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

by Andy Peloquin

  He climbed until he reached the top of the wall surrounding Suroth’s estate, then began the horizontal traverse that would take him over and into the mansion’s grounds. He had only a few yards to cross before he reached the wall. There, he took a short break to rest his limbs.

  That’s the easy part done with.

  He flattened himself against the top of the wall and waited until the patrol passed again. He and Aisha had spent the last hour timing the regularity of Angrak’s guards doing the rounds. They had proven far less disciplined than Rothin’s men. Their patrols passed at unpredictable intervals of ten to twenty minutes. Rather than march at a steady pace, some of the patrols hurried to get back to their cushy posts in the gatehouse while the lazier guards dawdled, favoring a slower speed. Judging by the heavy guts that protruded from beneath their burnished steel breastplates, they were a little too well-fed for guardsmen.

  The moment the lantern light of the next patrol disappeared around the corner of the mansion, Kodyn leapt to his feet and continued his horizontal climb. Hand over hand, one cautious foothold at a time, he moved at a steady, unhurried pace. He knew he could traverse the distance to the rooftop garden in less than ten minutes.

  Better to go slow than die fast. The words had been drilled into his brain by Emeen, the older Hawk apprentice that had overseen his first few years of training.

  The darkness of the night proved a two-edged sword. No one could see him from below, not without a lantern, yet he had no light to help him pick his way along the wall. He was forced to feel with his fingers and toes, which led to a few harrowing, heart-stopping moments when he found himself blocked with no way forward, up, or down.

  Yet he was no untrained tyro to lose his nerve at the first obstacle or difficulty. When he found the way unpassable, he simply retreated back along his path, then set a new course higher or lower than the first attempt. He kept his mind focused on the climb, his senses attuned to any sounds in the mansion below. Once, he froze in place at the sound of a door opening. He only relaxed at the wet sploshing sound that echoed from the direction of Suroth’s stables.

  A moment later, the nervous tension thrummed through him again as he heard the tromping of heavy boots. Shite! The guard patrol was returning, minutes ahead of schedule.

  They’d timed the distance the guards had to walk—with the mansion abutting the southern wall, the only way to patrol the entire property was to go circle back and forth along the entire perimeter.

  Of all the times to get a patrol in a hurry! Heart hammering in his ribs, Kodyn had no choice but to make the traverse faster. Hand over hand he climbed, like a spider crawling along a wall, moving between hand- and foot-holds as fast as he could manage. The sound of booted feet grew louder and he could almost feel the light shining on his back.

  With a final, desperate spurt of movement, Kodyn leapt from the wall and hurled himself at the stone lip of the rooftop garden balcony. His fingers closed around the ledge, slipped a fraction, then caught. Swallowing his panic, Kodyn hauled himself up and over the railing. He dropped to the tiled floor of the rooftop garden a heartbeat before the patrol passed beneath him. Gasping for breath, keenly aware of the pain of his skinned fingers, he slithered deeper into the shadows of a spiky blackthorn tree and crouched in the shadows.

  That was too bloody close!

  Nearly a full minute passed before his heart slowed its frantic thundering in his chest. When he finally managed to control his breathing and stop the trembling in his hands, he stood from his crouch and began working his way through the rooftop garden. The trees, bushes, and shrubs gave him ample cover to approach the gazebo at the garden’s center. Finding it dark and empty—it seemed Angrak wasn’t much of a plant lover—he made faster time using the tiled pathway that cut between the gazebo and the third floor entrance.

  He’d given a great deal of thought as to his best means of entering the mansion from the rooftop garden. His first way in would be through the staircase, but he’d brought enough rope to use as a back-up plan.

  The Mistress’ luck favored him, for the descending stairway was dark. He slipped down to the second floor as quietly as he could and listened for any approaching footsteps. When none came, he slid the door open and crept into the mansion.

  Lanterns filled the second floor with a rosy glow that seemed to make the plush elegance of Suroth’s mansion even more opulent. As he snuck down the hall that led toward Suroth’s study, he found Angrak had already redecorated. In place of the Secret Keeper’s tapestries and paintings, the new Councilor had hung religious depictions of the Long Keeper, his patron god. Dozens of candlesticks, wood carvings, tapestries, oil paintings, even marble statues bore variations on the Seven Faces of the Long Keeper.

  Pious bastard, isn’t he? Then again, Angrak was a member of the Necroseti, a priest of the god of death. Religion would permeate every facet of his life—the same religion that had elevated him to his current place of prominence.

  Kodyn’s gut tightened as a light tread sounded on the plush carpets behind him. He had an instant to throw himself into a room—what had once been Briana’s sitting room—before the footsteps turned down the hall. He waited in breathless silence as the person outside passed his hiding place. After a few moments, the footsteps returned the way they’d come.

  When the sound had finally faded, Kodyn peered out into the hallway. Finding it empty, he slipped out and all but raced the last few paces toward Suroth’s office. The door stood open, darkness thick within the chamber. Kodyn slid into the shadows with a quiet sigh of relief and pressed the door shut behind him.

  He allowed himself to spend a moment wishing he had his quickfire globes, lockpicks, and other tools of the Hawk trade. Yet those things had all been lost when the Necroseti threw Briana and Suroth’s belongings out of the mansion. If he couldn’t replace them, he’d have to find a way to do without.

  The moment passed, and he set about rummaging through the drawers of Suroth’s desk as quietly as he dared. Light from the lanterns set in the courtyard streamed through the adjoining bedroom's window, giving him just enough illumination to see what he was doing. A quick examination revealed that all of Suroth’s papers, books, and paraphernalia—whatever Hailen hadn’t managed to collect—had been taken away. All but one of the drawers stood empty.

  Within that one drawer, however, Kodyn found a leather portfolio held closed by a leather thong. He untied it carefully and pulled out the stack of papers within. Holding the topmost parchment up to the window, he squinted to make out its details written thereon. After a moment, he managed to decipher the sloppy handwriting.

  It’s a bill of lading for a caravan to Voramis. The contents of the caravan seemed innocuous enough, as did the next five parchments Kodyn studied.

  Just as he reached for the sixth, however, footsteps sounded in the hall beyond, accompanied by the light of a lantern. Ice seeped into Kodyn’s veins as he froze, listening intently.

  The footsteps were coming closer.

  Instincts and years of training kicked in. With the deft fingers of a master pickpocket, he replaced the parchments and slid the drawer home. His eyes roved Suroth’s study for any hiding place. He settled on the nearest of a pair of well-stuffed armchairs that Angrak had installed in the office and, vaulting the desk, he dove behind the chair just as the door swung open.

  The light of a lantern filled the room with a rose-gold glow. Kodyn pressed deeper into his hiding place and forced himself to take slow, even breaths. It was the first lesson every Hawk learned—fools that held their breath were always discovered at the inevitable gasp.

  “…honored by your visit, Councilor Natoris.” Angrak’s voice drifted into the room, proceeded by the man’s heavy footfalls. “Though, I must admit my surprise.”

  Only after the door closed did the second man speak. “Surprised that we would want to check up on you so early in your appointment, Angrak?” His nasal voice immediately grated on Kodyn’s nerves.

  “Er�
��yes.” Angrak sounded hesitant, more than a little submissive. “I will admit—”

  “Then let me make the Council’s position abundantly clear.” Councilor Natoris’s voice dripped contempt. “Your elevation to the Council was not because you are wise or noble or any other ridiculous sentiment that would make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

  Kodyn tensed as the chair behind which he hid suddenly creaked, as if beneath a ponderous weight. Watcher’s teeth! He’s sitting right there.

  “The Council chose you because of the one value you possess: your ability to siphon off enough ore from the mines to make us a profit.” Natoris’ nasal voice came from mere inches away from Kodyn. “No more, no less. Until now, you have served us well, doubtless in the hopes of receiving this reward as we promised.”

  Angrak’s voice grew unctuous. “And I thank you for honoring—”

  “I will tell you when you may speak!” Natoris’ snarl cut Angrak off mid-sentence. “This reward is not because you are worthy of a place on the Council or because anyone else in the Keeper’s Priesthood believes you are capable of anything more than doing what you are already doing. You have a mind keen to the intricacies of graft and fraud. As long as you leave the matters of ruling Shalandra up to Madani, Tinush, and myself, you will remain in your position.”

  The couch creaked again as the Councilor leaned forward. “But the moment you get it in that brain of yours that you are anything more than a mouthpiece, that is the moment that you cease to be useful to us. And trust me when I say that people no longer of use to us tend to be dealt with.” His voice took on a sardonic tone. “Just ask Arch-Guardian Suroth if you doubt me.”

  Kodyn’s fists clenched at the disrespectful tone. The man spoke of Suroth’s death with the contempt of someone waving away a buzzing fly. Briana and her father deserved far better than that.

  “I take it that I have made myself clear, and that I have no need to bring up that shameful secret you have tried all these years to cover up. There is no need for the Keeper’s Blades to suddenly learn of the true cause of your father’s death, is there?” A moment of silence passed, before Natoris sighed. “Yes, you may speak now.”

  “I-I understand, Councilor.” A hint of fear echoed in Angrak’s voice. “I am very clear on my place and purpose within the Keeper’s Council.”

  “Excellent!” Natoris’ cold tone became suddenly jovial. “Then allow me to celebrate your new position with you. I hear that the Arch-Guardian had a number of marvelous Nyslian reds tucked away in his wine cellar. Be a good man and have your servants fetch them for us.”

  Kodyn ground his teeth, but swallowed the rush of irritation. Years on the streets had taught him patience as well as stealth. He could wait all night if it meant he’d get the proof required to convict Angrak of crime and get vengeance for Suroth’s death.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Evren awoke with a start. His hands dropped to the hilts of his jambiyas tucked into the back of his belt, every sense immediately on full alert for any danger.

  Silence and cool darkness met his eyes. He had slept for hours, long enough for the sun to have set. The others had let him sleep, tucked into his little corner of Briana’s house. Such a strange sensation, like the moment of relaxation after letting out a slow breath. No danger, no threat, no daggers poised to kill him.

  With a yawn, he climbed to his feet and stretched out the kinks in his back and neck. His eyes roamed the shadows of the upper floor. The room where Kodyn had been now stood empty and dark, but the light of a candle flickered in Briana’s room. Hailen and Briana were still studying Suroth’s journals.

  He slipped toward the door and gave a polite, quiet knock before opening the door. Briana and Hailen both looked up from their positions hunched over Suroth’s journal as he entered.

  “You’re awake.” Briana smiled at him.

  “Yeah, thanks for letting me sleep.” Evren found his face stretching into an answering grin. “Where are the others?”

  “Kodyn and Aisha went off to Angrak’s,” Briana replied. “Issa’s downstairs standing guard.”

  Hailen shook his head. “No, it’s Hykos again.”

  Briana raised an eyebrow at the boy.

  “When I went down for dinner,” Hailen explained, “I saw Issa running off and Hykos taking up guard position.”

  Evren’s eyes went to the plate sitting abandoned on the floor beside the bed. Bits of cold chicken lay beside an untouched loaf of flatbread and a pile of mixed olives, nuts, and dates.

  “Go ahead,” Hailen said.

  “I can always have Nessa bring you up some proper food,” Briana said, frowning.

  “It’s okay.” Evren shrugged. “You live on the streets long enough, you stop being picky.”

  Briana’s brow furrowed. “How long?” Her voice was quiet.

  Evren thought back to the years he’d spent on the streets—hungry, cold, scared, desperate, never certain who to trust or who would stab him in the back. “Four years, give or take.” He bent, picked up the plate, and set about demolishing the scraps. “They weren’t all bad, though. I got pretty good at picking pockets. That’s how I ran into the Hunter, actually.” He chuckled. “I chose the wrong pocket to pick.”

  “Or perhaps, given how it all turned out,” Briana said, “you chose the right pocket.”

  Evren inclined his head. “Fair enough.” Abashed, he quickly looked to change the subject. “How’s the work on the journals going? Find anything interesting or useful?”

  Briana grimaced. “Plenty of interesting, though not much useful.” With a sigh, she lowered the journal and rubbed her eyes. “Hailen’s making good progress learning my father’s cipher, but for me, trying to understand his writings on the Serenii is slow going.”

  She flipped through the pages and settled on one that, to Evren’s eyes, was identical to the rest. “Look at this. He spends two whole pages talking about the Serenii air canals that draw heat from the underground geysers up to the Palace of Golden Eternity.” Again, she flipped through the pages to another. “Here, he tries to deconstruct the mechanisms that supply Shalandra’s Wellsprings with water. All necessary things to know for the running of the city, but nothing that will help us in our current situation.”

  “But there’s the prophecy.” Hailen’s voice was solemn, his expression somber as he met Evren’s gaze. “The one Brother Modestus spoke about before he…” He trailed off, shooting a glance at Briana.

  Evren’s eyebrows shot up. “What?” He almost dropped the plate in his surprise. He’d all but forgotten about the words spoken by the dying Cambionari. “What prophecy? What does it say?”

  Hailen flipped a page and, squinting down at the writing, read aloud:

  When sword and scepter unite

  The blood of ancients revived

  Child of secrets, child of spirits, child of gold

  Half-master seeks the relic of old

  Then Hallar’s blood shall rise

  And sow the final destruction from midnight eyes

  “Very good!” Briana applauded. “You learn far faster than I ever did.”

  Hailen beamed, but his grin faded a moment later as he returned his gaze to Evren. “This has to be the prophecy, right?”

  Evren flashed back to the Cambionari’s words. “Must retrieve the Blade of Hallar. The prophecy cannot come to pass.” He’d called it “the Prophecy of the Final Destruction”—the “final destruction” mentioned in the passage Hailen had just read. “Find the sword!” Modestus had insisted. “Stop the prophecy and save the world.”

  “Who is this Brother Modestus?” Briana’s question cut into his thoughts. “And what does he have to do with my father?”

  Evren drew in a long breath. “Brother Modestus was a Beggar Priest from Voramis,” he said, slowly, his mind working as he tried to determine just how much to tell her. “He was sent to accompany me and Hailen here to Shalandra to steal the Blade of Hallar. He believed that somehow that relic was
linked to the prophecy.”

  “When sword and scepter align,” Hailen quoted.

  Briana’s brow furrowed. “Like the scepter of the Pharus?”

  Evren’s look must have matched Hailen’s visible puzzlement, because Briana smiled and explained.

  “There are two things given to the Pharus upon his ascension to mark his reign.” She held up two fingers. “A crown and a scepter. Both remain in the Vault of Ancients, except for the Anointing of the Blades and the Ceremonies of the Seven Faces every four months.”

  “And the Blade of Hallar is in the vault as well, right?” Evren asked.

  Briana nodded.

  “So there has to be some way that the sword and scepter align,” Hailen said. “And, in doing so, become a powerful artifact like one of these. Maybe?” He held up one of the Serenii stones.

  Briana seemed to consider this. “It is possible. Both the Blade of Hallar and the scepter are said to date back to Hallar himself, though their origins are unknown.”

  Evren had heard the Hunter’s story about the Swordsman’s blades, twin daggers made of pure iron that the people of Einan believed were wielded by the Swordsman, god of war and heroism, in the battle against Kharna. In reality, they were actually Serenii-made keys used to activate the magic of Enarium. Maybe the people of Shalandra just believe it’s a scepter, when really the Serenii intended it for something else.

  “Modestus made it clear that we had to get the Blade of Hallar away from Shalandra, as the Hunter wanted,” Hailen said. “He literally said that it would save the world.”

  “But the sword and scepter is just one part of the prophecy,” Briana said. “There’s so much more in there.” She plucked the book from Hailen’s lap and ran a finger down the six lines. “Like this about half-master, or the line on ‘Child of secrets, child of spirits, child of gold’.”

  “I’ve seen those words written on the walls of the Artisan’s Tier, Cultivator’s Tier, and Slave’s Tier,” Evren said. His heart began hammering in his chest as a hint of worry gnawed at the back of his mind.