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

by Andy Peloquin

  Instincts honed over years as a street-wise thief screamed in the back of his mind. Instantly he was on the alert, every sense engaged. He knew the alleys and lanes around Briana’s house, knew the sounds, smells, even sensations. An experienced thief could feel things, a sort of sixth sense developed as a result of constant wariness and assessment of his surroundings. Right now, Kodyn’s experience told him that something in the street felt off. Like a tavern gone dead still in expectation of a fight between two scowling brutes, as if everything was waiting for the spark to light the match.

  Then he saw them: dark figures, easily two dozen of them, slipping through the back alleys. Moonlight shone on bared steel. They moved quietly, caution in their step, as if trying to avoid detection until they struck. Their intended target was plain. They were going to attack Briana’s house.

  “Gatherers!” The shout tore from his lips, shattering the silence of the night.

  Hooded figures turned toward him, dozens of eyes fixed on him and Hykos. For a single instant, the tableau remained frozen, surreal as an oil painting rather than real life.

  “Get the Praamian!” The call broke the stillness. The match had been lit.

  Kodyn ripped his sword free of its sheath as ten of the Gatherers turned and charged them. From beside him came the ring of steel on leather, and moonlight shone on Hykos’ huge two-handed blade. The Keeper’s Blade squared his shoulders, braced his feet, and raised the flammard to meet the charge.

  A wordless roar echoed in the alley as Hykos raced forward. His boots pounded against the ground like the rumbling of thunder, yet his armor was eerily silent. Kodyn ran just a step ahead and two paces to the right of the Blade. He knew to keep clear of that huge sword—else risk losing a limb or his head when it started swinging—but he’d be damned if he let Hykos face the Gatherers alone.

  They hit the two foremost cultists at the same time. Hot blood splattered the left side of Kodyn’s face as Hykos’ sword tore through a Gatherer. Kodyn didn’t have time to glance over at the Blade; he was too busy knocking aside a furious thrust of a short sword. He brought his long sword across in a return blow, the tip of the blade ripping into flesh, muscle, and bone. The Gatherer screamed, short sword falling from his now-useless right arm. Kodyn unsheathed one of his many daggers and drove it into the man’s throat. Agonized screams turned to a wet, choking gurgle, and the cultist sagged.

  Tearing the dagger free, Kodyn raced toward the next Gatherer. The man swung two short swords in a vicious scissoring blow that would have opened Kodyn’s throat or taken off his head. Instinct and years spent training with Master Serpent saved Kodyn—he threw himself to the right, blocking the left-handed sword with a desperate parry of his dagger. Hykos saved him, lopping off the man’s arm before he could strike out again. The Gatherer stared numbly at the waving stump of his right elbow. The Blade’s powerful swing of his two-handed sword removed his head a heartbeat later.

  Kodyn shot a grateful nod to the Archateros. Hykos’ expression grew grim, a hard set to his face as he acknowledged Kodyn’s thanks with a salute of his sword and returned to the messy business of killing Gatherers.

  As Hykos’ enormous blade hacked down the next cultist, Kodyn raced toward a second Gatherer. The man had turned to face him, a snarl on his face. He swung and Kodyn raised his sword to block, but instead of the clash of steel on steel, the shattering of glass echoed in the night. Hot oil splashed over Kodyn’s sword blade and immediately caught alight. The cracked remnants of the oil lantern flew to the side as the Gatherer released it and drew his own sword.

  Horror froze Kodyn in place as his eyes fixed on the burning steel in his hand. Suddenly, he no longer stood on the streets of the Artisan’s Tier. He was once again a child trapped in that attic room, his home consumed by sickly green flames. The heat singed his throat and a terrified scream threatened to burst from his lips. Instinctively, he reached out to Ria, wishing for her strong arms to protect him. Fear gripped his brain and paralyzed his muscles. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think—the glowing flames filled his world.

  “Kodyn!” A familiar cry came from above and ahead of him.

  Ria? She had saved him that night, had dragged him from the burning house.

  Yet the cry hadn’t been Ria’s. Another voice, younger, familiar, echoing with the same terror that held him rooted in place.

  Briana!

  Kodyn’s heart seemed to pause between beats, his mind lost in the swirling mists of his memories. Panic filled him, the confusion and fear of a five-year old watching everything he’d ever known turn to ash before his eyes. Yet he pushed back against the rising tide of dismay.

  He was no longer that scared, trapped child. For more than a decade, he had trained and prepared to ensure he was never that child again. The fire couldn’t consume him.

  A wordless roar burst from his lips as he struggled to break free of the grip on his mind and body. Suddenly, his heart beat once more, his eyes snapped away from the burning blade, and he could move again.

  Just in time to block the Gatherer’s descending blow. He barely managed to raise his burning sword, and his parry was weak. Yet he turned aside the strike and lashed out with his blade. Fire cut a long gash across the Gatherer’s chest, setting fire to his cloak and the ragged armor beneath. The man’s shout of triumph turned to a wild cry as the flames consumed the oil that had splattered his clothing.

  Growling, Kodyn drove his burning sword into the man’s chest. Flesh and fabric sizzled, and Kodyn had to jerk his weapon free to avoid the oil catching his hand alight. Yet when the steel pulled out, only blood edged its blade.

  Kodyn shot a glance toward the sound of the voice—the voice that had saved him, had pulled him from the depths of his fear. The second-story window framed Briana’s pale face. She stared down wide-eyed at the scene of battle, at the men fighting and dying in the streets below. Death had come for her.

  Not if I have anything to say about that!

  The sight of her terror drove away the last of Kodyn’s fear. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t let the panic slow him down. If he did, she died.

  They had killed five, but still more Gatherers charged. Not only at him, but a handful surged toward Rothin, who stood alone, sword bared and fear sparkling in his eyes. Kodyn stood less than thirty paces from the front door, but with close to thirty Gatherers barring his path, he might as well have been a thousand leagues away. He’d never make it to the house in time.

  Rage scorched his chest as the image played out in front of his eyes. The Gatherers would overwhelm Rothin by sheer force of numbers, and they’d spill into the house. Without Aisha to protect Briana, the girl would be killed—after the Gatherers murdered Nessa and the servants. Unless by some miracle Hailen had uncovered the secrets of the Serenii artifacts, his blood would soon flow as the cultists swept through their house in a tide of death.

  He leapt over the still-burning corpse and charged the nearest cluster of cultists. A desperate last stand, but he had no other choice.

  His sword drew sparks off the Gatherer’s blade and he drove his dagger into the man’s chest. Suddenly, he was confronted by four more, all wielding short swords. Grim resolution hardened within him as he prepared to fight to his last breath.

  As long as Briana’s safe, I’ll—

  “Charge!”

  A roaring shout cut off his thoughts. For a moment, Kodyn thought he’d imagined or misheard it. It couldn’t possibly have come from nearby—Hykos fought beside him, his two-handed flammard scything through Gatherers with impossible force.

  Yet, impossibly, black-armored figures spilled from the shadows of the alley east of the Gatherers and barreled into the cultists from the opposite flank. Hope surged within Kodyn as he caught sight of a familiar face in the lead.

  “Issa!”

  With a fierce grin, the Blade waded into the fray, her huge sword swinging with a ferocity to match Hykos’ blade. Gatherers fell beneath her onslaught. Kodyn’s eyes flew wide as he spot
ted a second Blade fighting beside her! On their heels came a ten-man patrol of Indomitables, all as young as Issa, but no less resolute. Their sickle-shaped khopesh swords cut through the Gatherers as if harvesting wheat.

  Kodyn loosed a throaty cry and threw himself onto the nearest Gatherer, driving his dagger home into the man’s neck. The cultist dragged him down as he fell, entangling him in his strong arms. Panic gripped Kodyn’s heart in an iron fist as he struggled in vain to break free of the dying man’s grasp. Sandaled feet slapped against the ground, drawing closer. Kodyn lifted his eyes to find a Gatherer standing over him, sword raised to strike.

  Kodyn tried to wrest his sword free, but it was caught between him and the dying man, his dagger still embedded in the man’s throat. He couldn’t hope to break free or defend himself in time. He did the only thing he could: he threw himself to one side, seizing the body beneath him as he rolled. The meat shield stopped the killing blow inches from Kodyn’s head. The Gatherer’s strike carved through flesh but caught in the dead man’s skull and spine.

  In the instant the Gatherer struggled to free his blade, Kodyn released his grip on his long sword. His fingers closed around the hilt of the dagger still embedded in the Gatherer’s throat and he tore it free with a vicious yank. He lashed out, a wild blow aimed at his enemy’s leg. The Gatherer screamed as Kodyn’s blade severed the muscles in the back of his calf. Another slash sliced the tendon along the back of the man’s leg, just above his ankle. As the man stumbled to one knee, Kodyn slashed at his inner thigh in a desperate attempt to open the huge artery.

  Pain exploded in the side of his head as a Gatherer’s boot connected with his skull. Sparks spun in his vision and the world spun wildly around him. Instinct screamed at him to move, and he somehow managed to retain his senses long enough to tuck his arm close against his body. Steel sparked off stone where his hand had been an instant earlier.

  He shook his head to try to clear it, but the stars refused to leave his vision. He’d gotten lucky once but—

  Warm wetness splashed over his face, accompanied by a dull thump on the street beside him. He blinked in stunned surprise at the headless body lying in an ever-widening pool of blood.

  “Come on!” Hykos stood over him, sword held in a firm one-handed grip, the other hand outstretched toward him. “On your feet!”

  Kodyn clasped the Blade’s hand, and Hykos hauled him out from beneath the dead Gatherer. He hadn’t even risen to his feet before he tore a throwing dagger from a hidden sheath and hurled it left-handed. The blade buried to the hilt in the chest of the cultist racing up behind Hykos, dropping the man in his tracks.

  “Let’s go!” Hykos shouted. “We need to get to Rothin!”

  Kodyn seized the momentary lull in enemies to shoot a glance toward the house. Rothin had retreated inside but held the doorway, his sword flashing right and left, high and low, as he fought to keep the Gatherers out. Issa and her company were beating down nearly half of the Gatherers clustered on the eastern edge of the fray, but there were still close to ten cultists trying to cut their way through Rothin.

  Kodyn left his long sword beneath the cultist’s body and instead snatched up a pair of short swords from a fallen Gatherer. It would cost him precious seconds to retrieve his own blade and, at that moment, every second counted.

  With a yell, he charged the next Gatherer. The cultist parried his blows with surprising skill, but a fire of fury burned within Kodyn’s chest. He battered at the man’s one short sword with his two, until his enemy’s defense crumbled beneath the assault. A powerful chop buried his right-handed short sword in the cultist’s forearm a heartbeat before his left-handed sword drove into the man’s throat. He ripped the blades free and gave the body a savage kick, sending it toppling backward.

  And then he was through the Gatherers facing him. He had a moment to breathe, to glance at the combat around him to see where he was needed most. Hykos fought three Gatherers, who attacked with quick thrusts and strikes, hounds nipping at a bear. But this bear had a massive two-handed sword that sheared through flesh and bone like a hurricane through a field of orchids.

  Issa and her patrol seemed to have the other Gatherers on the run. Indeed, one of the cultists actually turned and fled, only to be cut down by the second Blade fighting beside Issa—another young woman.

  Without hesitation, he charged at the backs of the Gatherers trying to cut their way into the house. He brought one down with a vicious chop to the neck, where skull met spine. The man sagged forward, collapsing into the man in front of him, who bore down the two beside him as he flailed for balance. It was like a house of playing cards collapsing beneath a strong wind. Only the foremost Gatherer, the one directly in front of the door, managed to stay on his feet.

  Kodyn leapt over the prone Gatherers and drove his left-handed short sword into the man’s lower back. Steel sliced through bone, cartilage, and nerves. The man flopped forward onto his face, his legs slack and useless.

  “Rothin!” he shouted as he rushed the door.

  The guard’s powerful swing nearly took off his head. He barely blocked it, though the force of the blow jarred him to the shoulder.

  “It’s me!” he shouted.

  Rothin paused, sword raised high, face twisted in a battle grimace. His eyes flew wide and he seemed to recognize Kodyn.

  “K-Kodyn?”

  “Yes!” Kodyn shouted. “Looks like we’re here in just in time.” He whirled to face the door, swords held at the ready. “Watch my back, and we’ll keep the bastards from getting in!”

  “Damn straight!” Rothin growled behind him.

  Kodyn’s gut clenched as the six surviving Gatherers disentangled themselves from their awkward pile and clambered to their feet. Eyes blazing, short swords glinting in the moonlight, they resumed their attack on the door.

  Yet Kodyn stood firm. “Come on, you bastards!” he roared. His sword swung with precision, his blows backed with the power of his anger. He’d be damned if he let the cultists take Briana again.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Aisha’s mouth went dry, her heart thundering in her chest as she studied the Gatherers. Scores—easily more than a hundred that she could see—stood, sat, or huddled around coal-burning braziers. A steady chill permeated this deep inside the mountain, cold enough that the Gatherers needed cloaks and shawls to keep off the cold. They spoke in quiet voices, for all purposes as human as anyone else she’d met: eating, drinking, sleeping, and passing the time.

  Yet she had seen the maniacal light in their eyes, determination etched into their faces as they tried to kill her and Briana. They might be ordinary-looking men and women, but their worship of the Long Keeper turned them into bloodthirsty demons.

  The blue-white figures of the Kish’aa clustered around the dead. Aisha felt the sparks of life within her flare bright and hot. Eldesse and Osirath, even Thimara, burned with a fury.

  Vengeance! Eldesse and Osirath shouted in unison in her mind.

  The empty eyes of the spirits turned toward Aisha, and she heard their voices whisper in her mind. They, too, demanded vengeance. Men, women, even children that had died too soon—felled by disease, murder, or starvation—begged her for justice, to avenge them. She had no doubt that they blamed the Gatherers, even the ones that bore the blue, pus-oozing blisters of the Azure Rot.

  Her gaze returned to the Gatherers, then traveled upward, roaming over the enormous statue that towered over their heads. The effigy bore the features of a stern-faced man, and an artisan had etched the painstaking details of a simple headband, a suit of armor, and a sharpened pickaxe into the golden sandstone.

  Sixty feet tall with a base nearly ten paces across, the statue shielded the light of the Gatherers’ fires from view. Anyone approaching from the south, east, or north could easily mistake the faint glimmers for one of the many lanterns and torches set at intervals along the pathways that intersecting the Crypt.

  Aisha’s mind raced. No wonder no one has been able to f
ind them! They’ve been hiding in the last place anyone would look for them.

  According to Briana, the superstitious Shalandrans rarely braved the Crypts, save for the final entombment of their dead. The Indomitable patrols mostly kept to the broad avenue that ran north to south, up to the Keeper’s Tier and down to the Slave’s Tier, just inside the tombs. No one truly knew how deep the passages ran—every year, new additions were made as more dead were laid to rest.

  Shalandrans feared the living dead, the fabled Stumblers animated by dark, ancient magics. Aisha put little stock in such myths—Ghandian folklore had their own equally fabricated version. Yet that might explain why no one had encountered the Gatherers.

  Only Intaji stonemasons ventured into the mountain depths on a regular basis. They were hired by bereaved relatives in need of a fresh crypt, sarcophagus, or tombstone. Judging by the looks of the tombs around her, no new burial places had been added for years.

  Aisha shook her head in disbelief. Given who the Gatherers are and what they believe, this is exactly where we should have thought.

  A war raged in Aisha’s mind as she decided what to do next. She could feel the spirits of Eldesse and Osirath pulling her toward the Gatherers. Briana’s loyal servants had found the ones that murdered them and wanted vengeance. Energy crackled up and down her arms, the sparks of their lives dancing eagerly as if begging to be unleashed. Aisha had to fight to remain immobile when the dead wanted her to charge.

  There are too many of them! I can’t take on more than a hundred.

  She spoke in her mind, silent yet insistent, trying once more to communicate with the spirits. The Whispering Lily didn’t just enable her to hear the Kish’aa; somehow, it parted the veil to Pharadesi so they could hear her, too.

  If I am dead, who will avenge you?

  That seemed to work. The urgency humming within her faded and the tug on her limbs diminished. She breathed easy, pressing herself deeper into the shadows.

  I can’t deal with them, but maybe I don’t have to.