Trial of Stone Page 8

  Slowly, one agonizing, sluggish heartbeat at a time, the room swam into focus. Tears blurred her vision and her stomach protested, threatening to empty its contents. But Issa swallowed the acid burning in her throat and, with effort, took one deep breath, then another.

  The pain faded, the dizziness receded, and Issa managed to stand. Arch-Guardian Suroth kept a steadying grip on her arm until she could stand on her own. At her nod, he released her and stepped back.

  “She still lives,” High Divinity Tinush’s words echoed through the chamber.

  Issa spoke the ceremonial words she’d been taught. “I have been touched by the Long Keeper.” Her voice sounded small, weak, faint through the pounding of her pulse, but she straightened her spine and lifted her head. “Am I worthy to serve?”

  Tinush stepped forward and squinted at her forehead. After a moment, a smile split his aged face. “The Long Keeper has judged her worthy to stand in his halls, to bear the mark of his favor.”

  “All praise to the god of death!” the Necroseti in the room echoed in a single voice.

  Tinush reached into his robes and drew out a small glass vial that contained a pale red liquid. “This mark proclaims you to be chosen of the Long Keeper.” He opened the vial and dabbed a few drops onto Issa’s forehead. “Let all who see it know that you are beloved of our god, servant of death.”

  Issa clenched her fists against the sudden pain in her forehead. The liquid increased the intensity of the throbbing, sizzling sensations, and it took all her willpower to remain upright as the room spun crazily once more. The rest of the priest’s words faded into the dizziness. She moved like a corpse, every muscle tense, as she stepped away from the altar toward the waiting Elders of the Blades.

  “Welcome, servant of death.” The Elder spoke in a sonorous voice, and in his strong hands he held out the flame-bladed sword Issa had claimed in the Crucible earlier that day. “With this sword, you swear fealty to the Long Keeper and the Pharus, his servant on Einan. Do you so swear?”

  “I swear!” Issa replied without hesitation.

  “With this sword,” the Elder continued, “you swear to sever all ties to your past life, to who you once were, and leave behind your old life to become Dhukari, an honor bestowed only upon those who are worthy. Do you so swear?”

  Issa hesitated. A cruel thing to ask. She’d snuck into the arena to give her grandparents a better life, and now she was being commanded to sever all ties with them? Yet, if it improves Savta and Saba’s station, it is worth it.

  “I swear!” The words brought a lump to her throat. She hated the way she’d left her grandparents’ house earlier that day. Will those harsh, angry words be the last they ever hear me speak? No, she determined. She would find a way to speak to them again. She would make things right.

  “With this sword, you swear to heed the commands of your officers, to serve the Lady of Blades and the Elders without hesitation. Do you so swear?”

  “I swear!” Issa’s voice grew stronger, more confident.

  “With this sword,” the Elder spoke the final words of the oath, “you swear to serve the city of Shalandra and its people to the best of your ability, until the Long Keeper chooses to gather you into his arms. Do you so swear?”

  “I swear!” The dizziness had faded, replaced by elation as Issa repeated the oaths of the Blades—the oaths she’d dreamed of taking for five long years.

  “In the sight of the Long Keeper and his witnesses on Einan, so let it be.” With those solemn words, the Elder drew the huge blade from its sheath and handed it to Issa hilt-first. “Welcome to the Keeper’s Blades, Issa of the Dhukari.”

  Elation washed over her like a hot bath, drowning out everything around her as she returned to her place in line with the other accepted Blades. She could see only the golden altar in the center of the room, feel the throbbing pain in her forehead. Her mind barely registered when the Keeper’s Priest called out the next name.

  I did it! She found it hard to breathe for the excitement. All her hard work and patience of the last five years had paid off. Her grandparents would be elevated to the Dhukari caste, their lives improved. Yet it was more than just the promise of a better life. Through her toil, blood, and sweat, she had won the right to serve the Long Keeper and her city.

  A piercing cry shattered her thoughts. Her eyes refocused, snapped toward the sandstone altar in time to see one of the two Intaji twins crumbling to the stone floor. He writhed and jerked, his body gripped in a paroxysm of agony. His shrieking cries echoed off the walls around him.

  Issa’s heart stopped, her breath trapped in her lungs. She could only watch, frozen in horror, as the youth convulsed at the foot of the sandstone altar. No one moved to help him—not the Secret Keeper with the kind eyes, the masked Keeper’s Priests, or the Elders of the Blade. Silent and stern, they waited until his fate was determined by the trial of stone.

  Slowly, one heart-rending breath at a time, the Intaji’s spasm quietened to a few weak jerks, a twitch, and finally one quiet shudder. Pale-faced, eyes wide, he lay staring up at the roof, silent and deathly still.

  * * *

  Issa wanted to be sick. She didn’t know the fate of the twins. Both Intaji boys had collapsed after their trial of stone, and the Necroseti had carried them away on stretchers. The grave expression on Arch-Guardian Suroth’s face told her that the boys’ future still hung in the balance. Not all survived the touch of the bloodstone. Some were claimed by the Long Keeper before they could be accepted into the Blades.

  Yet that horror only dimmed the triumph within her, but couldn’t extinguish it altogether. She felt as if she walked in a dream, yet she repeated in her mind that it was true. She had passed the trial of steel and the trial of stone. She had taken the oaths of the Blades and received her sword, the flammards with their strangely undulating blades. Now, she followed the Elders of the Blades down the broad stone stairs and onto the Path of Gold, the broad avenue that spanned the uppermost tier of Shalandra. From there, they would take her to the Citadel of Stone, home of the Keeper’s Blades.

  Beside her, the slim Mahjuri girl seemed incapable of taking her eyes off the huge sword in her hand. Even the Dhukari youth had lost his arrogance in the wonder of his acceptance.

  The Citadel of Stone appeared exactly as its name suggested: a vast stronghold carved from the golden sandstone of the mountain. Towers, turrets, and a parapet ringed the upper heights, but Issa’s eyes were fixed on the enormous bloodwood gate before them.

  The Elders of the Blades stopped at the entrance and pounded on the gate. The rattling of chains and the thunking of huge bolts being drawn echoed through the heavy wood. Slowly, the gate rose and Issa caught sight of the Citadel’s interior.

  Fifty Blades in full armor, helmets, and scowling war masks lined the Citadel’s courtyard. They stood in perfect silence, ranks as neat as a bookkeeper’s sums, flame-bladed swords raised in salute.

  A huge man with the gold-and-black stripe of a high-ranking officer stepped from the front of the ranks. “Who goes?” came his challenge.

  “The chosen of the Long Keeper,” Issa and her two companions echoed in unison.

  “Do you bear the mark of his touch?”

  “We do.” Issa’s voice rang out loudest.

  “Then enter the Citadel of Stone, beloved of death.” The Blade gave a salute—right fist to left shoulder—then marched back into his place at the head of the men lining the courtyard.

  It took Issa every shred of willpower not to let a smile broaden her face as she took her first steps into the Citadel of Stone and the new life of a Keeper’s Blade awaiting within.

  Chapter Nine

  Adrenaline thrummed within Aisha’s muscles as she heard the bandit’s call. From her position, she could make out the rounded outlines of at least five more bandits, each wearing the same rust-red cloak as their leader—a weather-beaten fellow with a hungry expression and greed written in every line of his pock-marked face. Only two carried crossb
ows, but she had little doubt the rest carried weapons of their own.

  With Kodyn by her side, she could take five armed men any day. The crossbows complicated things. Worse, they had Briana to protect, and Briana was clearly no fighter. The Shalandran girl let out a yelp of surprise, setting her horse skittering and dancing beneath her.

  Kodyn, however, remained calm, exuding confidence, his right hand hovering close to his sword.

  “Hello, friends!” he called out in a jaunty tone that bordered on mocking. “A beautiful day to enjoy the shade of those fine boulders, isn’t it? I almost find myself tempted to get out of the heat and join you. Alas, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover, so we’ll have to decline your kind invitation.”

  Aisha stifled a groan. Watch him go and get us all killed! Kodyn had definitely inherited his mother’s wit and sharp tongue.

  She scanned the rocks and found two more red-cloaked men she hadn’t spotted before. That made seven—still decent odds, but not with those crossbows pointed at Kodyn.

  Back in Praamis, Kodyn had convinced his mother, the Master of the Night Guild, that the Gatherers might attack Briana—intending to either kidnap or kill her, anything to gain leverage over her father. Unless these men wore the world’s cleverest disguise, they looked too rough to be hired assassins. Everything about them—from their ragged clothing, patchwork leather armor, and rust-dulled weapons to their lean, hungry faces—screamed bandits.

  “Quite the jaw on you, pup,” snarled the man that had spoken. “Get you into trouble, so ‘twill.”

  Aisha’s gut tightened as the bandit’s finger twitched toward the trigger of his crossbow. Not even Master Serpent could dodge a crossbow bolt fired from that range.

  “Easy, now.” Kodyn’s voice turned placating. “I’d hate for any of us to go and end up dead, myself and my companions most of all. What say we chalk this all up to a misunderstanding, have a good laugh at ourselves, and go our separate ways?”

  “Shut yer mouth,” the bandit growled. His face turned an angry shade of red. “We’re the ones’ll be doing the talking here. Empty yer saddlebags and give us the gold.”

  “Gold?” Kodyn cocked his head. “I think you might have us confused with another, richer group of travelers. I saw them when we were riding out of Rosecliff. They ought to be along shortly, just in time for you to relieve them of their valuables.”

  Aisha couldn’t believe Kodyn. She’d always known he was cocky, but this bordered on glib insanity. She wanted to reach out and grab his arm, smack him up the back of his head—anything to get him to shut up before he got himself skewered by a crossbow bolt—but didn’t want to risk setting off the trigger-happy bandits.

  Another man sidled up behind the speaker. “Boss,” the second man muttered in a voice far too loud to be a proper whisper, “I don’t think they’re the ones.”

  “What do you mean?” hissed the bandit leader, again loud enough for Aisha to hear clearly. “We got the word that they’d be coming this way today. A small company of three, without a Blade to guard them.” He gestured at Aisha and Kodyn with a wave of his hand. “Do any of these three look like a Blade to you?”

  “No, but—”

  “Shite!” The loud curse came from Aisha’s right. Out from the rocks popped another man Aisha hadn’t spotted. Fear covered his dust-stained face. “Boss, incoming!”

  The sound of drumming hooves echoed from behind them. Aisha turned in her saddle to see a mounted rider charging toward them. The wind streamed through his cloak, pulling it back to reveal heavy black plate mail armor and helmet to match. His horse was huge, the largest warhorse Aisha had ever seen. The rider swung an enormous two-handed sword with a strange flame-shaped blade above his head.

  “Keeper’s Blade!” cried the man that had spotted the rider.

  The bandit leader cursed. “Our man insisted there wouldn’t be an escort.”

  “We need to run, now!” said the second man. The others had already begun to scramble away, down the rocks and out of sight.

  It took the bandit leader a long moment to make up his mind, but finally he turned and fled after his companions. Within seconds, the bandits disappeared among the boulders and rocks.

  Aisha quickly turned her horse to face the charging newcomer. He might have scared the bandits off, but that didn’t mean he was friendly. He could be a worse threat than the ragged highwaymen. He was alone against the two of them, but one look at his armor, warhorse, and huge sword told Aisha they’d be in for a vicious fight if the warrior turned out to be an enemy.

  The warrior reined in a few paces away from them, his eyes fixed on the rocks to the east. “Any of you hurt?” He spoke in a voice at once gruff and polite, as deep as a rumbling zabara bull.

  “No,” Kodyn replied. “We had it handled, thank you very much.”

  The bronze-skinned warrior ignored the response until he seemed content that the danger had passed, then he sheathed his huge flame-bladed sword in the scabbard that hung from his saddle and turned a stern gaze on Kodyn. “Don’t they teach you any manners in Praamis, young man?”

  Kodyn bristled, but the comparison was apt. The man—the bandits had called him a Keeper’s Blade—had to be closing in on forty, with broad shoulders, strong hands, and the confident posture that only came with years of training and experience. His eyes were as dark as Briana’s, set beside a strong nose, and he wore his beard pulled into a tight braid at his chin, oiled to keep it tight, with shaven cheeks and moustache. His accent also matched Briana’s—a mellifluous rhythm that emphasized harder syllables while softening the vowels.

  “Yes, they do,” Aisha said. She used her hips to push her horse into motion and walked it forward until she was between Kodyn and the armored warrior. “You have our thanks, sir…?”

  “Ormroth, Ypertatos of the Keeper’s Blades of Shalandra.” The warrior bowed in his saddle. “I am surprised to find you traveling in such a small company. I’d thought even Praamians and…” He looked her over curiously, as if trying to decide where she was from. “…and others knew that this area is notorious for bandits and highwaymen.”

  “We are unfamiliar with these roads.” Aisha shook her head. “But, as you can see, we are capable of taking care of ourselves.” She gestured to Kodyn’s sword and her weapons.

  “Perhaps you are.” Ormroth pursed his lips, which tugged the corners of his mouth up and pulled his oiled beard tight. “All the same, more dangers may lie down the road you travel. I suggest you turn back and return to Praamis unless you have business in the south.”

  To Aisha’s surprise, Briana spoke up. “They do.” The Shalandran girl kicked her horse forward and moved toward the warrior. “You say you are an Ypertatos in the Keeper’s Blades? Show me your mark, Dhukari.”

  Ormroth fixed Briana with a stern glare. “Who are you, taltha? Where is your headband?”

  “Taken from me by the same men who held me prisoner.” Briana sat straighter in her saddle. “You bear the armor and carry the sword of a Blade, and I see the gold on your helm. But I demand you show me the Keeper’s mark.”

  Aisha exchanged a glance with Kodyn. Beneath his outward bravado, she saw confusion that mirrored hers. Neither of them understood Briana’s words, yet something about the girl’s manner indicated that this warrior was more friend than foe.

  But life in the Night Guild had taught Aisha to be prepared. She flashed Kodyn the silent hand signal for “sword” and “fight”—both gestures Briana had taught them. Kodyn gave her an almost imperceptible nod, his hand creeping toward the hilt of his sword. Aisha made no outward move, but inside, her muscles tensed, ready to fight if need be.

  After a long moment, the warrior reached up and removed his helm—shaped like the head and snarling fangs of a lioness. On his forehead, he bore a circular scar as thick across as the tip of Aisha’s finger.

  Relief filled Briana’s expression. “Thank the Long Keeper! I am Briana, daughter of Arch-Guardian Suroth.”

  Ormroth�
�s eyes widened a fraction. “My lady!” He bowed in his saddle again, deeper this time. “I had no idea you were away from Shalandra.”

  Aisha allowed the tension to drain from her shoulders and her muscles relaxed. There was no mistaking the deference in the man’s tone—he would be no threat, at least not to Briana.

  “As I said, I was taken from my father’s house. I’m certain he will look favorably upon the man that returns me safely to his arms.” Briana’s voice grew solemn, almost ceremonial. “As a member of the Dhukari, I insist that you accompany us back to Shalandra and offer the protection of your sword and skill.”

  “It would be my honor, my lady.” Ormroth hesitated. “However, I must inform you that I am already on a mission for my Lady of Blades. That must be my first priority. I trust that your companions will aid me in protecting you and, by the grace of the Long Keeper, together we will reach Shalandra without further mishap.”

  The exchange, too, puzzled Aisha. She’d known that Briana was the daughter of Suroth, the highest-ranked Secret Keeper in Shalandra. But Ormroth’s deferential treatment and the way Briana commanded his service made it sound like she was royalty.

  “If you will wait for me here,” Ormroth said, turning his horse around, “I will return shortly.”

  “Of course.” Briana nodded.

  With a click of his tongue, Ormroth set his horse into a gallop. Up the road, at least a quarter-league to the north, Aisha caught sight of two figures on horseback.

  The three of them watched in silence. The moment Ormroth had ridden out of earshot, Kodyn rounded on Briana. “What in the bloody hell just happened?”

  “What do you mean?” Briana’s brow furrowed in confusion.

  “He just did what you told him!” Kodyn shook his head. “Believed that you were who you said you were without question. If it was me, no way I’d have taken you at your word just like that.”

  “Life in Shalandra is not the same as you are used to,” Briana explained. “Our city is divided into seven castes. The Mahjuri are the outcasts, the Kabili the slaves, and the Earaqi the servants, farmers, and unskilled laborers. Then there are the Intaji, the artisans, smiths, cobblers, and any others who build or craft with their hands. The Zadii are the intellectuals, the healers, philosophers, architects, engineers, and teachers, along with the priests of the twelve gods, all but the Long Keeper. His priests are among the Dhukari, the highest-ranking caste in Shalandra.”