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

by Andy Peloquin

  Yet something caught his attention. He stooped, frowning, and reached for the object he’d spotted: a fragment of black cloth, barely the width and length of his pinky finger. It had caught on a rusted nail and ripped.

  “Evren!” Kodyn hissed. “Take a look at this.”

  Evren hurried over to him and squinted down at the strip of black cloth. “Is that—”

  “Necroseti robes?” Kodyn finished the thought. “Do you know anyone else who wears black?”

  Evren frowned. “So that confirms that one of the Keeper’s Priests was here. Unfortunately, that doesn’t do us a lot of good.”

  “I know,” Kodyn said with a nod, his tone glum. “We already knew the Gatherers were former Necroseti, so all it means is that one of them kept his robes long enough to rip it here.”

  “Keeper’s teeth!” Evren swore.

  “That’s what I was going to say.” Kodyn cast one last glance around the room. Their search had proven fruitless—all save for this useless clue. They’d wasted their time. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. Maybe the Black Widow will be able to help.”

  Evren nodded, displeasure etched into every line of his dark face. A low growl of frustration rumbled in his throat as he stalked down the stairs ahead of Kodyn. He gave the ground floor one last look-over, in vain.

  “Come on,” Kodyn urged. “It’s going to take a bit of time to set up a meeting with the Black Widow, so the sooner we get on it, the better.”

  With a grunt, Evren followed him out onto the street. As Kodyn strode along beside the young man, he couldn’t help studying Evren. His eyes caught the contours of the various daggers tucked into hidden sheaths beneath Evren’s clothing. Two larger blades were barely visible in the back of Evren’s belt.

  Kodyn’s eyebrows rose in surprise. I wonder if he knows how to use them. Given that Evren had taken on the Gatherers in Suroth’s mansion, clearly he knew his way around a fight. Good to know he’s not going to be one more person we’ve got to protect.

  Truth be told, Kodyn felt relieved at the thought that they might have another fighter to join their little crew. One more person to take up arms in the upcoming battle against the Necroseti and the Gatherers.

  If we can ever find them. Impatience and frustration warred within him. He’d spent the last nine years in the Night Guild learning to be patient, to bide his time as he watched and waited for his targets to give him the perfect opening. Yet now, knowing what was on the line, he couldn’t help feeling like every moment’s delay could cost them dearly.

  Kodyn adjusted the green headband Evren had given him—all the disguise he’d need, given his foreigner’s clothing. He had Hailen’s green-and-gold-braided headband tucked within a secret pocket, just in case they needed to get past the guards on the upper tiers. Evren wore a headband of plain red-dyed crimson, but Kodyn knew he had his red-and-gold servant’s band as well.

  By the time they reached the Artificer’s Courseway, the sun had risen above the eastern cliff face, bathing the world in a brilliance that set the golden sandstone glowing. Already, the first of the morning crowds had begun to flood the main avenue. A steady stream of carts, animals, and pedestrians flowed eastward, toward Commerce Square and Industry Square on the far side of Trader’s Way.

  He scanned the crowds until he found what he sought: a child, eight or nine years old, wearing an iron bracelet.

  “Hang back a minute,” Kodyn said in a low voice. To Evren’s credit, he slowed his pace without a word.

  Kodyn pulled into the lead, approaching the boy at a faster clip and bumping into him hard enough to throw him off-balance. When the boy whirled to snarl an insult at him, Kodyn spoke first. “Tell the Black Widow the Praamian needs to see her now.”

  The boy’s mouth snapped shut, and his anger faded to a look of feigned disinterest—all for the benefit of anyone watching, Kodyn knew.

  “There’s a lot going on that she needs to know about,” Kodyn continued.

  “Go to The Banded Brothers Brewery,” the boy responded without looking at him. “We’ll get word to you in an hour.”

  With those words, the young man strode away and disappeared into the crowd.

  Kodyn turned to Evren. “Do you happen to know where The Banded Brothers Brewery is?”

  Evren raised an eyebrow. “Bit early for a drink, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe.” Kodyn grinned and gave Evren a shrug. “But that’s where we’re headed. The Black Widow will be expecting us.”

  “Ah.” Understanding shone in Evren’s eyes. “Well, now that you mention it, all this work is making me quite thirsty. What say we find that brewery and see what fine beers Shalandra has to offer?”

  Kodyn chuckled, but he couldn’t help the nervous tension that roiled within him. He’d failed to make it to his last meeting with the Black Widow, and something told him that the spymistress wouldn’t be happy.

  His gut tightened. Let’s just hope she doesn’t decide to express her displeasure with a knife in the back.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Banded Brothers Brewery was pretty much exactly as Evren had expected. Though the drink of choice changed from city to city, the ambience and clientele rarely did.

  The interior of the brewery reeked of hops, with a yeasty smell that turned his nose and unsettled his stomach. The wooden benches were hard, the tables stained with all manner of discolorations, with a worn look that seemed to permeate every corner of the stone-walled room. Even the enormous barrels behind the long stone bar seemed one jostle away from bursting at the seams—much to the delight of the men and women crowding the sparsely furnished room.

  Most wore the white and brown headbands of Zadii or Intaji, complete with three or four black dots to mark their station. The Zadii clustered to one side of the room, unwilling to let their priestly or scholarly robes be soiled by the workmanlike Intaji. The artisan’s half of the brewery proved far more raucous and boisterous than the scholar’s side, where the men and women sipped thick beer in controlled, graceful silence.

  Kodyn had chosen a table on the north side of the room, where a few Earaqi and pale-skinned foreigners clustered to avoid the Intaji and Zadii factions. Evren watched the young Praamian out of the corner of his eyes. After everything they’d discussed and discovered the previous night, he could almost feel a sort of kinship with Kodyn. Their backgrounds might have been opposite in many ways—he, an orphan sent to the Master’s Temple, and Kodyn the son of a powerful thief—but they also had a great deal in common beyond their shared skills and affinity for larceny. In many ways, Evren could almost see glimpses of who he might have been had he chosen to work with a crew or one of the street gangs of Vothmot rather than running on his own.

  A part of him envied the visible bond between Kodyn and Aisha. They had more than a friendship; it was the sort of camaraderie between equal counterparts. Each brought a different set of skills to the table yet they were a balanced match for each other.

  And call me crazy, but I could have sworn there was a little spark between them. Evren hid a grin. Definitely more than just a friendship, if I don’t miss my guess. Though, given how Lady Briana looks at Kodyn, there’s a chance things could get complicated.

  He found himself wishing he had people he could call comrades and friends like they did. The Hunter and Kiara were more like surrogate parents or mentors than comrades. Until yesterday, Hailen had been like a little brother to him. It would take time for Evren to grow accustomed to the older, more mature youth Hailen had become.

  Which left Evren alone. He had no one to lean on for help or advice—not that he needed the former or wanted the latter. He had to be strong for himself, as he had been since he began fighting in the Master’s Temple. A part of him recognized that the requisite self-reliance was what had made him strong. Another part, however, found it a lonely prospect.

  A tendril of hope began to take root deep within Evren. He didn’t dare dwell on it, much less voice it aloud, yet he couldn’t shake it. Maybe
he could find more than just common ground with these young men and women. Perhaps they would progress beyond allies fighting a mutual battle…perhaps as friends, one day?

  It would be nice to have friends.

  The arrival of their drinks snapped Evren back to the task at hand. “Four Spider Legs, as requested,” said the portly bartender with a smile and a wink. “Careful, lads. These go down hard.”

  “Spider Legs?” Evren cocked an eyebrow at the finger-sized glasses with the strange black liquor. “Looks like poison to me.”

  Kodyn grinned and reached for his drink. “Doesn’t taste too bad.” He knocked the drink back in a single pull and struggled visibly not to cough.

  Evren followed suit. The alcohol had a spicy edge, like ginger, cloves, and cinnamon, not too sweet but with a potency that reminded him of laghwain, the Vothmot equivalent of Voramian agor. He’d had worse drinks, though few that burned such a fiery trail down his throat.

  “Strong, isn’t it?” Kodyn chuckled.

  “Like a donkey kick in the bollocks.” With a grimace, Evren reached for the next glass.

  “Don’t.” Kodyn shook his head. “Those two aren’t for us.”

  Evren’s brow furrowed in curiosity, but Kodyn said nothing, simply leaned back against the stone wall and folded his arms across his chest. When the Praamian gave no sign of speaking further, Evren relaxed as well. He mirrored Kodyn’s comfortable posture, though his eyes roamed the crowd of day-drinkers, searching for anyone out of the ordinary.

  No one seemed to pay them extra attention. They got no more than a few cursory glances, especially after a group of Intaji bakers took up a loud Shalandran drinking song. Kodyn seemed unperturbed as time passed, so Evren forced himself to be patient as well.

  Finally, after nearly three-quarters of an hour, the bartender strode toward their table, picked up the two remaining drinks, and drained them in two quick pulls. “This way,” he muttered, and turned toward the wooden stall that Evren had believed led to the pissing trough out back.

  But instead of the privies, Evren found himself in a low, narrow corridor that ran northward for ten paces before ending in a wooden staircase. The bartender flattened himself against the wall and motioned for them to go up.

  Squeezing past the portly man proved a difficult task, but they managed to get around his bulk and climb the stairs. Kodyn, in the lead, pushed open the door at the top without hesitation and strode in.

  The room within was dark, with only a thread of light glimmering through a crack in the shuttered window.

  “Two of you now?” came a woman’s voice from the darkness.

  Evren couldn’t see Kodyn beside him, but he could have sworn the Praamian stiffened.

  “Though not from Praamis, this one,” the woman continued. To Evren’s ears, she sounded older one minute, then young the next. A clever trick, one adopted by mummers in a play. Without seeing her face, he couldn’t pin down her age. Then again, that was likely the point. “Not Shalandran either, though you certainly dress the part. I’d guess Vothmoti?”

  Shock coursed through Evren. How could she know? Vothmot lay an entire continent to the north, and as far as he knew, travel between the two cities was virtually nonexistent.

  “I take it he’s joined your enterprise?” the woman asked Kodyn.

  “Yes.” The young man’s words came out tight, clipped. “I trust your permission extends to him as well?”

  The Black Widow gave a soft chuckle. “If he is working with you, then the Night Guild’s offering extends my protection to him as well.”

  Curiosity burned within Evren. He had a fairly good guess at what had transpired between Kodyn and the Black Widow—paying a fee or bribe to local crime-bosses was fairly standard practice—but something about Kodyn’s manner was off.

  Evren’s instincts screamed at him. Something is wrong. He didn’t know what, but he could feel the tension radiating off Kodyn in tangible waves. Evren resisted the urge to reach for the jambiya tucked into the back of his belt—Hailen had gotten them out of Suroth’s mansion along with the Serenii artifacts—but their weight reassured him. He’d follow Kodyn’s lead. As long as Kodyn continued talking, he’d hold his peace. But if it came to a fight, he’d be ready.

  “I trust Ennolar delivered on his end of the bargain?” the woman asked.

  “Yes, he did,” Kodyn replied. “He gave us the map of the Serenii tunnels, though he failed to warn us that it could be written in invisible ink.”

  Evren was glad the darkness masked his surprise. This had come as all new information to him.

  “But we unlocked its secrets, so we’ve got our way into the palace,” Kodyn continued.

  “Excellent,” came the reply from the darkness.

  “Allow me to apologize for failing to arrive after I requested our previous meeting.” Kodyn’s voice held an edge of nervous tension. “I ran into a crew of Gatherers and had to follow them back to their hideout.”

  “The house to the west.” A statement, not a question. “The one-story structure near the cliff?”

  Again, surprised raced through Evren. “You know about that?”

  “Too late for it to be of any use, as you’ve discovered by now.” A hint of irritation echoed in the woman’s voice. “The Gatherers have proven far too slippery even for my net to catch.” Her anger made her sound older, dispelling any hint of girlishness. “Thus far.”

  “We are going to find them,” Kodyn said, defiant and determined. “No matter what, we will hunt them down and put an end to them. For Arch-Guardian Suroth and the good of Shalandra.”

  “How dutiful of you.” The Black Widow’s words held only a small hint of mockery. “It seems your time with the young Dhukari woman—or, I should say, Zadii now—has made you feel right at home in our fair city.”

  “The Gatherers came to my city, too.” Kodyn’s voice rang with steel. “They murdered innocent children in their foul rituals. Eliminating them is for the good of all Einan, not just Shalandra.”

  “I suppose that logic is sound,” the Black Widow replied calmly. “Dare I ask how you intend to find the Gatherers after they have eluded not only me, but the Indomitables and even Arch-Guardian Suroth’s people?”

  Kodyn remained silent a long moment. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “Truth be told, I was hoping you’d have something helpful to offer, something to put us on the right path.”

  “Perhaps I might.” Her tone grew thoughtful. “But, as you know, ours is a world of give and take, buy and sell. What sort of spymaster would I be if I gave all of my secrets for free?”

  “Not for free.” Cloth rustled beside Evren and Kodyn’s hand appeared in the small beam of light. In his palm lay nestled a velvet pouch. “I set the last meeting with you because Arch-Guardian Suroth instructed that I give this to you.”

  Evren strained to see the object in Kodyn’s hand. Aside from a hint of roundness, he could see no indication of what lay within.

  “Ahh, of course.” The Black Widow sounded pleased. “Suroth always was as good as his word.” She took the purse; it didn’t clink, which meant it held no coins. Just that single round object—Evren was gripped by a burning desire to know what in the bloody hell the Arch-Guardian had sent.

  She hefted the purse in a slim, graceful hand. “Suroth promised me this to seal our agreement. My help in his efforts to hunt down the Gatherers in exchange for this little trinket.”

  Evren felt fairly certain that her flippant tone belied the importance of the object.

  “I have taken up his mission,” Kodyn said, his voice strong, ringing with confidence. “Along with the protection of his daughter. If you had an agreement with him, then the pact still holds with me.”

  Silence hung thick in the room for long seconds. For a moment, Evren thought the Black Widow had left—he’d always loved hearing the Hunter’s stories of the secret passages that allowed him to slip in and out of his meeting places unseen and unheard.

  Nearly a minu
te passed before her voice broke the stillness. “As you say, so it shall be. Let it never be said the Black Widow does not honor her agreements.” Again, a moment of silence before she spoke. “I told you that the Gatherers have slipped my nets, but that is not quite the full truth. Though I could not tell you where they are currently, I can tell you that my eyes in the city have tracked them to the western side of the Cultivator’s Tier. I suspect that you will find them in—”

  She never finished the sentence. Light flooded the room as the door burst open, revealing eight hulking figures crowding the staircase beyond. Blood glistened on the edges of the long knives and short swords in their hands.

  The man in the lead held a raised crossbow, a bolt set in its cradle. “Death to the Black Widow!” he snarled and pulled the trigger.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Issa was awake and on her feet before the door to her spartan room finished swinging open. Exhaustion tugged at every muscle—Tannard hadn’t given her more than three hours’ rest after last night’s patrol. Yet she stood straight, her jaw clenched, bracing herself for whatever bile the Invictus planned to heap upon her this morning, whatever cruelty disguised as a training lesson he intended.

  Instead of Tannard’s cold, hard features, Issa found herself face to face with a servant. The woman wore a kalasiris of gold and white stripes, with white leather straps that hugged her breasts and shoulders tightly. Her headband bore Zadii white interlaced with the gold threads, and her eyes were rimmed with thick bands of kohl. Five black beauty marks visible were on her cheeks and chin, which hadn’t yet begun to show the lines of age.

  “Issa of the Keeper’s Blades, you are summoned to attend Callista Vinaus, Lady of Blades.”

  Issa’s senses were immediately on full alert. The last time she’d seen Lady Callista had been outside the Throne Room, after receiving the Pharus’ commendation for saving his life. The Lady of Blades had said, “We will speak again soon.” Soon, it seemed, was now.