Truth be told, he was only here at this moment because he’d decided to flee the city by riding into the Empty Mountains with the Hunter. There, he’d seen terrifying and marvelous things, and he’d learned the truth of the Hunter’s heritage as a Bucelarii, half-human and half-demon. He’d found a kindred spirit in the Hunter, an outcast like him, someone who understood what it meant to do whatever it took to survive.
When the Hunter offered him a chance to accompany him, Kiara, and Hailen to Voramis, Evren had accepted without hesitation. He’d signed up for the Hunter’s quest to hunt demons and protect the world. That quest had led him to Shalandra where, thanks to information provided by Father Reverentus, he believed one of the Serenii-crafted Im’tasi blades was stored in the Vault of the Ancients.
Which I still have no idea how to access. He grimaced. Twisted hell, I haven’t even figured out how to get into the palace yet.
But all of that would have to wait until after his meeting with Killian.
As he slipped through the gate and descended toward the Artisan’s Tier, he untied his red-and-gold-braided headband and replaced it with the strip of crimson-dyed canvas he’d worn around his wrist. One more Earaqi laborer would attract far less attention than a Dhukari’s servant. He’d taken to wearing the red strip of cloth as a bracelet to keep it handy in case he needed to switch identities in a hurry.
With a grin, he ducked into the flow of traffic bustling west on the Artificer’s Courseway. The impending sunset seemed to fill people with a hurry, and the crowds never stopped moving as men, women, and children hurried to complete their shopping or hawk their last wares before the markets closed for the evening.
Hurry meant far less caution, and Evren found himself jostled far more than he’d like by people hustling past. Once, a passing carter collided with him hard enough to nearly knock him off his feet. Evren’s growled response was met with a scowl and clenched fists. Evren didn’t back down, but he found himself suddenly missing his jambiya—which Rothin had taken from him when locking him in the storeroom.
Thankfully, the carter had more important things to do than get his nose shattered by an “impudent youth”, as he muttered while slouching away. Evren let out his breath and hurried along the Artificer’s Courseway to reach Killian’s before he found himself in more trouble.
Smith’s Alley intersected with the Artificer’s Courseway, but Evren decided to take a more roundabout approach to Killian’s forge. Instead of entering the front gate, he ducked into the smaller alley that ran parallel to the main avenue, turned into another narrow street that ran north, and, with a glance to be certain no one had seen him, scrambled over the wall.
His feet hadn’t even touched the ground before a voice drifted from within the shadows of the forge. “I expected you half an hour ago.”
Evren stifled a startled yelp and, schooling his expression to mask his surprise, turned toward the man emerging from the smithy. “Proper precautions take time,” he said with a shrug.
Killian strode from the forge’s rear door and into the training yard, the brace on his left leg making that odd clicking sound with every step. He limped over to the wooden stool facing the yard and sat, his eyes fixed on Evren. “You came looking for me yesterday, then left in a hurry.” His face revealed no anger, yet his tone was tight, tense. “I take it that had something to do with the Gatherers’ attack on Arch-Guardian Suroth’s mansion?”
“No.” Evren met the blacksmith’s gaze without hesitation. “I came to warn you that Snarth is a traitor.”
“Snarth?” For the first time in their acquaintance, Killian showed genuine surprise. His bushy eyebrows rose toward his hairline. “Explain.”
“Yesterday, I was coming to see you, to tell you that I’d overheard two of Suroth’s servants planning something, when I bumped into Snarth on the Artisan’s Courseway. He made some half-assed excuse about running an errand for you, but he was acting cagey, so it was pretty clear he was up to something. When I followed him down to the Slave’s Tier, I saw him go into a house and meet with a bunch of thugs. Called themselves the Syndicate.”
Killian’s eyes darkened. “The Keeper-damned Ybrazhe?”
Evren shrugged. “Syndicate’s all I heard. Snarth was talking about wanting to become a Crewman, but they insisted the only way he’d do that was by getting his hands on your book.”
“Of course.” Killian’s expression hardened. “The Ybrazhe Syndicate has wanted my secrets since they found out I was the one running the Mumblers.” He swore, a string of curses that would have made any Praamian sailor proud. “I’d always wondered how they’d uncovered that secret. I never imagined one of my own would betray me.”
“Who are they, this Syndicate?” The way Killian spoke of them, they sounded like a genuine threat.
“Our own version of the Bloody Hand,” Killian snarled. “Little more than thieves and thugs, but ruthless as demons. And now they’ve got Snarth working for them.”
“Well, I doubt he’ll be doing much work anymore.” Evren gave Killian a hard grin. “He took a dagger to the stomach last night.”
Killian cocked an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Evren nodded. “He came to Suroth’s mansion to try and shut me up, but that didn’t turn out well for him. He might still be alive, if he got to a healer in time.”
“He’d better hope he died.” Killian’s voice held a diamond-hard edge. “Not even the Long Keeper will recognize him once I’ve finished with him.” He fixed Evren with a piercing gaze. “And you were going to tell me about Snarth’s betrayal yesterday?”
“Yes, but I had to get back to Suroth’s mansion to warn Lady Briana’s bodyguards about the attempt on her life.”
Killian arched an eyebrow. “And to protect your brother, of course.”
Evren nodded. “He was assigned as Lady Briana’s bodyservant. But you already knew that.”
Killian inclined his head.
“And by now you know that the Gatherers are the ones that attacked Lady Briana.”
“As well as the Keeper’s Council in the palace itself,” Killian added.
Evren’s gut clenched. That’s what Samall and Kuhar were doing in the palace. He’d spotted them outside the kitchens, scouting a secret way to slip through a storeroom into the palace unseen.
Watcher’s teeth! If the palace guards are even half-competent, they’ll have discovered that entrance by now. No chance I’ll get in that way. His heart sank. Which means I have to work with Kodyn to find another way to get at the Vault of Ancients.
That meant taking on the Gatherers and the Necroseti beside Kodyn, Briana, and Aisha. To have any chance of success, he’d need Killian’s help.
“There’s something you need to know,” he told the blacksmith. “Lady Briana is going after the Gatherers that killed her father.”
“Is that so?” Killian’s expression grew musing. “The Indomitables have been searching for the cultists for months now and have come up empty-handed.”
Evren shrugged. “Then they’re doing it wrong. I’m willing to bet they’re approaching it like soldiers, banging down doors and marching through the streets with a show of force.”
After a moment, Killian nodded. “You’d win that wager.”
“No way they’re going to find the Gatherers, then,” Evren said. “But I’m also willing to bet you’ve had more success finding them. Your Mumblers draw far less attention.”
Killian pursed his lips.
“Information is your stock and trade, isn’t it?” Evren grinned. “What could be more valuable than information on where to find the Gatherers? Right now, the Pharus himself would likely pay a kingdom’s fortune to find them.”
After a moment, Killian shook his head. “Sadly, that fortune will go unclaimed, at least by me. My Mumblers have found a few meeting places and hideouts, all abandoned, and the Gatherers seem smart enough to never use the same location twice.”
Evren frowned. “Damn.” If Killian didn’t know how to find
the cultists, Lady Briana’s quest to root them out would prove much more difficult than she anticipated.
“Does Lady Briana also intend to go after the Necroseti?”
Evren tried to conceal his surprise at Killian’s question. How could he have known?
A wry grin twisted the blacksmith’s lips. “To clear a garden, one has to pluck weeds out by the root, not just the stem. Many of the Gatherers were once Necroseti, though the Keeper’s Priests have tried to cover up this fact. I have little doubt the Gatherers still have eyes and ears within the Hall of the Beyond. And, the enmity between Arch-Guardian Suroth and the Keeper’s Council was known by all. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that Councilor Madani and his ilk found some way to manipulate the Gatherers into eliminating their rival.”
Evren tucked that nugget away. He might be able to use that to gain Lady Briana’s trust—if he was going to work with the Dhukari, he wanted to have as much leverage in the bargain as possible.
“We struck a deal once, but with the Arch-Guardian’s passing, it seems we must renegotiate.” Killian reached down and adjusted the metal rod that ran along the inside of his brace. “You still want the Blade, and it’s not a stretch to assume you’ll want my help in your hunt for the Gatherers.”
Evren nodded. “The question is, now that Suroth is gone, what do you want in return? I doubt Lady Briana will have much access to the Keeper’s Council.”
“True,” Killian said and inclined his head. “For now, let us simply agree that you bring to me anything and everything you uncover in your hunt for the Gatherers. I have little doubt that you will find a great deal of information—not only on the cult itself, but those aiding them, as well as the extent of their reach in Shalandra.”
“Information that you’ll sell or exchange for your benefit.”
“Of course.” Killian smiled. “Who knows, you may even be fortunate enough to uncover something truly useful that, in the right hands, can give you leverage over the Necroseti.”
Evren returned the smile. He had little doubt who Killian referred to when he spoke of “the right hands”.
“Do we have an accord?” Killian held out a huge hand.
Without hesitation, Evren shook. The blacksmith would prove an invaluable source of information in their hunt for the Gatherers.
“So be it.” Killian stood. “I’ll put out feelers and get my Mumblers searching for the Gatherers. You know how to contact me should you need anything or have anything to relay.”
Evren nodded. “I do.” He made to leave, but stopped. “Why did you summon me?” The messenger had made it sound ominous.
Killian gave him a wry smile. “One of my Mumblers spotted you creeping around the Slave’s Tier. The Ybrazhe rule that and the Cultivator’s Tier. Given that your business in Shalandra was on the Keeper’s Tier, I found your presence there curious.” He made the word sound more dangerous and troubling than mere curiosity. “Shame to hear about Snarth. I’ll have to watch my back more closely. Best you do the same, young Evren.”
“Always.” Evren returned the grin, then clambered over the wall and into the alley. Across from the rear of the smithy, someone had painted “Child of Gold” in large red letters.
Even up here, eh? Until now, he’d only seen strange words on the Slave’s and Cultivator’s Tier.
Evren dismissed the graffiti and hurried down the alley, back toward the road that would lead him back to the Artificer’s Courseway. The meeting with Killian had gone better than expected, but worse than he’d hoped. At least he knew Killian was reasonable as long as he had something to offer—sadly, that fact didn’t get him any closer to completing his true mission of stealing the Blade of Hallar.
Looks like I’ll have to sort it myself, as always. Damned Gatherers made that a whole lot harder, though.
The sun had dipped behind Alshuruq’s western cliff while he was talking with Killian, and daylight was fading quickly. Darkness would be for Evren to find a way to sneak around the Keeper’s Tier, but getting into the palace would prove far more difficult. Security would be on high alert since—
A shadow detached from the darkness of a nearby alley in front of him. Evren tensed, fists coming up to a fighting stance, but suddenly strong arms seized him from behind and dragged him backward into an adjoining alley.
He struggled against the grip of his captors but stopped as he caught sight of a familiar figure bathed in the last threads of daylight. It was the same rough-looking thug he’d spotted in the attic room with Snarth.
“Found you, little rat.” Steel glinted in the fading illumination as Annat raised a knife to Evren’s throat. “Nowhere to scurry off to now!”
Chapter Ten
Every muscle in Issa’s body ached from the pounding she’d taken in the training yard—Tannard hadn’t taken it easy on her, and the other Blades had followed his lead—but she couldn’t let the Indomitables in her patrol see the pain. She held her head high and kept her gait steady as she led the way westward along the Path of Chains.
As part of their Blades’ education, she, Etai, and Kellas had each been assigned to lead their own company of Indomitable trainees. Tannard, of course, had given her the Slave’s Tier, the most dangerous of Shalandra’s five levels. Dangerous not only because of the Ybrazhe Syndicate thugs, thieves, and killers; Issa had lived on the Cultivator’s Tier long enough to know how deep the resentment against the Indomitables truly ran among the lower castes.
“Keep the formation tight,” Issa barked to her ten-guard patrol. All were trainees, though most had a few months of experience and training. Enyera, Rilith, Nysin, Viddan, and the others that had fought beside her in the Blades’ training yard had been assigned to her, along with four others that had stood in Kellas’ ranks. Now, they all had one goal: get through this patrol alive.
The Ybrazhe Syndicate ruled the two lowest levels, and many of the Mahjuri and Kabili—those not weakened by hunger, thirst, or illness—glared at them, openly hostile. A few, with the shifty eyes of thieves or the thick necks and broad shoulders of thugs, scurried away at their approach, but Issa’s instructions had been clear. Unless she saw a crime being committed in front of her, she was to remain in formation and keep a steady pace. She and her trainees were to be a presence, nothing more.
“Trouble ahead,” growled Nysin from right behind her. He was a Neophyte, a low-ranked officer among the Indomitables, and had been assigned to lead the ten-man patrol behind her.
Issa nodded. “I see it.”
A crowd had gathered on the southern side of the Path of Chains, nearly blocking the entire avenue. The throng formed a half-circle around a pair of upturned wooden crates. The man stood atop the improvised platform had the noble bearing of a Dhukari, yet he wore no headband, his face free of any markings of the upper caste. His robes were simple, crude canvas, the sort common among the Kabili and Mahjuri. Yet even from this distance, Issa could see the light shining in his eyes, hear the conviction ringing in his deep, rich voice.
“The Long Keeper comes for all.” His words echoed above the crowd with an unmistakable sincerity. “We must prepare to greet him unencumbered by earthly riches and possessions. For these things are unnecessary trappings that bind us to our flesh, to this world. But when we are free of this life, free of the burdens that hold us down, then we will be truly free to join the Long Keeper in the Sleepless Lands. Only once we have forsaken all will we have the peace that comes from throwing ourselves into the Long Keeper’s hands. When the Final Destruction comes, how will you greet our god? With the closed fists of greed, or the open arms of surrender?”
“Clear the road!” Issa shouted as their patrol approached the crowd. “Make way!”
Hundreds of faces turned toward her. Fists clenched and anger darkened lean, hungry faces. Bare-headed Kabili slaves and Mahjuri outcasts with their black rope or canvas headbands bristled in defiance of the Indomitables.
Issa’s gut tightened at the wall of fury directed at her. They couldn�
��t know she was an Earaqi, barely above their pitiful lot in life. All they saw was her black armor and two-handed sword, as well as the Indomitable patrol at her back. An immediate hostile tension filled the air, thick enough to cut with a knife.
Movement rippled among the crowd, and for a moment, Issa worried that the throng might respond with anger or violence. She’d heard about the protest the previous day. What had started out as the Indomitables doing their job of keeping the streets clear—just as she was trying to do now—had turned ugly, savage. She held her breath, every muscle in her body tensed in expectation of an assault.
“Peace!” cried the man on the wooden platform. “The Long Keeper’s peace and joy forever more.”
Relief surged through Issa as the crowd parted and made way for the patrol to pass. The gap was barely wide enough for them to march through two-abreast, and Issa could almost feel the seething animosity emanating from the people facing her. Yet, through resentment shone in the eyes of those that faced her, no one spoke or made a move.
It took all her self-control not to quicken her pace, but she let out a long breath as the last of her patrol passed through the throng unmolested.
“Damned Child of Gold!” Nysin growled. “Stirring up trouble and making things worse for us.”
Issa’s brow furrowed. “That man talking to the crowd?” she asked without looking over her shoulder or slowing her pace. She’d never heard the name “Child of Gold”, though she had seen it and other similar words painted onto walls in the Slave’s and Cultivator’s Tiers.
“His real name’s Aterallis, and he was the son of some high-ranked Necroseti, until he decided to abandon his position of power, his wealth, and his caste.” Nysin’s voice held a generous heaping of scorn. “Now, he lives among the Kabili and Mahjuri, believing himself one of us…of them,” he corrected. He, like all the others accepted into the Indomitables, had been elevated to the Alqati warrior caste, as proclaimed by the blue stripe across the forehead of his flat-topped, spike-rimmed helmet.
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