between the two swords. Their eyes fixed on her and their mouths opened in wordless cries.

  At their approach, the guards raised their swords and stepped forward. “Halt!”

  “The Pharus is expecting me,” Briana said, her voice ringing with the commanding tone of a noblewoman.

  The two Blades stared at her, suspicion etched into the lines of their hard faces. One looked past Briana, his eyes flashing over Aisha and stopping as they came to rest on Hykos.

  “Archateros!” He snapped a salute, tapping his right fist against his left shoulder.

  “Katoteros.” Hykos returned the salute. “Lady Briana, adopted daughter of Arch-Guardian Suroth, will be permitted to enter.”

  “Of course, Archateros.” With a short bow, the two men hurried to open the doors.

  Aisha shot a glance at the Blade beside her. He can’t be more than nineteen or twenty years old, yet commands respect even at such a young age. Interesting.

  It reminded her of the way people deferred to Ilanna, Kodyn’s mother and Master of the Night Guild. Ilanna was far shorter and smaller than most of her fellow Guild members, yet every one of her comrades and subordinates respected her—many even feared her. Her actions, temperament, and nature proved far more imposing than size, strength, or skill.

  Aisha stifled an awestruck gasp as the double doors swung open. The entire Throne Room seemed to sparkle with a dazzling brilliance that nearly blinded her. Yet it was not from the precious metals that adorned the halls—instead, the color came from the chandelier high overhead.

  Hundreds of glass globes hung suspended by metal wires, each one shining with an internal illumination. Each globe produced a different color of light—hues of blue, green, red, soft white, warm gold, and a hundred more—that, when reflected from the polished metal situated around the room, filled the chamber with a brightness that not even the midday sun could match.

  There was no doubt in her mind: this was Serenii-made.

  Her eyes dropped from the chandelier to the Pharus’ throne: a chair of gold, crested by outstretched eagle’s wings. Behind and above him, high-relief carvings in the sandstone bore the stern, solemn faces of men that frowned down on Shalandra’s ruler.

  Pharus Amhoset Nephelcheres looked up as they entered. In the light streaming from the chandelier, his golden conical crown, headdress, and robes almost blinded her. For a moment, surprise flashed across his strong features, and a furrow rippled his arched brow. Yet the surprise disappeared an instant later, replaced by a regal smile.

  The Pharus stood from his golden throne. “Lady Briana, we bid you enter and be welcome.” His voice rang out loud and clear in the huge hall, and he gave a dismissive wave to the well-dressed men and women—all Dhukari, judging by their ornate golden headdresses, kohl-rimmed eyes, and the abundance of black beauty marks on their faces. “Leave us.”

  Everyone in the Throne Room hastened to obey, though many shot Briana dark looks as they passed. Others nodded or spoke a quiet word of greeting or condolence, pity in their eyes. It took fully two minutes before all of the Dhukari finished filing from the room. Only the four Keeper’s Blades beside the Pharus’ throne remained unmoving. The black-armored warriors could have been carved from the same stone as the faces on the wall above them.

  When all in the room had gone, Pharus Amhoset Nephelcheres descended the dais upon which his throne sat and strode toward Briana. “Briana.” He settled his strong hands on her shoulders. “You have my deepest sympathies on your father’s passing.”

  Aisha was surprised not only at his words—he spoke with an informal, almost personable tone—but at the genuine sorrow in his eyes and the gentle, almost familiar gesture.

  “Thank you, Bright One.” Briana bowed her head. “I believe the knowledge that his Pharus mourns his passing will comfort him on his journey into the Long Keeper’s
arms and into the Sleepless Lands beyond.”

  “He will be missed greatly.” A shadow passed across the Pharus’ eyes. “I owe him a great debt. My assigning one of the Blades’ finest warriors to your protection was a small step toward repayment.” His brow furrowed as he caught sight of Hykos beside Aisha, but again, he schooled his expression an instant later.

  “You honor me, my Pharus.” Briana smiled.

  “Tell me, what do you know of those responsible for your father’s death?” Pharus Amhoset Nephelcheres fixed her with a piercing gaze.

  “Nothing, Bright One,” Briana replied. “However, if the rumors are true, they are the same Gatherers that abducted me in the first place and made a second attempt last night.”

  “Gatherers.” The Pharus’ face creased into a scowl and he stepped back, his hands balled into fists. “As if the Necroseti weren’t bad enough.”

  Aisha hid a smile. So Suroth was right. The Pharus hates the Necroseti. If Briana played this right, she could convince the Pharus to help them. Though what he’d help them do remained to be seen.

  Briana glanced around, then spoke in a quiet voice. “I share my Pharus’ sentiments. My companions and I are determined to bring justice for my father.”

  The Pharus raised an eyebrow. “You intend to hunt down the Gatherers?”

  “And any that played a hand in my father’s death.” Briana’s voice took on a hard edge, her meaning clear. “No matter who they are or what power they wield.”

  “Intriguing.” A ghost of a smile played on the man’s lips, and he raised a strong hand to stroke his clean-shaven chin, which bore eight beauty marks—one more than the highest-ranked Dhukari, an honor reserved for the ruler of Shalandra alone. “I see your father’s spirit within you. He would be proud to see you respond thus. Perhaps I might be able to assist you in this endeavor. With information, at the very least.”