ã€ŠDark God Emergentã€‹


 Freedoms Price

    Raomar caught the carriage as it left the Hartender city mansion. He flipped the driver a single gold coin, paying for his silence and the risk he took. It might do little to ease the man¡¯s conscious, but that would assume the man had one¡­and given he was already hiring his master¡¯s coach to a stranger, that was doubtful.

    Raomar made a note to keep that in mind for future dealings.

    He stepped up on the running board as the coach slowed to make its turn from the driveway to the street, opening the door and sliding inside before anyone realized he¡¯d gotten aboard. Despite the gathering dusk, he kept his cloak¡¯s hood pulled low over his face and hid his hands beneath long sleeves and dark gloves.

    No one knew his race or rank¡ªand he preferred it that way.

    As head of Deverath¡¯s thieves¡¯ guild, and a kevarag living in a city of humans, it was better he went unnoticed¡ªand unnoted. Tonight, he would meet the hunters of his kind and give them another man¡¯s life in place of his own.

    Latching the door firmly closed, he settled back in the padded leather seat and wondered what Duke Joseph Hartender would say, if he knew who¡¯d commandeered his private carriage. The man might not be amused to know it was being used by the guildmaster of Deverath¡¯s most powerful illicit traders to transport a cat burglar from one form of confinement to another.

    The burglar had been caught and convicted of breaking into the Harbor Master¡¯s office, and then sentenced to hang in a gibbet at the city gates. He¡¯d thought Raomar¡¯s offer a godsend.

    Raomar stifled a snort. Little did he know.

    The coach rumbled over cobbled streets, the horses¡¯ steady pace not breaking until the coachman reached the city gates. Here he slowed and rough voices demanded what business had him leaving so close to nightfall.

    Inside the coach, Raomar tensed, worried the guards would insist on searching the coach.

    ¡°Who knows what passes through the master¡¯s mind,¡± he heard the coachman reply. The man¡¯s brusque tones hinted at resentment. ¡°I get paid for doing what I¡¯m told and not asking why.¡±

    It was the right answer for the guards, who ushered him on.

    Raomar relaxed as the coach moved through the gates at a walk. The slow pace made it feel like he was reluctant to leave the protection of the city walls¡­and for all Raomar knew, he was. He settled back in his seat. The man was very good at following instructions.

    He heard the dull boom of the gates closing in their wake, and the coach slowed again. The coachman was following his orders to the letter. The man would soon get down and make a show of checking the horses¡¯ harness.

    When he did, Raomar slipped out of the coach, using it to shield him from view of the gates. Working his way back to the wall, he looked for the thief. He found the man crouched in a shallow ditch at its foot. He jumped when Raomar¡¯s hand descended on his shoulder.

    ¡°Guildmaster?¡± he whispered, and Raomar laid his hand over the man¡¯s mouth.

    ¡°This way, Andern.¡±

    At mention of his name, the man relaxed. He didn¡¯t waste breath arguing but followed Raomar as he led the way back to the open coach door and inside.

    ¡°Do you remember our agreement?¡± Raomar asked as the man settled into the seat opposite.

    Andern colored and nodded.

    ¡°A child, sir.¡± He hesitated. ¡°To one such as you. What did you mean by that?¡±

    Raomar sighed, feeling the coach rock as the coach driver climbed into his seat. The carriage lurched forward and he glanced toward the thief, keeping his hood low over his face. As the vehicle picked up pace, he sighed again and flipped back his hood.

    He knew his yellow eyes gleamed in the coach¡¯s shadows and sat close to the window so his features were lit by the rising moon.

    Andern gasped, startling in his seat.

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­¡± He gulped. ¡°You¡¯re kevarag.¡±

    Raomar nodded.

    ¡°Tree cat,¡± he explained shortly.

    ¡°And I¡¯m to have a child with one¡­like you?¡±

    Raomar nodded, and the man rushed on.

    ¡°And¡­and after that, I¡¯m free?¡±

    ¡°Once the child¡¯s survival is assured.¡±

    He watched as the man digested the news, saw the question he didn¡¯t ask. How long? It was written on his face.

    In truth, the man would never return to the city. Once Raomar delivered him to the kevarag, he would end his days with them, a slave to their whim. Raomar was just glad¡­

    ¡°And will you come to fetch me?¡± the thief asked.

    Raomar looked at him¡ªand lied without shame.

    ¡°I¡¯ll send the carriage,¡± he informed the man. ¡°Grunwol will come, if I do not.¡±

    That last part went from mild untruth to blatant lie. The Northlands barbarian knew nothing of his master¡¯s bargain with the kevarag hunters. He hadn¡¯t been around when Raomar had made it.

    Raomar looked out the window and sighed. It had taken a sleeping spell to ensure he kept that pact a secret, tonight. The barbarian had pledged his life for Raomar¡¯s, swearing to protect him at all times and at all costs. He refused to listen when the elf told him he had no debt.

    Raomar¡¯s mouth curled, memory of the hunters bringing the bitterness of defeat. He¡¯d left his lands without permission, evaded the hunters sworn to keep his people contained and ¡®protected¡¯¡ªand he¡¯d done so for twenty-three long years.

    No one outran them forever, though¡ªand the price for his freedom had been set at ten lives for every year he¡¯d stayed free¡­and two for every year since his release. He¡¯d owed two hundred and thirty lives and been given scant time to pay it¡­but he¡¯d made his payments ever since. Andern would be the second for the coming year, and Raomar was free of debt for another four seasons.

    He gave an internal shrug. There¡¯d be more mistakes. By the time the next payment was due, he¡¯d have enough.

    Feeling the man¡¯s uncertain gaze on him, Raomar glanced over.

    ¡°What is it?¡± he asked.

    The man blushed, Raomar picking up the color change with eyes adapted to the dark.

    ¡°Well?¡± he prodded, and the thief ducked his head.

    ¡°It¡¯s just that I¡¯m¡­I¡¯m not used to¡­¡± He let the words trail off, trusting Raomar to understand.

    The guildmaster nodded.

    ¡°Not used to selling your body,¡± he concluded, and the man gave a hasty nod, and was momentarily silent.

    Raomar watched as he screwed up the courage to ask the next question. It would have been a surprise if he hadn¡¯t.

    ¡°Is there¡­ I mean, can I pay the debt another way?¡±

    Raomar sighed. ¡°Perhaps¡­¡± he began, drawing the dart he carried for just this occasion.

    The man gave him a hopeful look, and Raomar was grateful humans did not see so well in the dark. When he moved, it was lightning fast. He shifted across the coach in one swift movement, burying the dart in the side of the man¡¯s throat.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    Andern gaped at him, and Raomar met his eyes.

    ¡°No,¡± the kevarag told the man. ¡°There is no other way. Your life was forfeit the moment you failed me. I lied. You will not be returning to the lands of men, but will end your days among my kind as their slave.¡±

    The man¡¯s eyes clouded with confusion, hurt and betrayal filling his features as he struggled to move against the fast-acting poison. Raomar used his body to pin Andern to the seat, holding the dart in place to ensure the full dose entered his bloodstream.

    ¡°You will wake properly when I order it,¡± he told the man, as he felt Andern¡¯s body relax beneath him. He patted the thief¡¯s cheek. ¡°Now, sleep.¡±

    ¡°Yes, guildmaster,¡± Andern replied, his voice drowsy in obedience, but Raomar kept him pinned until his eyes closed and he drifted into slumber.

    Once he was sure the man wouldn¡¯t stir, Raomar took the dart from his throat and returned to his side of the carriage. Andern remained slumped in the opposite corner, now fully apprised of his fate and completely under the kevarag¡¯s control.

    Soft laughter filtered through the silent air around him, and Raomar blushed. The medallion he wore around his throat grew warm against his chest.

    Trust the goddess to find my discomfort amusing, he thought, and whispered a small prayer of gratitude to her. It was her temple who¡¯d sheltered him from the hunters, and her priests who¡¯d given him a new path to tread in the world to which he¡¯d fled.

    Enshul was the human goddess of the night and shadow. All things that happened between sunset and sunrise fell into her domain. Thieves, assassins, and deceit all fell under her purview but she held equal seniority with the god of the moon and the stars and fortune tellers were part of his domain over hers.

    She didn¡¯t seem to mind the lack, however, embracing all who came to her for aid in the shadier dealings of society¡­and enjoying the game of spies and diplomacy. She¡¯d welcomed Raomar when he¡¯d fled to the sanctuary of her temple, and walked with him still.

    Her presence made him smile. Asharma cared only for her own people, but Enshul¡­ Raomar¡¯s smile broadened. Enshul cared for all who walked the shadows and called on her name. The sense of the goddess¡¯s presence faded and he knew he neared his destination, and she was giving him the space to make the trade.

    Asharma was a jealous goddess. It was bad enough that Raomar had shunned her priesthood, worse that he should choose to serve her human counterpart. He hoped she stayed away, this time. The hunters didn¡¯t like defying a goddess when the debt was paid. If he failed¡­

    Raomar shuddered.

    If he failed to make the necessary payment, Asharma¡¯s people would be waiting.

    A glance out the window told him they¡¯d arrived at their destination, and Raomar used the hilt of his dagger to signal the driver to stop. Rapping sharply, three times, he waited, relaxing when the coach slowed. As it came to a halt, he nudged Andern with his boot.

    ¡°Time to rise,¡± he told the man, and knew the drug still held when Andern blinked and nodded. ¡°Follow me.¡±

    He slipped from the coach and turned to help the thief descend. There was no point in delivering damaged goods to the hunters.

    He shivered, wondering which of the clans had won the honor of collecting his tribute. Tree-Cat, Tree-Rat, Sky Falcon and Cavern Spider produced the best hunters of the clans, but they weren¡¯t the only clans there were¡ªand the hunters forsook clan ties to become part of the elite force the kevarag use to track down any who left their lands without permission.

    His own capture had been made by a combination of Tree-Cat and Sky Falcon¡­and memory of it sent another shiver over his skin. They had taken him beyond the pursuit of his friends, as well as the protection of his goddess¡­and they¡¯d forced him to accept the pact of lives or forfeit two hundred years of his own.

    They¡¯d promised to ensure he survived to the end of his debt.

    And not much longer, he¡¯d thought, and read the confirmation in their eyes.

    The memory chilled him but he led the way away from the carriage, not looking back when he heard the coachman click his horses into a walk. His capture had shamed his goddess, making her seem weak before two pantheons¡ªan advantage Asharma had tried to use for her own gain¡­and failed.

    Raomar smiled grimly, and draped an arm around Andern¡¯s shoulders, drawing him into the night. They crossed the verge and climbed a fence in need of repair, Andern¡¯s voice signaling the drug was wearing off, although his suggestion that the thief would only wake properly when he commanded it, still held.

    ¡°Master?¡± The slur in the thief¡¯s voice made it clear he still hadn¡¯t come to grips with his situation.

    Raomar cast him a happy smile. ¡°This way, Andern. It¡¯s not far, now.¡±

    The look on the man¡¯s face said he thought he should be afraid, but didn¡¯t know why. Raomar reached out and clasped his shoulder.

    ¡°Come,¡± he told the man. ¡°Our friends are waiting.¡±

    Looking slightly reassured, Andern followed. He hesitated a little when the elf led him into a shadowed grove of aolmar trees.

    Raomar let the thief catch up and fall into step beside him.

    ¡°They will meet us here,¡± he told the man. ¡°Stay close.¡±

    The shadows of the copse engulfed them, and a thick silence descended, broken only by Andern¡¯s heavy breathing. Raomar laid a hand on the man¡¯s arm, feeling him startle.

    ¡°Not far now,¡± he reassured the man, even as the air shifted around them and a soft breeze touched their skins.

    There had been no breeze in the fields they¡¯d left behind¡­and this one smelt of rain.

    Raomar felt Andern tense beneath his hand. he heard the man draw another shaky breath, then hold it, as he sought to control his fear. He was sure the effects of the dart had completely worn off, and pulled the man further into the trees.

    They crossed the boundary, the grove revealing itself to be much larger on the inside than it was on the outside. The aolmar gave way to other trees, these ones more tangled and older than was possible for the copse they¡¯d entered.

    Raomar didn¡¯t give the thief time to think about the grove¡¯s age or impossible depth, but drew him forward until they came to a sun-filled clearing. Here, Andern did pause.

    He came to a complete stop, pulling against Raomar¡¯s grip. The elf halted, letting the pressure ease, and then pulling him forward. This time, Andern obeyed, following the guildmaster to the clearing¡¯s center.

    ¡°We are here,¡± he declared softly, his words both a warning to his guildsman and an announcement to the hunters. ¡°Now, wake.¡±

    Movement drew their attention to the clearing¡¯s edge, in time to see the first of the hunters appear. His heart sank. Of all the clans¡­

    The woman who stepped through the hanging leaves had golden skin streaked with slashes of green. She moved with sinuous grace to come to a halt before them, her presence capturing Andern¡¯s stunned attention.

    Raomar tightened his grip on the thief¡¯s arm, and the woman smiled.

    She was wearing a sheath of finely spun spider silk, split so it revealed most of her thigh. Her gaze passed across Andern as though he didn¡¯t exist, and she addressed Raomar in a tone as distant and cold as the southern mountains.

    ¡°What is the human doing here?¡± she demanded, as though she didn¡¯t know.

    Raomar knew the question as part of the handover¡¯s ritual wording, and ignored Andern¡¯s worried look as he replied.

    ¡°He pays a debt to me by providing a service to you,¡± he replied, not relinquishing his grip on the thief¡¯s arm.

    The woman laughed.

    ¡°Perhaps to me,¡± she corrected, running her gaze up and down Andern¡¯s body as though he were a piece of meat and his clothing didn¡¯t matter.

    The man tensed beneath Raomar¡¯s grip, and the woman smiled. She tilted her head from side to side, continuing to assess the thief as she moved around them. Only Raomar¡¯s grip on Andern¡¯s arm prevented him from turning to face her.

    A fine tremor shook the man and he swallowed as though his throat had gone unexpectedly dry¡­and so he would, Raomar thought, given the way he was being inspected. The woman¡¯s next words made the thief jump.

    ¡°He will do,¡± she finally agreed. ¡°Do your terms remain the same?¡±

    ¡°Unless the hunters have changed their price,¡± Raomar replied.

    The woman¡¯s mouth quirked into a humorless smile.

    ¡°Hunters do not change the terms of their pacts,¡± she answered.

    Andern gave Raomar a startled glance, but Raomar kept his eyes on the woman¡¯s face.

    The grass rippled around them, and four more golden forms rose above it.

    Andern¡¯s body tensed under Raomar¡¯s hand, and he tightened his grip, turning slightly so he could watch the thief¡¯s reaction. A shiver rippled through the man, and Raomar did not blame him. Of all the tales told about the kevarag, their ability to change to the form of their totem creatures was not one outsiders knew.

    He kept his grip tight as the golden serpentine forms rising above the grass thickened and grew limbs, their heads shifting from snake to humanoid as their bodies changed.

    ¡°Clan Viper,¡± Raomar acknowledged, giving one of the most feared clans of the kevarag their name. ¡°I am honored.¡±

    The clan speaker tilted her head, appraising his sincerity.

    ¡°We fought for the honor,¡± she told him, and he noticed her pupils had become upright keyholes as she met Raomar¡¯s gaze and held it.

    A scale-like shimmer marred her flawless skin, and she flicked a surprisingly long tongue as she hissed at one of those newly risen from the grass to join them. The man dipped his head in acknowledgement and turned toward Andern.

    Raomar felt the thief pull against his grasp, and held him harder, shaking him slightly.

    ¡°Master¡­¡± Andern began, realizing his situation. He crowded closer. ¡°Master, please¡­¡±

    Raomar leant in close. ¡°Kneel,¡± he whispered, emphasizing it by pulling down on the man¡¯s arm. He paused, before adding, ¡°Kneel, and you might live.¡±

    ¡°Master?¡±

    Raomar turned to face the thief and laid his free hand on the man¡¯s other shoulder, pushing him to his knees and holding him there, until the Viper hunters came alongside and rested their hands beside his.

    As soon as he was sure of their grip, Raomar stepped away. Fear filled the thief¡¯s gaze.

    ¡°Master¡­ I beg you,¡± he began, as Raomar took three swift strides away.

    Raomar turned and met the guildsman¡¯s eyes.

    ¡°I made a pact with the hunters, Andern,¡± he told the man, ¡°And you made a pact with me. My pact is complete. Make sure you honor yours.¡±

    ¡°But¡­¡±

    Raomar turned to face the woman.

    ¡°He is yours,¡± he told her, and she dipped her head with a sultry smile.

    ¡°He may well be,¡± she replied, tilting her head so her gaze slid over the kneeling thief.

    Andern caught the intent in her eyes and shot a terrified look at Raomar.

    ¡°Plea¡ª¡± he began, and received an open-handed slap for his trouble.

    ¡°Silence!¡± the viper-hunter ordered. ¡°You have no master. Prostrate yourself before our Mistress of Venom, Valineth, Third Lady of Clan Ashmoreth Viper. It is her mark, you will bear on your shoulder, your chest and your cheek, and her whim that keeps you alive.¡±

    Andern gulped, his eyes wide with fear as he looked from Raomar to the woman. The hunters pushed him forward until his forehead touched the earth. The man¡¯s protest was partly muffled by grass and earth and the woman glanced toward Raomar.

    ¡°Mistress Valineth,¡± the guildmaster acknowledged and turned to walk from the clearing.

    Silence followed him, and then Andern began to scream.

    Raomar winced at the agony he heard there, remembering that Clan Ashmoreth Viper branded its slaves with a dilution of its namesake¡¯s venom. Venom and acid. The scars remained for life.

    Andern¡¯s cry died to a whimper, and then his voice rose, again, this time begging for mercy before transitioning to a second drawn-out wail. It faded as Raomar reached the border relieved to feel the chill of Toramar¡¯s cooler air, once more.

 2éˆ¥æ“³he Guildmaster Returns

    The Duke of Hartender greeted Raomar by placing a sword at his throat, and the kevarag elf froze. Had the coachman betrayed him? he wondered as the duke growled out a demand.

    ¡°Who are you and what are you doing on the road so late?¡± he demanded.

    Raomar sent a hasty prayer to Enshul, and cast a hasty glamor.

    ¡°You don¡¯t recognize me?¡± he asked, relieved when the duke stared at him, squinting as though not quite believing his eyes.

    If the magic had worked, the duke would be seeing a slim dark-haired man with hazel eyes. A human about whom he¡¯d feel a faint sense of familiarity.

    ¡°It¡¯s Ramon of Wildejun,¡± Raomar explained, quickly building on the impression. ¡°We met on your last visit there. Don¡¯t you remember?¡±

    He watched as the duke¡¯s eyes narrowed, holding himself still as he watched the man¡¯s mind work. It was a relief when the man lifted his sword away and sheathed it.

    ¡°You still haven¡¯t told me what you¡¯re doing meeting us this far out of the city,¡± he stated, settling back into his seat, and rapping on the ceiling to signal the driver to continue.

    ¡°You don¡¯t remember?¡± Raomar managed to inject a little hurt into his voice, but the duke wasn¡¯t falling for it.

    He shook his head, his expression speculative.

    ¡°You told me that if ever my journeys took me close to your estate, I was to look you up. I was on my way there, when I saw your carriage and flagged it down.¡± He watched the man¡¯s face, then added, ¡°Your driver recognized me¡­¡±

    The duke¡¯s lips twitched.

    ¡°He has an eye for faces,¡± the duke remarked. ¡°I¡¯m glad he saw you.¡±

    Raomar almost breathed a sigh of relief, but hid the emotion with a brisk nod. ¡°Since you haven¡¯t thrown me back into the night,¡± he added, ¡°I¡¯m guessing you¡¯re agreeable to letting me accompany you to the city?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± the duke admitted, warily.

    Raomar didn¡¯t hide his relief at the answer.

    ¡°Then I won¡¯t impose on you beyond that,¡± he told the man. ¡°I have business to attend, and must return to Wildejun post-haste after. I have an inn I usually stay at.¡±

    ¡°Will it be open?¡± the duke asked. ¡°It is late.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯ll be open for me,¡± Raomar told him. ¡°I pay well enough.¡±

    The duke gave him a deprecating smile. ¡°I can imagine.¡±

    He glanced out the window, seeming disinclined to talk. Raomar didn¡¯t push him. The glamor would only hold so far. They settled into an easy silence, with the duke directing his driver to drop Raomar off at the inn.

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

    The duke waved him away.

    ¡°It¡¯s a small matter between old friends.¡±

    Raomar managed a small smile, but there was something about the way the duke said ¡®old friends¡¯ that worried him. Was the glamor wearing off? Had it worked at all? He made a note to look into the duke and why he might be resistant to magic.

    The inn wasn¡¯t too far from his next destination. Raomar turned into a non-descript side street, before walking the half mile he needed to cover in order to reach a small supply store¡ªand it was a simple matter to pick the lock on the front door.

    Once inside, Raomar closed and locked the door behind him, before traversing the shop interior and exiting through the back door. The alley behind the store was called Stinking Alley because of the offal rotting behind the butchery at one end and the fish scraps behind the fishmongers at the other.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    In between them, however, plant life festooned the alley walls, and flowers bloomed from unlikely spaces between the buildings. Flashes of blue and red and orange revealed the presence of tropical birds and an unseasonal warmth drove away the crisp cold air of early autumn.

    The sorceress responsible for this transformation ran a store for rare herbs. She was also responsible for the glamor at each end of the alley that added to its name, just as it was she who ensured both butchery and fishmongers stayed at either end. Their rubbish and offcuts strengthened her illusion of dark, foul-smelling shadows shrouding the narrow laneway.

    Most people avoided the alley like a plague.

    Ducking under a particularly virulently colored hanging fern, Raomar tapped a quiet rhythm on the stones of the wall beyond, murmuring ¡®Enshul¡¯ as he did. Pausing long enough to take a breath, he stepped through the illusory stones that filled the newly formed opening where he¡¯d tapped them.

    Most of his guild members used another entrance three alleys over. This one was a secret held between himself and the small group of priests who served the goddess of night.

    The wall closed behind him as soon as he stepped across the threshold, his weight sufficient to trigger the mechanism that controlled it. A narrow staircase opened up before him, blue-flamed torches springing to life as he descended.

    Raomar didn¡¯t stop in the small temple at the foot of the stairs, but turned down the side hall leading to the thieves¡¯ guild. Once again, murmuring Enshul¡¯s name, he passed through the door, then took himself to his quarters.

    He passed his bodyguard¡¯s quarters and saw the note he¡¯d left had been opened. Seeing it, he relaxed, knowing the man believed him safely inside the temple, which meant Grunwol had left on the task Raomar had set him.

    Crossing the hall, he slipped quietly into his quarters. As the door closed behind him, he caught a glimpse of himself in the lamp-lit mirror beside the entrance.

    His passing caused the lamp to flicker and, for a moment, his amber eyes gleamed gold. Turning to face the glass, Raomar flipped back his hood and bent to inspect his image.

    He wasn¡¯t particularly tall, standing a shade under six feet, and was lightly built, like all his race. The face staring back at him was crowned by a mane of straw-blond hair touched by two streaks of blue which marked the goddess¡¯s favor.

    The mottled green and brown patterning his skin was reminiscent of the fur of his clan¡¯s totem, as were his amber eyes, and when he smiled his teeth were the teeth of a predator. It was no wonder he wore a hood.

    Satisfied with his appearance, Raomar stalked down the corridor to his room. There, he¡¯d employed the sorceress to make his quarters more like his homeland. The air was warm, just as it was in his homelands, and the walls were festooned with the plants of home, lending his chambers a slightly earthy scent.

    If it hadn¡¯t been for the stone walls surrounding him, he¡¯d have thought he was once more in the forests where he¡¯d grown up. That thought caused the smile to fade.

    He¡¯d fought against his kin and knew that, despite the bargain he¡¯d struck, there was no home in the kevaragan lands behind him. Even if he could return, he¡¯d find only death.

    No¡­he didn¡¯t yearn to go back. He had all he wanted here, including the freedom he¡¯d craved badly enough to risk his life for, but even so¡­

    Shaking himself free of the melancholy that accompanied such thoughts, Raomar pushed the memories away. He moved through his personal chamber via a vine-shrouded doorway that led to a bare stone room.

    In it stood a low ebon-wood table with a low ebon-wood stool. In the center of the table stood a large water-filled bowl of smoky crystal. The room was the only chamber in his suite that was devoid of plant life, and it was cloaked with a silence so intense it almost made his ears ache.

    That was a good sign. It meant his quarters had been undisturbed.

    Whispering softly in his native tongue, Raomar broke the spell giving the room its silence. His words made the lanterns in the wall sconces flare to life.

    Blue light from blue flame banished the black shadows in the corners, softening the harshness of the bare walls. Raomar noticed the color of the flame and felt a part of himself relax.

    The goddess was with him still.

    With a soft breath of relief, he raised a hand to lift the mottled green soapstone hanging around his neck clear of his tunic. It was carved in the shape of a winged weaver, one of Enshul¡¯s chosen forms. The warm stone felt almost alive in his hand as he raised it so he could see the gemstones set down the weaver¡¯s center.

    ¡°Filameth,¡± he whispered to the goddess. ¡°My name is Raomar Filameth¡­and I am both guildmaster and your faithful servant.¡±

    The gemstones flared once in acknowledgement and Raomar smiled. Seating himself behind the table, he tucked the weaver back inside his tunic and laid his hands on either side of the bowl. His hands looked like mottled green and brown smoke through the crystal.

    His reflected eyes stared back at him from the watery depths that lay, becalmed, before him. Their tawny amber gleam shone attentively back, challenging him to begin. Raomar answered that challenge by blowing softly across the bowl¡¯s surface.

    Waiting until the ripples subsided, he focused his mind, preparing the spell he needed. When the water was once again still, he spoke, imagining he could see the words settle to its surface. Once the last syllable lay drifting between the bowl¡¯s crystal walls, the water shimmered, and an image obscured the sides of the bowl.

    Raomar froze, hardly daring to breathe.

    He had found the spymaster¡¯s apprentice.

 3éˆ¥æ“²naring the Spymasteréˆ¥æªš Apprentice

    The spymaster¡¯s apprentice moved swiftly along the broad street leading to the town gates. Her green eyes danced warily in all directions as she searched her surroundings for the dangers she knew were lurking. The tension of her pose and the tilt of her head betrayed her alertness and her fear.

    Watching her, Raomar snorted softly in derision. She had chosen not to obey his instructions. Attempting to leave the city, now, would not keep her from him.

    She¡¯d swear allegiance to the guild, or she¡¯d become an example for the rest.

    Much as he hated doing it, Raomar knew he had no choice. If he didn¡¯t enforce his will here, there were others who¡¯d challenge his right to be in charge. As his mind drifted, the water clouded, the image of the apprentice wavering.

    With a soft growl of impatience, Raomar forced himself to concentrate, bringing the picture back into focus and zooming in on the slender figure making for the gates. There was a moment¡¯s hesitation, then the water cleared.

    The apprentice was as lightly built as he was, and moved as silently as a wraith. Her movements were as graceful as those of any child brought up in the faraway courts of the plains and Raomar wondered how well she could ride. It would be unusual if she couldn¡¯t.

    With another soft word, he altered the spell to give him sound, as well as sight, and adjusted the picture. Somewhere, in the nearby darkness, Grunwol would be following.

    Raomar knew the big man wasn¡¯t far away, that he¡¯d have been tracking the apprentice as she made her attempt to leave the city in defiance of the guildmaster¡¯s orders. He wondered where the Northman had concealed himself, since the apprentice seemed unaware of him.

    She was also unaware of the Northman¡¯s partner in this hunt.

    Raomar frowned. Why Grunwol had thought he needed a partner was beyond him, but the man had insisted on the shadow thief¡¯s company and Raomar had agreed. He¡¯d learned to trust the barbarian¡¯s instincts for the hunt.

    Dart was also somewhere in the confines of the bowl, and it would be futile to look for her. Raomar resisted the temptation to try and see where the shadow thief was hiding. She wouldn¡¯t appreciate the intrusion and he knew she had the means to know when she was being scried, if not by whom.

    He sighed, watching the apprentice progress through the streets.

    No, upsetting Lady Dart was not something he wanted to do. She was far too valuable an ally to annoy.

    The soft scuff of footsteps on not-so-distant cobbles drew his attention back to the bowl. Raomar frowned, surprised to hear any sound from the apprentice. It took him a few seconds to realize the apprentice wasn¡¯t making any noise¡­and that she seemed as puzzled by the sound as he was.

    * * *

    Brianda Bloodbriar tensed as she heard the sound of footsteps on the road behind her. She didn¡¯t want to look, not wanting to alert those following, but knowing she¡¯d have to check soon. The footsteps had sounded closer, this time¡ªlike they were closing.

    It was yet another sign that all her carefully laid plans were coming rapidly apart. She¡¯d wanted to leave the city two days ago, before she¡¯d drawn the attention of the city¡¯s guildmaster.

    Nobles, she thought sourly. Her contact had refused to bring their meeting forward, even when she¡¯d stressed the urgency.

    ¡°His lordship is out hunting and cannot be disturbed.¡±

    The senior servant had been as supercilious and unsurpassable as most of his kind, and had become even more rigid when she¡¯d tried to insist.

    Brianda had waited the two days he¡¯d demanded, then delivered the commission her master had died retrieving. It had been one day too long, and her funds had run out. She¡¯d had no choice but to lift a few purses to pay for her lodgings, and had hoped it would go unnoticed.

    It hadn¡¯t, as she¡¯d discovered when a Northman dressed in light-weight tunic and trousers had tapped her on the shoulder.

    ¡°The master bids you leave, or pay your dues,¡± he¡¯d told her. ¡°You have until sunset.¡±

    He didn¡¯t specify which master, or why, but he¡¯d slipped a wooden token into her hand and walked quietly away, leaving her standing shaken in the middle of the street. A Northman¡­

    She¡¯d had nightmares that night, dreams of pain and blood and terror, that had left her sweating in a twist of sheets and seen the inn-keeper pounding at her door.

    ¡°Dreams,¡± she¡¯d explained. ¡°Just dreams¡­¡±

    He¡¯d given her a doubtful look and asked her to dream more quietly, so the rest of the guests could sleep, and Brianda had quietly agreed. Dawn had seen her knocking on the duke¡¯s door, and being sent swiftly on her way.

    ¡°He¡¯ll see you in the morning.¡±

    She¡¯d been refused the right to wait in the foyer, and left standing on the doorstep after the door had closed. Another night had passed, with restless dreams haunted by glittering green eyes and the snap of a lash that sent her downstairs to end the night before the warmth of the common-room¡¯s fire.

    The duke had arrived late, then taken his time reading the missive she¡¯d brought. She¡¯d been fed and watered with scant attention, then paid.

    ¡°Thank your master,¡± he¡¯d told her shortly, then left without another word.

    He hadn¡¯t even asked why her master had sent her, instead of attending the meeting himself. Brianda had left, her heart sinking at the gathering dusk and rapidly approaching night. As much as she wasn¡¯t looking forward to spending another night on the road, she hoped the guards would let her out.

    The sound of footsteps came again, and Brianda resisted the urge to break into a run. If she was lucky, she¡¯d reach the gates. She¡¯d camp outside the guardhouse if she had to, but she was leaving.

    Someone had to carry news of her master¡¯s demise to King Strevani¡¯s court. There, at least, his presence would be missed, and he¡¯d be grieved as he should be.

    The sound of boots scuffing against cobbles came again, bringing Brianda back to her current predicament.

    There had to be at least two of them trailing her steps¡­and it was past time she tried to out-distance or out-maneuver them. She had to reach the relative safety of the gates¡ªand she had a feeling her current pursuers weren¡¯t about to let that happen.

    A narrow alley opened up to her left, and she turned into it, pretending it had always been her destination. Behind her, the footsteps paused, and the indistinct murmur of voices whispered softly in her wake. The words were too indistinct for her to hear.

    Hearing them wasn¡¯t necessary, she decided, rounding the corner and breaking into a run as soon as she was out of sight. She kept her footsteps as silent as she knew how, running with her head down until the corner was well behind her¡­and only then did she look up.

    The street ended. Instead of an intersection, the brick and timber front of a cobblers rose in front of her. Boots and shoes lined its window front and Brianda gaped at them in disbelief. Moving into the shadows of its doorstop, she pivoted to look back down the street.

    Maybe they weren¡¯t following¡­ Maybe they hadn¡¯t seen her¡­ Maybe¡­

    Her mind raced as she tried to salvage something of her plans. Tucking herself back in the shadows she watched the street beyond the lane¡¯s end, breathing a soft sigh of relief as two figures walked across it and kept going.

    Brianda took a deep breath, thanking Enshul, goddess of thieves and the night as she listened to their footsteps fade. When the night was quiet, once more, she moved out of the shadows and trotted swiftly back the way she¡¯d come.

    * * *

    Watching her, Raomar nodded in slow approval, then shifted the scry¡¯s focus to the rooftops, where he found his enforcer.

    Grunwol was moving parallel to the girl, and had probably watched her from the roofs for most of the night¡ªa routine task for the big Northman¡­until the two others had appeared. Retrieving the apprentice before she reached the gates was the man¡¯s main priority, but discovering which of his competitors had sent similar pursuit rivaled it.

    Raomar watched as Grunwol silently maneuvered his huge bulk across the roof tiles, descending the angled canyons and negotiating chimneys with an ease that many envied. The Northman tracked the apprentice¡¯s path as she moved from a trot and bolted toward the end of the lane.

    Seconds later, he watched as Grunwol dropped to a crouch. The two figures were back, two men, bulky in black leather armor who rounded the corner with the suddenness of good planning. Raomar saw when the apprentice spotted them and dropped into a brisk walk.

    Ten feet from gaining the main street, and too close to avoid notice, the apprentice continued forward, slightly angling her path to keep out of arms¡¯ reach as she went to pass the new arrivals.

    ¡°Evening, sirs.¡± Her voice showed no sign of the worry she had to be feeling as she tried to walk by them and into the street beyond.

    They moved swiftly to block her way.

    ¡°Evening, miss,¡± one of them replied. ¡°And what brings a lovely lady, like yerself, out at this time of night?¡±

    The girl blushed¡ªand well she might, Raomar thought, given she¡¯d just been greeted like a common call girl in a tone that suggested her services were expected. He watched as she pasted a smile on her face and replied.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°I¡¯m not for sale,¡± she told them. ¡°I¡¯m running an errand.¡±

    The hint of something lethal lurked in her expression, and Raomar heard a certain hardness in her voice. If he¡¯d been one of the men confronting her, he¡¯d have taken a couple of steps back.

    Messengers didn¡¯t give more information than they had to¡­and most thieves thought twice about interfering with them, in case they angered someone more powerful than they could handle.

    The two men exchanged glances, and then looked back at the girl.

    ¡°An errand, is it?¡± one asked, smirking. ¡°Collecting or delivering?¡±

    The girl frowned, and Raomar mirrored her expression. What was the man driving at? Did he already know who the girl was?

    He had to admire the girl, as she answered with more confidence than she had a right to.

    ¡°An errand,¡± she repeated, eyeing them up and down. ¡°Now, let me pass.¡±

    ¡°Just as soon as we¡¯ve your name,¡± the speaker of the pair told her.

    There was no threat in his tone, just matter-of-fact command.

    The girl paused, and Raomar knew what was passing through her mind. Brianda Bloodbriar, Brianda of the Blood, Brianda Spikenard¡­ Any of those would be enough to get her killed, as would Brianda the Assassin¡¯s Daughter.

    Raomar shook his head and wondered what was taking Grunwol so long to reach her.

    In the meantime, the girl looked into her questioner¡¯s eyes, tension running through every line of her body.

    ¡°Well?¡± the man demanded.

    ¡°Well, what?¡± Brianda asked, and the two men exchanged glances.

    ¡°I asked yer name.¡±

    The girl swallowed, then glared at him.

    ¡°Bonnie,¡± she lied, her voice firm, her gaze never shifting.

    Again, the men exchanged glances. Arching one eyebrow, the questioner looked the girl up and down.

    ¡°Bonnie,¡± he repeated, then asked the question she¡¯d been trying to avoid. ¡°Bonnie what?¡±

    Brianda glanced away, looking past him as though looking for help. What she was really looking for was inspiration. She needed a name¡­a surname¡­one common to these parts and not the plains she came from.

    There wasn¡¯t much to choose from between the buildings crowding the lane, and its dimly lit confines didn¡¯t reveal much. Dark lumps of refuse, the irregular pattern of cobbles¡­the lane¡¯s name on a board at the entrance¡­

    ¡°Bonnie Cobbler,¡± she answered, flicking her gaze back to his face.

    ¡°Cobbler?¡± the man spat.

    He glanced around, his gaze taking in their surroundings and passing across the sign as it did so. He snorted, amusement briefly lighting his features before he turned back. His smile faded.

    ¡°Absolute cobblers!¡± he snarled, stepping to grab her.

    * * *

    Raomar tensed, resisting the urge to deny the man¡¯s actions with a shout. His grip on the bowl tightened and he pressed his lips together.

    To make a sound, now, would end the spell, and he needed to see what happened next. The girl would be brought into the fold¡­or hunted to extinction. There was no other way.

    It was bad enough he¡¯d come out of his seat, and fortunate he hadn¡¯t lost his grip on the spell. As it was, the water rippled, blurring the picture. It did not settle, until he¡¯d sat back down.

    Releasing a soft breath, he watched the water stir and the picture return to normal. Once it had, he murmured the word to shift its focus to Grunwol. The Northman balanced beside a chimney, observing the drama unfold in the lane below.

    Raomar wanted to order the man to take out his rivals and make the capture, but knew his second-in-command had the situation under control, even if it didn¡¯t look it. Resisting the urge to drum his fingers against the sides of the bowl, the beast elf waited.

    With most of his bulk concealed by the chimney¡¯s shadow, Grunwol reduced his chances of a stray glance uncovering his presence. Raomar watched as the big man unhooked the rope-and-grapple he carried, and reverse down the roof.

    As he did so, a startled shout came through the bowl, and Raomar snapped the command to switch the focus back to the girl. He was in time to see her duck beneath her opponent¡¯s hand. The man¡¯s fingers brushed the back of her cloak and missed, and the girl didn¡¯t give him a second chance.

    Her palm slammed into the cobbles, as she threw herself into a roll and came to her feet. She didn¡¯t look back as she raced for the end of the lane, dodging the second man¡¯s grab as she went.

    Raomar stifled a slight cry of dismay, forcing himself to sit as he watched her opponents go tearing after her. One of them pulled a dagger from his hip and flung it after her retreating form, and Raomar silently cursed.

    If Grunwol didn¡¯t hurry¡­

    * * *

    Brianda¡¯s palm stung from hitting the cobbles, but she was past her pursuers with the lane¡¯s end clear before her. Running footsteps came from behind her as her assailants tried to catch up, and she hoped they didn¡¯t catch her before she reached the corner.

    She gave herself a one in one hundred chance, but it was still a chance.

    Passing beneath the street sign, she lashed out to catch the corner and spun herself around it. Something whirred past her and clattered off the stonework beside her hand.

    Brianda didn¡¯t stop to find out what it was. She didn¡¯t need to. She¡¯d had daggers thrown at her before. She also knew the men wouldn¡¯t be able to catch her, before she ducked down another of the alleys¡­and once she did that, she could be up on the roofs and away.

    Neither of them looked like climbers.

    ¡°Thief!¡± The cry rang out behind her, and Brianda cursed.

    That cry would bring out the locals¡­or the Watch¡­or both. It was the only chance the men had of stopping her, and they knew it.

    ¡°Stop! Thief!¡±

    ¡°A gold for the one who brings her to me!¡±

    Cold fear coursed through her. That last call was enough to have everyone out of their beds and in the street¡ªeven those most determined to mind their own business.

    ¡°Thief!¡±

    ¡°A gold for your help!¡±

    ¡°Dammitall,¡± she muttered, as doors opened on either side of the turn she wanted to make. Two men, three boys, a girl, and two women with brooms converged to block her path, and she altered course.

    She had to get out of the street.

    Footsteps echoed above her.

    Above? Brianda resisted the urge to look up. Above meant the rooftops, but she hadn¡¯t¡­

    There was no time to look. What she needed was another alley, one where the occupants of the houses flanking it hadn¡¯t yet woken to her pursuers¡¯ cries.

    ¡°A gold!¡±

    ¡°Stop! Thief!¡±

    More voices took up the cry, adding to the volume and the likelihood the Watch would come.

    She really had to get out of the street.

    ¡°Thief! Thief!¡± The shouts grew louder and became a chorus.

    Doors opened in answer. Lanterns were held aloft.

    ¡°A gold for the one who stops her!¡±

    Lanterns bobbed down stairs and footsteps scrambled over the cobbles. Very soon doors would be opening ahead of her instead of just on either side in her wake.

    Brianda put her head down and ran harder.

    The shouts traveled faster than she did, and doors started to open ahead of her, their emerging inhabitants moving to block her escape. Brianda looked around, hoping for an opening between the houses and shopfronts, but not seeing any.

    She turned towards a vertical stretch of shadow, only to find a recess from which emerged a group of men hastily buckling their trousers. A brothel¡­with customers eager for more gold. She changed course, pivoting to avoid the grab from one of the other residents, and diving under the outstretched hand of another.

    There was an intersection ahead.

    Brianda put on a spurt of speed, avoiding yet another pair of hands and leaping over someone¡¯s hasty attempt to trip her. Reaching the intersection, she bolted right¡ªand slammed into a breastplate made of hardened steel.

    She bounced off, the impact throwing her back onto the cobbles, her head ringing. Shaking her head, Brianda started to roll to her feet, all too aware of the mob racing toward her, and the armored figures closing the distance between them.

    She wasn¡¯t aware of the amber eyes blazing with frustration that watched through the rippling waters of a crystal bowl, or the big man who landed hard on the cobbles on the other side of the street. He raced toward her.

    Brianda heard his footsteps, but kept her eyes on the watch sergeant and the leveled spears of the two watchmen approaching beside him. Scrambling back, she tried to get to her feet as well as get out of range. She didn¡¯t expect to hit the solid wall of Grunwol¡¯s boots or feel a large hand closing over her collar, her hair and the nape of her neck.

    Brianda lashed back with a boot, and her captor shook her, making her teeth rattle.

    ¡°Enough,¡± he commanded, his voice soft enough to stay between them, as his grip tightened.

    Brianda froze. She knew that voice! She drew a breath to explain she¡¯d been leaving, but he shook her again, and the words fled.

    Raising her eyes, she saw the mob had registered her capture¡­or, more importantly, registered who had made the capture. They also registered the presence of the Watch and turned quickly away.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± a hard voice demanded.

    The watch sergeant had halted two strides away, raising his hand to signal his men to stop. They still held their spears, but upright, the tips no longer pointed in her direction.

    Brianda almost relaxed. If it hadn¡¯t been for the man that held her, she¡¯d have been happy with the change. As it was, she was in more trouble than if the Watch had caught her. She glanced at the sergeant, but he ignored her, his attention on her captor.

    ¡°Just a little in-house trouble, Sergeant,¡± the Northman replied, and Brianda¡¯s hopes of leaving the city died.

    Her captor¡¯s grip had momentarily tightened, and she knew he wouldn¡¯t let her go.

    ¡°We seem to have the cause of it well in hand,¡± the Northman added, giving Brianda another shake as he did so.

    The answer made it clear there¡¯d be no negotiation, and she was well and truly caught. Brianda¡¯s heart sank, and she wondered if she¡¯d ever see the plains city again¡­or if her master would ever properly be mourned.

    ¡°In-house, eh?¡± the sergeant asked, studying Brianda¡¯s face. He was about to say more, when the guildsman spoke.

    ¡°Yes, in-house.¡± Again, the words were accompanied by a shake, and Brianda¡¯s teeth rattled. ¡°We were in the middle of dealing with it when you came, but there were¡­complications.¡±

    The sergeant scanned the streets around them, and gave him a disgruntled look. After a minute¡¯s thought, he came to a decision.

    ¡°In-house,¡± he repeated, then cleared his throat. ¡°Well, deal with it more quietly in future¡­a little more in-house in fact.

    The pressure on Brianda¡¯s neck increased.

    ¡°We will, sergeant.¡±

    She heard satisfaction in the reply, and the grip didn¡¯t ease. Keeping her eyes down, Brianda watched as the sergeant¡¯s shins and boots took a step out of her range of vision, then she listened as he walked away.

    ¡°Abouuut face!¡±

    Boots slammed into the cobbles.

    ¡°Forward¡­march!¡±

    Hearing the squad move away, Brianda took a chance. Hoping the guildsman¡¯s attention was on the retreating patrol, she shifted her hand carefully, until she found her dagger¡¯s hilt.

    She might have been caught, but she didn¡¯t need to stay that way. Curling her fingers around the hilt, she drew it carefully from its scabbard.

    The Deverath guild was the only thieves¡¯ guild she¡¯d noticed¡­as in, she hadn¡¯t been able to find evidence of another¡­and that meant she was in a lot of trouble, because there were only two ways a guild got that powerful in a city this size.

    They were either brutally ruthless in enforcing their rules¡­or they had access to power from another realm. Brianda didn¡¯t want to discover which.

    The grip on her shoulder didn¡¯t loosen, but her captor didn¡¯t speak. Brianda guessed he was waiting for the Watch to turn the next corner¡­and she didn¡¯t want to still be caught when they did. Her grip tightened on the dagger and she tensed her arm, preparing to drive it back into the man holding her.

    Unfortunately, Grunwol didn¡¯t hunt alone.

    There was a brief snap of sound, and pain flared through Brianda¡¯s wrist. She gasped and dropped the dagger, her hand opening under the impact of a long, thin dart. A jerk followed the sound of the dagger hitting the cobbles.

    For a moment, her captor stood still, and then he flexed his arm, turning Brianda to face him. She lashed out, catching him in the stomach with her foot, and his green eyes flared with anger. She tried again, swinging for his face with her undamaged hand.

    The Northman snarled, then dropped to one knee, shifting his grip and slamming her into the cobbled road with enough force to drive the breath from her lungs. Brianda¡¯s head hit hard and she saw stars for the second time that night.

    She was still trying to catch her breath, when he flipped her onto her stomach and pulled her hands behind her back. Brianda turned her head and caught a glimpse of his face. His silvered hair glimmered and fury rode his expression.

    For a moment, she was reminded of another Northerner, and panic rose like a cold sea in her gut. No! Gravarik! She tried to pull free, but he was too heavy.

    ¡°We haven¡¯t the time to waste,¡± he growled, and her panic ebbed.

    Not Gravarik¡­ Breathing fast with fear, Brianda stilled.

    Not¡­Gravarik¡­ she reminded herself. Just another¡­only another¡­ Someone different.

    She hoped she was right.

    ¡°Nice shooting, my lady,¡± the big man murmured, and Brianda wondered who he was talking to.

    She hadn¡¯t shot anyone.

    ¡°Please¡­¡± she began, as hopeless as it was. ¡°Let me¡­¡±

    ¡°No,¡± he told her shortly, slinging her over his shoulder, like a bag of wheat.

    Behind them, she caught a glimpse of the empty street, and saw two familiar figures backing away from several more. Curious, she watched, and saw her original pursuers taken quickly from their feet, their bodies carried away.

    Ruthless, she thought, remembering her master¡¯s assessment of the guild situation in Deverath. That thought was almost comforting.

    Ignoring what she thought, the guildsman carried her quickly off the main street and into a smaller lane. Every stride rippled through him, travelling into Brianda¡¯s stomach.

    ¡°You can put me¡­¡± she began, and was cut off.

    ¡°No. Be silent.¡±

    Brianda wondered what he¡¯d do if she threw up down his back. The movement was making her feel ill, and her wrist ached, both from being tied, but also from the dart. She wondered idly if he¡¯d bound it, or if it was bleeding¡­and why that even mattered.

    As well as feeling nauseous, she was also starting to feel clouded¡­like she¡¯d been drinking¡­or¡­

    The dart had been poisoned?

    Brianda wondered if the guildsman knew¡­and what would come first, oblivion or vomiting.

    She was still pondering the question, when darkness took her.

 4éˆ¥æ“¥uild Business

    Crack!

    The ringing slap startled Brianda to wakefulness. She tried to protest but her tongue felt thick in her mouth and the words came out garbled. Trying to sit up proved pointless, since she was already sitting, a large hand propping her against a rough wooden wall as the one that had slapped her caught her other cheek in the backswing.

    Pain brought tears to her eyes and Brianda tried to pull away. Her eyes flashed open, but then drifted closed again. Another slap brought another garbled shout, and she decided if her captor kept it up, he was going to get a dagger between the ribs.

    In answer to her protest, however, she was tipped to one side and her hands released. Pins and needles flooded her wrists as she was shifted upright, again, and then let go. This time, when she opened them, her eyes stayed open.

    She almost wished she hadn¡¯t.

    The Northman was crouched two feet away, watching her intently. Brianda returned the favor, ignoring the sudden surge of fear as she made herself study the man.

    He was big¡ªboth tall and broad, his face craggy with weather and whatever journeys he¡¯d taken. Green eyes stared into her own, and his hair showed the first signs of silver.

    Funny, she hadn¡¯t thought of him as old, when they¡¯d last met. She wondered if it was part of a glamor.

    Cautiously, she began to rub life back into her hands, and to look around the room.

    It was bare, and appeared to have been uninhabited for some time. It was also on a ground floor if the dust-covered stone beneath her was any indication. There was no fire in the hearth behind the guildsman, but light came from a candle set in a brass holder, going green with age. Sacking hung across the only window she could see.

    As she watched, it stirred, and the guildsman spun into a defensive crouch, dagger in hand.

    ¡°Speak now, or die,¡± he ordered, and soft laughter greeted his words.

    Brianda reached for her dagger and found the scabbard empty, but the guildsman only glanced in its direction.

    ¡°It¡¯s a wonder they still call you a barbarian,¡± a woman mocked, sliding through the window and dropping to the floor. ¡°You¡¯ve more manners than most.¡±

    Not ground floor, Brianda corrected herself as the Northman relaxed, but basement.

    She sighed, taking in the newcomer¡¯s features as she approached.

    She had a solid build, copper-brown hair and dark brown eyes.

    ¡°You have something of mine, Grun,¡± she stated, holding out her hand.

    ¡°I do.¡± The Northman drew a long dart from a belt pouch, and flipped it toward her.

    She caught it mid-flight, and then turned to the door.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± the big man added, and she shrugged.

    ¡°All part of the job,¡± she answered, laying her fingers on the door handle.

    The Northman watched her every move, looking like he wanted to say something else, but didn¡¯t dare.

    Brianda wondered what that could be, but the Northman spoke again.

    ¡°What was it?¡±

    ¡°Sleep-tip,¡± the woman replied, looking back over her shoulder as though waiting for what might come next.

    ¡°Slow working,¡± the guildsman noted, as Brianda decided now might be a good time to leave.

    The window wasn¡¯t that far away.

    She gathered her feet beneath her.

    ¡°Don¡¯t go anywhere, Bonnie Briar.¡±

    Brianda froze. Only her master had used that particular name. He¡¯d said it was because she made him happy when she was around. Her breath caught, and she lost her balance, falling unexpectedly onto her side.

    The woman frowned, then reached into her cloak. Drawing out a vial, she tossed it to the Northman.

    ¡°Antidote,¡± she explained. ¡°Get her on her feet, faster.¡±

    As if that was a good thing. What if they didn¡¯t want her on her feet faster?

    The Northman put the lie to that as soon as he¡¯d caught the vial. Snatching it out of the air, he shifted to kneel beside her, and hauled her upright. Brianda couldn¡¯t help it, she flopped, rag-doll like.

    With a growl of frustration, the Northman propped her against his side, and uncorked the vial, supporting Brianda¡¯s chin as he raised it to her lips.

    ¡°Drink,¡± he ordered.

    Brianda opened her mouth, sipping at the vial as he tilted its contents into her mouth. They came out in a rush and she gulped them down, almost choking on them. The guildsman held her jaw closed until he was sure she¡¯d drunk it, not letting her go, when she sagged back against him.

    The antidote clung to her tongue and throat, making her gag with its bitterness. It burned its way down her throat, before erupting in her belly and sending fire through her. Her vision exploded into white fuzziness and she screwed her eyes shut.

    When her mind cleared and the lethargy left her limbs, she opened her eyes, discovering she could see clearly, and that her hands had formed fists by her side. Twisting out of the Northman¡¯s arms, she rolled into a crouch to face him.

    He kept his hand curled around her bicep and met her gaze, the sight of his eyes and his white-blonde hair making her flinch. It was all she could do not to run, to make herself face him, and remind herself that this was not the Northman that haunted her sleep.

    His eyes were green, green not blue. Not blue. This was not Gravarik, whose eyes were a perversion of the summer sky.

    Brianda closed her eyes and let out a long, shuddering breath. When she opened them again, again, he was still watching her and the woman was nowhere to be sensed or seen.

    ¡°The guildmaster is waiting,¡± the Northman stated, his grip tightening. ¡°If you try to leave before we get there, I will remove your hands. Understood?¡±

    The expression on his face left her no room for doubt. Brianda swallowed, then nodded.

    ¡°Understood, guildsman.¡±

    Instead of letting her go, his grip tightened again. He slid his hand down her arm, stopping when he came to her wrist.

    ¡°Do you?¡± he asked, pulling her hand toward him and pinning it against the floor.

    ¡°Yes!¡± Brianda couldn¡¯t help the note of rising panic. She pulled against him. ¡°Yes, I understand.¡±

    Her hand didn¡¯t budge an inch. She twisted, trying to pull free.

    ¡°We¡¯re going to meet the guildmaster,¡± she told him. ¡°I understand.¡±

    He drew the dagger at his belt. ¡°Do you really understand?¡±

    Seeing the blade rising above her pinned wrist, feeling the unyielding strength that pinned her arm to the floor, Brianda gasped.

    ¡°Please¡­¡± she begged, hearing the tears in her voice and despising herself for it. ¡°No, please, I¡­¡±

    A sob hiccupped through the words and for an instant, she was no longer in a basement in Deverath, but back in the mountains, with another Northman holding her wrist. She fixed her eyes on this one¡¯s face, caught again by the difference in his eyes.

    They were green, not blue. Green. The color of grass and safety, not the blue of danger and dragons¡­and ice and pain¡­and the guild had gone to the trouble of capturing her, a meeting with the guildmaster was promised. They would surely not cripple her before that¡­

    She kept her eyes on the guildsman¡¯s face, trying to ignore the blade, hoping¡­

    The dagger descended, its blade coming to rest over the base of her hand. Brianda trembled, but didn¡¯t try to pull away.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    It¡¯s just a test, she told herself, just a test.

    ¡°Just a test, just a test¡­¡± whispered through the air, her mantra escaping the confines in her head.

    The guildsman chuckled and then released her wrist¡­although the dagger¡¯s edge continued to crease her skin. It took all the control Brianda had not to snatch her hand from beneath the blade. When the dagger lifted, she made herself remain, as still as stone.

    The guildsman flipped the dagger so that he held the blade.

    ¡°Here,¡± he said, extending it toward her. ¡°Take it.¡±

    Accepting the weapon from his hand, Brianda saw it was her own. She slid it back into its sheath with shaking hands, watching as the Northman rose to his feet. He offered her his hand.

    ¡°I had to be sure,¡± he explained, as she took it and he hauled her to her feet. ¡°Come.¡±

    Releasing her hand, he headed out the door, breaking into a swift and silent lope as soon as he hit the street beyond. Brianda scurried to catch up, matching her stride to his so she ran at his heels.

    He didn¡¯t look back, but his warning rang in her ears, and she could still feel the phantom touch of the dagger at her wrist. The thought of running the other way didn¡¯t even cross her mind. This was part of the testing process¡ªand her master had said that every guild had one. The question was how many steps there were in this guild¡¯s process.

    Their run took them down backstreets that she recognized as being part of the merchant¡¯s sector. Those streets looked different, now they weren¡¯t crowded with delivery carts being loaded and unloaded and runners dashing from store to customer or customer to store with special orders.

    They smelt better, too, since the street sweepers had had time to do their jobs.

    Brianda followed the guildsman closely, tired from the long day of running, but not willing to give up. Their footsteps, as soft as they were, echoed off the shop doors and walls, but no one parted the curtains of the homes above the stores. At this time of night, most figured it was better not to know.

    Still, there was movement on the roofs above them, and she was sure she¡¯d caught sight of someone taking cover in the shadows of a loading bay. Before she could draw the guildsman¡¯s attention to it, however, he slowed.

    Brianda slowed with him, doing her best to get her breathing under control so she could listen as he was. Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly, and heard the sounds that had him coming to a halt and drawing his sword.

    He pivoted slowly, his eyes scanning the shadows, stepping around her so that she was always at his back. Brianda appreciated the show of trust and drew her own weapon. For a moment, it was tempting to plunge it into the man¡¯s kidney and bolt for the city walls, but the time for that had passed.

    Instead, she listened to their hunters closing, their furtive broken steps betraying each one¡¯s location. Those came not only from the street around them, but from the rooftops, as well. Cloth rustled, and rats squeaked and skittered away in panic.

    As she set her back to the guildsman¡¯s Brianda heard the soft hiss of blades being drawn.

    ¡°Guildsman?¡±

    The shadows answered for her. They moved out of the dark, coalescing into human form, but cowled and cloaked so their features were hidden. Weapons glimmered with reflected lamplight as they advanced.

    It had to be a test¡­for her. What was it her master had said? Deverath had only one guild, which was unusual for a city its size. Most cities had four or five large guilds, who were highly territorial, but had interconnecting rules of trade. Below them were a myriad of smaller groups, some subsidiaries of the bigger ones, others operating in the cracks in between.

    No, she decided. It¡¯s a test¡­it has to be a test.

    Deciding there was nothing to be gained by running, Brianda settled into a stance ready for combat. Drawing her dagger, she settled it between her fingers and waited.

    A shadow darted forward, and Brianda responded with a swift flick of her arm. She sent the dagger hissing through the dark. The shadow cried out, dropping its blade and stumbling back.

    Brianda scanned the remaining shadows, trying to anticipate which one she¡¯d need to defend against, first.

    Laughter whispered softly from the dark.

    ¡°First blood to Bloodbriar,¡± a voice stated, and a chill swept over her.

    Bloodbriar¡­ It was her father¡¯s name¡­her elven father¡¯s name, and one both her master and her mother had kept secret from the world at large. But how?

    Brianda glanced toward the voice, but her prime concern were the other attackers. They had paused at the voice, but were now advancing. The voice¡¯s source was not the greatest threat, and she would deal with it later.

    That was what she thought, until she heard it shift from amusement to a chant. The air around fizzed with energy, and Brianda leapt to one side.

    ¡°Caster!¡± she shouted, not sure if the Northman would react in time.

    The spell struck as she leapt clear, but Brianda hit the cobbles and rolled into a second dive, one that took her past the closest shadows to a wall. She rolled to her feet and turned. Without the guildsman, the wall was her next best chance.

    She looked for him, catching sight of his large figure. Their smaller attackers had him surrounded, and more converged on him from the dark. His sword swept back and forth, glittering as it parried and thrust.

    He was reversing toward a wall of his own, but it didn¡¯t look like he¡¯d reach it.

    Brianda contemplated making a break for the city gates, then decided against it. Firstly, because this probably was a test¡­and, secondly, because she¡¯d made a commitment and the conditions hadn¡¯t been met.

    She stepped away from the wall, parrying a thrust in her direction and sliding closer to the guildsman¡¯s enemies. Soon, she was fighting on two fronts, but holding her own and blessing her master¡¯s insistence she learn how to fence.

    She was so focused on her opponents, that she failed to hear the growth of a second chant. Her next attack brought a shout of pain from one of the Northman¡¯s opponents. He pivoted to face her and their blades met in a savage clash.

    Another of their attackers turned away from the Northman, and Brianda found herself facing three.

    Maybe I didn¡¯t think this through¡­

    Cloth tore and pain seared her side. A fourth attacker had flanked her, stepping out of the shadows to strike her from behind. Brianda pivoted, lashing out as she turned. Her sword sliced across the top of her new attacker¡¯s arm, biting deeply into their flesh.

    It was a minor victory, and Brianda kept moving, diverting the slash into a parry as one of her other attackers tried to take advantage of the distraction. She registered the chant as it reached a crescendo and she turned her opponent¡¯s blade, before trying to block another attack.

    Their blades clashed. The air fizzed around them, and he danced back, grinning. Brianda went to follow¡­and found she couldn¡¯t.

    The chant died and the air grew tight around her. Her muscles locked and she couldn¡¯t move an inch. Her opponent stepped forward, blade raised, and more of their assailants closed.

    Fighting the spell didn¡¯t make any difference. No matter how hard she strained against it, the magic wouldn¡¯t give. It locked her muscles tight, holding her at the mercy of her attackers. Sweat broke out over her skin, and she grunted with the effort.

    Once again, laughter whispered out of the dark. It was followed by a short, sharp whistle. That stopped her attackers in their tracks, and they glanced toward its source. A second whistle followed, and they sheathed their blades, exchanging hand slaps and brief smiles, before disappearing down the street and into the alleys and shadows.

    A familiar large shape came into her field of vision, and she moved her eyes trying to get a better look. He said nothing, just laid a heavy hand on her shoulder and turned her to face the dark mouth of a loading bay. A hand gesture followed, directing her gaze.

    Brianda flicked her eyes from the guildsman to the squared-up patch of darkness. At first there was nothing, then she registered movement. Black shuddered against the shadows. Dark blue shimmered through it, and then separated to reveal another figure.

    Slender and tall, it was hidden beneath a dark blue-black cloak. As it stepped forward, it pushed the cowl back from its head revealing sharp-edged features that sent fear coursing through Brianda¡¯s limbs. Her cry choked in her throat, and the newcomer lifted his face toward her.

    Amber eyes regarded her from his finely-chiseled face. Elven features, sharp as a tree-thorn cat¡¯s, showed clearly beneath a skin blotched in green and brown. A mane of hair the color of pale straw glowed softly in the moonlight, two vivid streaks of blue marring its golden gleam.

    The sight had Brianda struggling against the magic binding her with all her strength.

    Kevarag! Kevarag, kevarag, kevarag! The warning screamed through Brianda¡¯s mind like an alarm, stories fleeting through memory, but something else rose, too, her master¡¯s voice.

    ¡°Enshul, goddess of night and shadows,¡± he¡¯d said, ¡°blesses those who win her favor by touching their heads and turning a lock of their hair blue.¡±

    ¡°She does?¡±

    ¡°She does¡­and she denies them the ability to conceal it, marking them as her own. It is both a sign of protection and possession, for who would interfere with a goddess¡¯s claim?¡±

    Brianda remembered chuckling at that. ¡°And who would try to harm what is hers?¡± she¡¯d added, winning a rare smile from her master.

    The blue streaks caught her eye and held it.

    Favored by Enshul, one part of her head thought, and was countered by the other. Beast elf.

    Brianda didn¡¯t know if she wanted to flee or fight. Sweat beaded her face as she tried to break free of the spell enfolding her.

    ¡°Be still.¡± The elvish words were accented by a darker tongue and she flinched. The priest¡­guildmaster? Whoever he was, he glided closer, and Brianda¡¯s instincts turned to flight.

    ¡°Be still,¡± the kevarag told her, in soothing tones. ¡°If I¡¯d meant you harm, you¡¯d be feeling it by now.¡±

    This much was true. She knew it was true, but it was hard to stop fighting to get free, hard to reject her mind¡¯s demands to run. She kept her eyes on the guildmaster¡¯s face, flinching as he allowed himself a slight smile, then switched to Common.

    ¡°Grunwol,¡± he said, addressing the guildsman. ¡°You will bring her to the guild hall and await me there.¡±

    ¡°Master.¡± The guildsman bowed his head.

    A soft gasp echoed through the dark, and guildmaster and Northman snapped their heads toward it.

    ¡°Mika.¡± Again, the guildmaster¡¯s voice was quiet¡­and, yet again, it carried an order.

    Brianda listened as the man concealed in the shadows shifted to face him.

    ¡°Master?¡±

    ¡°Bring yourself and Aral. Come within the hour and I will tend those wounds.¡±

    ¡°Master,¡± the guildsman acknowledged.

    There was relief and gratitude in the man¡¯s voice and Brianda watched the shadows thin as those filling it moved away.

    The guildmaster stepped back into the loading dock¡¯s shadow. For a moment, Brianda was sure she saw him pause and lift a hand in her direction. She couldn¡¯t be certain, but he vanished between one breath and the next, and the spell around her was gone.

    The Northman caught her as she wobbled unsteadily. His hand curled around her bicep, stilling her instinctive lunge into flight. Brianda gasped, pulling against him for a second, then realizing what she was doing.

    She froze, pulling in several long breaths in an attempt to calm herself.

    A familiar laugh whispered softly out of the darkness and was swiftly gone. When only the night remained, the Northman released her arm.

    ¡°Remember,¡± he told her, nodding toward the sword she held in one hand.

    It reminded her she¡¯d thrown her dagger, and she wondered if she¡¯d be able to get it back. She couldn¡¯t even remember if it had hit its target. A quick scan showed it wasn¡¯t on the ground.

    Brianda nodded shortly, sheathing her sword, and trying not regret the empty scabbard where her dagger usually sat. Her hands shook, and she hoped the Northman hadn¡¯t noticed.

    Perhaps the guildmaster would be better than Sussurianakshan¡­ Perhaps.

    He can hardly be worse, she told herself, as a shudder ran through her. Very little could.

    ¡°This way,¡± the Northman ordered, stepping into the loading area and leading her into the narrow alley concealed in its shadow.

    Trapping her fear behind a will of iron, Brianda followed. What had her master said?

    ¡°If you cannot escape them, join them. We¡¯ll figure out where to go from there.¡±

    That¡¯s all very well and good, she thought, but what am I to do, now you¡¯re dead?

 5éˆ¥æ“¥uild Member

    The Northman took her halfway along the alley, before sliding into an alcove and lifting the cover to a hidden sewer entry.

    ¡°Wait for me at the bottom,¡± he ordered, motioning her to lead the way down the ladder.

    Brianda nodded and descended down the ladder she found at its rim, letting her eyes adjust to the dimly lit dark. Lanterns stood in alcoves set at distant intervals along the wall.

    If she¡¯d been purely human, it would have been very hard to see, and she quietly thanked the father she¡¯d never known. His heritage had given her the ability to see in the low light levels of the tunnel, where a human would have struggled to see anything but the dark.

    The Northman followed, dragging the sewer cover into place above him before he did so. Instead of heading directly into the dark, he stopped at the ladder¡¯s foot, fumbling at his belt. Muttering indistinctly, he pulled a gleaming stone from a concealed compartment in the ladder, shattering Brianda¡¯s low-light vision and scattering the shadows.

    Brianda dashed the tears from her eyes and stared at the stone.

    ¡°What is that?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Wizard light,¡± the Northman answered.

    ¡°Was it expensive?¡± Brianda wanted to know, more because of the magic, than because she needed to know.

    The Northman snorted softly, and his mouth moved into what might have been a smile, but which faded too quickly for Brianda to be sure.

    ¡°Cost the last owner his life,¡± he replied, leading the way deeper into the tunnel.

    At a loss for how to respond, Brianda followed.

    With the Northman moving swiftly and surely ahead, she soon found herself struggling to keep up. Her side ached and a dull pain radiated through her ribs and stomach. To make matters worse, the wizard light¡¯s glow hurt her eyes, making her vision blur with tears.

    Whenever she tried to look beyond the light, her eyes met an impenetrable wall of black, the lanterns nothing more than fuzzy orange pinpricks breaking the dark. The sewer air stank, moving on a fetid current that eddied and swirled around them.

    It was cool against her side, its touch bringing a chill to the wound there. Ice leached through her skin, clawing its way into her chest.

    The Northman moved on, ignorant, his long strides eating the ground as he strode beside a thick river of sludge, oblivious to the puddles through which he splashed. Brianda struggled to keep up, trying to keep her breath even as she stumbled after him.

    Her head spun, and she wondered how much further they had to go. If they didn¡¯t make it to the guild quarters soon, she wasn¡¯t sure she¡¯d make it at all. Darkness lapped at the edge of her mind, so she focused on the pure white glow of the wizard light, using it to anchor her to wakefulness.

    She used it, also, to steer by, the Northman¡¯s silhouette like a shadowy beacon surrounded in a swathe of light. The breeze chilled her, its touch reaching more than her side. Dampness had spread down her side and over her hip. The sewer wind turned its warmth to ice.

    The wizard light had shrunk to a distant beacon by the time the Northman stopped by another ladder in the wall. A frown creased his thick silvery brow when he saw how far behind she¡¯d fallen, but Brianda moved as confidently as she could, and he didn¡¯t speak. Instead, he tapped the ladder with his hand.

    ¡°Up you go,¡± he told her, the frown returning as she grasped the first rung, and winced as she began to climb.

    ¡°You¡¯re hurt?¡± he asked, and she blinked.

    ¡°A little,¡± she replied, forcing herself to keep moving.

    Stopping seemed like a really bad idea, no matter how tired she felt. They had almost arrived and Brianda figured she could last a little longer. As soon as she¡¯d gone high enough, the Northman followed.

    They both stopped when Brianda reached a firmly closed hatch. She flinched as the Northman pulled himself up enough to reach past her and rap a staccato sequence of knocks on the barrier. Footsteps echoed overhead, and the hatch opened.

    Brianda blinked against the sudden glare of a lantern, raising a hand to shield her face.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know you!¡± the startled rumble made her flinch, but before she could explain, two mammoth-sized hands seized her by the shoulder and jerked her clear of the trapdoor.

    She heard the Northman shouting in her wake, was sure he cleared the hatch in record time, and wished she knew what half the words meant. By then she was halfway across the room above, the hard-won gold of her mission raining down in her wake.

    The Northman was still shouting when she found the wall, twisting so she hit it with her shoulder and back. She bounced, but not very far, landing in a heap on the floor. The doorkeeper¡¯s words reached her as if from a great distance.

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me she was one of ours?¡±

    ¡°I knocked!¡±

    ¡°As if that was enough. How was I to know she hadn¡¯t spied the codes? You know what she is!¡±

    As if either her profession or her heritage was something to be held against her, Brianda thought, fighting down the urge to sink into the feathery darkness that called.

    ¡°It was the right code!¡± the Northman roared back. ¡°What she is doesn¡¯t matter!¡±

    ¡°It does! Why¡¯d you send her up first?¡±

    ¡°Because¡­¡± The Northman stopped, letting out a deep sigh. ¡°Winds of the Far Ice! We need to¡­¡±

    ¡°Check to see if she¡¯s still alive,¡± a newly familiar voice suggested.

    It reminded Brianda of the dark, its tones both deep and cold.

    Steel hissed clear of scabbards and boots shifted. The guildmaster ignored them, coming through the far door, his amber eyes gleaming.

    ¡°Yes, Guildmaster,¡± the guildsman replied, and Brianda heard the sound of his approach.

    Rather than lie there and wait, she pushed slowly and painfully to her hands and knees, the sudden tearing pain in her side an unpleasant surprise.

    ¡°Of all the gods-forsaken, in-bred, goat¡­¡± she began, softly, using the wall to go from her knees to her feet. When she¡¯d finished suggesting he was the outcast, reject of a breeding project using effluent and govra, Brianda went over it again¡­in orcish¡­because some epithets sounded better that way.

    By the time she was upright, and able to look him in the eye, while cursing in fluent elvish, Grunwol was staring open-mouthed, and the door-keeper had turned a bright cherry red.

    ¡°And of all the ass-infected, bottom-breeding¡­¡± Brianda began, describing what she thought of loyalty tests for thieves¡¯ guilds that put the lives of their members in danger to test them, ¡°¡­demon-spawned, illegitimate¡­¡±

    Soft laughter reached her and she faltered, having switched from elvish to something combining it with orcish and trade tongue. Another chuckle caused her to stumble over the next two words and then to stop.

    She caught the Northman¡¯s look, and the door-keeper¡¯s expression, and scanned across to the guildmaster. By the time she reached him, all amusement had vanished from his face, and his expression gave nothing away. Brianda blushed.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Guildmaster¡­¡± she began, stepping away from the wall.

    A wave of weakness washed over her and she stumbled. The Northman hastily stepped forward winding an arm around her waist. At first Brianda tried to stand on her own, but she soon realized that was impossible.

    Besides, they¡¯d need to know about the injury sooner, rather than later, just as soon as¡­

    She gave the guildmaster a worried look, then took control of her face as her master had taught her, and wiped all emotion from it as if looking at the guildmaster was like looking into a mirror. She saw him tilt his head as though something about one side of her trousers had caught his attention.

    A momentary frown creased his brow, and fled. His voice made her tense.

    ¡°Brianda ¡®Bonnie¡¯ Bloodbriar,¡± he began, letting his satisfaction at her capture come through in his voice.

    Brianda shivered, fighting the urge to lean on the Northman. Any agreements she made were going to be made with her standing on her own two feet.

    ¡°Guildmaster,¡± she managed, as fear sent her heart racing.

    How does he know my name? Will he do me harm for bearing it?

    She shivered, focusing on staying upright.

    ¡°I am Guildmaster Raomar Filameth, Overseer of the Deverath guild, and you have not paid your respects, despite being a guest in my city for over a week.¡±

    ¡°I am no thief,¡± Brianda replied, and he gave her a hard stare.

    ¡°Spies are merely thieves of a different name,¡± he answered, ¡°and my mistress still counts them as part of her domain.¡±

    Brianda wondered what his mistress thought of assassins.

    ¡°Any who cloak their lives in shadow come under Enshul¡¯s rule,¡± he told her, answering the unspoken question as though reading her mind, ¡°regardless of race.¡±

    Brianda bowed her head. She knew of the goddess, but very rarely prayed. Her training had been sufficient for most of her missions. Rather than insult him or the goddess herself, she remained silent.

    ¡°And you were warned,¡± the guildmaster stated, reminding her of the Northman¡¯s earlier visit.

    Brianda tilted her head, glancing up at the guildsman, wondering when he would notice how much she was leaning on him. She found her face heating, again.

    ¡°I had not had time to comply,¡± she answered.

    ¡°Why?¡± the guildmaster asked in mild tones.

    Brianda shivered. The last time she¡¯d heard tones like that, it had been Gravarik, and the beating that had followed¡­ Fear rolled through her, and she swallowed to wet her throat.

    ¡°I was on business of a delicate nature,¡± she rasped.

    The Northman snorted and the guildmaster raised an eyebrow, studying her until she blushed.

    Instead of challenging her, he asked, ¡°This business, is it now complete?¡±

    As if you didn¡¯t know, Brianda thought, careful to keep her rebellion from her face. She kept her answer simple.

    ¡°Yes.¡± It seemed the safest thing to say.

    ¡°This evening at Hustler¡¯s Tavern,¡± the Northman confirmed, and Brianda drew a sharp breath.

    The guildmaster nodded, his face turning grave.

    ¡°Nevertheless, you have operated without license or permission and as such owe us a percentage¡­¡±

    Brianda snorted and was about to indicate the gold lying scattered across the floor, when he continued.

    ¡°¡­of your time.¡±

    Brianda stilled. Shock momentarily left her blank, and it took her a moment to gather her thoughts.

    ¡°How much¡­time?¡± she managed, only to have him change the subject.

    ¡°It has also come to my attention that your master is no more.¡±

    That unexpectedly stung, and Brianda fought the sudden prickle of tears. Rather than trust her voice, she nodded, jerkily. It was not enough to satisfy the guildmaster.

    ¡°Can you confirm it?¡±

    Brianda gulped, taking an iron grip on her emotions, and raising her head so she could meet his eyes.

    ¡°He died on the road. Someone¡­¡± She squeezed her eyes shut. ¡°They sent assassins.¡±

    She did not add that her master had kept the assassins busy so that she could escape and complete their task¡­or that she had heard him die.

    The kill had not been clean.

    ¡°I do not know if he was buried.¡±

    The simple admission almost broke her, but she held her emotions in check and fixed her gaze on the beast-elf¡¯s face. He met her eyes and held them, studying her with a somber gaze.

    ¡°You know I cannot let a mere apprentice leave my jurisdiction,¡± he stated, and Brianda¡¯s spirits flagged. She¡¯d been hoping¡­ ¡°Deverath will complete your training.¡±

    Brianda wanted to argue, but tiredness dragged at her limbs and pulled her toward sleep, and she knew she didn¡¯t have time.

    ¡°Guild terms,¡± she asked, hearing the faint slurring that edged her words, and hoping he did not.

    ¡°Fifty-five per cent of takings,¡± he answered, forestalling any protest with a half-raised hand, ¡°and all information to me. There is no independent brokering, here. Understood?¡±

    Brianda nodded, the movement making her head spin. She swayed, and the Northerner tightened his grip around her waist. The guildmaster continued.

    ¡°And mind the Watch.¡±

    ¡°And in return?¡± Brianda asked, when he paused.

    ¡°Guild protection and support,¡± he replied, ¡°training, and license to operate within the city once your training is complete.¡±

    ¡°Understood,¡± Brianda told him. ¡°I accept your offer.¡±

    It was hardly an offer, but she was in no position to argue. There was one more thing she had to ask, but as she opened her mouth to do so, the guildmaster spoke.

    ¡°There is one other condition,¡± he added, and Brianda sighed.

    There was always one more condition.

    ¡°How much?¡± she demanded.

    ¡°If you are ever imprisoned, the guild will rescue you, but the price is a child to one such as me.¡±

    Brianda stilled. ¡°A¡­ A what?¡±

    ¡°A child to one such as me, in return for your release from imprisonment.¡±

    The demand made her head spin¡­or something did. Rather than fight it, Brianda said the first thing that came to mind.

    ¡°As long as you¡¯re the father,¡± she replied, and this time the slurring could be clearly heard.

    The Northman jerked, making a sound somewhere between a snort and a short laugh, but hurriedly strangling it. The guildmaster stared at her, then shrugged.

    ¡°Agreed,¡± he replied, then asked, ¡°Pact?¡±

    Brianda didn¡¯t answer, the pain had subsided to numbness, but she felt cold¡­and tired¡­like she could sleep for weeks¡­like she should sleep for weeks. She knew enough of injuries to know that wasn¡¯t good.

    ¡°Healing,¡± she mumbled, and he stepped forward giving her a worried glance.

    ¡°What of it?¡±

    ¡°Is it guild cared?¡±

    The guildmaster dipped his head.

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    ¡°A¡­all of it?¡±

    The guildmaster¡¯s frown deepened.

    ¡°Yeees.¡±

    ¡°Then pact,¡± she agreed, extending her hand.

    The guildmaster moved forward to accept it, frowning as though he felt its temperature and was worried.

    ¡°Pact,¡± he agreed, his frown growing deeper as his grip tightened.

    ¡°Witnessed,¡± the Northman said, covering their hands with his own, before the guildmaster could say anything.

    ¡°Witnessed and sealed,¡± the door keeper confirmed, adding his hand to theirs.

    As if the words were a signal, the darkness rose and dragged Brianda in.

    She did not hear the Northman¡¯s exclamation as she slid out from under his arm.

    * * *

    Raomar watched as Grunwol caught the girl before she hit the floor. As the Northman¡¯s hands closed around her waist his eyes widened.

    ¡°Roamer.¡± Alarm rattled through the man¡¯s voice and Raomar knelt quickly beside him.

    Grunwol gently laid the girl on the floor and drew the wizard light from his pouch. His hand was slick with blood, and the blood-drenched tear in her armor and tunic shone. More spread onto the stone beneath her, but slowly.

    The Northman tossed the stone toward the door keeper.

    ¡°Agar! Keep it steady.¡±

    The watchman caught the stone with deft fingers and came to stand over them, holding it so neither blocked its light. As he held it aloft, Grunwol drew his dagger and cut the girl¡¯s armor from her, setting the pieces aside so the guildmaster could work.

    ¡°Will she live?¡± he asked, seeing the depth of the cut and the pallor of her skin.

    ¡°Enshul,¡± Raomar began, addressing the goddess in the opening words of a short prayer, ¡°she is one of mine¡­and so, one of yours. I ask your intervention.¡±

    As he spoke a silver glow sprang up around his hands, spreading over the wound from the fingertips he used to pinch the injury¡¯s edges together. He closed his eyes, following the magic¡¯s passage as it flowed below the skin, mending the damage she¡¯d taken in their test.

    A small smile curled his lips as he remembered her description of tests that risked the testers and their subjects.

    She might not be wrong, he conceded, as the magic tended to the worst of the injury, mending the damage deeper than mere skin. The blood flow slowed and stopped, once again contained as it should be.

    Grunwol shifted uncomfortably beside him and he felt for the man. To be denied¡­ To have lost¡­

    He pushed the thought away. It had been years since he¡¯d stopped the Northman following his mate into death, and he still wasn¡¯t sure he was forgiven. He did not need to see the man¡¯s face to know how close those memories still rode him.

    The glow intensified, spreading from his hands to his elbows. Blue lightning flashed and he pressed his lips together, holding the magic in place by sheer force of will, and checking to ensure the healing was complete. After one final flash, the lightning died, and the spell ended.

    Raomar lifted his hands, resting them on his knees, before struggling to his feet.

    ¡°It is done,¡± he stated, looking down at the girl¡¯s still form. ¡°Get her cleaned up and in a tunic and put her in with Mika and Aral.¡±

    Remembering the healing both men had needed, he frowned, adding, ¡°Get Druurnal to watch them. I want no more injuries, and either one might feel payback is in order.¡±

    Grunwol acknowledge the accuracy of that statement with another soft snort. Brianda had acquitted herself well, but her defense had not been without cost. Mika and Aral would definitely feel some payback was in order.

    He bent to lift the girl from the floor, lifting her head so the guildmaster could slip a brass token on a chain around her neck.

    As Grunwol turned away, Raomar laid a hand on his arm.

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

    The Northman shrugged.

    ¡°You are the reason I remain,¡± he answered simply, and Raomar didn¡¯t know if that was a blessing or a curse.

    Raomar nodded, taking his hand from Grunwol¡¯s arm and watching him go. He hoped Mika and Aral wouldn¡¯t go too far¡­but that was why he¡¯d set Druurnal to watch¡­and he had more important matters that needed his attention.

    A new threat was rising, and tonight¡¯s interference had only highlighted the danger.

    Things were afoot in the city, and he needed to discover what they were.

    Sending a silent request to the goddess, he returned to his quarters.

    The water shimmered at his arrival.

 6éˆ¥æ“³unnels and the Tillerman

    Once Grunwol had left, Raomar lifted the trapdoor. Agar was gathering Brianda¡¯s commission from the floor, counting as he went. The guild would take its percentage before returning the rest.

    ¡°Guildmaster?¡± Agar asked, as Raomar lowered himself onto the ladder.

    Raomar gave the man a hard look.

    ¡°I have matters to attend at the docks,¡± he stated. ¡°In private.¡±

    Agar pursed his lips, and Raomar almost felt sorry for the man¡­until Agar reminded him of why he¡¯d made the man a watchman in the first place.

    ¡°You gave me orders, guildmaster,¡± he said, ¡°as has the Northman, and I won¡¯t be crossing either of you.¡±

    Raomar dropped down the ladder, stopping only to haul the trap-door closed overhead, before Agar could summon Grunwol. It was true he¡¯d given Agar orders that no-one traveled the sewers alone¡­but he hadn¡¯t realized Grunwol had left orders regarding him.

    Raomar grimaced. What¡¯s the good of being guildmaster, if you can¡¯t break your own rules?

    He heard the slide of metal as the watchman secured the exit after him, and slid into the shadows at the ladder¡¯s base. Moving as quickly as he dared, he hoped to gain enough distance that his business would be done before anyone caught up with him.

    If he was fast, he might even reach the meeting point before the Northman left the guild. The docks weren¡¯t that far away.

    Grunwol would be annoyed, but Raomar didn¡¯t care. He¡¯d repeatedly told them he could take care of himself¡ªonly to be reminded he was guildmaster¡­and no longer had that luxury. Raomar gritted his teeth.

    In the meantime, he had business to conduct¡ªthe kind he¡¯d prefer to undertake without the Northman at his back. The Tillerman had a rendezvous, and Raomar wanted to be at the meeting place in time to see what it was about.

    Reports had finally confirmed the Tillerman was behind the two men who¡¯d tried to intercept Brianda before he could¡­and where he¡¯d be, later that evening.

    Dart and her potions had drawn that much truth from them before they¡¯d died.

    His rival was gaining in power, but moving as slowly and carefully as Raomar had done when he¡¯d first come to the city. Unlike Raomar, however, the Tillerman was moving against a single organization and not many small ones¡­and Raomar kept a better watch on his own people than his rivals ever did.

    Where he¡¯d been able to thin the ranks of his predecessors without them noticing, the Tillerman had not. Enshul watched over his affairs¡ªand she jealously guarded her possessions. Raomar had taken the fractured factions and welded them into a single entity, with the exception of the assassins, the carters¡¯ guild, the fences, and old Ben¡¯s orphanage of street runners. Those he¡¯d made allies¡­and Ben had been the Tillerman¡¯s first victim.

    Remembering, Raomar¡¯s mouth twisted with regret. Ben¡¯s charges had scattered, and the guild had been so busy dealing with other incursions, it had yet to track them down. Raomar wondered if he¡¯d come to regret that, and pushed the thought away. Now, was not the time.

    Hartender¡¯s duke was connected¡­and he did not know how. That was one of the things he hoped he¡¯d learn, tonight. He turned into a maintenance tunnel, four men wide and lit by evenly spaced torches. The smell of salt mingled with the outflow, and the rhythmic lap of water told him he neared the harbor walls.

    Hartender and the Tillerman¡­ Raomar shook his head. He wished he¡¯d known sooner. In the meantime¡­

    A shift in the air, and the muffled sound of footsteps behind him, warned him he was no longer alone. Rather than let his pursuers catch up, Raomar slid into a side tunnel to see who it was.

    Either his second-in-command was in a hurry and not moving as carefully as he should¡­or it was someone else. Raomar was sure it was the Northman, and whatever escort the man could round up at short notice, but such assumptions had killed before, so he decided to make sure.

    That¡­and he didn¡¯t want them anywhere near him, regardless. If he could hear them, the Tillerman would hear them, also¡­and Raomar needed to know what his rival was up to.

    With a soft sigh of regret, he moved further down the tunnel, deliberately leaving a trail for them to find¡­and then he stepped into the channel of sluggishly moving sludge and took another side-tunnel. His boots would be ruined, but not even Grunwol could follow a path that wasn¡¯t there.

    Taking another turn toward his destination, he left the channel. His damp boots would leave prints, but the flow grew deeper and faster and wasn¡¯t safe to walk. Raomar wrinkled his nose at the stench, and moved quickly. The detour had cost him some time, and he didn¡¯t know how long he had.

    A brief gleam in the sewer dark caught his eye, and he remembered Grunwol knew the tunnels¡­and him¡­almost as well as he did. Cursing softly, Raomar slipped into another side tunnel, calculating if he could afford another detour.

    He couldn¡¯t, so instead he waited, concealing himself in shadow as he observed their approach. The burly Northman led the way, carefully shielding the wizard light in the palm of one large hand. Behind him, spaced just far apart enough to make them difficult to see, were four others.

    Six, Raomar corrected himself, glimpsing two more at the very edge of the light. The number of men annoyed him. Their lack of quiet annoyed him. He¡¯d mark them for further training¡­and he¡¯d speak to Grunwol about the quality of men brought to protect him.

    He needed an escort that could move as quietly as he could¡­and fight as hard. Glaring at the group moving cautiously toward him, he drew back a little further, and waited for them to pass. If they wrecked his chance of discovering what his rival was about, the Northman would know his anger¡ªfriend or not.

    He didn¡¯t want an escort¡­or need one. He needed information. Stifling a growl of frustration, Raomar forced himself to stand still as the first man, passed. The Northman would be next.

    Raomar prepared to slide out beside him, only to have his vision blocked by a swift-moving shadow. A large hand closed around his throat, and he was pushed back into the wall, the point of a dagger pressing into his gut.

    Raomar closed his eyes, just as light flared in front of his face, and found himself just as abruptly released.

    ¡°Shards and snow!¡± Grunwol whispered, and the light vanished. ¡°You could have been killed.¡±

    Raomar straightened his tunic, looking past the barbarian for the rest of his escort. They¡¯d formed a defensive half circle around the tunnel entry, and were looking outward.

    It¡¯s a start, Raomar thought.

    He turned to the Northman.

    ¡°They¡¯re too noisy,¡± he stated. ¡°I heard you coming before I saw the light. I need to get closer than they¡¯ll allow.¡±

    ¡°These are the best I could find at short notice.¡± Grunwol gave Raomar an accusing glance. ¡°You want better, I need more notice.¡±

    ¡°How about the notice I didn¡¯t want an escort.¡±

    Grunwol gave him a hard stare. ¡°We¡¯ve talked about this.¡±

    Raomar glanced at the men, then decided they needed to hear what he had to say.

    ¡°They¡¯re good enough,¡± he admitted, ¡°but not for this. I need to get closer.¡±

    Grunwol looked about to disagree, but Raomar continued.

    ¡°Let me move ahead, and observe. If things go north, then come to my aid.¡±

    He kept the pleading from his tone. He wasn¡¯t going to beg, and he wasn¡¯t going to kill his friend to ensure he was obeyed. The Northman meant too much to him for that, but he needed¡­

    ¡°Agreed,¡± Grunwol told him. ¡°Where?¡±

    ¡°Next junction,¡± Raomar said. ¡°Follow me just past it, then wait. I¡¯ll be within sight.¡±

    He hesitated, then tapped the fist Grunwol had wrapped around the wizard light. ¡°Keep that out of sight until we¡¯re out of the junction, once more. It can be seen for miles.¡±

    The Northman nodded, then relayed the orders to the rest. Raomar didn¡¯t wait for them to be ready, but hurried to his vantage point. He heard the faintest of noises as they came after him, but they stopped where he¡¯d asked, and no light gave them away.

    He was almost too late.

    The point he¡¯d chosen overlooked one of the main channels beneath the city, one which provided access for deliveries from the ships to smaller docks beneath Deverath¡¯s streets. Its entry was gated and guarded by the Deverath Port Authority, but the Watch rarely ventured beyond the main waterway.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    Raomar made his way along the edge of the feeder channel, skirting the mouth of the pipe that took its contents down to the main channel. As he settled into hiding, he heard the sound of low, hoarse whispers and the dip of oars.

    The smell of salt, damp, and effluvium mingled, and Raomar crouched close to the wall and looked out.

    Soon, the lamp-lit prow of a longboat appeared, but not from the dockside. This one came out of one of the waterways linking to the main. It was loaded to the gunnels, carrying two men and three women between the four men rowing. A fifth man crouched in the prow.

    Raomar frowned, studying the boat¡¯s occupants. It passed by his perch and continued out into the bay, forcing him to descend a narrow set of stairs to see where it went. Raomar hurried down, but only far enough to observe it as it passed through the gates and drew to a halt alongside a ship berthed not far from the tunnel.

    The rowers were dressed as sailors, but their passengers¡­

    Raomar¡¯s frown grew deeper.

    Noblemen? Sneaking out of the city in the dead of night?

    One of them was clearly the patriarch of his house, but nothing on his jacket or cloak revealed which one. He sat stiffly behind the man crouching at the prow, his mouth pressed firmly in a straight line, his expression stony.

    The women huddled together in the next row of seats, their arms twined around each other¡¯s waists, their two younger ones fearful, the older one disapproving. The two young men facing them had the look of their father, and their faces were grave.

    One glanced back at the tunnel with something like regret, and both the old man and older woman tensed. They relaxed when the younger one turned back without speaking. The rowers took the boat to the next ship, and a soft whistle pierced the darkness.

    Raomar moved further down the stairs until he saw the oarsmen draw the longboat to a halt and steady it. A wooden ladder dropped down the ship¡¯s side, followed by a swing seat, and the women looked uncertainly at each other.

    The older one went first, her face pale under the lamplight. One of the younger men climbed the ladder, followed by the older man. The third did not leave the boat, and Raomar thought that was because he was waiting to see the rest of his family and their belongings safely aboard.

    To Raomar¡¯s surprise, he didn¡¯t follow, but sat quietly in the stern of the boat, raising his hand, once, in farewell to those on the deck above. As he watched, the oarsmen pushed away from the ship and turned their craft back toward the tunnel.

    Raomar moved carefully back up the stairs. He¡¯d ask Dart to discover which ship was docked, maybe see if she could find a way to board it. Shouts drifted from across the water and he paused long enough to see the ship start moving away from the dock.

    Or where it¡¯s going, he amended, before hurrying back to his vantage point. Movement further back in the tunnel made him realize he¡¯d shifted out of Grunwol¡¯s sight, and he cursed softly.

    Glancing toward the Northman¡¯s position, he saw the man drift back to the junction, and let out a breath of relief. This time, when the longboat passed, he followed it, taking one of the catwalks over the main waterway to reach the secondary outlet.

    His escort moved quickly after him, coming close enough to keep him in sight. Raomar wasn¡¯t sure that would be far enough for him to avoid detection, but knew it was the best he could expect. He kept to the galleries for as long as he could, before descending another narrow set of stairs to walk along the ledge that ran beside the channel.

    The longboat took another turn, this time into a tunnel Raomar didn¡¯t remember, and he frowned, taking the turn carefully, in case anyone was waiting. Once inside, he saw it was newly constructed, as was the small jetty jutting out into the quiet lagoon created several yards in.

    The Tillerman had been very busy since taking the docks. Raomar studied the lamplit jetty and apron of stone beyond. He¡¯d heard rumors of construction, but not paid them much attention. Now, he wished he had.

    Maybe Dart was right and he needed to establish an arm for the undercity on its own, instead of relying on his scouts to find all that was hidden there. He needed the sewer maps redrawn. Adding it to the mental list he kept, Raomar moved closer so he could see and hear what was going on at the jetty.

    The dock might be well-lit, but there were plenty of shadows where he¡¯d stopped. He stepped into the niche created by a hidden ladder. A quick glance up revealed a long climb leading to the surface, and emptiness in the shaft above.

    Hoping his escort didn¡¯t try to follow, Raomar climbed a little to get a better view of the docks. Halfway up the wall, he discovered a narrow ledge built into it¡ªempty, but providing a good overlook.

    Silently, he moved closer. Letting his eyes adjust to the light, he moved within earshot, and crouched to study the docks.

    None of the faces gathered below were familiar, and he frowned. He assumed the Tillerman was the man stepping from the longboat¡¯s prow to the dock¡­but the young nobleman¡­that one he didn¡¯t recognize. As he watched, several men moved out of the shadows, a wizard among them.

    Raomar made sure to mark his features. Perhaps Alessia would know him¡­or Dart. It would give him yet another avenue to pursue as he tried to identify the man trying to take his territory.

    ¡°Time to move, your lordship.¡± The voice of one of the oarsmen drew his attention back to the boat.

    He was in time to see the young nobleman glance back at the oarsman, and be prodded again. He was young, somewhere between his eighteenth and twenty-fifth summer, if Raomar had to guess. It took a moment more before he registered the young man¡¯s face resembled that of the other two men in the boat.

    A younger son? But why had he remained behind? Why would any nobleman leave one of his heirs behind? Raomar marked it as another question for Dart, and focused on the drama being played out below.

    With another prod from the oarsman, the young nobleman got to his feet and stepped carefully onto the dock. Two of the newly arrived men hurried forward, one steadying him as the other stood back.

    Guards, Raomar thought, noting their light leather armor and weapons.

    The man Raomar assumed was the Tillerman waited on the stone-landing, beside the wizard, observing the nobleman like a cat intent on its prey.

    Shaking his arm free of the guard, the nobleman moved to stand before him.

    ¡°My family owes you much,¡± he said softly, taking a pouch from his belt and holding it out to the Tillerman.

    Coins jangled quietly in the dark.

    ¡°Your family¡¯s compensation for my men¡¯s lives was enough,¡± the Tillerman replied. ¡°Our debts are equal. Go quickly and in peace.¡±

    He gestured toward the entrance of the chamber, and the young man turned, walking to the edge of the lamplight before he paused. Surveying the darkness beyond, he glanced back.

    ¡°Will there be a guide?¡± he asked, noticing no-one had moved with him.

    Raomar leaned a little further forward, wanting a better view as the Tillerman exchanged glances with his men, then looked back at the lordling.

    ¡°That would demand a price more than the one we¡¯ve already been offered,¡± he replied.

    ¡°More than what you¡¯ve been offered?¡± the young man asked sharply, and took a step back from the edge of the light.

    ¡°Much more,¡± the Tillerman replied.

    ¡°How much more?¡± the nobleman asked, his voice shifting up in register.

    Once more he glanced into the sewers¡¯ black, and Raomar wondered if he could see at all. The lamps on the docks had been perfect for ruining his chances of growing accustomed to the dark.

    ¡°Thirty thousand kings,¡± the Tillerman replied, and Raomar bit back a whistle at the price.

    Kings were coins of gold, each one worth ten queens of silver, or a hundred bronze princes. Thirty thousand would take most merchants a year to acquire, depending on their trade. As a price to reach the edge of the tunnels, it was exorbitant.

    The nobleman¡¯s jaw dropped, his surprise evident before he recovered and closed his mouth, attempting to smooth his features to a blank.

    ¡°I¡­take it, you¡¯re not carrying that much?¡± the Tillerman asked, signaling his men forward.

    The nobleman held up a hand.

    ¡°Wait¡­wait, I can pay,¡± he assured them.

    Raomar caught the Tillerman¡¯s raised brow as he signaled his guards to stop. The lordling fumbled in the second pouch at his belt, pulling from its depths something small that glittered pale blue in the lamplight.

    Keeping a wary eye on the guards, he returned to the Tillerman, before stretching out his palm to reveal a small, blue gem.

    ¡°How far does this buy me?¡±

    The Tillerman took it, removing an eye glass from his top pocket and setting it to his eye to examine the gem. His mouth twisted in disdain.

    ¡°Five steps in the dark.¡± Glancing at the pouch, he asked, ¡°Do you have anything else?¡±

    Again, the lordling delved into the pouch, withdrawing a gem of a deeper shade of blue. Color danced in the lamplight as he passed it over.

    The Tillerman accepted it with more respect than the last, but examined it just as carefully.

    ¡°That might buy you the parchment¡¯s retrieval,¡± he ventured, after several long minutes. ¡°I couldn¡¯t guarantee more than one attempt for this, but it would buy at least that.¡±

    ¡°And my freedom?¡± the young lord pressed, identifying what was really at stake.

    The Tillerman took the glass from his eye and returned it to his pocket. When he raised his head, his face was hard.

    ¡°That chance was gone when my client made the payment.¡±

    The nobleman fumbled hastily at his pouch, withdrawing two more gems.

    ¡°These?¡± he asked, and the guards paused.

    The Tillerman shook his head. ¡°The price has been paid. The bargain sealed.¡±

    ¡°But¡­¡± the nobleman looked at the men closing in, and back at the Tillerman. ¡°I need to get back to my sister. I¡­I promised!¡±

    The Tillerman eyed him gravely.

    ¡°That¡¯s not a promise you¡¯re going to be able to keep,¡± he replied, but the young man refused to give up.

    ¡°At least look at them!¡± he urged, holding out the gems.

    The Tillerman gave a heavy sigh and took the gems, making a show of examining each.

    Raomar almost laughed when the show became a proper examination, and his rival tucked the gems carefully into another pocket.

    Once again removing his glass, the Tillerman glanced at the nobleman.

    ¡°These will guarantee you the parchment,¡± he stated, before nodding to his men. ¡°Take him.¡±

    The young lord failed to reach his sword as one of the guards closed, and tackled him to the ground. A second guard piled on top and, together, they pinned him. A third guard took his sword and searched for more weapons at his waist as two more raised crossbows to cover him.

    The nobleman struggled until the Tillerman came to stand in front of him and lowered his blade where the young man could see it.

    ¡°Yield?¡± he asked, and the nobleman froze, lifting his head in an attempt to see his captor¡¯s face.

    ¡°Boot¡­knives,¡± he gasped, and the guard retrieved them.

    The Tillerman moved his blade closer to the young man¡¯s face.

    ¡°Do. You. Yield?¡± he repeated.

    ¡°To you,¡± the lordling replied. ¡°I yield to you.¡±

    He rested his forehead on the stonework and waited.

    Raomar, watching from above, saw when the Tillerman nodded to his men, and the lordling was released. To his credit, the young man didn¡¯t move, but waited. The Tillerman snorted, sheathing his blade.

    ¡°Get up.¡±

    The nobleman rose, moving slowly and eyeing the guards warily. Noting they¡¯d moved out of reach, and the crossbowmen stood ready, he turned his attention to the Tillerman, and waited.

    The Tillerman looked him up and down, and shrugged.

    ¡°As I said, for thirty thousand kings you would have been free.¡±

    He raised a hand for silence, when the young man would have protested, and the nobleman subsided.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t have that, but had the price of the papers the spymaster took. Once your buyer no longer has those, he will no longer need you and you will be released.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t guarantee that,¡± the young man protested, and Raomar agreed.

    ¡°For five thousand kings more, I can,¡± the Tillerman assured him.

    ¡°Done,¡± the lordling replied, without hesitation.

    ¡°Blood word?¡± the Tillerman demanded, and the young man nodded.

    ¡°Done,¡± he repeated.

    Raomar frowned. That wasn¡¯t an agreement. Technically, that oath had to be repeated in the reply for it to be given. As it stood, the young man had only agreed to the five thousand kings and not sealed the bargain with his life, but his word¡­and such promises could be broken.

    ¡°Blood word,¡± the Tillerman growled, and his blade was at the young man¡¯s throat with a speed that made Raomar blink.

    The young lord froze.

    ¡°Blood word,¡± he replied, but the blade stayed where it was.

    ¡°Be glad I don¡¯t double the price,¡± the Tillerman told him, his face fierce.

    The lordling swallowed, as though he realized how close he¡¯d come to death. The Tillerman sheathed his blade, and turned his head, sending a soft whistle through the dark.

    For a moment, there was no reply, then lamplight winked in the tunnel depths.

 7éˆ¥æ“³he Duke of Hartender

    Raomar watched the nobleman as the lamplight approached. He saw the lordling¡¯s hand twitch toward his empty scabbard, then clench into a fist when he found no hilt. Tension ran through his body as he recognized the nobleman walking in the newcomers¡¯ midst.

    Raomar studied the group, counting six men in chain mail, swords and daggers at their hips. The nobleman walking among them was of medium height, with dark hair and familiar features.

    Hartender! So, the rumors were true.

    Raomar frowned, watching as the Tillerman moved in close to the young lord and draped an arm over his shoulders. The lordling clenched his fists, but didn¡¯t try to move away and the Tillerman bent close to the man¡¯s ear, his words carried up by a trick of the air.

    ¡°Here comes your buyer. When I am paid, you¡¯re no longer mine.¡± He straightened, patting the lordling¡¯s shoulder as he lifted his arm and stepped one pace away.

    Raomar stared at them. The Tillerman had virtually told the boy, he owed him nothing once the money was paid¡­reminding him he¡¯d only yielded to the Tillerman and no-one else. Did he want the nobleman to try something stupid?

    The lordling waited, not taking his eyes from Hartender¡¯s face¡­and not trying to conceal his dislike for the man. Raomar wondered what had passed between the two houses for there to be so much bad feeling.

    Hartender, for his part, surveyed the lordling with great satisfaction, smirking at his discomfort as he looked him up and down. The lordling tensed, sliding a foot back in a fighting stance and half-raising his fist. The two closest guards shifted stance, preparing to subdue him, their feet making the slightest scrapes on the stonework, and the young nobleman sighed.

    His gaze shifted from the guards to the Tillerman¡­and then to the approaching nobleman and his escort. His face tightened, but he lowered his fist, and Raomar relaxed.

    The men accompanying Hartender weren¡¯t just guards. They¡¯d seen their share of fights¡­and done their share of killing. Raomar could see it in their expressions, in the way they held themselves, loose and seemingly relaxed, but ready for anything. Their gazes traveled the tunnel around them as they scanned the dark beyond the lantern.

    Hartender¡¯s group reached the light, with two of his guards breaking away to approach the young nobleman. Hartender came to a halt before the Tillerman.

    ¡°You brought him,¡± he stated, and the Tillerman met his gaze.

    ¡°I did. Did you bring the payment?¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Hartender replied matter-of-factly, and stepped to one side so the two men carrying a large chest could bring it forward.

    Without being asked, he lifted the lid.

    ¡°I don¡¯t expect you to count it here,¡± the duke added in oily tones, ¡°but it¡¯s all there.¡±

    He paused and gave a brief smile.

    ¡°After all, you know where to find me.¡±

    The Tillerman fixed him with a look that had the duke¡¯s escort reaching for their weapons.

    ¡°I do,¡± he told the man, ¡°and I know your business in the court.¡±

    Raomar¡¯s eyes widened. That was a threat.

    Apparently, Hartender thought so, too, because he narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips.

    ¡°Indeed,¡± he replied tartly, and looked over at the younger nobleman. ¡°Is there any reason why my goods are not correctly packaged?¡±

    The Tillerman gave him a cold smile, letting his gaze travel over the duke¡¯s escort.

    ¡°You asked only they be delivered, not that they be delivered with a bow.¡±

    Anger darkened the duke¡¯s features, but the Tillerman continued, with a shrug.

    ¡°And I knew you would bring sufficient to keep them secure.¡±

    ¡°Indeed¡­¡± the duke repeated disapprovingly. He indicated the chest and its contents, then gestured toward the young noble. ¡°May I?¡±

    ¡°By all means,¡± the Tillerman replied, stepping back, and signaling his men to take the chest and leave the lordling to the duke. ¡°I have your payment.¡±

    He gave a short whistle and moved back toward the wall. Raomar heard the grind of stone and felt the tremor of a heavy door shifting aside. The duke¡¯s head snapped around in surprise, but he said nothing.

    Bootsteps followed and then the ledge shook and the grinding sound came again. A heavy clunk followed, and then silence, and Raomar knew the Tillerman was gone.

    Below him, the Duke of Hartender stared at the wall a moment longer, then turned back to the young man, who was now flanked by his guards.

    ¡°Broderick.¡± The satisfaction in that address made Raomar wonder what the Duke of Hartender stood to gain by his rival¡¯s capture.

    Something in the way he said it was too much for the young lordling, and he pivoted taking two strides into the dark beyond the lanterns. Hartender¡¯s men were faster. One moved swiftly to block his path, and the second slammed a fist into the young man¡¯s ribs when he changed direction.

    The blow hit low and hard and the lordling folded, wrapping an arm over his ribs and hitting the ground on his knees. He tried to stumble directly to his feet, but was driven to his stomach as the guards slammed into his back and forced him down.

    He gave a short, sharp cry of pain as his arms were dragged behind his back and bound elbow to wrist. He bit back a second cry as they hauled him to his feet and turned him to face the duke. Hartender stretched a hand toward his face, and the young man tried to twist away.

    ¡°Steady now, Broderick. This is for your own good.¡±

    Raomar watched, catching sight of a thin blue glow outlining the man¡¯s fingers.

    The lordling saw it to, and gasped as he turned away. One of the guards seized him by the scruff of the neck and held his head still enough for the duke of Hartender¡¯s hand to come down over the boy¡¯s eyes. Broderick froze.

    The duke smiled and laid the palm of his other hand against the boy¡¯s cheek.

    Broderick gasped and froze, and the duke spoke a short phrase.

    Raomar¡¯s eyes widened. The Duke of Hartender was a wizard?

    The blue flared to white and the duke shifted his hand so it stroked up the nobleman¡¯s cheek, across the crown of his head, and down the other side of his face. Broderick¡¯s breathing quickened in panic and he gasped a second time as the duke slid the hand from his eyes and down to his chin, before withdrawing it.

    White light followed, and the young nobleman scrambled back¡­or he tried. The two guards held him fast. His breathing sped and the white light turned to ink and then sank beneath his skin.

    ¡°Wait!¡± the boy cried. ¡°What have you done?¡±

    He sagged in the guards¡¯ grips.

    ¡°I can¡¯t see.¡± Panic gripped his voice. ¡°I can¡¯t see.¡±

    He tried to turn.

    ¡°Joseph? What¡­Why am I blind?¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯ll walk where you¡¯re asked,¡± the duke replied shortly. ¡°My men will guide you.¡±

    ¡°But¡­¡±

    The duke gave the nearest guard a short, sharp nod, and the man drove his fist into the lordling¡¯s side.

    ¡°Quietly,¡± the duke ordered, and the lordling closed his mouth on the protest he¡¯d been about to make.

    Raomar watched, trying to understand the significance of what he¡¯d seen¡­and who the lordling really was. ¡®Broderick¡¯ was not a name he knew¡­not that he knew all the names of the lords and their progeny, but many¡­yes.

    It was another question for Dart, and he set it aside for another time, watching as Hartender and four of his guards led the young nobleman into the dark.

    Four?

    Raomar looked around in alarm. Movement flickered at the edge of his vision, followed by the sharp punch of a dart. Numbness spread immediately after, but not fast enough to stop him registering a second impact and more numbness.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    His vision blurred and he slammed a palm into the stone before him, trying to stop himself from pitching over the edge. He succeeded in pushing himself back, felt the wall behind him as he toppled to one side, his eyes closing of their own accord.

    Raomar fought the poison coursing through his system. He would have fought the man who rolled him off the ledge to drop into the arms of the men waiting below. The duke doubled back, leaving the younger nobleman sagging between his two guards.

    ¡°What have we here?¡± he asked, as Raomar was hauled upright and held still for inspection.

    Raomar blinked, managing to get his eyes open long enough to register who he faced.

    ¡°Well, hello, ¡®old friend,¡¯¡± the duke greeted, placing a hand under his chin and turning his face from side to side.

    Raomar¡¯s eyes fluttered closed, and he tried to open them, tried to get his legs to obey enough to bring his feet under him so he could hold his own weight¡­failed miserably.

    The hiss of steel from a nearby scabbard had the duke snap, ¡°Wait! He¡¯s an old fr¡­¡±

    The hand on Raomar¡¯s jaw tightened.

    ¡°You conniving sonuvabitch!¡±

    Raomar tried to keep his eyes open, but failed. He must have missed another signal from the duke, because a vial was forced between his lips and his head was tilted so its contents flowed into his mouth and down his throat.

    He swallowed convulsively, trying not to choke as his head started to clear. This time, his eyes didn¡¯t close when he opened them, although the view hadn¡¯t improved.

    The Duke of Hartender¡¯s face was inches from his own.

    ¡°You¡¯re coming back with me,¡± he snarled, as rough hands bound Raomar¡¯s wrists behind his back, ¡°and we¡¯re going to have a long chat about where we¡¯ve met before and why I¡¯m under the illusion we¡¯ve known each longer than our meeting in my carriage.¡±

    ¡°We should put him out,¡± said the guard who¡¯d captured him, but the duke shook his head.

    ¡°No, Kale. Blindfold him so he can¡¯t mark the way¡­and gag him so he can¡¯t cast anything.¡±

    Raomar fought against both, earning himself a swift blow to the side of the head that drove him to his knees and rattled him enough for both orders to be carried out. When he tried to twist his head to make the blindfolding less effective a second blow left his mind spinning and he didn¡¯t resist further.

    Once he¡¯d been secured, he was hauled to his feet. Judging from the soft, panicked breathing ahead of him, he¡¯d been set behind the lordling, a fact that was confirmed moments later when Broderick spoke.

    ¡°Joseph,¡± the young man asked, plaintively. ¡°How long?¡±

    ¡°Long enough,¡± the duke replied shortly, and his tone should have been enough to prevent any further argument.

    Raomar heard the scrape of boot leather against stone and the duke moved forward.

    ¡°Take the lead,¡± he ordered and other footsteps obeyed.

    Ahead of him, Raomar heard the young nobleman stumble and his escort curse.

    ¡°Watch your step,¡± one snarled, and Broderick muffled a groan.

    Raomar drew a long, quiet breath focusing his senses on the tunnel around them. He listened for other sounds beyond the ones the group made. At first, all he could hear were Broderick¡¯s unsteady steps, and his guards¡¯ firmer tread.

    The duke was easier to pick out, now that the man was no longer trying to move silently, but the man¡­or men¡­he¡¯d sent ahead were almost inaudible. Raomar listened to the steps of the men nearest him.

    There was one on either side, both moving confidently through the dark. Behind him moved two more, too close for him to try and break away¡­not that he¡¯d want to when he was bound and blindfolded. The further they walked, the easier it became to identify each member of his small group by their tread.

    He also noted the sound of moisture flowing or dripping down the walls, the unhealthy ripple of the waste water running in a narrow channel down the center of the passage, and the trickle of more coming from inlet pipes set at regular intervals in the walls and floors. Several feet away came the frantic skitter of rats in flight, and beyond that, the soft step of someone following.

    The further they went, the more he wondered who else might be interested in the duke and his business. He could think of no other reason someone would parallel them for so long¡­unless Grunwol¡­

    Raomar didn¡¯t think so. While he hoped Grunwol followed them, he¡¯d rather the Northman had returned to the guild to work out a way to get him out of the duke¡¯s control. At the idea of his people doing something to set him free, Raomar relaxed into thought, letting his escort guide him through the dark.

    The duke¡¯s magical ability had surprised him, but when he thought about it, he realized the magic hadn¡¯t been difficult to cast. Had he merely triggered an item?

    Raomar replayed the casting in his mind and decided he hadn¡¯t. No, he thought, Joseph Hartender was a mage. The question was, how advanced were his studies?

    Trying to work out the answer kept him busy until his escort pulled him to a stop.

    From beyond the blindfold, Raomar heard the duke mutter impatiently, followed by a click and then grinding. Fresh air gusted into the tunnel, rippling his clothes and clearing some of the sewer stench from his nostrils.

    Raomar pulled in a grateful breath, trying to clear the smell of sewerage from his lungs. What he got was wood smoke and the scent of baking bread. The smell of furniture polish told him they¡¯d reached a residence.

    The duke¡¯s? he wondered, before kicking himself for asking such a stupid question. Who else¡¯s home would it be?

    It wasn¡¯t like the duke would trust knowledge of this kind of activity to anyone else, or a strange household. Broderick¡¯s breath quickened, and then a deep breath followed, as if the boy was determined not to panic.

    Raomar listened as the young lordling was led across the threshold, then allowed himself to be guided after. Behind them, the door grated shut, closing with a definite thunk as they entered a narrow corridor.

    It was a short one, ending in a jangle of keys and the cooler air of a cellar. Ahead of him, Broderick stumbled, again, grunting as his escort made their disapproval felt.

    ¡°Steps.¡± That single word was accompanied by a tightening of the grip on his arm, and Raomar slowed.

    ¡°Watch yourself,¡± was the only warning he got before his foot hit empty air.

    Another jerk prevented him from falling and he cautiously began to descend. Behind them, the kitchen noises faded, along with the smell of baking bread. The air grew cool, and then a little musty, as though it had been shut inside for a while.

    A sharp turn to the right awaited them at the bottom, followed by another short corridor. This time when he was brought to a halt, he heard Broderick breathing beside him. The metallic grate of a bolt being drawn was followed by the clank of a metal-bound door, and Raomar was pushed forward.

    ¡°Put them in together,¡± the duke ordered. ¡°Untie them, and remove the elf¡¯s blindfold and gag.¡±

    Broderick grunted and stumbled as he crossed the threshold behind Raomar, and the elf kept moving until he was clear. Heavy footsteps were accompanied by a strong grip on his arm, and he was again jerked to a halt.

    ¡°Stand there.¡±

    ¡®There¡¯ ended up being where Raomar had stopped, and the guildmaster waited.

    Rough hands removed his blindfold and gag, before removing his bindings. Even when he was free, Raomar forced himself to stand still. It would be sheer idiocy to give the guard an excuse to gut him just when he¡¯d been freed.

    The guard turned him. ¡°Bed¡¯s there.¡±

    He turned Raomar again. ¡°Bucket¡¯s there. Don¡¯t get them confused.¡±

    That last brought harsh laughter, and he was shoved roughly toward the wall as the guard reversed quickly away from him

    Raomar heard Broderick gasp and then the sound of the young lord hitting the cell floor as the two guards retreated. While his eyes were still adjusting, he saw them reach the cell door and pull it closed after them. The sound of the bolt being rammed home left him in no doubt he was stuck for a while.

    He caught sight of the darker patch that was the young lord, just as lamplight flared in the corridor outside. Some of it glimmered through the small, barred window set high in the door, and Raomar shaded his eyes.

    Straw rustled and the lordling pushed unsteadily to his feet.

    ¡°Wait!¡± he cried, turning toward the door. ¡°Joseph!¡±

    Raomar sighed.

    ¡°Joseph!¡± Broderick called, louder this time.

    Raomar heard him draw breath for another cry.

    ¡°What is it?¡± Duke Hartender snapped from the door.

    ¡®I need¡­¡± Broderick hesitated, swallowed hard, and wrapped his hands around the window. ¡°When will I be able to see again?¡±

    The duke snorted.

    ¡°When it pleases me,¡± he replied.

    ¡°But¡­¡±

    ¡°Enough!¡± Hartender snapped. ¡°You¡¯re still alive, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    Broderick paused.

    ¡°Well,¡± Hartender demanded impatiently, ¡°aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Yes, but¡­¡± Broderick began, and Raomar caught sight of the fury that crossed the duke¡¯s face beyond the bars.

    He was about to haul the young man away from the bars, when he heard the rattle of keys, and the door was jerked roughly open.

    Hartender came through in a rush of force, picking Broderick up and slamming him into a nearby wall, while two of his guards came through to stand between the pair and Raomar. The guildmaster raised his hands and backed up to lean against the other wall.

    The crossbows were cocked and didn¡¯t waver, and Raomar kept his hands raised and his back against the wall. He didn¡¯t take his eyes from what was happening with the two noblemen, but neither of the guards looked back.

    Hartender wrapped a hand around the younger nobleman¡¯s throat, then laid the palm of his other hand over Broderick¡¯s heart.

    ¡°N..¡± Raomar began, seeing blue light swirl along the duke¡¯s arm.

    He almost started off the wall, but a soft whistle drew his attention to the guards and one of them shook his head, waving a finger in forbiddance. The other one¡¯s aim didn¡¯t waver and his finger tightened on the trigger until Raomar resumed his position.

    Behind them, the duke¡¯s voice rose and fell in a brief chant that Raomar did recognize. Nausea rolled through his stomach and cold fear chilled his skin. He wanted to protest that this spell wasn¡¯t necessary, that¡­

    The blue faded to purple, and darkness sent black specks dancing through the light. Sickened, Raomar watched the light coil down Hartender¡¯s arm to glove the hand spread over Broderick¡¯s chest.

    Hartender cocked his head, speaking the final word to the spell, and sending the light into the young lord¡¯s torso. Streaks of black-streaked purple crackled over the young lord¡¯s chest and shoulders and he screamed, his body jerking under the duke¡¯s grip.

    With another snapped out syllable, the duke released him, stepping back to let the lordling drop to his knees. Broderick wrapped his arms around his chest and crashed from his knees to his side, his breath coming in ragged sobs.

    The crossbow shook in its wielder¡¯s hands, and the man gave the other soldier an anxious look. The other guard didn¡¯t flinch, although his face became shuttered. Behind them, Duke Hartender turned slightly to look at Raomar.

    ¡°When I come for you in the morning,¡± he said, ¡°you will tell me who you are and the truth of how we met.¡±

    The ice-cold surety in his voice sent a chill through Raomar, but he forced a slight smile to his lips and inclined his head.

    ¡°If that is your wish,¡± he replied, forcing his voice to calm, even as anger rolled through him.

    The duke could bring whatever pressure he liked, but it would do him little good. Raomar didn¡¯t believe he¡¯d still be there in the morning. In the meantime¡­

    He fought to keep the outrage from his face. Firstly, he was being threatened¡­and, secondly, he had a hole in his intelligence network, one that badly needed to be filled. The threat could be avenged, the hole¡­

    He¡¯d find a way. He stayed propped against the wall as he watched the duke and his men leave, then crossed to where the young nobleman lay curled on the floor. To his relief Broderick was unconscious.

    Perhaps it¡¯s better that way, he thought, carefully lifting the young man and carrying him over and depositing him on the cot standing in one corner.

    If he was honest, he was relieved to find the man alive¡­and maybe even more relieved that he wouldn¡¯t have to deal with any more adverse reactions to his race. When he was sure the lordling was resting as comfortably as he was able, Raomar retired to the other side of the cell, curling into the straw to get some sleep.

    If his people didn¡¯t come for him, he was going to need every ounce of strength he could gather, because in the morning, he¡¯d be facing the duke. It was not a prospect he looked forward to¡­and he hoped Grunwol came for him sooner.

    But how¡­

 8éˆ¥æ“¥runwol, the Garitzik and the Shadow Fey

    Grunwol cursed a blue streak. He¡¯d pulled the guildmaster¡¯s escort back as soon as he realized they¡¯d alert the Tillerman to Raomar¡¯s presence. He hadn¡¯t been happy about it, but it had been the only way.

    Once the Tillerman¡¯s exchange had been complete and the man had left, he¡¯d gathered the escort and followed. As the tunnels had narrowed, he¡¯d marked the path and taken his people.

    The docks might be the Tillerman¡¯s domain, but under the docks was that even more true, and he couldn¡¯t risk a single one of them being caught. All he could hope was that the newly arrived crime lord had completed his activities for the evening and was ready to retire.

    He wished the guildmaster had warned him of his plans for the night so that he could at least have had the tunnels located next to guild territory mapped. That way he¡¯d have had some idea of what they were heading into. As it was, he now had to find which of the damned nobility had shanghaied his guildmaster and friend, and get him back.

    There was clearly more about the Tillerman they didn¡¯t know that they needed to¡­like the fact he used magical wards over all the dockside sewer entrances and maintenance ledges, and the alarms they triggered were silent. Knowing the night guards were shadow fey and gargoyles would have helped, too.

    It would have saved them all a lot of pain¡­and it would have meant he could have prepared his men for the attack that took them beyond the guildmaster¡¯s reach. He hadn¡¯t known he¡¯d lost any, until the last man had dropped his blade.

    The clatter had seen him pivot in time to see the guildsman¡¯s unconscious form being carried through a portal of darkness ringed in mist. The Northman had backpedaled quickly, hoping to find Raomar and get him out of the tunnels before the shadow found him.

    He was listening to the sluggish flow of water and murmur of voices ahead when he heard another sound¡­as if a large bird had gotten lost inside the tunnels. That, in and of itself, wasn¡¯t a cause for alarm, but the accompanying chill made it worrisome.

    He backed up against the damp wall of the tunnel so he could see both ways down it, even as he tucked the wizard light back into its pouch so it wouldn¡¯t give him away. The only problem with that was it left him almost blind.

    Closing eyes at least let him sharpen his listening, but that did him no good. The first he knew he¡¯d been outmaneuvered was when two sharp blades dug gently into his sides.

    ¡°Move and you die, ¡°a voice rasped from before him as his own blades were removed from their sheaths with silent efficiency.

    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose I can bargain?¡± Grunwol asked quietly.

    The voice that answered was laced with scorn. ¡°What could you possibly offer us?¡±

    ¡°A debt?¡± Grunwol suggested, carefully opening his eyes.

    To his surprise, he wasn¡¯t facing an elf, shadowy or otherwise, but something else. The creature crouched before him was only slightly shorter than his own near-seven-feet of height and outweighed him at least two to one.

    The peoples of the north knew them as garitzik, but here they were known only as gargoyles. Bat eared, canine snouted, and bedecked with stony wings that arced from its shoulders to its knees, the gargoyle scented him.

    ¡°Northlander?¡± it rasped, crinkling its nose, ¡°you are far from the plains and mountains of ice.¡±

    ¡°I am,¡± Grunwol agreed, not flinching when the creature leaned into him and sniffed again.

    ¡°What was your totem?¡±

    Was¡­ The question brought an unexpected twist of pain.

    ¡°I have no totem, now.¡±

    It gave a derisive snort in response.

    ¡°This I know,¡± the garitzik replied. ¡°I asked not what it is, but what it was.¡±The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Wolf,¡± Grunwol replied, steeling himself for the inevitable follow-up.

    The gargoyle didn¡¯t let him down.

    ¡°And where is your mate?¡±

    Long-buried grief ripped through him, and Grunwol bowed his head, closing his eyes so the monster before him didn¡¯t see his pain. Clenching his teeth, Grunwol choked down a second surge of loss, still fresh a decade after the event. When he replied his voice was rough with suppressed emotion.

    ¡°Gone ahead,¡± he responded, his voice cracking despite his best efforts. ¡°Gone¡­alone.¡±

    The very answer made him want to howl, but for that he would need to be a wolf, and the shift was forbidden¡­and unwanted. He repressed a sob and hoped the gargoyle would leave the subject alone. Surprisingly, it did.

    ¡°The debt you offer,¡± the creature said. ¡°Which is it?¡±

    ¡°Blood and iron,¡± Grunwol replied. It was all he had left.

    Shadow moved beside his head, and warm breath whispered through the garitzik¡¯s aura of cold.

    ¡°You will come when we call, Northman. Wherever you are. Whatever you are doing.¡±

    ¡°The debt cannot be sealed without your true names and your blood,¡± Grunwol replied.

    The garitzik reached forward, extending an ivory claw. Before it could touch him, footsteps sounded in the passage he¡¯d been following, footsteps coming from where his prey had gone.

    ¡°Come with us,¡± the warm shadow said, and pulled him back through the wall, through air where there should have been stones.

    The gargoyle followed.

    Grunwol¡¯s startled shout was cut short as the mist that bordered all such gates boiled down to close it behind them. This time, when the gargoyle¡¯s ivory claw came toward him, there was nothing to interrupt its strike.

    ¡°Your heart shall know our names,¡± it rasped, opening a deep tear in the muscle and skin above that organ. ¡°It will answer when we call, and direct you where to go.¡±

    Grunwol heard its words through a wave of pain as the garitzik¡¯s claw scraped over bone. His left shoulder and arm went numb and he struggled to stay upright with no wall to support him. His eyes widened as the garitzik withdrew its talon and licked the blood from its surface.

    ¡°I can find you wherever you might seek to hide,¡± it assured him. ¡°Your blood speaks to me.¡±

    Grunwol made a note to kill it as soon as he was able, watching as it opened a vein in its own wrist and pressed the wound to the gash it had created in Grunwol¡¯s chest.

    ¡°Your blood speaks to mine, revealing truths that might otherwise remain hidden. My blood knows your true name and your loss.¡±

    Grunwol choked back a cry as the gargoyle¡¯s blood burned its way into him. If one of the shadow fey hadn¡¯t reached out to steady him, he would have fallen. Another of the shadow fey moved to stand beside the gargoyle and extended its wrist.

    The creature took its forearm away from Grunwol¡¯s chest, and sliced open the fey¡¯s vein with a careful flick of its claw. The fey bowed his head in thanks and crossed to place his wrist against Grunwol¡¯s wound. Again, the gargoyle licked its claw clean.

    Catching Grunwol¡¯s eye, it intoned, ¡°I am the keeper of the debt¡­¡±

    The Northman felt the shadow fey¡¯s blood work its way to his heart and wrap itself around it.

    ¡°Our blood converses in shadow and the gray light at the edge of the day, ¡°the fey told him. ¡°I can find you between worlds and in the twilight.¡±

    He lifted Grunwol¡¯s left arm and nicked the vein at the wrist. Lifting it to his lips, he took a sip.

    ¡°Your blood speaks with me,¡± he continued, a moment later, ¡°but it keeps your secrets. We are tied. You know my true name as I now know yours. You will come to me, when I need you most. Your blood will bring you.¡±

    Grunwol didn¡¯t like the sound of that, but had no choice but to accept it.

    His blood would take him when the fey needed him most? He really didn¡¯t like the sound of that. The elf stepped away and out of sight. Moments later, Grunwol felt himself being transferred from one fey to the other, and a female shadow elf stepped into view.

    She inclined her head toward him, before offering her wrist to the garitzik¡¯s claw. Once again, blood was spilled by, and cleaned from its gleaming ivory tip, binding its donor to the oath keeper.

    Grunwol fought down a wave of nausea, and a second wave of dizziness, fighting to remain conscious. Who knew where he¡¯d end up if he didn¡¯t?

    His left arm felt like lead, and his chest like it was alight.

    When the elf pressed her wrist against his flesh, he barely held back another cry.

    The gargoyle¡¯s blood had burned like fire, and the first fey¡¯s blood had infiltrated his heart like mist¡­but this fey¡¯s blood was honey and the far north wind. It drove itself through his heart like a stake and then wormed its way through the rest of him.

    I am lost, Grunwol thought, as the second fey began to speak. There is no more hope for me.

    ¡°My blood stakes its claim,¡± she stated, ¡°the claim of all my people. If one should need you, you will come. My blood will lead the way.¡±

    She raised his wrist, and Grunwol realized he was still bleeding, a trail of red flowing over his palm and dividing into individual rivulets, one for each of his fingers. The fey woman raised his wrist to her lips and drank more deeply than her predecessor.

    Grunwol¡¯s head spun, and he groaned as she lifted her lips away.

    ¡°Your blood hides your heart and deepest thoughts,¡± she assured him. ¡°You know my true name and I know yours. Your blood demands an oath from me and I have given it.¡±

    This last seemed to surprise her as much as it surprised him, but she didn¡¯t explain, merely took a silken kerchief from her pocket and bound his wrist before using the ties on his shirt to hold the damaged limb across his chest.

    ¡°Where do you need to go?¡± she asked.

    Knowing Raomar was long gone, Grunwol named the one person who could help him.

 9éˆ¥æ“¥runwol and the Wizardess

    ¡°Alessia Mistlewood,¡± he said, stumbling through the mist-encircled gate as soon as it opened before him.

    He dropped three feet, landing hard on the wizardess¡¯s front step and crashing into her front door. Lashing out with one hand he grabbed hold of the door knocker, and leaned against the doorframe. Using it to steady himself, he knocked.

    After three unsteady booms echoed through the house, the door opened, and Grunwol fell forward.

    The boy who¡¯d answered gave a squeak of surprise and leapt out of the way as the Northman¡¯s grip on the knocker failed and he fell untidily to the floor.

    ¡°Fetch¡­your mistress,¡± Grunwol managed, wondering what Alessia would say.

    He found out seconds later, when she came down the stairs.

    ¡°Grunwol! Of all the misbegotten hair-brained¡­ What in Sophriel¡¯s name do you think you¡¯re doing?¡±

    Soft gasps interrupted her, and she looked over her shoulder at her four apprentices.

    ¡°Zarine, Sindra, go make up a pallet in my room. Xanthia, I need your help, here.¡±

    She reached down and shook Grunwol¡¯s shoulder.

    ¡°Come on, you useless sack of Northlander shite, get your ass up. You¡¯re bleeding all over my entrance hall!¡±

    Looping her arms around his bicep, she heaved until Grunwol got himself upright, and then she pulled his arm over her shoulders. Xanthia did the same on the other side, hissing with concern when she saw the bloodied kerchief at his wrist.

    Somehow, he managed to stay conscious as the two women, the fire-haired Alessia and her oldest apprentice, dragged him upstairs. The apprentice was stronger than he¡¯d expected, although he doubted she¡¯d thank him for that.

    Between them, the two women got him up the stairs and down the corridor to Alessia¡¯s private chambers. He tensed when he saw two more figures, then realized they were the Zarine and Sindra she¡¯d addressed before.

    They stepped away from the sleeping pallet they¡¯d prepared, but Grunwol ignored them. He hadn¡¯t visited Alessia¡¯s chambers before, or realized they were laboratory, study and sleeping space all rolled into one.

    Alessia caught his tension and her grip tightened.

    ¡°You go nuts on me, Grun, and you will go up in flames,¡± she snarled.

    Her anger surprised him. She was the most patient person he knew, and caring, except when she or those in her care were under threat. Besides, she should know he didn¡¯t react to her magic. If he had, she¡¯d have been dead ages ago. Her apprentices, however¡­

    Oh, he thought. Her apprentices¡­

    The idea should have scared him a lot more than it did, but his head was spiraling to darkness, and gray mists of oblivion reached out to take him. He turned to the wizardess.

    ¡°Raomar¡­¡± he slurred. ¡°Taken by a nobleman¡­in the sewers. I tried¡­couldn¡¯t¡­¡±

    His eyes drifted shut and he fought them open, again, trying to sit upright. He wasn¡¯t going to remain awake for much longer.

    ¡°Lessia¡­ Find Roamer. Save him.¡±

    ¡°Got it. I¡¯ll find him,¡± the wizardess snapped, placing a hand in the center of his forehead and pushing him onto his side. ¡°Now lie down and let me see this wound.¡±

    ¡°Mistress, his wrist,¡± Xanthia said, lifting Grunwol¡¯s hand so Alessia could see it. Glancing across at her mistress, the girl¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Your dress!¡±

    Alessia glanced down, noting the large, dark stain where his forearm had rested.

    ¡°Blood and Sorcery, Grun! How many of my dresses are you going to ruin this way?¡± she demanded. ¡°How many is this?¡±

    Grunwol¡¯s eyes fluttered, and he tried to speak. He wanted very much to apologize for her dress, but the words eluded him¡­as did exactly how many dresses he¡¯d wrecked by bleeding on them.

    ¡°I¡­¡± he began, the word barely more than a whisper.

    Alessia slapped him.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare black out on me!¡±

    Grunwol started, his eyes flashing open.

    ¡°Who?¡± she demanded, poking the unbroken flesh above the wound in his wrist. ¡°What did this to you?¡±

    ¡°Gar¡­itzik,¡± he murmured, as a wave of darkness crashed over him and dragged him under.

    When he woke, again, the room was lit by the single lamp standing on Alessia¡¯s desk and the apprentice was nowhere to be seen. Grunwol forced his eyes open, taking in the sight of the wizardess¡¯s long red hair curtaining her back.

    A page rustled, but outside that, she made no sound. Comforted by the sight of her, Grunwol closed his eyes, gathering his strength to speak. He opened them, again, when someone rapped on Alessia¡¯s bedroom door.

    ¡°Who is it?¡± the wizardess snapped, and a young voice answered.

    ¡°Varan, mistress.¡±

    It took Grunwol a moment to recognize the voice of the boy who¡¯d met him at the door.

    ¡°Come in.¡±

    The door opened and light flickered from the lantern he carried.

    Alessia turned in her seat, her eyes flitting over Grunwol as she turned to the boy. The Northman turned his head trying to get a better look at the child.

    ¡°What is it, Varan?¡±

    The boy cast an uncertain look at Grunwol, then looked back at his mistress, his blue-gray eyes full of fear. Alessia gave a heavy sigh.

    ¡°Come in, boy. You¡¯re making a draft.¡±

    The child didn¡¯t wait to be told twice. Stepping into the room, he pulled the door closed behind himself. As he moved closer, Grunwol saw that his skin was overly pale and glistened slightly in the lamplight.

    As he watched, the child glanced down at him, his eyes widening as he saw the Northman was awake. Alessia glanced down, too.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about him, Varan.¡± She leveled a glare at the barbarian. ¡°He has some explaining to do, but I want to hear why you¡¯re here, first.¡±

    The boy nodded, watching as Grunwol slowly worked himself into a sitting position. Alessia watched, too, and Grunwol realized his chest had been bandaged¡­ Stitched, too, he realized, feeling the faint, familiar pull of thread through muscle and skin.

    His wrist, as well, he noted, feeling the same pull under the bandages that strapped it.

    ¡°I called a healer,¡± Alessia told him, ¡°but he refused to cast anything in case you woke up.¡±

    And killed him, rang unspoken in the air between them.

    Grunwol shrugged, stopping mid-way with a gasp as the movement sent jolts of pain through his chest and shoulder. Alessia shook her head and turned back to her apprentice.

    ¡°What is it, Varan?¡± she asked, gently laying a hand on the boy¡¯s shoulder, and looking into his eyes.

    The boy swallowed hard, and after one more wary glance at Grunwol, answered.

    ¡°I was practicing that spell you taught me.¡±

    ¡°The scry?¡± Alessia asked, and the boy nodded, his head moving jerkily up and down, his eyes wide with memory. ¡°How did it go?¡±

    ¡°It went¡­¡± Varan gulped, his face paling even further. ¡°It went well.¡±

    ¡°And?¡± Alessia asked. ¡°What did you see?¡±

    Grunwol decided she had the patience of a priest, and that the boy needed a good shake to break the story loose, but Varan¡¯s next words stopped him cold.

    ¡°I saw the king¡ª¡±

    ¡°You scried the king?¡± Alessia¡¯s voice reflected Grunwol¡¯s surprise.

    ¡°He was the only person I could think on,¡± the boy hurriedly explained. ¡°I¡­ Well, the girls wouldn¡¯t have liked it if I scried them, so I thought¡­I wanted to see¡­¡±

    ¡°What did you want to see?¡± and Grunwol discovered Alessia wasn¡¯t as godlike as he¡¯d thought. Impatience lent an edge to her words that made the boy flinch. ¡°How did you manage to scry the king?¡±

    ¡°I¡­I imagined him in his armor,¡± the boy explained, ¡°the¡­the armor he wore in the parade.¡±

    ¡°The horned armor?¡± Alessia asked, as if to confirm they were remembering the same kind of armor.

    Varan nodded.

    ¡°The set with the face plate?¡±

    Again, the boy confirmed her guess with a nod.

    ¡°And it was down?¡±

    This time, when Varan nodded, he screwed his eyes tight closed as if trying to unsee what he¡¯d seen. His body stiffened with tension and his voice shook.

    ¡°Yes. I remembered what he looked like in the parade, the last one, where he wore the¡­that armor with the face plate closed.¡±

    Grunwol remembered that parade. The city had been abuzz with rumor for days after. Some had suggested the king had contracted some skin disease that meant he had to hide his face¡­and others said he¡¯d perished and his replacement wanted no one to know.

    Now, he wondered if the rumors had been true.

    Alessia had other questions.

    ¡°What were you using: the water or the glass?¡± she demanded.

    ¡°Th¡­the water in the fish pond,¡± the boy replied, hesitating, again.

    ¡°Go on,¡± Alessia urged, and he took a deep breath, looking past the wizardess to the wall above her desk.

    ¡°The water rippled, just like it did when you showed us how,¡± he began, hurrying on when she shifted impatiently in her chair. ¡°At first I thought it hadn¡¯t worked but th..then it cleared.¡±

    He stopped, but this time Alessia said nothing to urge him on. She just sat still and waited. Grunwol quietly leant his head back against the wall and waited, too. Whatever the boy had seen, it had shaken him badly¡­and Raomar would want to know.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    He waited for the boy to speak, ignoring the discomfort in his chest and arm.

    ¡°I s¡­saw this big dark hall¡­¡± the boy continued, ¡°like the hall in the temple of Miralei only¡­only without the glows, and there were pillars down each side of the hall and the roof had these arches criss-crossing overhead¡­and it was black and shimmering.¡±

    He shuddered.

    ¡°Not white. Not¡­not clean¡­¡± he finished in a whisper, closing his eyes.

    ¡°And the king?¡± Alessia pressed, when she saw he wasn¡¯t going to continue.

    ¡°Him¡­ He¡­ He came through two metal doors at the side of the hall, dressed in the¡­in that armor.¡± The boy paused, blinking rapidly at the memory. His eyes glittered. ¡°His faceplate was down and¡­ I¡­If I hadn¡¯t tried to find him with the faceplate down, the magic wouldn¡¯t have worked.¡±

    For a minute he looked like he was going to cry, then he clenched his jaw and took another breath, laying a hand on Alessia¡¯s arm.

    ¡°Mistress, he sounded¡­so big. Each step echoed like a giant¡¯s. It scared me so much I almost ended the scry, but then I saw the altar.¡±

    ¡°Altar? I didn¡¯t know the king worshipped Miralei¡­¡± Alessia began.

    Varan shook his head so violently, Grunwol was surprised he didn¡¯t do himself an injury.

    ¡°No¡­no, he doesn¡¯t,¡± the child told him. ¡°He really doesn¡¯t. Miralei¡¯s temple is full of light and sunlight and¡­and it¡¯s a kind place to be. This temple¡­¡±

    He shuddered.

    ¡°It was all black and gray and full of shadows and fear and¡­¡± Varan closed his eyes, standing as stiff as a board.

    ¡°Go on,¡± Alessia encouraged. ¡°We¡¯re here. You are safe.¡±

    The boy¡¯s eyes flashed open.

    ¡°Are you sure, mistress?¡± he demanded. ¡°Because the altar was stained with blood, and he¡­he stopped before it and raised his hands. I heard him call out a name. It was¡­¡±

    Again, he closed his eyes, ducking his head and hunching his shoulders. ¡°He sai¡ª¡±

    Alessia laid a hand over his lips.

    ¡°Don¡¯t say it,¡± she instructed. ¡°We don¡¯t want to draw its attention.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± the boy hastily agreed. ¡°We really, really don¡¯t.¡±

    He was silent for a moment, and Grunwol watched him fighting down the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. When the boy spoke again, his voice was so soft, Grunwol had to strain to hear it.

    ¡°They killed a man.¡±

    Alessia¡¯s eyes widened in surprise.

    ¡°They what?¡±

    Varan turned to her, his face full of horror.

    ¡°Mistress,¡± he said, gripping her shoulder. ¡°Th¡­they killed a man, brought him to the altar and k¡­killed him.¡±

    His voice broke into sobs, but he continued, his knuckles turning white as he clung to Alessia¡¯s shoulder.

    ¡°Th¡­then they took his blood and d¡­drank it.¡± He swallowed convulsively, his face showing revulsion and terror. His voice rose in horror, cracking under the weight of panic and tears. ¡°A servant came¡­¡±

    For some reason the arrival of a servant made it worse.

    ¡°The se¡­servant brought the cup and I ended the scry.¡±

    Personally, Grunwol thought the boy should have ended the scry a lot sooner, but he said nothing as Varan started to sob.

    ¡°The se¡­servant¡­¡±

    Varan was shaking so hard he almost couldn¡¯t continue. Grunwol saw Alessia reach toward him as if to tell him it was okay to stop, but Varan hurried on.

    ¡°Oh, Miralei and Sophriel! He was dead, Mistress. The servant was dead!¡±

    ¡°What do you mean ¡®dead¡¯, Varan?¡± Alessia tried to keep her voice calm, but tension threaded through it, and Grunwol couldn¡¯t blame her.

    Varan rushed on, his words tumbling over each other like puppies hurrying to be fed.

    ¡°The servant,¡± he continued. ¡°He was dead¡­and he brought the c.. the cup.¡± He hiccupped but didn¡¯t stop. ¡°It was a¡­ was a ch¡­chalice. The king filled it and raised it over his head and the air above the altar shimmered and swirled and¡­and I ca¡­canceled the spell.¡±

    He turned to Alessia, his eyes wide with terror.

    ¡°Did I do something wrong, Mistress?¡±

    Grunwol wanted to roar that by the cold north wind he¡¯d done something wrong, but he forced himself to remain silent instead. He watched as Alessia carefully wrapped her arms around the boy and held him close.

    ¡°You did just fine, Varan,¡± she murmured, stroking his hair as a mother would. ¡°Just fine. You¡¯re safe, now¡­ Safe.¡±

    Varan leant his head against her shoulder and burst into tears. He didn¡¯t remain that way for long, but quickly got himself under control. Pulling away from his mistress¡¯s hug, he forced a watery smile and turned his attention to the Northman with the bandaged chest.

    ¡°How long has he been awake?¡± he asked, indicating Grunwol. Frowning, he added, ¡°And what¡¯s that mark on his chest?¡±

    ¡°He¡­¡± Alessia answered, ¡°has been awake since just before you arrived¡­and what mark? There is no mark on his chest¡­and, even if there was, you wouldn¡¯t be able to see it through the bandage. Are you sure you¡¯re all right, Varan?¡±

    The boy shook his head.

    ¡°Mistress, I am not all right¡­but there is a mark on his chest.¡± He gave her a puzzled frown. ¡°Why can¡¯t you see it?¡±

    Alessia gave the boy a sharp look, then moved around him to crouch in front of the Northman. Instead of repeating that she didn¡¯t see a mark, she studied him carefully, the look on her face making him feel completely naked. Grunwol blushed, drawing the blanket more firmly over his lap.

    He might be wearing trousers, but¡­

    Varan noticed his discomfort, and a brief smile flickered over his features.

    After a long moment, Alessia turned to her apprentice.

    ¡°Varan,¡± she told him, ¡°I see no mark, only bandages. Can you tell me what you see?¡±

    Grunwol glanced down at his chest. He couldn¡¯t see a mark, either, only bandages, but the boy didn¡¯t hesitate.

    ¡°I see a blue circle edged in silver,¡± he stated. ¡°It has a white and silver bolt of lightning overlaying a pale blue teardrop.¡±

    He glanced from Grunwol to his Mistress, anxiety clouding his features.

    ¡°What does it mean?¡±

    Grunwol leaned his head back against the wall, his heart sinking with dismay. He wanted to curse his fortune, and the gods¡¯ terrible sense of humor¡­and to not have Alessia looking at him with such curiosity on her face. He could see the questions lurking in her eyes, and he wanted to answer none of them.

    Varan did more than stare. The boy crossed to the pallet, kneeling on the floor beside it and looking up at Grunwol.

    ¡°Tell me what it means,¡± he pleaded, and because it was a child that asked¡­and one that needed to be distracted from his fear, Grunwol obliged.

    ¡°The mark you can see is a pact mark, an invisible brand that tells others you have an unkept promise¡­and warns them that if they kill you, your debt will pass to them.¡±

    ¡°And the rest?¡± the boy asked, leaning forward for a closer look.

    ¡°That says who you owe the debt to, and how big the group is.¡±

    ¡°So, the teardrop represents a group?¡± the boy probed, staring intently at Grunwol¡¯s chest.

    Grunwol leant his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. It made it easier if he couldn¡¯t see the interest in the child¡¯s face.

    ¡°Yes,¡± he replied, then to forestall the next question, ¡°although it¡¯s not just a teardrop, but a drop of water. It¡¯s pale blue to represent the cold, so my guess is that some of my debt goes to the People of the Sorrowing Ice.¡±

    He screwed up his face, trying to suppress the brief flash of grief their memory brought. Of all the peoples¡­

    ¡°And the lightning?¡± Varan wanted to know, his curiosity over the mark overriding any curiosity over why the name of his debtors seemed to pain the Northman, so.

    ¡°White and silver?¡± Grunwol asked.

    ¡°Yes,¡± the boy confirmed

    Grunwol groaned.

    ¡°Lightning represents magic¡­very old magic, so I probably owe this debt to a sorcerer.¡±

    He shuddered. For one of his people to be caught this way was a travesty.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with owing a debt to a sorcerer?¡± Varan wanted to know, and Grunwol opened his eyes, directing a questioning glance at the boy¡¯s mistress.

    Again, she nodded, giving him permission to explain, although in this case, it was more instruction.

    He sighed.

    ¡°Sorcerers must give up part of themselves in exchange for their power.¡± Grunwol would have stopped there, but a gesture from Alessia signaled him to continue.

    He frowned, giving her another questioning glance. Was she sure?¡±

    Alessia repeated the gesture, and Grunwol shrugged. The boy was her apprentice¡­

    ¡°It is forbidden in the tribes because when a Northman gives away a part of himself, he gives away his ability to connect with his totem, and surrenders his afterlife to the being bestowing the power.¡±

    The boy frowned. ¡°But what if you don¡¯t have a totem?¡± he asked. ¡°How do you become a sorcerer, then?¡±

    ¡°Those without a totem must pay in lives, or talent, or in years of enslavement made in advance.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± The boy settled back on his heels to consider that, and in the quiet that followed, Grunwol wondered what part of themselves the shadow fey gave in exchange for their power¡­and to what source they gave it.

    The boy cast his mistress an anxious glance, and Alessia laughed.

    ¡°Our magic doesn¡¯t work that way, Varan. It¡¯s why you have to study so hard¡­and why not everyone can become a wizard. We are born able to wield magic and only have to learn how. These others either can¡¯t do that, or seek to do it without the hard work in between.¡±

    ¡°I like our way better,¡± the child concluded, after some thought, and Grunwol had to agree.

    He watched as Varan studied Alessia¡¯s face as if making sure his mistress was telling the truth. After a minute, the boy turned back to him.

    ¡°What else?¡± he asked, his small face intent. ¡°About the lightning. What is it you aren¡¯t telling me?¡±

    ¡°The double colors, the silver and white, mean this sorcerer is a storm wielder¡­and I would be very foolish to ignore his or her call.¡±

    ¡°You can be called?¡± the boy was horrified, but also fascinated by the idea. ¡°How does that work?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s part of the binding,¡± Grunwol told him. He touched the bandages. ¡°I chose between death or enslavement and making a promise to creatures I didn¡¯t know.¡±

    The boy¡¯s eyes grew round, and Grunwol continued.

    ¡°They mixed their blood with mine by dripping it into the wound over my heart, and took my true name and whatever else was revealed by drinking from my wrist.¡±

    ¡°But blood magic is¡­¡± Varan¡¯s face showed his revulsion, and Grunwol felt the faint surge of his own brutal response to such things, shadow his expression. He caught Alessia¡¯s look of concern, and ignored it, focusing on the boy.

    ¡°It¡¯s forbidden for a reason,¡± he told the child, ¡°But understand this, the way a pact is made means that each one of them can call on me, once, to defend them, or their proxy, and I cannot hide from them because of the blood link. Nor can I refuse their request.¡±

    ¡°Then how come you did it?¡± the child asked, and Grunwol closed his eyes, his face coloring at the memory.

    ¡°I was caught, and it was the price of them letting me go.¡±

    ¡°In the sewers?¡± the boy asked, too bright-eyed for his own good.

    ¡°How did you know that?¡± Grunwol asked.

    ¡°Your clothes,¡± the child replied. ¡°They reeked.¡±

    Alessia rested her forehead in her hand, and Grunwol got the impression she was laughing. When she lifted her face, however, there was no sign of mirth.

    ¡°The circle?¡± the boy asked. ¡°The one edged in silver?¡±

    ¡°The circle,¡± Grunwol replied, ¡°represents an entire tribe or enclave, depending on who you pledged to. I know her true name, but not her position in the enclave.¡±

    He looked into the boy¡¯s eager face, trying to think of something else to add.

    ¡°I think¡­ No, I know she is of the ruling line, but that is all.¡±

    ¡°I can try to discover more.¡± The child turned eager eyes to his mistress, and she sighed.

    ¡°I¡¯ll consider it,¡± she told him, stilling his exuberant bounce with an upraised hand, ¡°but you must go back to bed and sleep, first. Can you?¡±

    ¡°Yes, mistress,¡± the boy replied, bouncing to his feet. ¡°I¡¯ll sleep so I can be up early to begin my search.¡±

    He left the room before Alessia could reply, and the wizardess shook her head.

    ¡°New apprentice?¡± Grunwol asked, and she nodded.

    ¡°His parents were beside themselves, and asked if I¡¯d take him so he didn¡¯t burn down the cottage by mistake.¡± Her face clouded. ¡°They¡¯re not willing to see him, and he doesn¡¯t understand, but the girls have adopted him, and I try to make him understand he¡¯s welcome¡­¡±

    She shrugged.

    ¡°He is talented, and people are¡­¡± She sighed.

    ¡°I understand,¡± Grunwol told her, and he did. He¡¯d seen the kinds of prejudices brought against those with unusual talents¡­especially when they manifested them so young. ¡°It¡¯s a shame.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t fix it,¡± she answered. ¡°I can only give him a place to belong.¡±

    Grunwol nodded. It was one of the things he liked about her. Some days he thought she was too gentle to be a wizardess.

    Changing the subject, he asked, ¡°Have you found Roamer?¡±

    She shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m still working on it. Do you have a retrieval team in mind?¡±

    ¡°Brianda, Mika and Aral,¡± Grunwol told her, although he knew the names would mean nothing to her. ¡°And me and¡ª¡±

    ¡°Certainly not!¡± Alessia snapped. ¡°You¡¯d be a liability.¡±

    ¡°Regardless, I¡¯m going,¡± Grunwol stated firmly. ¡°It is my mistake and my honor.¡±

    Alessia opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again. She knew better than to argue points of honor. It was one of the few things he refused to discuss.

    ¡°What debt did you promise?¡± she asked, changing the subject.

    ¡°Blood and iron,¡± he admitted, and she swore.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Grunwol agreed, closing his eyes, once more.

    ¡°And you made this pact with the garitzik and the shadow fey?¡± she asked, her face showing what she thought of the sheer stupidity of his choice.

    ¡°Roamer went after the Tillerman,¡± Grunwol told her. ¡°The Tillerman has hired the shadow fey and the garitzik to guard the underdocks.¡±

    ¡°And they caught you,¡± she stated, not needing his nod to confirm it, ¡°and you had no other option.¡±

    ¡°I had a blade across each kidney, a gargoyle in front of me its claws around my throat,¡± he admitted. ¡°Options were limited.¡±

    ¡°But¡­the garitzik AND the shadow fey?¡±

    Grunwol blew out a breath.

    ¡°Worse,¡± he told her, ¡°those from the Land of Sorrowing Ice.¡±

    He turned grief-stricken eyes to her.

    ¡°I cannot return, Alessia¡­¡±

    His voice caught as she moved to his side, and he couldn¡¯t tell if it was from the sudden pain that screamed across his muscles, or the deeper pain that surfaced whenever he thought of his homeland.

    ¡°Lie down,¡± she soothed. ¡°We¡¯ll work something out.¡±

    Grunwol let her assist him, shaking his head at her suggestion. They both paused when the door to Alessia¡¯s quarters opened and a solidly built woman stepped through.

    ¡°You will go when you are called,¡± the woman stated, her eyes catching Grunwol¡¯s, her voice full of command, as the door opened, ¡°and you will speak no more of this debt¡ªespecially not to your guildmaster and friend.¡±

    ¡°Dart!¡± Alessia exclaimed, and the woman turned her gaze to the wizardess.

    ¡°Like you, wizardess, I work for those who pay me¡ªand that is the message I was told to deliver.¡±

    Grunwol closed his eyes, his heart sinking as he did so.

    ¡°Did they say aught else?¡± he asked.

    ¡°No,¡± Dart replied. ¡°That was the message in full.¡±

    ¡°Then why are you still here?¡± Alessia asked. ¡°If you have delivered your message?¡±

    This time the woman smiled.

    ¡°I know where Roamer is being held¡­and he is a friend of mine as much as yours.¡±

    Grunwol stirred, trying to sit up and failing. Alessia crouched beside him and rested her palm in the center of his chest, looking askance at the shadow lady.

    ¡°He needs to rest, Dart.¡±

    The woman looked over at Grunwol, her gaze taking in his face, bandaged chest and strapped arm. The intensity of her gaze made his mouth go dry and he tried to moisten it.

    ¡°Dart¡­¡± he croaked, trying to catch her eyes, but she avoided him, and he knew she saw the pallor of his skin and the sweat beading his forehead, knew she would side with the wizardess.

    Her eyes reminded him of the tilled earth in summer¡­but held less warmth.

    ¡°Dart¡­¡± he began, again, but before he got any further, she¡¯d finished her assessment and decided her next course of action. She moved with all the speed and emotion of a striking snake. As he raised his hand in protest, she stepped back from the pallet, drawing and throwing the dart before he could find the words to ask her not to.

    ¡°Sleep,¡± she instructed, then swore, turning to Alessia. ¡°I forgot to ask who the guild would send.¡±

    Grunwol stopped fighting the wave of dark coming from the dart, when the wizardess replied, ¡°Brianda, Mika and Aral.¡±

 10éˆ¥æ“rianda, Mika and Aral

    As Grunwol sank into oblivion, Brianda woke with a pillow pressing down on her face. She did not think, couldn¡¯t draw the breath she needed, so she struck out.

    Her fist struck nothing, but she registered a weight on her chest. It shifted, rocking forward to apply more pressure to the pillow. Brianda tried to breathe, and choked on feathers, dust and cloth. Her hands sought the pillow¡¯s edge, and curled around it, before she tried to push it off her face.

    Her sudden upward push caught her attacker by surprise, but they recovered quickly, the weight on her chest shifting, then crashing back down. The pillow was pressed more tightly over her head. Gray dots flitted in front of her face, and her lungs screamed for air.

    Panic started to rise, and she slammed a foot against the wall beside the bed pushing herself sideways off the mattress, and taking her attacker with her. He grunted, and tried to force her back, but it was too late. Brianda¡¯s roll took them to the floor, and the pillow came away from her face.

    She caught a glimpse of the man above her, and recognized him as one of the shadows who¡¯d attacked her earlier. This one she¡¯d thrown a dagger at and seen fall.

    What in all the hells? she thought. Since when does the guild attack its own? Is this another test?

    It has to be, she decided, as she kicked free of her attacker and rolled to her feet. Pivoting she watched him untangle himself from the pillow and blanket that had followed them to the floor, taking note of the room around them as she did so.

    It was little more than a sleeping cell containing three beds, one on each of three walls, with lockers on either side of the door that centered the fourth. One of the remaining beds was occupied, the figure on it awake, but not moving to interfere. A bronze medallion hung free of his shirt, identifying him as a member of the guild.

    Her opponent rolled free of the blanket and pushed the pillow away¡­and still the man on the bed didn¡¯t move. He just watched, his face interested but not enough to interfere.

    So much for loyalty amongst thieves, Brianda thought, deciding to take the fight to her opponent before he could regain his feet. Her fist caught him on the side of the head and her knee slammed into his chest, knocking him onto his back.

    Brianda followed him down, landing hard on his chest and knocking the wind from his lungs. He tried to roll to the top, but she punched him again. Instead of trying to roll free a second time, he tried a different approach, jack-knifing his legs over her head and crossing his ankles under her chin to pull her back.

    Trying to keep her pinned, he slid sideways, only to have her slam a booted foot into the side of his head, and roll to the side. She¡¯d intended to get some distance, but as she came to her feet, she came face to face with a solidly built man wearing simple leather armor over a plain gray tunic.

    He looked her up and down, glancing past her as her opponent scrambled from the floor. Brianda heard the sound and half turned, preparing to defend herself.

    ¡°I think you¡¯ve done enough.¡± The authority in the newcomer¡¯s tone was enough for Brianda and her opponent to still. Seeing he had their attention, the newcomer turned his attention to Brianda¡¯s attacker. ¡°Well, Mika, I take it she meets with your approval?¡±

    The man on the bunk choked back a laugh, earning himself a quick disapproving stare.

    ¡°Mika?¡± the newcomer asked, his tone demanding his answer.

    Her opponent gave a reluctant nod. ¡°Yes, Druurnal.¡±

    His expression said otherwise, but the guildsman nodded, becoming businesslike. His gaze swept the three of them.

    ¡°I need the three of you to¡­¡±

    There was a flurry of movement behind Brianda, and she stepped quickly to the side, dropping her hand to catch the wrist of the man who¡¯d watched the fight. At the same time, she slammed her foot into his instep, twisted his hand and shook the dagger in it to the floor.

    Druurnal gave an impatient sigh.

    ¡°Now that that¡¯s out of your systems,¡± he declared in a tone that said it had better be. ¡°Aral¡­¡±

    ¡°She¡¯ll do,¡± the man admitted, and Brianda let him go.

    As he moved to stand beside her, Druurnal glanced toward the door.

    ¡°Ghost, you can come in, now.¡±

    Brianda didn¡¯t know what she¡¯d expected, but the small-framed, poorly dressed waif that entered the cell wasn¡¯t it.

    A street urchin? Now what¡­

    ¡°Ghost will guide you to the client,¡± Druurnal continued. ¡°She knows the fastest route¡­and will take you past the Watch and Kingsmen on the way.¡±

    ¡°Kingsmen?¡± Aral turned pale. ¡°They¡¯re out?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re out,¡± Druurnal confirmed, ¡°and I don¡¯t want to lose this commission. Do as she says.¡±

    ¡°But¡­she¡¯s a child!¡±

    ¡°And one of my best scouts,¡± Druurnal retorted. ¡°You will do as she says, understood?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Master Dru,¡± Aral acknowledged, and Mika echoed him.

    Neither looked happy about it.

    Druurnal handed Brianda a bronze disc.

    ¡°Don¡¯t lose it,¡± he instructed. ¡°It¡¯ll get you out of trouble when you most need it.¡±

    Somehow Brianda doubted it, but she slid the disc into her coin pouch just the same.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

    Druurnal cast an eye over each of them, then nodded.

    ¡°You¡¯ll do,¡± he decided, and left, moving with the grace of a dancer and the silence of a mouse.

    Brianda looked at the girl. The child met her gaze, her gray eyes curious and assessing, then she looked over the other two and nodded.

    ¡°Come,¡± she ordered, pivoting to take them into the corridor after Druurnal.

    At first she seemed to be following the guildsman, but then she took a side corridor and led them back to a familiar, open space. Brianda recognized the giant of a man occupying it as soon as he turned his silvered head toward them.

    She remembered him throwing her across the room¡­and with good reason. He made the Northman look small in comparison.

    ¡°Master Agar,¡± Ghost greeted the guildsman. ¡°Master Druurnal sent me.¡±

    The giant nodded, leaning down to unbolt the trapdoor and lift it from the floor. He laid a hand on the child¡¯s shoulder as she went to descend.

    ¡°He says you are to return by the night hatch as soon as you are done,¡± he told her.

    She gave him a brisk nod by way of reply, and dropped lightly down the ladder and into the dark. Brianda, Mika and Aral followed in silence. Aral pulled a small lantern from inside the folds of his cloak, but Ghost¡¯s small hand settled over his before he could light it.

    ¡°I have these,¡± she told him, pulling three masks from her belt. ¡°They will help you see.¡±

    Brianda pulled hers over her face and discovered the child was telling the truth. As soon as the mask had settled, she found she could see.

    ¡°No speaking,¡± the girl instructed, and trotted down the tunnel.

    Brianda followed, aware of the two guildsmen trotting along behind her.

    Their trip through the maintenance tunnels and sewers beneath Deverath was swift and brief¡­and silent. None of them spoke, least of all their tiny guide.

    She used hand gestures to direct them, leading them back to the city proper via a grate hidden between two close-set buildings. Brianda wondered what the client would say to the faint stench that clung to their clothes, and watched as Ghost refused Mika¡¯s help to replace the grate.

    Brianda guessed the girl had an independent streak a mile wide, but kept silent as Ghost led them to the end of the alley. They were about to emerge, when they caught the sound of quiet footsteps moving in unison down the street.

    Pulling back into the shadows, they saw a group of five men walk quickly down the street and up the stairs to the house opposite. Secure in their hiding place, the guildsmen watched as its leader knocked.

    A well-built young woman opened the door, her blonde plait circling her head like a crown.

    ¡°Can I help you?¡± she asked, her gaze taking in the five men on her doorstep.

    ¡°We wish to speak with the wizardess,¡± their leader stated.

    The girl opened her mouth to reply, only to be cut short.

    ¡°Immediately,¡± he snapped. ¡°The matter is quite urgent.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll see if she¡¯s available,¡± the girl replied, and went to shut the door.

    The leader thrust out a hand, slamming his palm into it and shoving it back as he moved in.

    ¡°Wait!¡± the girl cried, but they brushed past her, moving into the hallway and out of sight.

    When the last of them had closed the door behind them, Ghost looked back at her three charges.

    ¡°That¡¯s where I¡¯m supposed to take you,¡± she whispered. ¡°We¡¯ll have to wait.¡±

    She settled herself against the wall, not taking her eyes off their destination. Brianda, Mika and Aral followed her example. They¡¯d barely made themselves comfortable, when the deliberate scuff of footsteps sounded briefly in the alley behind them.

    Mika and Aral pivoted, drawing their daggers, and Brianda followed suit.

    ¡°Well met,¡± the shadow replied, a match flaring briefly to light her face.

    Mika and Aral hastily sheathed their weapons.

    ¡°Lady Dart,¡± Mika murmured, glancing back and closing his hand over Brianda¡¯s.

    Pushing her blade down, he added, ¡°She¡¯s a¡­a friend.¡±

    Brianda blinked.

    I just bet she is, she thought, sheathing her dagger, but not taking her eyes from the dark-clad shadow behind them.

    ¡°Ghost,¡± the woman drew their guide¡¯s attention, her voice commanding despite its softness. ¡°Change of orders. You are to stay with me.¡±

    She pivoted.

    ¡°Follow.¡±

    Instead of returning to the front door, Dart led the four of them along the narrow passage between buildings, stopping at a door hidden by shadows. Saying nothing, she led them through, motioning for them to go past until she¡¯d secured the portal behind them.

    A short journey through another narrow corridor and then out a rear door into a kitchen garden took them to a night-cart alley. Dart checked to see the street was clear, then took them through several more until they reached a set of stairs leading to an upper floor.

    Silently, they led them, moving through an extended attic, until they reached a trapdoor.

    ¡°Quietly, now,¡± Dart ordered. ¡°Sound travels.¡±

    She lowered herself through the trapdoor, then turned to assist Ghost, ignoring the girl¡¯s scowl.

    Like we didn¡¯t know that, Brianda thought, as she followed the child.

    She dropped onto a desk their guide had just vacated, and hopped lightly to the floor, just as Mika came through behind her. As she turned to survey the room, she saw a second reason they needed silence.

    The Northman was stretched out on a pallet at the foot of one wall.

    ¡°Don¡¯t wake Grunwol,¡± the shadow woman instructed, and they froze as the Northman stirred.

    He didn¡¯t wake, though, and they breathed soft sighs of relief as he settled into a deeper sleep.

    Dart gestured for them to find a place along another wall.

    ¡°We¡¯ll wait here,¡± she stated, ¡°and we¡¯ll listen to what¡¯s going on below.¡±

    Touching a panel on the wall beside her, she laid a finger to her lips and settled beside the small square hole that had appeared at her touch.

    Voices drifted through it, one of them belonging to the man who¡¯d demanded to see the wizardess.

    ¡°You could say it means a life to me,¡± he was saying.

    ¡°If it¡¯s so important, why not go to the guild?¡± a woman¡¯s voice answered.

    Brianda didn¡¯t recognize it, but she guessed it belonged to the wizardess they¡¯d been meant to see.

    ¡°The guild would compromise me,¡± he snapped, scowling. ¡°Do you want the assignment or not?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll take it,¡± the woman replied. ¡°I¡¯ll make the retrieval and return it¡­¡±

    She paused, clearly inviting him to finish the sentence.

    ¡°To the Foxhound Inn, tomorrow even at sunset,¡± he finished smoothly.¡±

    ¡°Agreed,¡± the woman replied. ¡°If you¡¯d continue.¡±

    There was a snap, like someone had clicked their fingers, then silence followed.

    Brianda strained to hear any sound that might give her a clue as to what was happening below, but none came. Finally, her visitor spoke.

    ¡°Show the lady what it is I want her to fetch,¡± he ordered.

    Cloth rustled and a soft clunk followed, and Brianda held her breath.

    ¡°Look into the mirror,¡± the male voice instructed.

    More cloth rustled, and he added, ¡°Keep watching.¡±

    ¡°Very well,¡± the woman replied, after a brief pause, ¡°but, for this, I will require half the payment up front.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± her guest replied smoothly, and another snap of fingers followed.

    ¡°The down-payment,¡± he ordered.

    Footsteps answered and coins jangled.

    ¡°Two hundred and fifty gold,¡± he told her, and the coins jangled again.

    They rattled onto a wooden surface, and then were slid. Brianda recognized the sound of them being stacked as they were counted.

    ¡°And?¡± the man asked a short moment later.

    The coins jangled, and it sounded like they were being pushed back into their bag.

    ¡°I need one thing more,¡± the woman told him.

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Permission to hire what help I need, and your name.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s two things,¡± her guest pointed out, but it sounded like he was smiling, ¡°but I¡¯ll grant them. I am known as the Tillerman, a fact you are forbidden to share¡­and you can hire whomever you please as long as you¡ªand they¡ªare discreet.¡±

    ¡°You know my reputation,¡± the woman replied shortly.

    ¡°Indeed,¡± the Tillerman replied, as a chair scraped back, ¡°and that is why I¡¯m here and nowhere else.¡±

    Footsteps sounded on the floor below, and the Tillerman spoke again.

    ¡°Until tomorrow,¡± he stated, ¡°at the Foxhound Inn.¡±

    ¡°Until tomorrow,¡± the woman agreed.

    As the sound of footsteps receded, Dart touched the panel beside her and it slid closed, cutting off all sound from below.

    ¡°She¡¯ll be here, shortly,¡± she told them, and they waited quietly, until the study door slid open.

    The Northman slept through it all.

 11éˆ¥æ“§artenderéˆ¥æªš Plot

    Raomar woke to someone whistling Pithonan¡¯s Death March. The tune danced down the corridor outside his cell, echoing off the walls to create a dissonant chorus. Beside him, Broderick woke with a gasp.

    The lordling sat bolt upright as the footsteps accompanying the tune halted outside their cell door. Raomar laid a hand on the young man¡¯s shoulder.

    ¡°Open it,¡± the duke ordered.

    ¡°Stay still,¡± Raomar murmured, tightening his grip.

    With a sudden surge of pity, he saw the boy nod, and felt him lay an uncertain hand over his own. The shutter covering the window in the door was drawn back and the duke peered in.

    ¡°Touching,¡± he sneered, when he saw them. His gaze shifted to Raomar. ¡°You¡¯re just lucky he can¡¯t see what you really are.¡±

    Broderick froze, slowly lifting his hand away from Raomar¡¯s fingers. The lordling struggled to his feet, accepting Raomar¡¯s help without flinching, and the guildmaster felt his nerves ease. The duke turned his attention to the boy.

    ¡°Greetings, young Chandera,¡± he gloated.

    Broderick swallowed hard, his voice rough as he replied.

    ¡°Your lordship.¡±

    Raomar shifted so his arm lay across the back of the boy¡¯s shoulders, keeping a firm hold on him. The duke could take the gesture any way he wanted, but Raomar didn¡¯t want the boy trying anything rash.

    The door opened, and Broderick tensed. Raomar tightened his grip. The boy might be blind, but he could see the crossbows held by the guard. Both were trained on them as the duke entered the cell, his guards following.

    Broderick turned his head as though listening to them position themselves in two different corners of the cell, but he didn¡¯t move. Raomar wished he was armed. It was hard to stay in one place with three predators in the room.

    Another two guards stood in the corridor, their crossbows at the ready.

    Duke Hartender moved across the cell to come to a halt before them. He studied them as though they made an interesting pair, but his attention was all for the boy.

    ¡°Did you know your days as the new lord of Criochole are numbered?¡± he began in a conversational tone.

    Raomar felt the young lord tense, but Broderick stood where he was.

    ¡°H¡­How so?¡± he managed, clearing his throat when the words stuck.

    ¡°The king has promised them to me,¡± Hartender purred, and this time, Broderick did step out from under Raomar¡¯s arm.

    ¡°He what?¡± the lordling exclaimed.

    Raomar tightened his grip on the boy¡¯s shoulder, pulling him back, but the boy jerked short and resisted, so Raomar stepped up beside him.

    ¡°It¡¯s all to do with the papers your father lost,¡± Hartender said, as though neither of them had moved.

    Raomar eased them back a pace, watching the crossbows pointed in their direction. Both guards were a hairs-breadth of firing.

    ¡°Papers?¡± Broderick¡¯s puzzlement sounded in that single word. ¡°What papers?¡±

    ¡°Correspondence between your father and the former king of Deverath,¡± Hartender informed him smoothly. ¡°Proof of his treachery.¡±

    ¡°What king?¡± Broderick asked. ¡°What treachery?¡±

    Hartender tutted pityingly.

    ¡°They sheltered you?¡± he asked. ¡°Kept the truth from you?¡±

    Broderick frowned.

    ¡°We were robbed a week or so back,¡± he admitted, ¡°and father was upset, but¡­papers?¡±

    ¡°Promises of fealty to the old king if he returned, and a contract for safe passage through the Coilteandohm,¡± Hartender informed him. ¡°A guide.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯d never!¡± Broderick protested. ¡°Those paths are sacred!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you mean secret, boy?¡± Hartender sneered.

    ¡°They are both!¡± the lordling declared, adding in softer tones, ¡°He wouldn¡¯t¡­¡±

    ¡°But he did,¡± Hartender informed him. ¡°Why do you think he had to leave so suddenly? Why do you think he left in the dead of night while your older sister was away?¡±Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    ¡°But¡­¡± Broderick began.

    Hartender ignored him.

    ¡°What do you think they¡¯re going to do to you, as the ruler of a land that¡¯s handed itself to the king¡¯s enemies?¡±

    Broderick¡¯s jaw dropped and Raomar felt the youngster tremble under his hand.

    ¡°Who?¡± he asked, although Raomar was sure the lordling had guessed.

    ¡°Who?¡± Joseph mocked. ¡°Why the king and his council, of course.¡±

    Broderick tensed, and Hartender leaned forward, his presence warming the space between them.

    ¡°I¡¯ve heard the king approves of live ¡®entertainment¡¯,¡± the duke said, dropping his tone to one of smug confidentiality, ¡°or perhaps you¡¯ll be put up for auction at court.¡±

    He ran a finger along the boy¡¯s lower jaw.

    ¡°I like a bit of variety. If that happens, I might even make a bid.¡±

    Broderick gasped, and the duke chuckled, wrapping a hand around the back of the young man¡¯s neck and resting his forehead against Broderick¡¯s. His voice dropped to a murmur.

    ¡°Of course, if you¡¯re especially fortunate,¡± he continued, ¡°our good king might even allow you to take part in the worship of his god.¡±

    He let go of the boy¡¯s neck and took a step back.

    ¡°I¡¯ve heard both the living and the dead serve at his altar.¡±

    ¡°No!¡± Broderick twisted out Raomar¡¯s grasp, lunging towards the duke¡¯s taunting voice.

    Hartender sidestepped his clumsy grasp, raising a hand to still the crossbowmen¡¯s aim.

    ¡°Don¡¯t shoot him,¡± he ordered, and both guards stepped back, setting their bows on the floor and resting their hands on the hilts of their swords.

    Broderick stumbled forward, but when Raomar moved to go after him, the two guards stepped between them, and a third, crossbow cocked, entered the cell.

    ¡°Back it up!¡± one of the guards snapped, and Raomar glanced at him.

    As soon as he did, the man drew his blade.

    ¡°I said, ¡®back it up,¡¯¡± he repeated, his voice as hard as the look in his eyes.

    Raomar didn¡¯t argue. He knew a killer when he saw one. The gray streaking the man¡¯s light brown hair and the wrinkles creasing his face didn¡¯t fool him for a second.

    Unarmed, and faced with a seasoned fighter, Raomar took two steps back.

    ¡°Hands up,¡± the crossbowman rasped. ¡°Slow as slow.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s all true, boy,¡± Hartender gloated, goading the young lord. ¡°He serves a dark power, does our king.¡±

    ¡°No!¡± Again, Broderick lunged.

    This time, Hartender sidestepped and then swept the young man¡¯s feet out from under him. Broderick hit the ground hard and rolled. Raomar tensed, but the gray-haired guard tutted, and stepped in toward him.

    Raomar took a step back, not surprised by the rough hand that seized the cloth of his tunic and propelled him back against the wall. He hit with enough force to have the breath knocked from his lungs.

    The guard¡¯s hand remained in the center of his chest, pinning him in place, and the tip of his blade was set to the base of Raomar¡¯s throat.

    ¡°Don¡¯t move,¡± he growled, and Raomar froze.

    The look in the man¡¯s eye said he wanted an excuse to drive his blade home¡­his master¡¯s wishes aside. Raomar didn¡¯t want to give him any reason. He wanted¡­no¡­needed to know what was going on here.

    Enshul would want to know.

    The king worshipping a dark power? It was the first he¡¯d heard of it, and his information network was extensive. He wondered what Dart would make of it.

    Movement caught his eye as the lordling staggered to his feet.

    ¡°It¡¯s not true,¡± the young man rasped, and Hartender snickered.

    ¡°Believe it,¡± he whispered, holding his ground as the lordling pivoted toward him.

    ¡°No,¡± Broderick protested. ¡°The king wouldn¡¯t¡­j¡­just as my father wouldn¡¯t¡­¡±

    He swung a fist in the duke¡¯s general direction, only to have Hartender slap it aside and step in to drive his own fist into the lordling¡¯s gut. Broderick doubled over and the duke brought a fist down between the young man¡¯s shoulder blades.

    Broderick hit the floor, breathing hard. He tried to get his feet under him, but the Duke¡¯s boot caught him under the ribs, lifting and tossing him back to the flags.

    Raomar drew a sharp breath, but the guard¡¯s hand tightened and the blade stung as it broke skin, so he stilled. The look on the guard¡¯s face was a mix of victory and disappointment.

    Broderick¡¯s breath rasped as he struggled to get it back, but the duke was already moving to where Raomar was pinned.

    ¡°Believe it, Chandera,¡± he gloated, pausing as he came to a halt behind the guard. He chuckled. ¡°I look forward to seeing you serve the king¡­be it living or undead.¡±

    The way he said it suggested he¡¯d rather see the latter, but his smile faded as he tapped his guard on the shoulder. The man let go of Raomar¡¯s tunic and stepped away, but he kept his sword drawn, ready to defend his duke, if it was required.

    Raomar knew how that would end, so he stayed exactly where he was. When Hartender reached out and gripped his jaw, turning it to get a better look at his face, Raomar didn¡¯t resist. The man seemed completely unperturbed at having a kevarag up close.

    In fact, he seemed to relish the idea of having one of the legendary ¡®beast¡¯ elves in his power.

    ¡°And you, my cat-eyed friend,¡± the duke declared, ¡°are going to tell me exactly who you are and where we really met.¡±

    He stared into Raomar¡¯s eyes, not pleased when Raomar met him stare for stare.

    ¡°And if I don¡¯t like what I hear, I¡¯ll gut you for the fishes,¡± he added, returning Raomar¡¯s answering sneer with a grimace of his own.

    His fingers tightened on the guildmaster¡¯ jaw, before he gave it a shake and let go.

    Raomar noted the way the duke reversed away from him, before turning his back to leave and felt a short-lived satisfaction. As much as he tried to show he wasn¡¯t afraid, the duke still didn¡¯t feel safe enough to turn his back until he was out of range.

    He watched the man go, not shifting from the wall until all three guards had left the cell.

    The gray-haired killer went last, pointing the tip of his blade in Raomar¡¯s direction as he left. It was both threat and promise, and Raomar did his best to look like he hadn¡¯t seen it.

    Their gazes met as the man pulled the cell door closed, and they both knew he had. the guard¡¯s lips twitched in grim satisfaction, as the guildmaster tried to keep all expression from his face. If he got out of the duke¡¯s prison, Raomar swore, he was going to go hunting.

    Raomar stayed against the wall until he heard the bolts slide home and a key rattle in the lock between them. Only then did he cross to where the young lord was huddled on the floor.

    Broderick flinched when he laid a hand on his arm.

    ¡°It¡¯s not true,¡± the lordling whispered, more for his own than Raomar¡¯s benefit. ¡°It¡¯s not. My father would never¡­¡±

    His breath caught.

    ¡°It¡¯s not true.¡±

    That last came out as more a plea than a declaration and Raomar patted his shoulder. He didn¡¯t ask the boy why, if it wasn¡¯t true, his father had left the city in the dead of night, aboard a ship that concealed its name.

    Instead, he said, ¡°Why did you stay behind?¡±

    ¡°Because someone has to make sure Kel knows,¡± he replied, ¡°and I promised.¡±

 12éˆ¥æ“±etrieval and Reconnaissance

    Above them, over a city long asleep, the moon slid past its zenith. As Raomar helped Broderick back to his mattress, five figures slipped through a stone gate hidden in a garden wall. Avoiding the moonlight, they kept to the shadows and blended swiftly with the dark.

    The gate closed noiselessly in their wake, but none of them looked back. They moved quickly across the street and down an alley, following Ghost as she led them into the nobles¡¯ quarter.

    ¡°We¡¯d be better off taking the tunnels,¡± Mika had argued, only to go silent when Alessia pointed to Grunwol.

    ¡°Where d¡¯you think he was to get himself in such a state?¡± she demanded, and the thief¡¯s eyes had narrowed.

    ¡°You don¡¯t know that,¡± he began, but Alessia had arched an eyebrow.

    ¡°Know that for a fact, do you?¡± she demanded, and Mika had flushed.

    It was one thing to argue with the wizardess, quite another to call her a liar to her face. He subsided, casting a contemplative glance at the sleeping Northman.

    ¡°No, miss,¡± he admitted.

    Alessia studied him until he shook his head.

    ¡°We¡¯ll go your way to be sure.¡±

    Giving him a brisk nod, Alessia had turned to Aral.

    ¡°And you?¡± she¡¯d demanded, her voice harsh. ¡°Any objections?¡±

    Aral shook his head.

    ¡°No, ma¡¯am. Street says you know what you¡¯re about and that you take care of thems as takes care of you.¡± He met her eye. ¡°I¡¯m good with that.¡±

    Brianda waited for the wizardess to decide, relaxing when the woman didn¡¯t demand an answer from her. When Alessia had run one final gimlet glance over them, and then signaled them to the door, she¡¯d breathed a quiet sigh of relief and followed.

    She¡¯d led them swiftly from her garden and had one of her apprentices close the gate behind them, before gesturing for Ghost to take the lead.

    ¡°As quick as you can without us being observed,¡± she¡¯d instructed the child, and Ghost had nodded.

    ¡°Quickly now,¡± the girl instructed, ¡°and quiet.¡±

    As if they needed to be told. No one pointed that out to the child, and Brianda stifled a smile as they hurried into the dark. It took them around a half turn of the hour glass to reach the solid stone wall surrounding Joseph Hartender¡¯s garden.

    Mika trotted up to the wall¡¯s edge, tilting his head as he scanned it for a way to reach the top. In the end, he turned to Aral.

    ¡°You¡¯ll need to boost me,¡± he said shortly, and Aral had nodded.

    ¡°No,¡± Alessia said, her soft voice making them freeze. ¡°I¡¯ll teleport you in.¡±

    Mika gave her a disbelieving look.

    ¡°Why? It¡¯ll be simple enough to climb over, and you won¡¯t tap your reserves for whatever¡¯s waiting inside.¡±

    ¡°Sophriel reveals all,¡± the wizardess replied, curling her hand in a short sweeping motion.

    Gold light shimmered, revealing sigils along the wall¡¯s top.

    ¡°And she shows us the dangers,¡± Alessia added, drawing her hand down in a straight line.

    Red light limned the symbols in scarlet and marred the gold.

    Mika arched an eyebrow.

    ¡°So?¡±

    Alessia indicated the first ward.

    ¡°That one will send a jolt of lightning through you that will sear your skin and turn your muscles to jelly.¡± She pointed to another. ¡°And that one¡­¡±

    She shivered, her brow furrowing in puzzlement.

    ¡°Why would a nobleman have with one of these?¡±

    ¡°Your point?¡± Mika demanded.

    ¡°Well, that one will melt whatever part of you is touching the wall, but it will set off the lightning to immobilize you as well¡­and that one will freeze your mind, and it¡¯s linked to an alarm that will bring the house guards to your location.¡±

    She shrugged.

    ¡°It makes sense they¡¯d want to capture and question anyone trying to infiltrate their private grounds.¡±

    Mika paled.

    ¡°When you say ¡®melt¡¯¡­¡± he began, and Alessia turned to him.

    ¡°I mean your flesh will run like the wax of a candle before crisping like crackling on a roast.¡±

    He gulped.

    ¡°So¡­you¡¯ll teleport us?¡±

    Alessia nodded.

    ¡°I knew he had some defenses,¡± she told the man. Her frown grew deeper. ¡°But I didn¡¯t know they were of this caliber until I saw them.¡±

    ¡°Tell us what you need,¡± he said, and she gestured them back into the shadows.

    ¡°I¡¯ll take the new girl and Ghost, first,¡± the wizardess surprised Brianda by saying. ¡°Once they¡¯re in, they can wait in cover while I bring the rest of you.¡±

    Brianda swallowed hard. She didn¡¯t tell the wizardess that magical transportation usually left her queasy¡­and Alessia didn¡¯t ask. Instead, the wizardess grasped her and Ghost by the wrists and spoke three short syllables.

    The world wavered and the street disappeared. Brianda closed her eyes, and kept them closed until she felt solid ground beneath her feet, once more. She was surprised to find herself clear-headed and calm-stomached, and breathed a soft sigh of relief.

    Looking around, she saw they no longer stood in the street, but beside a white-marble fountain shaped like a unicorn. A walled pool surrounded it, and a half dozen tiny lamps left their reflections at the unicorn¡¯s feet.

    Their shimmer gave the water a sense of movement, and made the fountain seem almost alive. The longer she looked at it, the more likely it seemed that the creature would leap from amongst the blooming lilies and gallop around the garden.

    Fish darted around its feet, drawing Brianda in¡­and with an effort she lifted her gaze and looked for somewhere to hide.

    ¡°Wait here,¡± Alessia ordered, as Brianda¡¯s gaze fell on the deep shadows cast by a cluster of tall ferns. ¡°I¡¯ll fetch the others.¡±

    Brianda nodded, moving swiftly to crouch among the ferns. She saw the wizardess glance toward her hiding place as though making sure she was out of sight, before turning to her spell. Her voice whispered in a few short syllables and her hands divided the air before her¡­and then she disappeared.

    When the garden was quiet again, Brianda looked for Ghost, but did not see her. Taking a long breath in, Brianda settled down to wait.

    The ground beneath her was soft and dry, and the scent of the crushed leaves reminded her of the bracken beds she and her master had made on their journey to Toramar and its capital, Deverath.

    The memory brought a lump to her throat, because it was swiftly followed by that of her master¡¯s death. Dying when she¡¯d found him, he¡¯d taken the time to comfort her, before sending her away and buying her the time to escape. He hadn¡¯t blamed her for his demise.

    He¡¯d been kind, in his own way, and that kindness¡­

    Brianda pushed the thought away. Now, was not the time to grieve¡­and she didn¡¯t know when she¡¯d be safe enough for memory. Pushing the bare whisper of her master¡¯s last words back to the shadows, she focused on the place from which she¡¯d seen Alessia vanish.

    It remained empty for a few heartbeats longer, and then the air shimmered, the syllables of the wizardess¡¯s spell easing through the garden. Mika and Aral reappeared with her, and Brianda noted the discomfort on the two thieves¡¯ faces.

    Both looked unnerved, and Brianda guessed this was their first time working so closely with a mage. She moved to the edge of the ferns, her sudden appearance making them reach for their weapons.

    ¡°We¡¯ll go through, there,¡± Alessia said, ignoring the two men as they sank shakily to their haunches.

    Brianda lifted her head to follow the direction of her finger, and saw a solid wooden door tucked in the stonework of the mansion. A large window was set alongside it, criss-crossed with ironwork that was more functional than it appeared.

    ¡°You sure?¡± Mika asked, warily eyeing the window and door.

    Alessia gave him a curious look.

    ¡°Who would guard entrances to a private garden already kept safe by warded walls and guards?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Rich men like the duke,¡± Mika pointed out. ¡°They¡¯re perpetually paranoid. Who knows what lengths they¡¯ll go to?¡±

    ¡°They say the duke knows a little magic,¡± Aral pointed out softly, moving to the edge of the path and into the shadows. ¡°Maybe he has a more subtle means of protecting his gardens¡­¡±

    Brianda found herself nodding in agreement, but Alessia gave them an impatient look.

    ¡°While I appreciate your caution,¡± she told them, ¡°We don¡¯t have time for nerves. Come.¡±

    And so saying, she strode quickly toward the door.

    ¡°Could you at least check for wards?¡± Mika whined, and her lip curled with impatience.

    ¡°Sophriel reveals all,¡± she murmured, flicking her fingers toward her goal.

    Brianda followed the motion, and glanced again at the entry. No gold gleamed on their surfaces. No spell reached out to attack the wizardess or halt her approach.

    It didn¡¯t make any sense. Of all the mansions and palaces she¡¯d infiltrated, this one didn¡¯t seem to be anywhere near as well-defended as it should be. There had to be something they¡¯d missed.

    She watched the wizardess advance a few more steps, then slowly rose to follow her. Mika and Aral did the same, and Brianda was sure she caught a flicker of movement that might have been Ghost. As she left the shadow of the ferns, Alessia came to an abrupt halt and raised her hand for silence.

    Brianda dropped back into a crouch and scuttled toward the fern.

    Alessia¡¯s hands swirled softly, the wizardess¡¯s chant a whisper on the breeze.

    Breeze? Brianda thought, registering the soft movement of air. She didn¡¯t remember there being a breeze on the evening street¡­ Was this what Aral had meant when he¡¯d said ¡®more subtle means?¡¯

    The breeze picked up strength, ruffling leaves as it passed. It picked up small stones and flicked pieces of gravel from the path, not coming from outside the garden, but from within. Brianda looked toward its source.

    She found it as it coalesced and became a twisting funnel of air, the shimmer of it moving through the space Alessia had teleported to, and then to where the two male thieves were hiding.

    Brianda gave a short, sharp whistle of warning, making them turn. The funnel stopped, twisting on the spot as though seeking the whistle¡¯s source.

    The edge of Alessia¡¯s cloak fluttered, as the wizardess started casting in defense. The funnel caught the sound of her magic and pivoted toward her as Mika and Aral melted into the shadows and away.

    Brianda remained as still as stone, watching as the creature¡­the air elemental?¡ªchose its target.

    The funnel picked up speed, brushing past the space Mika had hidden, its intent clear. Alessia sent the first spell through it, lighting it up with flickers of power, and the elemental hissed with irritation.

    Alessia¡¯s hands moved swiftly into a second spell as it charged. As it lurched forward, Mika leapt toward it. The funnel pivoted and Alessia thrust her hand, fingers spread toward the elemental.

    Brianda shifted silently from her hiding place, circling to get behind it, as it spun to face Mika¡¯s charge. Twin columns of air grew from the funnel¡¯s core, lashing out to catch Mika as he closed. They passed right through his blade, solidifying to catch the thief across the gut.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Mika folded with a groan, and the air elemental punched him into one of the rose bushes lining the path. Alessia¡¯s next spell slammed into it as it spun after the man.

    The creature drew back with a windy shriek of outraged pain, turning away from its intended target to flee. It spun toward Brianda, forcing her to leap from the path to avoid being run down. It struck out at her as it passed, but didn¡¯t connect.

    Alessia raised her hands again, her voice rising in a second chant. The airy funnel twisted on the spot, reversing into a sudden charge. It kicked up a small storm of gravel as it passed, but Brianda didn¡¯t let the sharp sting of the tiny flying shards stop her.

    She slipped out of the ferns and followed it. Across the path, Mika struggled to free himself from the roses, while of Aral and Ghost there was no sign. Brianda didn¡¯t have time to wonder where they were. She was too intent on trying to protect the wizardess.

    The elemental had raised its arms and was about to strike the caster, by the time Brianda was able to reach it. She swung her sword in a short sharp arc, bringing the blade through its center and, with a hiss of annoyance, the funnel spun to face her.

    Brianda sidestepped its first clumsy blow, and ducked under the second. She swept out with her blade as she did, hearing a second angry hiss. Drawing the blade back, she thrust it forward into the center of the creature.

    This time it quivered at the touch of her blade. Encouraged, Brianda pivoted around the elemental and lashed out again. Behind her, she heard a shout, accompanied by scrabbling at the wall.

    She ignored it in order to focus on bringing her next strike up through the elemental at a diagonal. This time the creature¡¯s arms dissipated into harmless brushes of air as it tried to retaliate. A second shout came from behind her, and someone seized her arm, yanking her to one side.

    Something whirred through the space she¡¯d been occupying, ripping through the elemental to thud into the tree behind it. The airy being gave one final shriek and disappeared, and the garden air became still, once more.

    The grip on Brianda¡¯s arm remained.

    ¡°Come on,¡± Mika urged, dragging her toward the now-open door into the house.

    ¡°Halt!¡± The shout came from the top of the wall. ¡°Halt or I fire!¡±

    Mika swore and jerked Brianda to one side.

    ¡°Persistent sonuvabitch!¡± Mika complained towing her into the shelter of what looked like a personal library.

    Brianda looked for Alessia, Ghost or Aral, but didn¡¯t see them. Hoping they¡¯d made it safely inside, she pulled free of Mika¡¯s grip and leapt to one side of the door. Another arrow sang horrifyingly close to her ear, driving itself into the end of a book shelf with a vicious hum.

    Doubling back to the door, Brianda grabbed its edge and slammed it closed. Mika stopped and looked back.

    ¡°That was close!¡± he stated, and Brianda nodded.

    ¡°I owe you.¡±

    He shook his head in vehement denial. ¡°Boss would have had my hide if I¡¯d let you get killed on your first day out¡­no matter how badly you deserved it for facing off with an elemental on your own.¡±

    ¡°Like I had a choice,¡± she snapped, inspecting the door for some way to lock it.

    There was a keyhole but no key¡­and no bolt to help secure it, either. Its main protections had been the walls, the guards, and the elemental in the garden. Noting the gap beneath it, Brianda looked around.

    ¡°What?¡± Mika demanded.

    ¡°We¡¯re gonna need something to wedge it closed,¡± she said, hearing footsteps on the path outside, ¡°and we need it now.¡±

    Slamming herself against the door, she pointed to a small writing desk set between two of the shelves.

    ¡°That!¡± she said, pointing to it, as the handle started to turn. ¡°We need¡­¡± The door jolted, only her shoulder keeping it closed. ¡°¡­that,¡± Brianda finished. ¡°Hurry!¡±

    Mika hurried, with Aral coming out of nowhere to help him move the little desk. Together, the two thieves jammed the desk against the door, Aral shifting a large pot plant to help keep it in place.

    Seeing they had it under control, Brianda ran to one of the nearby shelves. Eyeing the gap beneath the door, she ran her fingers along the spines of the volumes on the shelf before pulling four that looked about the right thickness.

    Running back to the door, she stooped beneath the table, wedging one book after another into the gap. Two slid in easily, but two jammed part way under and wedged tight.

    ¡°That should hold them,¡± Brianda noted with satisfaction.

    The sound of more footsteps coming along the path caught their attention and Mika turned to her.

    ¡°For how long?¡± he asked, and she shrugged.

    ¡°That depends,¡± Brianda began, as something slammed into the door on the other side, ¡°but we¡¯d better hurry. Where¡¯s the wizardess?¡±

    A shout of frustration came from outside, followed by another solid thump and then a curse. A third thump followed, along with more cursing and the trio relaxed¡­a little.

    Brianda turned to take a good look at the rest of the room. It was a private library. The door into the garden wouldn¡¯t be its only entrance and who knew what alarms had been triggered by the guards trying to force their way in?

    As if to confirm her suspicions, she caught a glimpse of movement on the other side of the shelves.

    ¡°There,¡± she murmured, and Mika moved swiftly alongside her. Aral merely glanced in the direction she was looking and melted back into the stacks. As he did, Mika darted forward drawing his blade as he went.

    The movement became the dark-garbed figure of a richly-dressed man. He raised a hand toward them, holding it up in command.

    ¡°Stop,¡± he ordered, his voice strong and strangely compelling.

    Brianda heard the ring of magic lace its way through her head, and was grateful when she could shake it clear. Dropping her gaze to the floor, also helped in breaking the compulsion, but it wasn¡¯t something she could maintain.

    She needed to see what he was doing¡­or look past him and see who else arrived. She quickly looked back, and was horrified to see Mika at a complete stand still, his blade slowly drifting down.

    ¡°Mika!¡± she shrieked, not caring who heard his name. It was better than having him killed where he stood.

    Mika jerked in surprise, raising his blade with barely enough time to parry the newcomer¡¯s attack. His clumsy riposte was quickly met with a counter strike as his opponent moved more swiftly than seemed possible.

    A glimmer of light was all the warning she had that a second blade had come into play.

    ¡°What are the chances,¡± she muttered, hurrying forward even as Mika darted into the attack.

    His darkened blade was barely visible in the banked light of a fire standing in the hearth along one wall. The newcomer¡¯s blades had no such subtlety. They gleamed steel-bright, whispering in a complicated counter move.

    Brianda counted two strikes and heard cloth tear. Mika hissed in pain. She waited for him to fall back so she could come around one side, and then shifted swiftly to take advantage of the opening.

    As she did, she caught sight of more movement, this time in the direction in which she was sure Aral had disappeared. Careful not to leave herself exposed to attack from their opponent, Brianda pivoted, letting out a short gasp of relief when she saw Alessia moving out from the shelves to the open space in front of the door.

    Aral and Ghost moved in the shadows behind the wizardess, dividing their attention between the door, the windows and the battle Mika was engaged in. Before Brianda turned back to the fight, she saw the wizardess¡¯s lips move, but heard no sound.

    Another spell, she thought, noticing the fight had moved around the shelves and into the space in front of the fire.

    Realizing Mika might not have seen the wizardess¡¯s return, Brianda moved after him. She maneuvered around one of the overstuffed armchairs set before the fire, hoping to draw the thief¡¯s attention. As she did, she noticed the crimson tinge to the silvered light reflecting from his blade.

    And found her eyes snared by the pattern being woven in the air before him. Mika fought more warily, having lost the brashness of his first attack. His sword became a striking shadow against the silver shimmer before him.

    Each time he struck, the pattern broke and twin shafts of silver fell around the thief, forcing him to flinch away. His own movements lost their rhythm and his parries grew clumsier and less effective. One of the blades struck low and Brianda heard him hiss in pain.

    The blade moved upright and his opponent¡¯s fist caught him a blow to the side of the head.

    Mika grunted and stumbled to one side. He gave a sudden cry of pain as the other blade vanished in a forward thrust.

    The nobleman laughed.

    ¡°Had enough yet?¡± he challenged, the words sounding like they¡¯d been bitten through clenched teeth.

    ¡°Like hell, you velveteen bastard,¡± Mika managed, in pain-filled tones.

    ¡°Original,¡± the other retorted, making it sound the exact opposite.

    He stepped back, slashing out twice more, and Brianda winced as Mika parried the first strike, but the second slid across the top of his arm. His blade dipped and he wrapped a hand around the injured arm¡¯s shoulder.

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you try for something better?¡± the nobleman suggested. ¡°Silk is much nicer than velveteen.¡±

    ¡°Pompous prick,¡± Mika rasped, barely stumbling back in time to avoid his next strike.

    A soft breeze ruffled Brianda¡¯s hair as she leapt forward to dash the nobleman¡¯s next strike to one side.

    ¡°Fall back to me,¡± Alessia ordered. ¡°I have what I came for. Fall. Back.¡±

    Brianda risked a glance at Mika as the rogue tried for another thrust. This time both his opponent¡¯s blades whipped forward. One raked across the man¡¯s stomach; the other took the sword from his hand.

    A booted foot followed as Mika doubled over the first cut. It caught the rogue in the chest and pushed him back. Brianda saw the man stumble against a small side table, before he caught himself on the back of one of the armchairs.

    The nobleman gave her no more time than that. Having disarmed one threat, his blades began to weave their magic once more, and this time he pivoted to face her. Firelight glinted from his weapons, the blood marring their length doing little to diminish the pattern.

    As she moved to interpose herself between her injured colleague and the nobleman, Brianda felt the weave catching her eye. The pattern was more powerful this close, drawing the eye and mesmerizing the brain.

    She wondered how Mika had held against it for so long, and then if she could hope to do the same. Shaking her head to clear it, she darted forward, snaking her blade into an attack. The pattern parted, but lost none of its hypnotic grace as steel glided across her arm.

    She¡¯d barely registered the injury before the blades had resumed their former rhythm¡­and then the sting made itself felt. It was accompanied by a burning sensation.

    Poison? she thought, glancing down at the wound, and earning a second cut across the bicep for her inattention.

    The initial burn turned cold, as she parried his next attack, moving to block Mika as the man started to move back into the fight.

    ¡°Go,¡± she urged. ¡°They¡¯re waiting.¡±

    Mika stumbled, but shook his head, his blade wavering as if he was seeing more than one opponent. His words slurred as he answered her.

    ¡°On¡­Only if you follow,¡± he gasped. ¡°Elst I¡¯ll hafta keep you company¡­¡±

    He wavered, again, only Brianda¡¯s hasty push keeping him on his feet. It was also strong enough to make him stumble back several paces.

    ¡°Go!¡± Brianda shouted. ¡°She¡¯s honor bound.¡±

    She fell silent as she parried another strike and avoided a third, timing her step back with an elbow to Mika¡¯s chest that forced him to stagger back another three or four paces. It gave her enough room to block his return to the fray.

    ¡°Go¡­¡±

    ¡°But¡­¡± he protested.

    ¡°Get moving,¡± Brianda ordered, trying to keep the pain from her voice. She didn¡¯t dare look at the rogue, couldn¡¯t afford to take her eyes from her opponent. ¡°If I try, none of us will make it.¡±

    As if to add weight to her words the door to the garden shook under the force of something greater than fists, and booted footsteps raced through the house. Mika opened his mouth to argue, but Aral grabbed hold of him before he could.

    He seized his fellow guildsman by the shirt and belt and dragged him back to the wizardess. From the sound of the scuffle behind her, Mika didn¡¯t go easily. That didn¡¯t matter, though.

    What mattered was the deadly pattern of silver and scarlet being drawn through the air in front of her. Behind her, Alessia¡¯s voice rose in volume, her chant reaching a crescendo that culminated in a crack of magic that made her spine tingle.

    ¡°You wizard-mongering whore-son!¡± the swordsman spat, as she half-turned her head. ¡°You¡¯re not getting away that easily.¡±

    Cloth tore as Brianda jerked her attention back to the fight. She snapped her dagger out in a reflexive arc that diverted the second blade as the first sliced through her tunic and across her ribs.

    ¡°I¡¯m a girl, shit for brains,¡± she managed on a gasp of pain. It was definitely not her most original come-back, but it was the best she could do.

    Cold fire followed the heat of the cut, and the nobleman laughed.

    ¡°Girl, boy, whatever. You¡¯ll die just as easily as the rest.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re¡­gone¡­¡± Brianda managed. ¡°Beyond¡­beyond your reach.¡±

    Steel flashed in reply, and she stumbled back, weaving around an armchair to put its overstuffed mass between her and the nobleman¡¯s attack. Taking advantage of the brief respite, she dove around the edge of the nearest book case and ran for the end.

    A wordless bellow followed, and she spun, lashing out at the books with her off-hand and using her dagger to sweep them to the floor. Footsteps raced into the room on the other side of the book case as the swordsman followed.

    At the same time, Brianda heard the sound of splintering wood and then the clatter of the small desk being kicked clear of the doorway as the guards broke through from the garden.

    ¡°Whore-son¡¯s cursed asses!¡± the nobleman shouted. ¡°That is coming out of your wages!¡±

    Muttered curses followed and the surge of movement died behind him, the guards moving carefully into the room, before spreading out to search for the others. Brianda could have saved them the trouble, but didn¡¯t bother. They¡¯d learn the truth soon enough.

    She backed up two paces and turned to run, hoping to slip past the end of the book case and behind the guards coming around from the other side. To her horror, the aisle ended in a blank wall. Two strides into a sprint, and she dropped to a dead halt.

    Pivoting to face the swordsman, she found him waiting. His first thrust pierced her forearm, causing her grip to convulse around the hilt in her palm. The second stopped just short of opening her throat.

    ¡°Drop the blade!¡± he commanded, as white heat swept up her arm, followed by a glacial cold.

    Brianda stared at him, not sure if she still held her sword or not. She watched his guards close in around him, and swallowed convulsively.

    Now the fight was over, she began to tremble.

    ¡°Drop¡­¡± the nobleman began, but one of the guards stepped forward and took her blade from her hand, dangling it to one side where he could see it.

    With a savage grunt of frustration, the nobleman yanked his blade from her arm, removing the other from against her throat. Pain ripped through her, and Brianda dropped, lost to the dark before she hit the floor.

    * * *

    Breathing fast from the exertion of the fight, Duke Joseph Hartender watched the young woman fall. He¡¯d meant what he¡¯d said when he¡¯d told her she¡¯d die as easily as the rest. He just hadn¡¯t said when, or how long it would take.

    The latter would depend on how long it took to get the answers he needed.

    Giving himself a moment to catch his breath, he sheathed his blades, then turned to his men.

    ¡°Take her below,¡± he ordered, ¡°and make sure she¡¯s unarmed.¡±

    ¡°Was that unharmed, your Grace?¡± his chief guard asked.

    Joseph heard the amusement in the man¡¯s words, and quietly berated himself for the damage he¡¯d done. Shrugging, he looked down at the girl.

    ¡°Unharmed and unarmed,¡± he reiterated, nudging the crumpled form with the toe of his boot. ¡°Bind her injuries and pour some of this down her throat and into her wounds. I want her ready to start singing when I get back tomorrow afternoon.¡±

    ¡°Singing?¡± the man asked, and Joseph swore if Kale started laughing he¡¯d kill the man himself¡ªand his years of faithful service would mean nothing.

    He handed the veteran four vials from his belt pouch.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want her dying before I find out who sent her.¡±

    Kale took the proffered vials, and set about straightening the small figure on the floor. She was slightly built, the fine cast of her face and slightly pointed tips of her ears marking her elven heritage, while the copper tinge to her skin and her thick, dark hair linked her to the Plains folk.

    She didn¡¯t stir as Kale set to work cleaning her injuries and dousing them with the antidote to the poison coating the duke¡¯s blades. Joseph watched her through-out, nodding when the man pulled a needle and thread from the healer¡¯s kit he carried at his belt.

    It was an old soldier¡¯s habit, and one he had no intention of breaking the man of¡ªKale was his man, after all¡­and that meant the kit he carried would be used to his advantage if needed. He watched as the man stitched the long gash in the girl¡¯s side and then did his best to close the wound in her arm.

    Good luck using that in a hurry, he thought, smiling vindictively. Maybe it would teach her not to play with such sharp objects¡­or take up arms against her betters.

    Somehow he doubted it. A girl from the Plains? And one with the kind of skill she¡¯d shown, tonight? She wasn¡¯t going to be the usual run-of-the-mill thief. Who had sent her? And for what purpose?

    He waited as Kale finished his work and gestured for another of the guards to lift the girl from the floor.

    ¡°Go with him,¡± Joseph instructed. ¡°Put her in with the boy and the cat. Maybe they¡¯ll talk.¡±

    He shrugged.

    ¡°Either way, it¡¯ll keep them busy.¡±

    ¡°Yes, your Grace.¡±

    As Kale signaled the guard to lead the way, Joseph turned to the others.

    ¡°You, you, and you, rouse the maids and get them in here to clear this mess,¡± he snapped out, before turning to some of the others, ¡°And you, you, and you¡­and you¡­ I want that door repaired by morning.¡±

    He stared at the guards and through them as they set about their tasks, finally grabbing one as he passed.

    ¡°Have the cook prepare me a light meal¡­and bring me some wine. I¡¯ll be in the study.¡±

    The man muttered a hasty acknowledgement, and Joseph started to turn away. Halfway through, he stopped.

    ¡°And someone tell the steward I need another writing table for the library.¡±

    He moved three paces before the books Brianda had wedged beneath the door caught his eye.

    ¡°And get those titles to the scrivener. I want fresh copies made before they go to the book stitcher for repairs¡­and I want to be able to read them inside the week!¡±

    This time he did not stop as he strode into the room adjoining the library. His study. There, a quick search confirmed his worst fears come true: the Criochole parchment was gone.

    Dropping into his seat, he stared at the curtains covering the view into the garden, and drummed his fingers on the desk top. His mind raced like lightning, trying to salvage something of his plans.

 13éˆ¥æ“¨n Hartenderéˆ¥æªš Cells

    Raomar woke with a start. He¡¯d slipped into a state of semi-sleep, where his conscious hung suspended between being fully awake and sinking into oblivion. It let him keep tabs on his environment without being on full alert.

    It was a soldier¡¯s way of sleeping¡­one his kind learned early, if they wanted to survive the forests they called home.

    It¡¯s also a fugitive¡¯s way of sleeping, he thought, remembering his years on the run. The Hunters were relentless and hard to shake. Only Enshul¡¯s temple had provided peace, and then the treaty.

    He shoved the memory aside, seeking the sound that had brought him from almost-sleep to full wakefulness. Footsteps. Keeping his eyes closed and his muscles relaxed, he followed their progress, marking their route as they came down the last of the stairs and along the corridor.

    He¡¯d expected them to stop sooner or to pass his cell door and stop after. He was surprised when they stopped outside and the keys rattled in the lock. Cracking his eyelids enough to watch the room while still appearing asleep, he watched as the door opened.

    The two guards that came first were no surprise. They barely spared a glance at the lordling lying on the straw mattress on the other side of the cell, keeping their attention on Raomar, instead.

    The guildmaster forced his face to stay relaxed and his muscles not to tense, watching as they stopped, the swordsman a little in front of the crossbowman that covered him. It wouldn¡¯t have stopped him taking them, if he¡¯d wanted to. They were too close for that.

    He listened to Broderick¡¯s breathing, willing the young lord to keep sleeping. He didn¡¯t need to be worrying about what he might do, with three¡­ More footsteps sounded. No¡­four more guards in the cell.

    He watched as the next two carried in the limp form of a young woman, and opened his eyes.

    The crossbow came up as he pretended to startle and pushed to his feet.

    ¡°Stay where you are!¡± the swordsman snapped, moving in.

    Raomar froze.

    ¡°Who¡­¡± he began.

    ¡°Shut it!¡±

    Raomar closed his mouth, his gaze moving past the swordsman to take in the girl. It was hard not to react when he recognized the guild¡¯s newest recruit. Of the two guards, he recognized the duke¡¯s head bodyguard.

    He bent over the girl, checking the bandages on her forearm, bicep and around her waist.

    ¡°Thorough,¡± the guard accompanying him mentioned.

    Kale grunted. ¡°Bandages are holding, and she¡¯s got more color. Antidote will pull her through.¡±

    ¡°Not that it matters,¡± the guard noted as Kale straightened.

    Both men glanced at Raomar, and Kale¡¯s mouth tightened.

    ¡°One of yours?¡± he asked, and Raomar made a show of looking the girl over.

    It was a struggle to keep his expression neutral as he shrugged.

    ¡°Never seen her,¡± he replied. ¡°What¡¯s she in for?¡±

    As if the duke¡¯s cells were nothing more than any other guard facility. He watched Kale tense, but the man¡¯s eyes were sharp and he studied Raomar¡¯s face intently.

    ¡°None of your business,¡± he replied, pausing before he added, ¡°and if she is one of yours, we¡¯ll know soon enough.¡±

    His fellow guard snickered. ¡°Yeah, with what the duke¡¯s got planned, you¡¯ll both be singing like pardel in a grain field.¡±

    He nudged Brianda¡¯s arm with the toe of his boot. ¡°You think she¡¯ll be able to use it when he¡¯s done?¡±

    Raomar noted a darker patch beneath the bandages, and a cold lump formed in his chest.

    The chief bodyguard glanced down.

    ¡°She might,¡± he allowed, ¡°If she¡¯s got skills he can use, and she can be turned, he¡¯s not going to be happy if she¡¯s lost them.¡±

    The guard shrugged. ¡°Your call.¡±

    ¡°For shadow¡¯s sake!¡± Kale knelt beside Brianda, lifting her arm. ¡°Bring that lamp over here.¡±

    Another guard came in from the corridor, bringing the lamp. He didn¡¯t stay, but handed it to Kale¡¯s companion.

    ¡°Hold it steady.¡±

    Raomar watched as the veteran unwrapped the bandage, unable to keep the shock from his face, when he saw the hole in Brianda¡¯s arm.

    ¡°What¡­¡± he began, subsiding once more as the guard before him, laid a hand on his chest pressing him into the wall as he positioned his blade tip over his ribs.

    Across the cell, Kale ran his hands over Brianda¡¯s arm, manipulating her fingers with an increasingly sour look on his face.

    ¡°I need a godsbedamned priest,¡± he swore. ¡°His thrice-fucked lordship¡¯s cut some strings.¡±

    ¡°This time of night?¡± the other guard replied. ¡°You¡¯ll be lucky to find one awake¡­and even luckier to find one that won¡¯t talk about what they¡¯ve seen.¡±

    ¡°Try the beast elf,¡± the crossbowman said. ¡°He carries Enshul¡¯s mark.¡±

    Kale glanced at the man, and then at Raomar. ¡°Later, you will tell me how you know that,¡± he stated, and the crossbowman paled.

    ¡°Yessir,¡± he replied.

    Kale turned to Raomar.

    ¡°Is that true?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°And your goddess will answer even when you¡¯ve been captured?¡±

    ¡°She might,¡± Raomar allowed, feeling Enshul¡¯s laughter in his soul.

    Of course, she would answer. Her people were bound to be captured at one time or another. It was an acceptable risk of the trades she oversaw, albeit one they all tried to avoid. There was no greater penalty for a priest being detained than for any of her other followers meeting the same fate.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    ¡°Then try,¡± the guard instructed. ¡°The duke prefers it if his tools are broken when he chooses¡­and kept in a state of usefulness until then.¡±

    Raomar forced his face to a perfect blank, banking the rage that surged through him for later. It wouldn¡¯t help him, now. A second guard had appeared at the door, his crossbow cocked and perfectly balanced¡­and he was too far away for Raomar to do anything about him before he fired.

    ¡°Do you have more bandages?¡± he asked, crouching beside the girl and inspecting the wound.

    It had started bleeding through the crude stitches closing it, so he clamped a hand over it, and held it vertical.

    ¡°Also numbing salve and a needle and thread.¡±

    The head bodyguard nodded at the man standing beside him.

    ¡°Leave the lantern and fetch what he needs. I¡¯m out.¡±

    The man¡¯s mouth opened as though he was about to protest, and Kale snarled.

    ¡°Now!¡±

    The man went, scowling all the way. Raomar noted the first signs of rebellion and glanced at Kale.

    ¡°Him and I,¡± the head guard stated softly, ¡°will talk.¡±

    The way he said it, Raomar didn¡¯t think the conversation was going to be anywhere near civil.

    ¡°I¡¯ll also need hot water and cloths,¡± he stated, and Kale gave him a grim smile.

    ¡°He¡¯ll fetch them when he gets back.¡±

    Raomar could imagine just how well that was going to go down, but he said nothing. If the man wanted to push troop discipline, now, who was he to intervene? They weren¡¯t his men.

    He lifted the weaver out of his tunic and was surprised when Kale lashed out, seizing him by the throat and moving swiftly behind him. The soft hiss of a dagger was all the warning he had before the man¡¯s blade was laid across his belly.

    The crossbowman shifted around him, letting him see how ready he was to fire.

    Raomar froze, remembering to keep his grip on Brianda¡¯s wrist.

    ¡°That¡­¡± he tried, and the guard¡¯s battle-calloused fingers tightened, warning him to silence.

    Raomar waited, careful not to show any signs of resisting. Counting his heartbeats helped, and he¡¯d reached twenty before the man moved close enough to place his lips beside the guildmaster¡¯s ear.

    ¡°You cast anything more than healing, and you¡¯re dead,¡± the guardsman warned. ¡°You can¡¯t get to us all.¡±

    His hand loosened on Raomar¡¯s throat, and the kevarag took it as a signal to speak.

    ¡°Understood. Only healing.¡±

    The head guard stayed tucked in close to his back, the pressure of his blade against Raomar¡¯s skin unrelenting, his hand loosely wrapped around Raomar¡¯s throat.

    ¡°Healing only.¡±

    Raomar carefully lifted the talisman.

    ¡°And we¡¯ll have that when you¡¯re done,¡± the man added.

    Raomar tensed, but hand and dagger pressed a little harder and he forced himself to take a breath.

    ¡°Healing only,¡± he confirmed, sending a quiet prayer realmsward as he made the request in kevarag.

    Chances were neither man understood it. They¡¯d see the results and that was all.

    Enshul answered, the sense of her neither displeased, nor amused. Raomar frowned. If anything, the goddess seemed¡­distracted¡­but she answered, and that was all that mattered.

    He felt her power reach through him. It traced a warm path from his chest to his shoulder and down the arm holding the girl¡¯s wrist. Blue light spread from beneath his palm, and was greeted by gasps from at least two of the guards.

    Fingers tightened over his wind pipe.

    ¡°Healing only,¡± he murmured, focusing on directing the power through the injury, asking it to mend the broken connections so that the girl regained the use of her hand.

    Her skin rippled beneath his grasp and he followed the movement along her arm, relieved when her fingers twitched in response and the gaping hole closed.

    Perhaps he wouldn¡¯t need the needle and thread, after all¡­

    ¡°All that is hurt,¡± he reiterated, this time in Common, and the blue light spread in response.

    It gleamed under her tunic, flaring brightly, before fading only to reappear as a dull glow beneath the bandage on her bicep and in glittering sapphire sparks in a myriad of smaller cuts. When it had found all it could, the light faded, and Raomar let out a soft sigh at its departure.

    The hand tightened around his throat.

    ¡°Hand over the god-link,¡± Kale ordered, ¡°and don¡¯t say a word.¡±

    Raomar lifted the chain holding the soapstone weaver over his head, sadness rippling through him at its pending loss. He lifted it, and one of the other guards stepped in to take it. Instead of releasing him, the head guard holding him tightened his grip, and the dagger at his waist tore through cloth to bite into flesh.

    Raomar gasped, stifling a cry as the blade bit deeper, splitting skin and muscle but not going deep enough to tear anything else. The guard released him, letting him sag as he rose, and stepped away.

    ¡°Got to have something for his lordship to rub salt into,¡± he stated, watching Raomar grip his waist.

    He took the god-link from the other guard and dangled it out of reach.

    ¡°And now you have something else to think about.¡±

    Footsteps heralded the return of the other guard.

    ¡°Patch him up,¡± Kale said by way of greeting. ¡°The girl¡¯s fine.¡±

    Realizing he spoke the truth, Raomar laid Brianda¡¯s arm across her waist and let it go, before settling beside her. The guards moved to the door, save for the one who¡¯d arrived with the salve, needle, thread and bandages.

    He took one look at the way Raomar held his arm across his belly and shook his head.

    ¡°Lie down,¡± he ordered.

    Raomar glanced up at him, and he lifted the small bag holding his supplies.

    ¡°I won¡¯t ask again.¡±

    Reluctantly, he stretched out, flinching as the guard lifted the torn and bloodied tunic out of his way.

    With a soft whistle, the man glanced back at his boss. Raomar followed the look, and saw Kale raise his eyebrows and lay a hand on his sword hilt. The message was clear. If the guard didn¡¯t want the same treatment, he¡¯d do as he was told and without complaining.

    ¡°Vindictive sonuvabitch,¡± the man muttered, making sure his words didn¡¯t carry. He glanced at Raomar. ¡°This is gonna hurt.¡±

    ¡°So, tell me something I don¡¯t know,¡± Raomar managed, and then wished he hadn¡¯t.

    ¡°It would¡¯ve hurt less if you¡¯d kept your mouth shut,¡± the man snapped, and took a flask from his belt. ¡°Alcohol.¡±

    Raomar tensed. He thought about getting out of range, but the wound needed stitching and the goddess was curiously absent, as if removing her symbol was an affront she couldn¡¯t ignore. He hoped that wasn¡¯t the case, because he didn¡¯t think he was getting it back¡­and crafting another one¡­

    He couldn¡¯t afford to be without his powers that long, but the little statue wasn¡¯t called a ¡®god-link¡¯ for nothing. Every deity insisted on one. Why, Raomar didn¡¯t know. He figured they didn¡¯t actually need their servants to have one in order to answer their prayers, but that was the way it worked¡­and he couldn¡¯t think of a single exception.

    His brow furrowed as he tried to follow that thought, but the guard poured the alcohol over the wound and he barely stifled a scream.

    ¡°Child,¡± the man mocked and the kevarag glared at him.

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you try it¡­¡± The suggestion ended in a gasp as the guard pinched the edges of the wound together and started the first stitch.

    After the initial cry, Raomar pressed his lips together and tried not to make a sound. His ¡®medic¡¯ didn¡¯t make it easy¡­and he didn¡¯t use the numbing salve he¡¯d brought. Raomar noted the omission and decided he wasn¡¯t going to beg.

    ¡°You done?¡± Kale¡¯s voice rang out from the doorway, and the man jumped, jerking the thread.

    Raomar drew in a hissing breath, and the guard turned back.

    ¡°Quit your bitching,¡± he snarled, hurrying the last few stitches and then dousing the wound with another round of alcohol. ¡°If you survive this, you¡¯re going to owe me a drink.¡±

    A drink? Raomar¡¯s eyes widened in disbelief. He was determined he owed the man something, but a drink wasn¡¯t it.

    ¡°And top shelf,¡± the guard added, pulling the last stitch tight and knotting the thread.

    Raomar wondered what weapons he kept on his top shelf and if any of them would satisfy, but the guard didn¡¯t notice the dark turn of his thoughts and patted his chest.

    ¡°All done. Don¡¯t call again.¡±

    Raomar let his head sink back to the flagstones and resisted the urge to close his eyes. He wanted to keep his eyes on the sick sonofabitch until he was sure he¡¯d left. When the man kept walking and didn¡¯t look back, he relaxed, but kept a wary watch on Kale at the door.

    Kale noted his observation, concern momentarily creasing his face. The look was gone almost as fast as it had come, and Raomar wondered why it had appeared at all. The man was, after all, the reason he¡¯d been caught¡­and cut¡­in the first place.

    Why do you care? he wondered, watching the man usher the other guards out of the cell, and then follow, pulling the door closed behind him. As soon as he heard the keys rattle in the lock, Raomar let his breath out in a soft sigh, and closed his eyes.

    What he wanted to do was get up and take Brianda over to the mattress Broderick was sleeping on¡­but that wasn¡¯t going to happen. He lay there, feeling the ache of torn muscle and wished Enshul would answer regardless of whether he used a god-link or no.

    Curious to see if he could, he reached for her and found he could neither feel her presence nor tap the power she held.

    With another look at Brianda, he decided lifting anything was beyond him¡ªat least until the god-link was returned. Clamping an arm across his waist, he struggled to sit and worked his way over to the wall. Grabbing Brianda by her collar and dragging her close so she rested against his leg was the best he could do¡ªand it was a mercy when she didn¡¯t stir.

    Feeling the warmth of her body resting against his thigh, Raomar leant his head back against the wall and let himself drift into a light sleep.

 14éˆ¥æ“œ Well-Timed Escape

    Raomar woke when Brianda gasped, rolling away from him to scramble to her feet.

    ¡°You¡¯re safe¡­¡± he managed, as she scanned the cell, consciousness slowly taking over from instinct.

    At the sound of his voice, she looked toward him, her hands dropping to where her sword and dagger usually hung. Her gaze snapped around as Broderick¡¯s bitter tones followed.

    ¡°For the moment.¡±

    Again, she shifted focus, noting the lordling¡¯s still form, and then letting her gaze dart round the cell, taking in the straw, mattress, and bucket, before drifting to the door. Her hands moved from her empty scabbards to where the pouch should have rested at her belt.

    They roamed over the empty space.

    ¡°Son of a motherless goat,¡± she muttered, and went to check the door anyway.

    The resulting rattle brought no response, and she risked looking into the corridor. When nothing happened, she frowned, then returned to where Raomar sat, her eyes taking in the blood seeping through his tunic.

    ¡°That should be covered,¡± she said, crouching beside him, her hands going to the bandage around her own waist. ¡°And I don¡¯t think I need this, anymore.¡±

    Raomar watched as she unwound it, not surprised to discover the skin beneath unblemished. Enshul had shown mercy¡­and the guards had given him enough time to send the healing where it was needed.

    ¡°Show me,¡± she said, then stopped, pulling her hands away as though she¡¯d been burned. Her face colored. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Gui¡ª¡±

    Raomar clapped his hand over her mouth to stop her from completing the word, and she blushed harder.

    ¡°Rau,¡± he told her, ¡°And you are?¡±

    ¡°Bri,¡± she replied, following his example and giving a shortened version of her name. ¡°Where are we?¡±

    ¡°In Duke Joseph Hartender¡¯s personal dungeon.¡± Again, Broderick spoke, and she glanced toward the boy.

    He¡¯d rolled onto his side, propping himself on one elbow as he stared vacantly in her direction.

    ¡°Are you hurt?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Not really,¡± Brianda replied, a puzzled frown on her face.

    Raomar reached out to touch her arm, wincing as he did so.

    ¡®Blind,¡¯ he mouthed, touching two fingers to his own eyes.

    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Broderick persisted.

    ¡°Of course, I¡¯m sure,¡± Brianda snapped.

    The boy shuffled into a sitting position, tilting his head from side to side as though listening for something else.

    ¡°What is it?¡± Brianda asked.

    Broderick frowned.

    ¡°The other one,¡± he began. ¡°Is¡­ Is he still here?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± the girl replied shortly. ¡°Who are you?¡±

    ¡°Me?¡± the boy answered.

    ¡°No, of course not you,¡± Brianda retorted. ¡°Your fornicating shadow!¡±

    Raomar saw the boy draw back, his jaw dropping at the girl¡¯s snarl. After a minute, the young lord pulled himself together and answered.

    ¡°I¡­My name is Broderick Chandera,¡± he replied. ¡°I¡¯m the youngest son of Kerick Chandera, lord of¡ª¡±

    ¡°Criochole¡­¡± Brianda finished, cutting him off. ¡°What are the odds¡­¡±

    ¡°Criochole,¡± Broderick confirmed. ¡°What odds?¡±

    The girl hastily shook her head, forgetting he wouldn¡¯t see it. ¡°Never you mind.¡±

    Broderick frowned. ¡°No. Why¡­ How do you know of Criochole, or who is lord of it?¡±

    Brianda glanced around the cell, wondering if someone was hidden and listening. She didn¡¯t want to admit she was the one who¡¯d stolen the documents¡­not here. Later, perhaps, when they were out.

    She took note of the heavily barred door and the stone walls.

    If we get out, she amended.

    The lordling stirred restlessly, and Brianda waited for him to insist on an answer.

    ¡°Rau?¡± he asked, sounding slightly bewildered. ¡°What did he mean when he said I was lucky I didn¡¯t know what you really were?¡±

    Raomar sighed. He¡¯d been wondering when the boy would cotton on.

    ¡°He meant you wouldn¡¯t like me because I¡¯m kevarag,¡± the guildmaster replied.

    Broderick scrambled back, staggering to his feet, one hand reaching out for balance, while the other reached for a blade that was no longer there. When he discovered his empty belt-line, he dropped to one knee and went for the dagger sheaths in his boots.

    Unable to see, he lost his balance and would have fallen to one side, if Raomar hadn¡¯t gripped his shoulder and pulled him upright. Stooping so the boy could hear him, he spoke.

    ¡°Boy, if I¡¯d been meaning you harm, you¡¯d be feeling it by now,¡± he said, sounding beyond weary as he added, ¡°You can¡¯t believe everything in the legends.¡±

    Broderick shrugged free of the guildmaster¡¯s hand, staggering sideways to get out from under his touch. Raomar let him go, nodding approval when Brianda steadied the young lord.

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ It¡¯s not the legends,¡± the man snarled. ¡°I¡¯ve faced your kind, before.¡±

    ¡°Tree cats?¡± Raomar asked mildly, watching him flinch away.

    Thinking of his clan¡¯s range, he remembered Criochole lay in the south-westernmost part of Deverath, where the overgrown banks of the Wildejun River met the unclaimed lands beyond. It was possible his clan¡­or, perhaps, the Sky Falcons¡­raided those lands.

    The fact Criochole still stood was a testament to its defenses¡­or perhaps the fact it was being allowed to thrive before being harvested. If the latter were true, then his people were also defending it¡­although he thought that would come as poor comfort to the young lord.

    ¡°Then it is a good thing I am not like the rest of my kind,¡± Raomar told him, stalking close enough that the lordling stumbled back from his presence. He stopped when he hit the wall behind him, and Raomar put his face an inch from Broderick¡¯s letting the man feel the warmth of his breath on his skin.

    Broderick froze. ¡°H¡­How so?¡± he demanded, and Raomar gave a low throaty chuckle.

    ¡°You are still alive, for a start.¡±

    Broderick dropped his head. ¡°Not for much longer, if the duke has his way,¡± he muttered.

    ¡°So, what does he want with you?¡± Brianda asked, as much to distract him from Raomar¡¯s looming presence as to learn more of his situation.

    Broderick glanced toward her voice, his face full of bitter resignation.

    ¡°He wants to brand me the son of a traitor and take my lands,¡± he replied.

    ¡°And how, exactly, does he plan to do this?¡± Raomar asked, and Broderick lifted his face toward him.

    ¡°He says he has proof,¡± he answered softly. ¡°A¡­a letter from my father giving refuge for agents of the exiled king. He says¡­¡±

    The boy¡¯s voice caught and he paused before continuing.

    ¡°He says he¡¯ll take that with us, when he brings me before the king.¡±

    ¡°And when does he plan to do that?¡± Raomar wanted to know.

    Broderick slumped against the wall, letting himself slide down its rough stone surface until he reached the floor.

    ¡°Today.¡± Utter defeat threaded his voice.

    ¡°Did he show you this letter?¡± Brianda demanded.

    Broderick shook his head. ¡°No.¡±

    Brianda crouched beside him. ¡°And would this letter have had the Criochole seal?¡±

    ¡°If it was from my father, then yes, it would have had our seal.¡±

    ¡°And, if the duke lost the letter and couldn¡¯t prove his claim?¡± Brianda pressed.

    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    Broderick shrugged. ¡°I might get to live¡­but the chances of him not having the letter are slim. Not even he would dare waste the king¡¯s time like that.¡±

    ¡°If he didn¡¯t have the letter, would you also get to keep your lands?¡± Brianda asked, and Broderick gave her a startled look.

    He still sounded defeated when he replied, ¡°I don¡¯t know. The accusation has already been made¡­and my family has already left the city. I would have to endure the king¡¯s judgement.¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± Brianda said, sitting against the wall beside him, ¡°at least you¡¯ll get to live¡­¡±

    ¡°Are you saying he has no proof?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m saying he no longer has the letter,¡± Brianda told him, leaning her head against the wall. ¡°At least you might get to live¡­¡±

    Raomar took a chance and slid down the wall to sit next to the boy. This time, Broderick didn¡¯t flinch away.

    Soft applause sounded from the corridor outside, and they all struggled to their feet, Raomar and Brianda helping Broderick stand between them. The door opened and the duke stepped inside.

    ¡°Oh, very good,¡± he said appreciatively. ¡°Very, very good.¡±

    His guards moved swiftly into the room in his wake, two with crossbows raised. They quickly found positions that let them cover the captive three as their master advanced and two other guards came alongside him.

    ¡°Take our guest upstairs,¡± the duke ordered, and snapped his fingers. As the second pair of guards seized hold of Broderick¡¯s arms and pulled him toward the door, Kale and the soldier who¡¯d stitched Raomar¡¯s stomach entered the room.

    Kale stalked over to Raomar and laid the flat of one palm against the kevarag¡¯s chest, pinning him to the wall. The dagger in his off hand, he held poised and ready to strike.

    ¡°What¡¯s this about?¡± Raomar asked, casting an anxious glance at the girl.

    ¡°Nothing that concerns you,¡± Kale snapped, as the other guard closed in on Brianda, seizing her arm in a vice-like grip and pulling her further down the wall.

    As soon as she was what the duke deemed a suitable distance from the kevarag, he strode over to stand before her.

    ¡°Who sent you?¡± he demanded, towering over her, his fists curling in menace.

    Brianda kept her eyes on his face, not trusting herself to keep the guildmaster safe. It was obvious from the way he was being treated that their captors had no idea of who he really was¡­and she shuddered to think of what would happen if they ever found out.

    Instead of answering, she drew herself as tall as her five feet, six inches allowed and looked him in the eye. ¡°I¡¯m not at liberty to say, Duke Hartender.¡±

    Raomar watched as the duke leaned in until his face was an inch from Brianda¡¯s. He saw the girl flinch as Joseph¡¯s hand gripped her injured wrist.

    ¡°Your master, wench!¡± the duke snarled, his arm going rigid as he applied pressure.

    Brianda gasped.

    ¡°Not¡­at¡­liberty¡­¡± she managed, her knees starting to give. She gasped, again as he twisted, and Raomar worried that Enshul¡¯s mercy might not hold. Who knew how strong the newly knitted tendons were?

    The duke ground the tip of his thumb into the point Raomar had stitched the night before, and Brianda gave a strangled yelp of pain. The sound of a scuffle came from outside the cell.

    ¡°Leave her alone!¡± Broderick cried, and there came the sound of fists against flesh. ¡°Let me go!¡±

    The duke ignored him, applying more pressure.

    ¡°Are you sure you can¡¯t remember who paid your fee?¡± he asked.

    Brianda whimpered, hunching in on herself and, with a snarl of disgust, the duke released her hand and headed for the door.

    ¡°Mind your tongue, boy!¡± he roared, ¡°Unless you want to lose that, as well as your sight.¡±

    Kale glanced over his shoulder, watching as his fellow guard followed the duke. When the pair had reached the door, he bounced his hand against Raomar¡¯s chest.

    ¡°Stay!¡± he ordered. ¡°Don¡¯t move, until the key turns in the lock.¡±

    Raomar gave a single short nod, his gaze darting to where Brianda knelt on the floor, cradling her arm.

    ¡°I don¡¯t care how much she weeps,¡± Kale snarled. ¡°If you move, you¡¯re dead.¡±

    He gestured toward the crossbowmen.

    ¡°They have orders.¡±

    ¡°Understood,¡± Raomar told him, and Kale lifted his hand.

    When the kevarag didn¡¯t attempt to shift, the guard backed carefully away, not turning until the last crossbowman had left the cell. Raomar still didn¡¯t move. He waited until Kale turned the key in the cell-door lock and walked away, the crossbowmen in tow¡­and only then did he move to Brianda¡¯s side.

    He¡¯d barely reached her before the key sounded in the lock, and the door opened.

    This time, the duke didn¡¯t enter. He just looked around the door. His lip curled into a derisive smile when he saw Raomar loop an arm around the girl¡¯s shoulders.

    ¡°Touching,¡± he sneered, then his face hardened. ¡°I will be back for you this afternoon,¡± he told Brianda. ¡°By then you should have remembered your master¡¯s name.¡±

    He turned to Raomar. ¡°And you,¡± he added in cold tones, ¡°should have remembered where we really met.¡±

    Without waiting for either of them to respond, the duke pulled the cell door closed between them, turning the key once more. Raomar felt Brianda flinch as the lock dropped into place. She tensed as the duke¡¯s footsteps echoed through the corridor outside, and Raomar pulled her close.

    He listened to the duke¡¯s footfalls slowly fade, and pretended not to notice when the first sob ran through her. She cried silently for a few minutes, then rapidly pulled herself together. Even when the tears stopped, she stayed, leaning against his side and not saying a word.

    They sat that way for a long time, listening to dark. There was a guard outside the cell. They could hear the occasional movement as he changed position, or walked the front of the cells, but nothing more. Raomar was almost certain there was only one.

    They were still staring into the dark, when Raomar felt Brianda tense. Slowly, he lifted his arm, giving her room to move. She shifted slightly, getting her feet underneath her, but she didn¡¯t move away, nor did she ask what to do.

    Raomar moved into a crouch, ignoring the twinge across his gut.

    Enshul¡­ he thought, wishing the goddess would listen.

    His ears strained for the sound, again. It had been there¡­but it hadn¡¯t¡­like¡­footsteps.

    Taking a long, slow, breath, he held it and listened, again.

    Footsteps, yet¡­ He was sure he¡¯d heard someone else moving, their steps distant and overhead, as though the floor above was timber. Raomar couldn¡¯t be sure. It was like he was listening to a sound that was barely there.

    A shout filtered down the stairs, and the cry that came after ended abruptly. A soft thump followed, as if something heavy was lowered most of the way to the floor and then dropped. Footsteps raced overhead, no longer trying for silence, and the guard outside stirred.

    Raomar rose out of his crouch.

    ¡°Guard!¡± he shouted, as much to distract the man as to cover the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

    It almost worked. The man banged on the door.

    ¡°Quiet in there!¡±

    ¡°Guard!¡± Raomar shouted, again, and again, the guard banged on the door.

    ¡°I said¡ª¡± His reprimand ended in a strangled gurgle, his armor rattling as he fell to the floor.

    Raomar listened to the guard choke through his last breaths, and tried to hear past the sound. As the guard breathed his last, as soft ululating whistle whispered through the dungeon. Raomar breathed a sigh of relief, and answered it with a series of short breathy peeps and was rewarded a single sharp sound.

    Moving closer to the door, he waited.

    ¡°Rau?¡± Dart¡¯s whisper reached him, just as a small breeze tickled his ear.

    ¡°In here,¡± he replied, as Alessia¡¯s voice whispered his name.

    ¡°Raomar, show me where you are and I will come fetch you.¡±

    ¡°How?¡± he asked, ignoring Brianda¡¯s questioning look.

    ¡°Show me,¡± Alessia responded, ¡°Look, around.¡±

    Raomar did as she bid, only to have her stop him.

    ¡°Stop. It¡¯s too dark. Kneel down where you can see the floor¡­a pattern in the stones¡­anything.¡±

    ¡°How about the bars on my cell door?¡± he asked, letting the irony come through in his voice.

    ¡°Stand back,¡± Dart¡¯s voice came through the door. ¡°I¡¯ll get Grunwol to open the door.¡±

    ¡°Grunwol?¡± Raomar asked. ¡°I thought you were the expert!¡±

    ¡°Not right, now, I¡¯m not. Guard had no key,¡± Dart replied.

    Someone shouted an alarm overhead.

    ¡°Winter¡¯s deep!¡± Grunwol muttered.

    ¡°Shadow¡¯s bane!¡± Dart spat in chorus.

    ¡°Give me a light!¡± Raomar ordered. ¡°Hold it up to the grate.¡±

    Neither of those outside asked why. There was a brief scuffle of movement and light spilled through the bars.

    ¡°Alessia?¡± Raomar asked.

    ¡°Hold tight,¡± she answered, and the breeze was gone.

    Another shout overhead, echoed the first, and feet pounded the floor above. From outside the cell, a door slammed.

    ¡°Hurry up,¡± Dart hissed. ¡°This isn¡¯t going to hold them, forever!¡±

    What isn¡¯t? Raomar wondered.

    He heard the sound of metal against metal, and quickly identified the swift click and clatter of lock picks. A thunderous crash temporarily drowned them out, and Raomar wished he could just magic the lock open. If the duke hadn¡¯t confiscated his god-link, he¡¯d have done so.

    Magic tweaked the hair on the back of his neck, and Brianda gave a hiss of surprise. Glancing at the girl, he saw her hands move over the places she usually stowed her weapons. He also saw what had startled her.

    A small globe of light had appeared in the center of the cell. As he watched, the light slowly grew bigger and more solid.

    ¡°It¡¯s Alessia,¡± Raomar told her, drawing her a little away from the light to give it room to grow.

    He divided his attention between the cell door and Alessia¡¯s arrival. When the wizardess was a solid figure in a pool of light, he nudged the girl forward.

    ¡°Move,¡± he ordered. ¡°She hasn¡¯t got all day.¡±

    ¡°Truer than you know,¡± Alessia confirmed, her voice sharp. ¡°Now, hurry.¡±

    ¡°We have two more,¡± Raomar told her, gesturing toward the door.

    ¡°Then tell them to hurry,¡± the wizardess ordered. ¡°The duke could trace the spell if I leave it much longer.¡±

    She¡¯d barely finished speaking than Grunwol gave a soft exclamation of triumph and pushed the cell door open.

    ¡°Dart!¡± he called, holding the door open until the shadow woman had slipped past him.

    As soon as she was through, he hastily closed the door, and hurried to Raomar¡¯s side, wrapping an arm around the guildmaster¡¯s waist and helping him over to Alessia.

    Outside, there was another crash and the sound of splintering wood and shrieking metal.

    ¡°Hurry!¡± Alessia urged. ¡°I can¡¯t hold the spell for much longer.¡±

    Grunwol hesitated, and Raomar tightened his grip on the Northman.

    ¡°There. Is. No. Time,¡± he growled, and Grunwol let him draw him into the circle of light.

    As soon as they¡¯d crossed the edge of the circle, Alessia continued her chant, her hands weaving in the final gestures of the spell. The sound of more wood splintering was followed by the thunder of bootsteps in the corridor outside.

    Grunwol pushed Raomar behind him and moved so he was between the guildmaster, the wizardess, and the door. The first of Duke Hartender¡¯s guards slid into the doorway and was raising his crossbow when the light hardened into a globe around them.

    A savage oath followed them as the light flashed and the cell and its advancing guards disappeared. For a moment, all that existed for Raomar and those around the wizardess was the inside of a pearlescent sphere and those traveling inside it.

    Alessia spread her arms, her eyes wide as they followed something beyond the globe. Raomar saw her take a breath and hold it. He completed a slow count of five and tensed, relaxing only when the wizardess released her breath and brought her hands down in a sweeping motion.

    The light around them flared, and then began to fade.

    ¡°We¡¯re here,¡± Alessia announced, ¡°and safe until nightfall, although I¡¯d appreciate it if you¡¯d stay in this room until the sun has set.¡±

    ¡°You mean you want us to keep out of sight,¡± Dart confirmed in a throaty whisper.

    ¡°Exactly,¡± Alessia told her. Fatigue roughened her voice. ¡°There are too many eyes and ears awake at this time of day, and this room is warded against tracking spells.¡±

    Her gaze shifted from Brianda to Raomar.

    ¡°Some of you are also in need of a healer.¡±

    Raomar lifted a hand to where the god-link normally hung¡­and found nothing.

    ¡°You¡¯ll need to send for one,¡± he informed her. ¡°I¡­¡±

    His voice faltered, and he sighed.

    Dart fumbled at the buckle on her belt pouch. Sliding her hand inside, she began searching its contents.

    ¡°Here,¡± she said, pulling something from it and extending her hand. ¡°Guard upstairs was wearing it.¡±

    When Raomar glanced down, he saw the soapstone weaver resting in her palm.

    ¡°Lady Dart,¡± he breathed, reaching out and enclosing her hand in both of his. ¡°I am¡­forever¡­in your debt.¡±

    The shadow lady scowled at him.

    ¡°Take your god-link,¡± she snapped, her voice sharp, ¡°and don¡¯t be too grateful. You¡¯ve yet to hear what I¡¯m going to ask in return.¡±

    Raomar smothered a smile, wincing as he lifted the link¡¯s leather thong over his head.

    ¡°I will temper my gratitude according to your price,¡± he promised, ¡°but, for now, let me be grateful for your rescue¡­of it and us.¡±

    Dart¡¯s face softened in response, and she looked away, focusing on securing her pouch. Alessia saved her from having to find a reply, by speaking.

    ¡°There are bedrolls over there,¡± she said, pointing at the neatly stacked row of bedding. ¡°I suggest you rest while I look to your injuries.¡±

    ¡°Since when are you a healer?¡± Raomar challenged.

    Alessia gave him a mysterious smile. ¡°You¡¯d be surprised what I¡¯ve learned in the years since our adventures ended.¡±

 15éˆ¥æ“¶hat the Wizardess Saw

    Raomar woke to find himself looking into a pair of wide, cat-like eyes. With a startled gasp, he shifted sideways, rolling to his feet and reaching for weapons he no longer had. It took him a moment to realize that the god-link wasn¡¯t the only thing the duke had confiscated.

    ¡°It¡¯s a pity none of those were being worn by one of the guards,¡± he muttered, searching for the owner of the eyes.

    When he saw her, he frowned. ¡°And who are you?¡±

    Dart intervened. ¡°She¡¯s one of yours, Rau.¡±

    Raomar shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t recall her.¡±

    The child continued to stare at him, but she pressed her lips together and her eyes took on a worried hue. Finally, she stepped forward.

    ¡°You took me in when Ben Jayman passed,¡± she said, and her voice was seasons older than her face.

    ¡°I offered a place to all Ben Jayman¡¯s people,¡± Raomar agreed, puzzlement in his expression, ¡°but I hadn¡¯t been told any had taken up the offer.¡±

    ¡°A few of us did,¡± the child assured him. ¡°We spoke with Master Agar, Guildmaster. He took me on as a runner and a guide. Most of us, in fact. We had talents enough to pay our way.¡±

    That last was said with a touch of defiance.

    Raomar¡¯s eyes widened at her tone, and a smile tugged at his lips. He resisted it, trying to remain stern.

    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± he asked, ignoring Dart¡¯s half-smothered groan of disapproval.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what name I had,¡± the girl admitted after a moment¡¯s quiet, ¡°but Master Agar calls me Ghost.¡±

    She brightened.

    ¡°It¡¯s a good name,¡± she told him, ¡°and I like it.¡±

    ¡°It suits her,¡± Dart put in. ¡°She¡¯s as silent as a ghost.¡±

    She scowled examining the girl¡¯s face. ¡°And as pale as one,¡± she added in disapproval.

    ¡°And how did you end up with Ben?¡± Raomar asked.

    Ghost shrugged, her eyes sparkling with sudden, unshed tears. Raomar ignored Dart¡¯s glare and the flare of anger that crossed Alessia¡¯s face.

    ¡°My parents hid me with Ben,¡± she told him, ¡°and I never saw them, again.¡±

    She gulped, blinking rapidly as she turned to Alessia.

    ¡°Mistress Mistlewood, what should I do, now?¡±

    ¡°Agar did not say,¡± Alessia told the child, then motioned toward Raomar. ¡°It is a matter for the guildmaster to decide.¡±

    ¡°Guildmaster?¡± the child asked, looking up at Raomar.

    ¡°Stay with me,¡± he ordered gently. ¡°I will train you.¡±

    The child¡¯s eyes widened, and Alessia raised her eyebrows. She opened her mouth as if to say that hadn¡¯t been what she meant, but Raomar signaled for her to remain silent.

    Frowning, Alessia chose a different subject instead. ¡°Who is the Tillerman?¡±

    ¡°Another guildmaster, like myself,¡± Raomar answered. ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s he doing here?¡± she pressed. ¡°The city is yours. Anyone knows that.¡±

    ¡°Apparently, he does not,¡± Raomar told her. ¡°He has taken the docks¡­and will challenge me for territory and control of the city.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t you know he was here?¡±

    Raomar shook his head. ¡°I was careless,¡± he admitted. ¡°Why do you ask?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ It just seems unusual for you¡­.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Raomar interrupted gently, ¡°I meant why do you ask about the Tillerman.¡±

    Alessia blushed.

    ¡°He was here earlier, wanting to commission me,¡± Alessia began. ¡°Grunwol had just arrived with news of your capture, and Dart knew who¡¯d taken you.¡±

    Raomar glanced across to where Dart was sitting on her sleeping roll. The copper-haired woman dipped her chin in acknowledgement, her eyes not leaving the child.

    ¡°You¡¯ve a good apprentice there,¡± she noted. ¡°If she hadn¡¯t approached Agar, I¡¯d have taken her in.¡±

    From the look on Ghost¡¯s face, that was news, but she gave Raomar a quick glance as if looking for reassurance. It was a glance he acknowledged with a sidelong look, before turning back to Dart.

    ¡°You knew her?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I knew of her,¡± Dart corrected, ¡°but I respected her parents¡¯ wishes.¡±

    ¡°My parents?¡± the child asked, then clapped her hands over her mouth as though she¡¯d spoken out of turn.

    Dart shot the child a swift look.

    ¡°That¡¯s a tale for another time,¡± she said, ¡°and when that time comes, I will tell it. For, now, your master needs your attention, and Mistress Mistlewood has a tale of her own.¡±

    Ghost¡¯s face closed, but she settled to her knees beside Raomar, close but not close enough to touch. After another quick glance at Raomar, she turned her attention to the wizardess.

    Raomar followed her gaze.

    ¡°You have a tale to tell?¡± he asked.

    Alessia¡¯s face became even more somber.

    ¡°The Tillerman asked me to retrieve some papers from Duke Joseph Hartender¡¯s office,¡± she began, then indicated Grunwol, Brianda, Aral and Mika. ¡°I sent for assistance, and Agar sent these. We completed the commission late last night.¡±

    Raomar remembered Brianda being brought to the cell, at around that time, and some of the puzzles behind the night¡¯s events began falling into place.

    ¡°Do you know what the papers were?¡± he probed.

    ¡°From what I could see of it, it¡¯s a letter from the Duke of Criochole offering succor to agents from the old king, if they pass through his lands. Proof he was a traitor, if Joseph wanted to use it as such.¡±

    ¡°He wanted Criochole,¡± Raomar explained. ¡°The letter would have made it his. Now, all he has is the youngest son¡­and the boy has no idea of the games his father played.¡±

    ¡°Broderick?¡± Dart interrupted. ¡°What is he still doing here?¡±

    Raomar turned to the shadow thief in surprise. ¡°You know him?¡±

    ¡°I know him. It was important he left before falling into the king¡¯s hands.¡± Her face took on a bleak look. ¡°And now he will. What was he doing here?¡±

    ¡°He said he had to look after Kel,¡± Raomar told her, and she gave a disbelieving snort.

    ¡°That young lady doesn¡¯t need looking after,¡± Dart replied. ¡°She looks after everyone else. I¡¯m surprised Broderick doesn¡¯t already realize that.¡±

    Raomar didn¡¯t know what to say to that, but something Dart had said, caught his attention.

    ¡°You asked what Broderick was still doing here,¡± he noted. ¡°How did you know he¡¯d been meant to leave?¡±

    Dart raised an eyebrow.

    ¡°I find things, Rau. It¡¯s my trade¡­as you very well know¡­so, if someone wants to leave the city¡­by ocean¡­and by night, I¡¯m the one who knows where to find a captain who¡¯s willing to take on passengers with the same destination as his cargo¡­and who can keep his mouth shut about them.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± Raomar observed, but Dart wasn¡¯t finished.

    ¡°And I¡¯m also the one who knows who controls the docks and organizes safe passage.¡±

    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    ¡°You don¡¯t go to me?¡± Raomar asked.

    ¡°Not when you don¡¯t have the services I require,¡± Dart answered.

    ¡°I could have acquired them,¡± the guildmaster informed her darkly.

    Dart rolled her eyes. ¡°The client didn¡¯t have time to wait for you win a long and bloody turf war,¡± she retorted. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t have secured either the Docklands or the beggars in time. The king¡¯s men were too close.¡±

    ¡°But why?¡± Raomar asked. ¡°What would the king want with Criochole?¡±

    Dart shrugged. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know. No-one¡¯s paid me to find out.¡±

    ¡°And you haven¡¯t thought the information might have value?¡± he asked, incredulous.

    Dart gave him a sour look. ¡°I haven¡¯t had the time to complete the file,¡± she told him shortly. ¡°Your information was coming.¡±

    Her affront made Raomar smile. ¡°I know it was, Lady Dart. I was teasing you.¡±

    Again, something the shadow lady had said drew his attention.

    ¡°What did you mean ¡®long and bloody¡¯?¡± he asked. ¡°Surely the Tillerman doesn¡¯t have the manpower for that?¡±

    Dart indicated where Grunwol lay sleeping.

    ¡°Ask your Northman,¡± she told him. ¡°If I tell you anymore, you¡¯ll have to pay me.¡±

    Raomar looked at the sleeping Northman, and frowned, but Dart interrupted him once again.

    ¡°Don¡¯t wake him. His report can wait.¡± Her eyes shifted back to Alessia. ¡°The wizardess¡¯s report, however¡­¡±

    Raomar looked back at the wizardess. ¡°What is it?¡±

    She frowned, then asked, ¡°Do you know whom the king worships?¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­Toronar?¡± Raomar asked.

    ¡°That¡¯s what I thought, too¡­or perhaps, Miralei, but¡­no¡­¡± Alessia shook her head. ¡°He does not.¡±

    Her eyes darkened with worry, and when next she spoke, her voice was soft with memory.

    ¡°Do you remember when¡­we first met?¡± she asked, and Raomar stilled.

    ¡°The temple?¡±

    Alessia nodded. ¡°You were¡­ Your people¡­¡±

    Raomar nodded. ¡°I remember, but what has that got to do with the king?¡±

    ¡°One of my apprentices scried him¡­p¡­practicing a lesson for me.¡± She shook her head. ¡°I never intended for him to scry the king.¡±

    Raomar chuckled. ¡°Apprentices,¡± he noted, ¡°some need much more supervision than others.¡±

    Alessia gave a wry smile. ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°So,¡± Raomar prodded. ¡°What did he see?¡±

    ¡°The king in a temple,¡± the wizardess revealed, ¡°but it did not belong to either Miralei or Toronar. It had black pillars lining its walls, and an¡­an altar¡­¡±

    She gulped, swallowing convulsively.

    ¡°Black pillars and an altar,¡± Raomar tried for lightness, despite his concern, ¡°like the temple you found me in?¡±

    ¡°No¡­not that¡­¡± Alessia gave a violent shake of her head. ¡°That temple was full of darkness, yes, but not¡­ It didn¡¯t feel unclean, or perverted¡­and your people did not murder men and drink their blood¡­or have undead serving at the altar.¡±

    Raomar gave up trying for lightness.

    ¡°Tell me what else you were able to see.¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t me,¡± Alessia told him, her voice rising in distress. ¡°It was Varan. I told him to practice a scrying spell and he decided to scry the king.¡±

    Raomar frowned. ¡°That¡¯s very audacious,¡± he told her. ¡°What made him think he could see the king?¡±

    ¡°He remembered the king¡¯s armor. You know the armor he wears when there¡¯s a parade.¡±

    ¡°I do,¡± Raomar confirmed, ¡°but¡­even with the image to follow, how did he manage it? The palace is well-warded.¡±

    ¡°Now, there¡¯s an understatement,¡± Dart muttered, and Raomar resisted the urge to ask her how she knew.

    Of course, she knew; she was that kind of woman, and that kind of magic was her business.

    Alessia¡¯s voice dragged his attention back to the matter at hand.

    ¡°And Varan has never been to the palace,¡± she added, ¡°although I doubt that¡¯s where the temple is located.¡±

    ¡°So, how did he¡­¡±

    ¡°He just pictured the king in his armor, with the visor down. It was the way he¡¯d seen him in the last parade.¡±

    Raomar stared at her.

    ¡°And¡­it worked?¡± he asked, because he was pretty sure that wasn¡¯t how it was supposed to work.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Alessia confirmed. ¡°It worked. It worked very well.¡±

    ¡°But, how? I mean, why would the king even be wearing his armor? It¡¯s not like he was having a parade, and the audience hall isn¡¯t that dangerous.¡±

    Dart snorted. ¡°It¡¯s dangerous enough.¡±

    ¡°But¡­¡±

    ¡°It worked because the king wears his ceremonial armor when he worships his god,¡± Alessia explained, ¡°his very dark god.¡±

    ¡°And?¡±

    ¡°The boy watched as they killed a man, then drained and drank his blood¡­although he says he dropped the scry before he saw the chalice touch anyone¡¯s lips.¡±

    ¡°Then how does he know?¡± Raomar asked.

    ¡°He said the chalice was being lifted ¡®like it was going to be drunk,¡¯¡± Alessia told him, obviously paraphrasing the boy¡¯s words.

    Raomar felt a touch of foreboding, and leaned forward.

    ¡°What sort of chalice?¡± he asked.

    ¡°The usual one,¡± Alessia said. ¡°You know silver, gold, a ¡®large goblet,¡¯ if you will.¡±

    ¡°Is there anything else you can remember?¡±

    ¡°I had him do it again, today,¡± she told him.

    ¡°And?¡± he asked.

    Alessia¡¯s face paled and she swallowed hard against the memory. Her voice was solemn when she continued, ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what I saw.¡±

    Raomar forced himself to keep quiet, watching as her face grew vacant with memory.

    ¡°I took the boy to the pool in the back garden. He¡¯s mastered the lesson far faster than I thought possible¡ªand with a greater degree of mastery, than I expected. He created the spell to perfection and as soon as the fish and the pond had faded to darkness, I saw the temple.¡±

    She paused, but, when no one interrupted, she went on.

    ¡°Tall black columns framed a red-drenched altar. Chains bedecked each column, and a narrow footing skirted the base, holding shackles. Grooves marked the pillar¡¯s sides, leading to a deep, narrow gutter around the foot.¡±

    She gulped, swallowed convulsively, and went on.

    ¡°F¡­Four sets of shackles,¡± she reiterated, ¡°their chains embedded in the stone at the base, with more chains at waist height, and more chains and shackles further up¡­where a man¡¯s hands would be if they were raised above his head.¡±

    She shivered, twisting her hands together in her lap. Raomar waited, watching her draw several shaky breaths before she continued.

    ¡°The pillars were empty¡­¡± Alessia drew another shaky breath. ¡°But the altar¡­it¡­it held a man. I had Varan take the scry focus closer to¡­to see who it was. I¡­he looked familiar¡­¡±

    ¡°And did you recognize him?¡± Raomar prodded gently, trying to channel comfort through his tones into Alessia¡¯s shivering form.

    She nodded.

    ¡°Kalain,¡± she whispered. ¡°They¡¯d taken Kalain. We should have known something terrible had happened when he didn¡¯t make the council meeting, but¡­but we didn¡¯t check.¡±

    A sob shook her shoulders, momentarily robbing her of words.

    ¡°He¡¯d been so excited to be needed by the king. We didn¡¯t think any harm¡­¡±

    Another sob interrupted her.

    ¡°Oh, gods! Why didn¡¯t we ch¡­check?¡± she asked, and burst into tears.

    Raomar moved to go to her, but Dart laid a hand on her shoulder and shook her head. As he subsided back to his mat, she looked at the wizardess.

    ¡°Tell him the rest, Alessia,¡± she ordered. ¡°Tell him about the king.¡±

    ¡°The king,¡± Alessia repeated dully.

    Her voice faded to silence and she grew still, staring at the wall beyond the guildmaster¡¯s head.

    ¡°Was he there?¡± Raomar pressed gently. ¡°The king?¡±

    Alessia gave a tiny shudder and swiped at her face with her hands.

    ¡°He was there,¡± she replied, her voice dull with horror, ¡°wearing his ceremonial armor. The horned helmet sh¡­shone. It shone in the torchlight. His shadow reminded me of a demon dancing on the walls.¡±

    Again, she paused.

    ¡°Go on,¡± Raomar prodded, and she took a shaky breath.

    ¡°Kalain was alive,¡± she told him. ¡°I could see the rise and fall of his chest.¡±

    Her voice rose in horror and distress.

    ¡°But he just lay there! He didn¡¯t even fight the chains, not until¡­ until the king called on a god. He said its name, offering it Kalain¡¯s fear and outrage, his sadness, his pain and his regrets¡­and that was when Kalain screamed.¡±

    Her eyes grew round. Her face paled.

    ¡°He screamed as though a hundred years of terror fell on him all at once and the king¡­ The king, he laughed, raising his hands like he was offering that scream and all the emotion inside it to some other being, and that was when I saw how the shadows grew darker all around the temple walls.¡±

    ¡°Did the king see them?¡± Raomar asked, and Alessia nodded. ¡°And how did he react?¡±

    ¡°He¡­He laughed!¡± she cried. ¡°He laughed and then he took a dagger from his belt and ca¡­carved Kalain open¡­and he took his entrails¡­and¡­¡±

    Alessia drew a sharp breath, pressing her lips together as more tears spilled down her face.

    ¡°What was in the shadows, Less?¡± Raomar asked.

    ¡°Creatures,¡± she answered, her voice growing strangely calm. ¡°There were creatures in the shadows. The king fed them Kalain¡¯s innards while he screamed. All the while, the king praised his god. Kalain was still alive when the king opened his throat and caught his blood in the chalice.¡±

    She pressed her lips together, her eyes shimmering as she fought back her tears.

    ¡°He¡­He could see the king as he drank. He was still alive when the king let his creatures approach the altar and tear him apart. I¡­¡±

    She caught her breath, and looked at Raomar, her eyes pleading for him to understand.

    ¡°I couldn¡¯t save him. All I could do was watch as they took the pieces away.¡±

    She might have given way to her tears, then, but Raomar had one more question for her.

    ¡°Where did they take them?¡± he asked. ¡°Did you see if they left the temple?¡±

    In truth, he was less concerned with the pieces and more interested in seeing if there was another way into the temple, a connection to the palace, or some other entrance entirely.

    He was out of luck.

    Alessia shook her head.

    ¡°They couldn¡¯t leave the temple,¡± she told him, her voice returning to its strange calm. ¡°The iron doors were closed and they returned to the shadows where they blended in so well I couldn¡¯t see them.¡±

    She shuddered.

    ¡°I could still hear them¡­feeding¡­and then the king called a blood screen to shield the temple from being scried.¡±

    Raomar¡¯s eyes widened in alarm and she gave him a soft, sad smile.

    ¡°I ended the spell before the ward could reach the focus point.¡± She frowned. ¡°The king doesn¡¯t worship Toronar. He worships someone¡­something¡­else. I won¡¯t speak the name, but I will write it down. If you can find out who, or what, it is, you will know why the king needs wizards to sacrifice to it.¡±

    She took a piece of parchment from her desk, and a quill, and wrote down a single name.

    Walshira, Raomar read when she handed it to him.

    He frowned, not recognizing the name. It was something he¡¯d have to raise with Enshul. The goddess would know¡­or she¡¯d know where to look. Somehow, he had the feeling she¡¯d want to know¡­and her sister should be made aware.

    He shrugged the thought away. That was a matter between the sisters. All he could do was pass the name along and leave Enshul¡¯s business in Enshul¡¯s hands. Alessia continued on, oblivious.

    ¡°You¡¯ll also need to find out what kinds of creatures feed on flesh, both living and dead. These looked like zombies, but¡­they weren¡¯t, not all of them. I keep wondering if they need mage flesh in order to survive, or if the king had another purpose in feeding them that.¡±

    She shrugged. ¡°The undead are not my forte. I will need to seek specialist advice.¡±

    ¡°They may have been ghouls,¡± Raomar told her, ¡°But I don¡¯t know of any ghoul that seeks mage flesh alone. Most will eat whatever sentient they can lay their teeth on.¡±

    He shrugged.

    ¡°It¡¯s an old magic¡­and one with which I¡¯m not familiar. Ghouls are the most common flesh-eating undead I know of¡­and created by ancient spells. Could the king have found one of the old powers to serve?¡±

    Alessia stared at him.

    ¡°If I knew I would tell you,¡± she said, ¡°but¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll see what I can do,¡± Dart said. ¡°Kalain was a friend, and while I can¡¯t undo what was done to him, I can try to prevent it from happening to others¡­¡±

    She rose to her feet.

    ¡°I¡¯ll see they are warned, and do what I can to protect them.¡±

    She didn¡¯t mention that Alessia was one of those she was concerned about, but her face said it all.

    Alessia gestured toward the door.

    ¡°You know how to leave here unseen, Lady Dart,¡± she told the woman. ¡°I will not detain you.¡±

    The door closing softly was all the answer she received, and she turned to Raomar.

    ¡°I won¡¯t be able to scry the temple until the blood screen is gone,¡± she told him, ¡°and I do not have the strength to do that alone.¡±

    ¡°I understand,¡± Raomar told her. ¡°I know of someone who might be able to break through.¡±

    He sighed.

    ¡°I can only pray she¡¯ll deign to answer.¡±

 16éˆ¥æ“±aomar and Enshul

    Alessia would not let them leave until dusk, saying that while Dart had the skills and knowledge to leave unseen, they did not. Raomar didn¡¯t argue with her. He was too weak to hide their exit¡­and he had injuries to tend.

    By nightfall, he¡¯d called Enshul to tend Brianda¡¯s wound some more¡­and seen the results of Grunwol¡¯s encounter with the garitzik.

    ¡°You made a pact with them?¡± he asked in disbelief. ¡°With a gargoyle?¡±

    ¡°It was the only way,¡± Grunwol insisted. ¡°If I hadn¡¯t, I¡¯d have been dead, and you¡¯d have been meeting the king¡¯s undead in person.¡±

    ¡°No, I wouldn¡¯t,¡± Raomar argued. ¡°Alessia would still have come for Brianda and I¡¯d have still been rescued. Besides, Dart followed me¡­and would have seen me out.¡±

    ¡°And how did she get past the garitzik and the shadow fey?¡± Grunwol demanded. ¡°They patrol those tunnels as if they were their own. When Dart said a turf war would be long and bloody, she should have said your victory wasn¡¯t guaranteed.¡±

    Raomar gave the Northman a sour look.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he admitted, ¡°but you know Dart¡­ Friends in unlikely places.¡±

    He laid his hands over the wound and called on Enshul once more. The goddess answered, but her frustration was as great as his own when he lifted his hands and the wound remained red, angry, and tender.

    ¡°Is that the best you can do?¡± Grunwol asked in disbelief.

    ¡°It¡¯s all I can do,¡± Raomar confirmed, studying the injury. ¡°Pact marks are very resistant to healing.¡±

    ¡°Even for the gods?¡± Grunwol asked.

    ¡°Even them,¡± Raomar told him.

    ¡°But, they¡¯re gods!¡± the Northman protested.

    Raomar sighed. ¡°There are some things that are older than even the gods,¡± he explained. ¡°Some things even they must accept¡ªand you¡¯d do well to remember it.¡±

    Grunwol fell silent, then glanced at Alessia. ¡°We can go?¡± he asked, and the wizardess opened the door.

    Before he could step into the corridor, Ghost slipped past him, turning to bar his way.

    ¡°I lead,¡± she told him. ¡°You do not know the way.¡±

    Grunwol gave Raomar a startled look, and the kevarag shrugged.

    ¡°She leads,¡± he confirmed, ¡°and she does not need a lesson in manners from you.¡±

    ¡°Not yet,¡± the big man grumbled, forcing Brianda to stifle a laugh.

    It still leaked out and he glared at her.

    ¡°Not one word,¡± he instructed, and Brianda covered her mouth with her hand in a signal she¡¯d be silent.

    ¡°Come!¡± Ghost ordered. ¡°And be silent!¡±

    Even Raomar arched his eyebrows at that, but he signaled the girl to lead, and followed her into the dark, Grunwol protecting his back, and Brianda, Mika and Aral taking up the rear.

    * * *

    ¡°See the healer,¡± Raomar ordered Brianda, Mika, Aral and Grunwol on their return.

    He looked at Ghost.

    ¡°And you, come with me. I¡¯ll have Agar assign you quarters.¡±

    Ghost followed, her eyes alight with curiosity and banked excitement. Raomar suppressed a smile at the quiet joy she exuded at having found a place in the world¡­in his world. He wondered if she¡¯d have been happier with Dart, but only for a moment.

    The shadow thief wouldn¡¯t have let her go if she¡¯d have thought the child wouldn¡¯t have thrived. It made him wonder why the woman didn¡¯t have children of her own¡­and that wasn¡¯t ground he was willing to tread.

    Placing her in his steward¡¯s care, he left. His people might be able to rest, but he still had duties to attend. Moving through the lamp-lit shadows curtaining the guild¡¯s halls he headed for the temple.

    Leaving the guild¡¯s residential halls behind him, Raomar turned a corner, and stopped at a small fountain set in an alcove. Flanked by two waist-high pedestals topped by gargoyles, the fountain¡¯s grotto was green-lit by crystals.

    Dipping his fingers into the fountain, Raomar turned and set his fingertips against the opposite wall. The illusion covering the walls melted aside and the double doors beneath it opened at his touch. Very few of his people passed through them.

    Those without permission burnt if they tried¡­and only those with permission knew the doors existed.

    They opened into a small bare foyer on the other side of which was another set of doors mirroring the entrance¡ªa double lock against the curious. They, too, opened at Raomar¡¯s touch.

    This time he uttered a single word, waiting for the first set of doors to close behind him, before he touched the second. They, too, swung open before him, revealing a slightly larger room.

    On one side hung three robes of black velvet, streaked by swirls of midnight blue. Three chests rested beneath them and a simple archway led into a room dominated by the large, wooden tub in its center.

    Steam rose from it in a scented cloud, and Raomar paused to inhale.

    Home, he thought, removing his weapons and cloak and dropping them onto a bench that ran the length of one wall. His silk shirt followed and he took a seat to remove his boots before adding his trousers to the pile.

    With a sigh, he crossed the bare stone floor, and lowered himself into the tub, leaning back against its edge as he closed his eyes. The water¡¯s warmth permeated his aching muscles, relaxing them after the abuse they¡¯d suffered under the duke¡¯s hospitality.

    He heard the faintest whisper of sound, and then a familiar voice spoke.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad everything is to your satisfaction, high priest.¡±

    Raomar tilted his head and lazily lifted an eyelid so he could see the speaker.

    ¡°Misrandar,¡± he murmured by way of greeting.

    ¡°High Priest,¡± the priest replied, inclining his head in greeting. ¡°It is good to see you return in safety.¡±

    ¡°The goddess walked with me,¡± Raomar told him. ¡°Is everything in order?¡±

    ¡°I will make one final check, High Priest, but it was ready when I came to greet you.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Raomar answered, straightening to scrub himself clean, as he undertook the ritual bathing required of all those who entered the temple.

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    When he was done, he stood and rubbed himself dry with one of the towels, Misrandar had set to one side of the tub, then made his way barefooted to the robes. Sliding one over his head, he straightened it around his body, then took the boots from the chest beneath it.

    Soft-soled, they muffled his steps as he made his way into the temple proper.

    Misrandar was waiting.

    ¡°The inner chamber is ready, High Priest,¡± he said, turning to lead the way to it.

    He moved silently, letting Raomar gather his thoughts for the meeting ahead. As the senior priest in residence, Misrandar oversaw the day-to-day running of the temple, and the majority of its care and maintenance. The acolytes were his responsibility, too.

    He made it his business to know his high priest¡¯s needs before Raomar could voice them, making it easier for the kevarag priest to move between his responsibilities as guildmaster and high priest.

    He slowed as they approached the inner chamber, standing aside so Raomar could enter ahead of him. Bowing, he said, ¡°My lord, I will watch for you here.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Misrandar.¡± Raomar returned the man¡¯s bow and pushed open the iron-bound, black-wood door.

    The door swung easily beneath his touch, even though he knew others would have had to use all their strength. The enchantments bound to its wood and iron, made it almost weightless to Enshul¡¯s faithful¡­and ten times its true weight for everyone else.

    It was a simple security mechanism, but he still breathed a sigh of relief to see Misrandar settle against the wall opposite to keep watch.

    Raomar let go of the portal, letting it swing silently shut behind him. Taking a deep breath, he crossed the empty floor to the altar that stood in the room¡¯s center.

    Comprised of a single, blue-laced night stone, it was as full of shadow and shifting depths as the being that bestowed Raomar¡¯s power. It had been a prize taken at the end of a long journey¡­and it had cost him dearly.

    Now, as he stared into it, Raomar took a moment to remember those who¡¯d fallen on the journey to win it. Friends and fallen comrades, all. With another long breath, he set the memories aside and focused on the task before him.

    Silver inlays glittered like reflected moonlight as Raomar lifted his hands to waist height, commanding light to spring from the lifeless candles ensconced in the chamber¡¯s walls. Blue flame answered, confirmation he stood in Enshul¡¯s favor.

    Relief rippled through him, for while he hadn¡¯t thought he¡¯d displeased her, it wasn¡¯t always guaranteed.

    Kneeling before the altar, he raised his hands.

    ¡°Lady of Night, our Lady Enshul,¡± he began, ¡°Mistress of Deception, Weaver of the Tapestry of Intrigue, and Diviner of all the happens in shadow and the darkness of the night, hear me. I bring you news, and seek your instruction and advice.¡±

    The goddess¡¯s reply came almost immediately, ringing softly through his skull. ¡°I wait.¡±

    Raomar¡¯s heart raced in response. The goddess was not usually so quick to reply. Indeed, some days she did not reply at all.

    ¡°L¡­Lady of the Shifting Shadows, I begin¡­¡± he told her.

    This time her reply was immediate¡­and edged with impatience.

    ¡°I wait.¡±

    The words thrummed outward from his soul, echoing through his bones. His breath shook from the power of her presence¡­and his spirit rose in answer.

    ¡°Mistress, this is what I have discovered¡­¡± he began, and detailed what he¡¯d learned from Alessia.

    He spoke of the unknown deity worshipped by the king, placing the slip of paper containing its name on the altar.

    Blue flame leapt, engulfing ink and parchment in a flash of light and heat.

    ¡°I do not know this name,¡± she informed him, and Raomar heard concern and curiosity threading her tones.

    She was silent as he finished his report.

    Raomar lowered his arms, setting his hands on his thighs and bowing his head as he waited.

    The darkness thickened around him and he fought the urge to raise his head. A current of air brushed the back of his neck and ruffled his hair, and he sensed the goddess pacing the floor at his back.

    Raomar held his breath, and the movement continued, the goddess pacing the room. The sensation became less like a breeze and more like air shifting as a person made the air eddy and swirl in currents around him.

    The goddess¡¯s presence was so strong, Raomar got the feeling that, if he turned, he¡¯d see her¡­pacing.

    The urge to look became almost unbearable, but he forced himself to stay still, and wait. The longer he knelt there, the more he was sure the goddess paced behind him, moving around the room.

    After what seemed like an eternity, she moved around him, and came to a halt before him.

    ¡°It is nothing,¡± she decided, her words reverberating inside his head.

    Raomar pressed his lips together, stifling the urge to disagree.

    Enshul saw it anyway.

    ¡°The powers of good will see to it, as they always have. They will not abide another evil rising within their domain.¡±

    To Raomar it sounded as though she was trying to reassure him.

    ¡°Mistress,¡± he began, continuing in shaky tones when she didn¡¯t rebuke him. ¡°What¡­ What if they don¡¯t know he¡¯s here?¡±

    Enshul¡¯s scorn washed over him in a wave of needling pain¡­a minor punishment for his presumption in arguing, disapproval that he¡¯d dared to disagree.

    Raomar bowed his head and stifled a groan, but he didn¡¯t protest. For his audacity, it was no more than he deserved.

    ¡°Watch for me,¡± she ordered as the pain subsided, and he felt fingertips brush his hair, saw the light grow from behind closed eyes.

    Opening them, he raised his head.

    The altar before him was glowing, the blue-veined nightstone pulsing with an internal light, its silver inlay shining like liquid fire. As he watched, the altar¡¯s light faded, and the night-stone once more became a molten morass of blue and black shadow, while the only fire in the inlay was that reflected from the blue-flamed candles around the chamber¡¯s walls.

    Slowly, Raomar got to his feet, his muscles trembling with fatigue.

    The goddess was gone. She had come and spoken with him, touched her fingers to his head and left.

    Raomar felt drained. His legs shook beneath him as he turned and reached for the bronze handle on the door. His fingers fumbled over its cold surface, as he pushed it down. This time, the door swung reluctantly outward to reveal Misrandar.

    The man¡¯s face lit with delight as he saw Raomar emerge.

    ¡°She came!¡± he exclaimed, reaching a wondering hand toward Raomar¡¯s hair. ¡°She was with you!¡±

    ¡°She was,¡± Raomar confirmed, and could not keep the weariness from his voice.

    Misrandar didn¡¯t seem to notice. ¡°High Priest, what did she say?¡±

    Raomar didn¡¯t reply. Instead, he moved fully into the hall, letting the door swing closed behind him then, without saying a word, he began to make his slow way back to the outer chambers. The hurried pad of soft, leather soles sounded on the stone floor behind him as Misrandar hurried to catch up. His name a near-to-breathless croak as the priest called after him.

    ¡°High Priest?¡±

    Misrandar¡¯s voice brought Raomar to a weary halt and he laid a hand on the wall, supporting himself as he half-turned to watch the younger man catch up.

    ¡°High Priest?¡± Misrandar might be short of breath, but passion for the goddess shone in his eyes, and Raomar could not deny him the answer.

    ¡°She said to watch,¡± Raomar told him.

    ¡°Watch?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Raomar pushed off the wall to continue his journey down the hall. ¡°We are to watch and wait for her return.¡±

    ¡°But¡­what are the signs we should look for? How will we know?¡±

    The man¡¯s pace quickened, his voice growing stronger as his breath caught up.

    ¡°Misrandar,¡± Raomar began, stifling his impatience. ¡°The meeting has tired me, and I need to rest. Let me wash and eat, and then I will sit with you and tell you every detail I can recall.¡±

    The man blinked, then to his credit, he took another look at his high priest. This time, he saw through the lingering glamor left by the goddess¡¯s visit.

    ¡°High Priest¡­¡± He sighed, and wound his arm through Raomar¡¯s, lending his support. ¡°You are tired.¡±

    Raomar resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and bit down on the sarcastic reply that rose to his tongue. Keeping a firm grip on his temper, he sighed.

    ¡°Yes, Misrandar, I am.¡±

    To his surprise, the man shifted his grip, lifting Raomar¡¯s arm and settling it over his shoulder as he wound an arm around his waist.

    ¡°Lean on me,¡± he instructed. ¡°I¡¯ll call one of the acolytes and have them go ahead.¡±

    Before Raomar could tell him, not to, the man had pursed his lips in a sharp whistle that bounced down the corridor before them. It was answered seconds later by the soft rush of slippered feet and Misrandar¡¯s three priestly apprentices raced around a corner ahead of them.

    They came to a skidding halt, striving for unaccustomed dignity when they saw who Misrandar was accompanying.

    ¡°You called, Master?¡± the tallest of the three asked.

    The trio stopped before Raomar and Misrandar, but their gaze was fixed on the high priest.

    Misrandar cleared his throat, as though trying to remind them of the protocols, and the oldest of them stiffened, turning to give Raomar his full attention.

    ¡°High Priest,¡± he acknowledged, bowing slightly.

    The two younger acolytes were quick to follow his example, although their eyes remained wide with wary fascination.

    Having made his greeting, the oldest acolyte turned to Misrandar. ¡°You called, Master?¡±

    ¡°The high priest is weary from his meeting with the goddess. Fill the tub with hot water and see his clothes are ready¡­and tell the cook to prepare supper. We¡¯ll dine together, tonight.¡±

    That last was news to Raomar, but the sudden excitement that lit the boys¡¯ faces was all he needed to know what he needed to do. The surge of questions that followed only proved it.

    ¡°Will you tell us more about the goddess?¡± one of the younger ones asked.

    ¡°What does she look like?¡±

    ¡°Did she put that lock of blue in your hair?¡±

    ¡°What do you have to do for her to get that?¡±

    Misrandar quieted them. ¡°Now, boys. I¡¯m sure the high priest will answer some of your questions when he¡¯s had time to recover.¡±

    ¡°Will he¡ª¡± the middle boy began, only to have Misrandar shoo him away.

    ¡°Go, now,¡± he instructed, ¡°or there¡¯ll be no supper and you¡¯ll be scrubbing the corridor by yourself in the morning.¡±

    Raomar stifled a smile as the boy closed his mouth with an almost audible snap, and he didn¡¯t miss the hasty glance cast in his direction. Misrandar didn¡¯t speak until they¡¯d turned the corner to the temple baths, and the corridor was quiet, again.

    ¡°My apologies, High Priest, but they so rarely get the opportunity.¡±

    Raomar waved the apology aside.

    ¡°They have much to learn of the goddess, and I¡¯ve been away on her business.¡± He managed a tired smile. ¡°It will be a pleasure to speak with them on Enshul¡¯s behalf.¡±

    His words brought a small spark of anticipation within, and he felt the goddess¡¯s attention. It was both a relief and a worry to know she would be in attendance as he shared what he knew of her with her youngest servants.

 17éˆ¥æ“®f Kings and Gods

    ¡°Go!¡± the king ordered. ¡°You have their names and dwelling places. Bring Deverath¡¯s magic users to me.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sire!¡± echoed back to him, and his guard marched from the hall.

    King Andreus Feravan watched them go, his mind dark with his plans for Deverath¡¯s mages. His master had demanded mages, and Walshira was not one to be denied.

    Andreus frowned. The god¡¯s demand for magicians, he could understand, since those who could tap the world¡¯s energies had a powerful blend of spirit. It was Walshira¡¯s request for any who controlled the elements to be captured over all others that had him wondering how those mages could be any more powerful than the rest, but the god was adamant.

    ¡°Bring me those linked to the elements. I need them over all others.¡±

    Remembering the sheer avarice in Walshira¡¯s voice sent a shiver running through him. The desire, there¡­the greed¡­ Andreus couldn¡¯t understand it.

    Needing the magic flowing through mages and sorcerers, that he could well grasp. Such sacrifices were well-documented in the forbidden arts, but not even those marked elementalists as more desirable than any other. Still, if that was what the god needed to free himself from his prison¡­

    Andreus sighed, returning his attention to his almost empty court. His spies had departed hours ago, the lists they¡¯d brought giving his soldiers targets for their raids. A smile licked its way across his lips.

    His commanders might not understand why those named there had to be taken in a single swoop, but their troops would be sufficient for the task¡­and the enchantments he¡¯d placed on the gates had increased the number of those targets thrice more.

    Seeing the hall was empty, of all bar his personal guard and the chancellor appointed to oversee it, the king rose from his ironwood throne. After stretching carefully, he descended from his dais and headed toward a small, private doorway at the back of the chamber.

    Red velvet curtains concealed it, and he glanced back, once, before shifting them slightly aside and stepping through. Two of his guard followed, and a third locked the door behind him. A short trip down the corridor beyond took him into a small atrium, and the scribe seated behind a large wooden table piled with neat stacks of parchment.

    The man looked up as he entered.

    ¡°Have you recorded the agreements?¡± Andreus demanded.

    The man bobbed his head, indicating a pile of parchment set to one side.

    ¡°Yes, your Majesty.¡±

    ¡°Then you may go.¡±

    The man swallowed nervously, and stood.

    ¡°Thank you, your Majesty,¡± he replied, bowing parallel to the table top, before straightening swiftly and leaving.

    His obvious fear made the king smile, and he glanced down at the papers. Seeing they were all in order, he was about to follow the man from the room, when he heard raised voices coming through the ducts that piped all sound from the court room to the scribe¡¯s chamber.

    His chancellor was not happy.

    ¡°The king has had his last audience for the day,¡± the chancellor was saying. ¡°You¡¯ll have to come back, tomorrow.¡±

    An older, unfamiliar voice replied, ¡°I promise, the matter is important and I won¡¯t take much of his Majesty¡¯s time.¡±

    ¡°Indeed,¡± his chancellor returned, ¡°You won¡¯t take any of his time at all¡ªregardless of how important the matter is.¡±

    Andreus snorted. There was always one who thought they were an exception to the rules. He turned and headed for the exit, stopping abruptly at the visitor¡¯s next words.

    ¡°If I were his Majesty,¡± the man announced, ¡°I would want to warned of a breach to my palace security as soon as it was discovered.¡±

    Andreus hesitated, curious as to what else the man might say. Whoever it was, obliged him by continuing.

    ¡°Especially, when the breach involved an intrusion into the royal temple.¡±

    The man¡¯s voice had grown louder, and heavy boots echoed across the court¡¯s marble floor, his guards hurrying to silence the visitor, and remove him with all the force needed.

    And probably a good deal more, the king mused, tempted to leave the man to his fate. Still, an intrusion into the royal temple¡­

    With a sigh, he pivoted and stalked back toward the door, his guards unlocking it as soon as his intent was clear. Moving back through the curtain, the king walked around the dais. From the visitor¡¯s point of view, it would look like he¡¯d appeared out of nowhere.

    ¡°Chancellor!¡± he called to draw the man¡¯s attention. ¡°A word, if you please.¡±

    The court room guards hesitated, throwing him questioning glances. Andreus held up a hand, gesturing toward the hall entry.

    ¡°Guards! Close those doors!¡±

    The chancellor jumped, at the king¡¯s sharp tone, and the guards pivoted and strode to do as he¡¯d ordered¡ªsave one, who remained beside the stranger, guarding against any foolish actions. The chancellor hurried to stand before Andreus.

    ¡°Your Majesty?¡±

    Shadow touched the king¡¯s mind, and his next instruction was edged with another¡¯s voice.

    ¡°Bring him.¡±

    ¡°But, your Majesty¡­¡± The Chancellor¡¯s voice faded as he caught the look in king¡¯s eyes.

    Watching him, Andreus knew the man had just glimpsed his deity looking back.

    The chancellor bowed his head, his very subdued, ¡°Yes, your Majesty,¡± softened by fear.

    Suppressing his smile, the king led the way back through the curtain to the antechamber beyond. Seating himself behind the scribe¡¯s desk, he waited until the chancellor had brought his insistent visitor to stand before him.

    By then, all traces of the smile were gone and his expression stood in stern lines. Walshira¡¯s power shrouded him like a cloak, and the chancellor blanched. He stepped back toward the door even as he ushered the visitor through.

    ¡°Is there anything else, Sire?¡± he asked, his voice rippling nervously.

    Andreus shook his head. ¡°No, Chancellor. You may go.¡±

    The man didn¡¯t wait to be told twice. He made an abrupt about face, the guard closing the door behind him. The stranger approached the desk, and Andreus¡¯s guards stiffened. Shooting them a warning look to hold their places, Andreus studied the man who¡¯d risked his displeasure to see him.

    He was the epitome of what his spies termed a ¡®gray man,¡¯ a perfect example of ¡®non-descript.¡¯ At first glance, he was of average height and build, his clothes well-cut but nothing to draw the eye, the kind of man no one gave a second glance if they passed him in the street.

    It was a deceptively dangerous skill, and the king forced himself to take that second look.

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    The man¡¯s eyes were a washed-out blue, set in a weather-beaten face creased by age, and while his hair might once have been black, it was now peppered with gray. Closer inspection revealed the hint of a swordsman¡¯s musculature partially concealed by the gray, loose-fitting tunic and dust-blue trousers he wore. A light patina of dust coated the once-polished brown of his boots.

    Andreus looked him up and down, noting the blades he wore. When he studied him from the boots up, his impression didn¡¯t change. The man was a swordsman, of that he was sure. Either that, or he was very familiar with the blade.

    He was also sure the man wasn¡¯t here to use either blade he carried.

    ¡°Your information had better be as pertinent as you claim,¡± he stated, knowing Walshira colored his voice with threat.

    It was as though darkness stretched along the king¡¯s words and touched the man, and the shudder that rippled over his visitor¡¯s frame confirmed it. He wasn¡¯t surprised to see his visitor give a slight shake as though trying to free himself from a bad feeling.

    The king had no doubt that was exactly what he was trying to do, and was impressed when his visitor straightened and met his eyes.

    ¡°My name is the Tillerman. My trade is information¡­among other things¡­and this I freely offer.¡± He paused briefly as though making sure he had the king¡¯s attention, and then hurried on. ¡°Your Majesty was scried during the ceremony you recently held in your temple. In that scry, you were seen to sacrifice a man and drink his blood.¡±

    He swallowed quietly, as though the news was disquieting, then waited, uncertainty lurking in his eyes.

    The king continued to wait, not breaking eye contact or making a sound. When his silence triggered nothing more, Andreus took one of the nearby quills, dipped it into an ink well, and held it over a blank piece of parchment.

    ¡°The wizard¡¯s name?¡± he demanded.

    ¡°Alessia Mistlewood, your Majesty,¡± the Tillerman replied.

    The king wrote the name, noting that it had a vaguely familiar ring to it.

    ¡°Her address?¡± he wanted to know.

    ¡°Number 4, Cat¡¯s Way, the stone house with the rear courtyard and gardens,¡± came the prompt reply.

    The king noted down the details, ignoring the incongruity of him doing his own paperwork.

    If the Tillerman found it strange, he didn¡¯t say a word. Instead, he watched the king write in silence. When he was done with the address, the king looked up at him.

    ¡°And does she live alone?¡± he asked, feeling Walshira¡¯s interest sharpen.

    ¡°No, your Majesty,¡± the Tillerman answered. ¡°She shares a household with her four apprentices, three girls and a boy.¡±

    Walshira¡¯s interest became a silent demand, a command that all be brought to his altar, a need to see them before the hunt was set. The king¡¯s gaze hardened.

    ¡°You will scry them for me,¡± he instructed, and watched the Tillerman¡¯s face pale.

    ¡°Y¡­Your Majesty,¡± the man sputtered. ¡°I¡­I cannot.¡±

    ¡°And why is that?¡± the king asked softly, the sense of power and another presence flowing through his tones.

    The Tillerman shuddered, and his mouth moved as though trying to fight the sudden dryness Walshira¡¯s presence caused.

    Andreus didn¡¯t blame him. He could hear it, too, the power of a rulership blessed by another power flowed through his words¡­as did a sense of the god himself, something dark and old and evil, and filled with an undeniable power.

    The king watched as fear washed through the Tillerman¡¯s features, and the man struggled to master himself before he answered.

    ¡°I¡­cannot scry her, your Majesty,¡± the man cautiously began, ¡°because I am no mage.¡±

    The king smiled as he came around the table. His guards tensed as he came alongside the Tillerman, but none of them moved, not even when he laid a hand on the man¡¯s shoulder.

    Power jolted through him, traveling through his hand and into the Tillerman¡¯s stocky frame. The man gasped, flinching but halting the movement before he moved from under the king¡¯s touch. Andreus allowed his smile to grow.

    ¡°And now?¡± he asked softly. ¡°Could you do it, now?¡±

    The Tillerman gulped, his eyes momentarily wide, and then he nodded.

    ¡°Y¡­Yes, your Majesty,¡± he replied, his voice unsteady.

    ¡°Good,¡± Andreus released his shoulder, stepping around the man to lead the way through the door leading to the corridor that would take them to an inner courtyard, and the gardens he¡¯d had constructed under Walshira¡¯s direction.

    The Tillerman followed, his eyes darting to take in the details of this new section of the palace.

    The king held his scorn for the man¡¯s action away from his face until the Tillerman could no longer see his expression. He had no doubt the man was usually accompanied by his own guard, and that the lack of them made him feel vulnerable.

    Perhaps it will lead him to make a mistake, and reveal why he¡¯s really here, he thought. Because he surely hasn¡¯t come from the goodness of his heart.

    Still, seeing the subtle tilt of the Tillerman¡¯s head, he knew the man was taking in as much of the route as he could.

    Probably trying to note the number of passages and doors we pass, the king concluded, remembering the Tillerman¡¯s business. Such information would sell for a good price to any interested in attempting to navigate my halls.

    He didn¡¯t let the thought worry him. Any who tried would soon find out his palace was protected by more than guards and a complex layout. His lips thinned in a grim smile.

    And much good may it do them, he thought, keeping the thought from his face as he motioned the Tillerman forward.

    ¡°This way,¡± he ordered, as they reached the entrance to the garden.

    He paused to let the Tillerman catch up, inhaling appreciatively as he did so. The garden courtyard had been built according to Walshira¡¯s instructions, and its myriad of interconnected pools were bordered by rose hedges. Sweet oranges were strategically placed throughout and a white-flowered vine clung to the walls, its blossoms shining softly in the afternoon light. Their scent perfumed the air around them.

    Set in the far wall, were three archways, and the garden¡¯s center marked the center of the water network in a series of tiered ponds. A number of smaller ponds surrounded a central pool, linked to it by channels of water, edged in a flurry of rocks and stones. Gravel paths outlined pools and channels, accentuating the pattern they made.

    Beside the king, the Tillerman tensed.

    ¡°The ponds¡­¡± he began, then fell abruptly silent.

    ¡°Stunning, aren¡¯t they?¡± Andreus asked, knowing that wasn¡¯t what the man was talking about.

    The Tillerman proved him right with his next words.

    ¡°Mesmerizing,¡± he agreed, and the king smiled.

    The pattern was indeed mesmerizing, drawing in all who saw it until it felt like they were stepping into another place. He turned back to the pond, refusing to answer the pattern¡¯s call.

    ¡°Scry the wizardess,¡± he ordered, and the Tillerman flinched at the abruptness in his voice.

    Ignoring his discomfort, the king took a firm grip on the Tillerman¡¯s arm and turned him to face one of the small pools. It was surrounded by a low ridge of rocks, interspersed with low-growing irises, their pale blue blossoms contrasting with the dark gray of the stones.

    ¡°Begin,¡± he instructed, when the man was positioned exactly as he wanted.

    The Tillerman took a deep breath, and began, the incantation falling clumsily from his lips as his hands ran through the necessary gestures with jerky movements.

    Grimacing at the clumsiness of the spell¡¯s execution, the king released the man¡¯s arm, leaning forward as the pool blurred. Its pebbled bottom disappeared to reveal a pale face framed by red hair¡ªAlessia Mistlewood.

    ¡°Move the focus back,¡± the king instructed, once more feeling the surge of power that was Walshira granting the knowledge required to do what was asked.

    The Tillerman stumbled through the words, his fingers tangling on the required gestures. The scry rippled, the connection becoming unstable as the picture jerked back to show the wizardess asleep on a beautifully carved wooden bed.

    ¡°Very nice,¡± the king murmured, meaning the bed, not the man¡¯s casting.

    The Tillerman relaxed, and the scry steadied. The king contemplated what he wanted to do next, and decided the complexity might very well be beyond the man¡¯s abilities. Rather than say anything, he stepped in close, smoothing his palms over the Tillerman¡¯s shoulders and down his arms, and stopping when they rested against the back of the Tillerman¡¯s hands.

    Molding himself to the Tillerman¡¯s back, and holding his mouth near the man¡¯s ear, the king began to chant. As the words fell to the pool¡¯s surface, the focus changed.

    Alessia¡¯s image disappeared, replaced by the view they would see if they walked her room. The Tillerman¡¯s voice faltered, but the king¡¯s did not, and they crossed the room to look down at the sleeping wizardess. After spending a brief moment to study her, the king turned away, moving to walk through the closed door of her chambers and into the hall beyond.

    The door opposite beckoned, and the king stepped through it, finding himself in a second sleeping chamber. This one held two simple wooden beds, each one occupied by a young woman, one blonde, and the other mouse-brown. If the Tillerman recognized either, he said nothing.

    The king took another long moment to study the pair, then stepped back, but not into the hall. Instead, his slight shift brought them back to the garden and the sound of water flowing softly between the pools.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± the king said, releasing the Tillerman¡¯s hands and stepping away from him. ¡°You may go, now.¡±

    He caught the puzzlement in his guest¡¯s face as the Tillerman turned slowly to face him.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± the Tillerman asked.

    ¡°You are free to go,¡± the king repeated, and watched as understanding dawned.

    ¡°But, your Majesty,¡± the Tillerman began. ¡°What about¡­¡±

    He stopped, as though realizing his next words would be considered presumptuous, but the king thought he knew what worried the man.

    ¡°You¡¯re worried about your payment?¡± he asked, hearing the slight oiliness of Walshira¡¯s tones coat his voice.

    The Tillerman¡¯s lips stretched in a slightly shaky smile.

    ¡°Of course not, Sire,¡± the Tillerman replied. ¡°I understand you deal fairly with those who serve you well.¡±

    ¡°And have you?¡± the king challenged, watching panic flicker briefly through the man¡¯s expression.

    The Tillerman bowed slightly.

    ¡°I can only pray it is so,¡± he returned.

    The king gave the man a gentle smile.

    ¡°It is so,¡± he confirmed. ¡°The chancellor will see you are paid.¡±

    He swept an arm toward the arch through which they¡¯d entered, and watched the Tillerman follow the motion to the guards who stood waiting. Apprehension washed through his features, and was swiftly gone.

    The king observed the blank mask that replaced it, and allowed himself a satisfied smile. His spies would have another name to watch, come morning. As soon as the man had disappeared back into the palace halls, the king turned back to the pool.

    Walshira wanted him to scry the wizardess once more.

 18éˆ¥æ“²crying on the Wizardess

    Placing his palms on the stone rim of the pond, the king gathered the magic he needed, and again focused the spell through the pond. Once more, the water grew opaque and the bottom of the pond disappeared.

    As the wizardess¡¯s room returned to view, the king twisted the magic to better suit his purpose. In a few short breaths, he no longer looked through the pool at Alessia¡¯s sleeping face, but gazed directly down at the woman from beside her bed.

    She, however, was not the focus of Walshira¡¯s interest, and the king turned away from her, aware of his hands still on the pool¡¯s edge, anchoring his body to one place, while he projected himself half way across the city.

    The god wanted to see the woman¡¯s apprentices, and he had no difficulty turning away from her somnolent form toward the door leading to the room across the hall. His semi-transparent boots made no sound on the wooden floor ostensibly beneath them, and the closed door proved to be even less of a barrier than it had been when he¡¯d walked through it with the Tillerman.

    Passing a desk by the door, he glanced down, the contents of the parchment sheets spread across its surface catching the god¡¯s attention.

    ¡°Make sure that is brought to the palace,¡± Walshira instructed.

    ¡°I¡¯ll have the captain collect it when he arrests them,¡± the king replied, feeling the god¡¯s approval as he continued through the wall.

    He was about to enter the room where the two female apprentices slept, when the god directed him further down the hall.

    ¡°There is more power, this way,¡± Walshira observed, his need seeping into the king¡¯s conscience.

    Puzzled at what could have drawn the god¡¯s attention, Andreus obeyed. Under the god¡¯s direction, he stepped through the wall a few steps along, finding himself standing in the middle of a cot situated on the other side.

    The young woman sleeping on it didn¡¯t stir as the king¡¯s knees passed through her middle, and he hastily adjusted the spell so he stood on the bed, feet set on either side of her.

    ¡°This,¡± the god murmured, as, beside the pool, Andreus swayed.

    The spell was failing, the power available waning dangerously fast.

    Andreus pressed his fingers into the pool¡¯s rim, forcing himself to stay exactly where he was.

    ¡°Examine her,¡± Walshira instructed, and Andreus bit back his protest to do as the god wished.

    It took a little more power to send a tendril of thought into the girl.

    ¡°More,¡± the god urged, and Andreus felt the first stirrings of its hunger.

    Not that he could blame the god; the young woman¡¯s power was strong, her youth vital. He probed a little further, and suppressed a sigh. Her very essence was as ripe for the plucking as any who had graced his altar, and the god¡¯s hunger rose.

    ¡°I must have her,¡± Walshira instructed. ¡°Let us divine what kind of power she wields.¡±

    As Andreus shifted the spell to obey, movement from the other side of the room caught his attention. Glancing over, he saw a young boy sitting bolt upright in bed, staring at him.

    Hastily withdrawing the tendril, he took a closer look at the child.

    Young for an apprentice, he thought, guessing the boy¡¯s age to be around ten summers.

    ¡°He sees us,¡± Walshira warned, and the king stared at the child in shock.

    No-one was supposed to be able to see them!

    A closer look at the boy belied that thought.

    The child stared at them, sitting bolt upright, his eyes wide with surprise.

    ¡°Are you sure?¡± he asked, stepping off the bed, and sliding a pace to the right.

    The boy turned his head, suspicion starting to color his gaze.

    Andreus slid a pace to the left and, again, the child¡¯s head shifted to follow him. This time, the boy raised his hands in a warding gesture and Andreus could no longer deny it.

    He had been seen!

    Smoothing his expression into one of welcome, Andreus forced a smile and extended his hand toward the boy. The child¡¯s expression shifted from suspicious curiosity to stark fear, and he dove for the floor, his shriek of alarm shattering the room¡¯s quiet stillness.

    ¡°Varan?¡± The girl pushed back her covers, frowning as though something was wrong.

    ¡°Varan?¡± she repeated. ¡°You all right?¡±

    A whimper greeted her, and the king stepped hastily back through the wall, allowing himself to drop out of the scry and into his own body. Walshira snarled in frustration inside his head.

    ¡°Do you know how talented that child is to have been able to see you through that scry?¡± the god demanded. ¡°Such power¡­and potential¡­¡±

    ¡°My lord¡­¡± Andreus began, thinking to calm the irritated deity.

    ¡°And I didn¡¯t even get a taste!¡±

    Andreus relaxed. Well, at least he understood the source of the god¡¯s frustration. He hurried to soothe him.

    ¡°But you will, my lord. You very much will.¡±

    A shiver rippled through him, fatigue making his legs feel like jelly.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    ¡°My lord,¡± he began, to draw the god¡¯s attention to his plight.

    They had pushed the spell too far, the magic drawing on his own energy reserves when it could draw on nothing else. The world shuddered, and a wave of dizziness passed over him.

    Andreus leaned forward until the world steadied, once more. This time, he let his knees buckle, coming to kneel beside the pool and leaning his forehead on the wall that surrounded it. The weakness flooding through him meant only one thing; the god needed replenishing.

    It wasn¡¯t the magic drawing on his life¡¯s essence; it was the god. Walshira¡¯s desperate need for more power seemed to be momentarily blinding him to the necessity of keeping Andreus alive. Gritting his teeth, Andreus fought to stay conscious as another wave of dizziness threatened to engulf him.

    ¡°I have orders to give, lord,¡± he said, forcing himself to picture the young woman and the boy of astonishing power. ¡°If I do not, they could yet escape you.¡±

    The idea he could lose such prey, brought Walshira¡¯s hunger to sudden abeyance. Andreus breathed a soft sigh of relief, knowing the god¡¯s own greed had done what begging for his mercy would not; he would get to live a little longer.

    ¡°I need to reach the captain in charge of raiding her home,¡± the king reminded the god. ¡°Help me?¡±

    It was a risk, since it would draw on the god¡¯s already diminished reserve of power, but if Andreus was to secure Walshira the prey he desired, it was a risk he had to take.

    ¡°They will be before you by tomorrow night,¡± he promised, adding, ¡°And I can find others to restore you while you wait.¡±

    He felt the last tiny draining cease, and stepped away from the pool. Signaling one of the guards, he gave the orders, emphasizing the need for urgency, before turning slowly toward the exit that would take him to his quarters.

    Accepting the aid of the guard that came alongside, Andreus continued toward his chambers. As he went, he brought to mind the faces of those already in the temple¡¯s cells, but Walshira couldn¡¯t be led. After being tantalized by the wizardess and her charges, Walshira was hungry for just one thing.

    Sensing his deity¡¯s preference, Andreus sighed.

    ¡°It shall be done,¡± he promised, reaching the sitting room in his chambers.

    The guards gave him worried looks as he stepped away from their support, and Andreus forced a smile.

    ¡°I¡¯ll send for food and some¡­company,¡± he assured them, as his valet appeared from within his suite, ¡°And my recovery will be swifter for it.¡±

    A brief twitch of the guards¡¯ lips showed their understanding, and they turned back to take their places on either side of the door. Andreus turned back to his personal servant.

    ¡°Call Mistress Tamara,¡± he instructed, ¡°and send to the kitchens. Have them send their best cheeses, sweetbreads, wine and pastries.¡±

    ¡°At once, Sire.¡± His valet bowed his head and quickly left.

    Andreus made his way to the divan set along one wall, sinking gratefully onto it, then settling himself comfortably among the cushions. Walshira descended, nibbling at the edge of his essence, and Andreus begged the god¡¯s patience, promising a magic-wielder¡¯s terror and blood.

    The god¡¯s demands faded, but the deity remained, hovering at the edge of the king¡¯s conscience, and Andreus knew he wouldn¡¯t wait for long. It was a relief, when the soft scent of lilacs reached his nostrils.

    The scent was accompanied by quiet footsteps and the arrival of the women¡¯s mistress.

    ¡°Your Majesty,¡± she said, by way of greeting, returning the king¡¯s assessing gaze.

    He wasted no time with his request.

    ¡°I need to see the brightest of your girls,¡± he told her, as she came to kneel at his feet. He continued when she raised a curious face toward him. ¡°Any who show the slightest hint of magic, or special talent, regardless of the field.¡±

    Her eyes widened in surprise.

    ¡°Magic, your Majesty?¡± she asked, ¡°But I thought you said¡ª¡±

    ¡°I know what I said!¡± the king snapped, cutting her off. ¡°And, now, I do want to see any gifted with such things.¡±

    Stunned by his reprimand, she bowed her head. ¡°Yes, your Majesty.¡±

    Andreus studied her, then added, ¡°How many do you think you have?¡±

    The mistress hesitated, keeping her gaze on the floor. When she didn¡¯t answer, Andreus reached forward, cupping her chin in his hand and lifting her face so she had to meet his eyes.

    ¡°How many?¡± he repeated.

    ¡°We have yet to test them, your Majesty,¡± she admitted.

    Andreus narrowed his eyes.

    ¡°How many?¡± he snarled, hearing Walshira¡¯s tones in his voice.

    The mistress heard them, too, because she closed her eyes.

    ¡°I suspect six¡­your Majesty,¡± she answered, her voice subdued, the words unwilling.

    ¡°You will bring them¡­and only them¡­to me,¡± Andreus instructed.

    ¡°And the others?¡± the mistress asked.

    ¡°Gather them together,¡± he replied. ¡°If I need them, I will call.¡±

    He waved for her to go, and she rose slowly to her feet, backing away from him and bowing as she went.

    ¡°As your Majesty instructs.¡±

    He inclined his head, admiring the curve of her hips and the bend of her waist, as she turned and walked away. The return of his valet blocked his view and he stifled a sigh of regret.

    The fact the man was pushing a trolley of covered trays saved him from reprimand, and the smell of meat and pastry took all the anger from his thoughts.

    Hunger set the kings¡¯ limbs atremble, and he sat straighter, swallowing against the sudden flood of saliva as the valet lifted the lid on the first tray.

    ¡°Make him the first of three.¡±

    The king startled at the sound of Walshira¡¯s voice.

    ¡°This one?¡± he asked, raising his eyebrows as he accepted a plate of pastries from the valet.

    ¡°He has Talent you have never suspected,¡± Walshira replied, and the king felt the lick of the god¡¯s avaricious wanting stroke the inside of his mind. That desire grew stronger as the deity added, ¡°He will go a long way to sating my hunger.¡±

    Lifting the first meat-filled pastry to his mouth, the king studied his valet. The valet waited for his next order, standing respectfully to one side, head bowed. Keeping his movements slow and languorous, the king reached over and pulled a dangling tassel of red and gold.

    The valet had seen him pull that tassel before. He had heard the summoning bells toll in the temple below the palace floors. Catching the movement, despite his lowered gaze¡­and hearing the muffled toll, he raised his head in horror.

    ¡°Your Majesty?¡± he began, but the priests were quick to answer and the wall beside the king¡¯s couch slid back to reveal the six, dark-cowled figures answering his summons.

    They¡¯d reached the valet before he¡¯d had time to take more than a step away from the king.

    Andreus fixed him with a stern stare, before intoning, ¡°The god has spoken and you have been chosen.¡±

    Two priests stepped forward to flank the man, taking a firm grip on his arm and turning him toward the temple entrance, making him gasp. A second gasp followed and they looked toward it.

    The women¡¯s mistress stood in the doorway to the royal chambers, a girl on either side of her.

    ¡°Come in,¡± the king ordered, but they didn¡¯t move, clearly torn between obedience and flight.

    Before they could decide on either, Walshira intervened.

    The king felt the god uncoil a hidden reserve of power.

    ¡°They must not be allowed to leave,¡± the deity hissed, and Andreus relayed his order.

    ¡°Take them!¡±

    The priests moved before the women could react, seizing the women¡¯s mistress along with her girls.

    ¡°We will take them all,¡± Walshira reiterated.

    ¡°Take all of them,¡± the king added, as the Mistress Tamara opened her mouth to protest.

    The priests moved past the king, each one seizing someone, as more appeared from the temple below to join them. In very short order, the valet, the women¡¯s mistress and six young ladies of the court were being dragged past.

    Andreus watched them go, feeling Walshira¡¯s joy as curious tendrils power licked out to invade the minds and souls being taken below. He hoped at least some of them were suitable, and that the dark god¡¯s hunger would be sated.

    ¡°All are suitable,¡± Walshira assured him. ¡°We will feast, and we will be sated.¡±

    The god¡¯s happiness spilled over into the king¡¯s emotions, but the urgency that came with it had him rising from the divan and seizing two pastries after sweeping a dozen more into the pockets of his robe.

    Raising the first small pie to his mouth, Andreus hurried to follow the priests through the wall, passing the one waiting by the lever to close to portal behind him. Andreus bit through flaky pastry and savored the filling, as he planned the ceremony to feed his god.

    ¡°Do not tarry,¡± Walshira urged, and the king laughed.

    A small despairing sob echoed up from the stairs, and his lips curved in a predatory smile.

    ¡°Your wish is my desire,¡± he assured the god.

 19éˆ¥æ“œ Visit Discovered

    Across the city, in a two-story stone cottage with a rear courtyard garden, a household woke in the dark. Voices rose in argument, a young apprentice and a much older one disagreeing over what they should do next. They threaded their way into Alessia Mistlewood¡¯s mind, dragging it from sleep.

    She frowned as her mind cleared. It sounded like the little rats were standing right outside her door. A glance at the window confirmed it was still night and that everyone should have still been sleeping.

    ¡°I really think we should wake her.¡± Varan was adamant, but Sindra was just as sure they shouldn¡¯t.

    ¡°We can¡¯t, Varan. She¡¯s tired from last night¡¯s magic, and we¡¯re tired from today¡¯s garden. We should all be sleeping.¡±

    Varan persisted. ¡°But she really needs to hear this.¡±

    Alessia heard an all-too-familiar note of stubbornness creep into the boy¡¯s tones, and sighed softly.

    Doesn¡¯t look like I¡¯ll be going back to sleep, anytime, soon, she thought, sitting up and swinging her feet over the side of the bed.

    ¡°Hear what, Varan?¡± Sindra persisted. ¡°You know we can¡¯t go waking her without good reason.¡±

    ¡°I said she needs to hear it, not you,¡± Varan snapped back, and Alessia heard the sound of the door handle turning.

    ¡°Varan!¡± Sindra¡¯s protest came in a strangled whisper.

    Alessia rose and lit the lamp standing on her bedside table.

    ¡°Varan,¡± she said, turning to greet the boy, as lamp-light filled the room with a warm glow.

    ¡°Now, see what you¡¯ve done¡­¡± Sindra muttered, following Varan into Alessia¡¯s chambers.

    ¡°Tell me what?¡± Alessia asked, focusing the youngsters on her, and not on the argument that was about to follow.

    ¡°He won¡¯t say,¡± Sindra cut in, earning a glare from Varan.

    ¡°I saw a man standing over Sindra as she slept,¡± Varan stated, following as Alessia led the way to the small, round table set beside the window.

    She didn¡¯t open the curtains, but set the lamp in the table¡¯s center. Indicating the chair opposite, she spoke.

    ¡°Tell me about this man,¡± she instructed, gesturing for Sindra to sit also.

    ¡°There was a line of magic from him to her,¡± Varan continued, earning him a look of shocked horror from the older apprentice. ¡°He was moving it back and forth, like he was looking for something.¡±

    He shivered, tucking his hands under his chin and rubbing them together.

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡± Sindra demanded, but Varan avoided her gaze, keeping his eyes on their mistress.

    ¡°And you weren¡¯t dreaming?¡± Alessia demanded.

    Varan shook his head. ¡°It was no dream. I was dreaming, but then I felt¡­¡±

    He paused, as though trying to find the right word.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how to describe it, but it woke me, and I looked toward the¡­the feeling, and that was when I saw him,¡± he explained. ¡°A tall man, big as that guard Xanthine¡¯s making eyes at.¡±

    Sindra snorted, but Alessia indicated the boy should go on.

    ¡°He saw me,¡± Varan admitted. ¡°And I think he was surprised.¡±

    ¡°How so?¡± Alessia asked.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Varan admitted, ¡°but if he was projecting himself through a scry, maybe he thought he was invisible?¡±

    ¡°If he was powerful enough to project himself through a scry,¡± she said scornfully, ¡°Then he would also have known projections can always be seen in the locations they are sent.¡±

    Alessia shook her head, the simple gesture drawing both their attentions.

    ¡°Not always,¡± she told them. ¡°He might have been using a variant of the spell that added a component of invisibility. In which case, he is powerful, and you truly shouldn¡¯t have been able to see him.¡±

    She frowned, then continued, ¡°But why such a powerful magic user would have been scrying on my apprentices, I don¡¯t know. I¡¯ve done nothing to draw any attention, and we¡¯ve had¡­¡±

    She stopped, remembering the Tillerman¡¯s visit. After a moment¡¯s contemplation, she shrugged the coincidence away. The man had no reason to tell anyone of them¡­and, if he did, what was he going to say. It wasn¡¯t like he knew anything that would get them into¡­

    What did he have me retrieve? she wondered, and marked it for something she¡¯d check later. In the meantime¡­

    She studied Varan and Sindra, waiting until she had their attention.

    ¡°Take me through it from the very beginning,¡± she instructed. ¡°Everything you felt, all that you saw, and whatever you can remember of the man you saw.¡±

    Varan obliged, beginning with the sense of magic that had woken him, and following it with the growing terror he¡¯d felt the longer he¡¯d observed the intruder. He fumbled for words when he tried to describe what the man was doing with the magical tendril.

    ¡°Go on, Varan,¡± Alessia prompted when he fell silent, and didn¡¯t look like he could continue.

    The boy shook himself, his face paling as he continued.

    ¡°I¡­ It¡¯s hard to describe,¡± he said, ¡°but it was like he was using the magic to see what was inside her, like he was testing her to see if she had something he needed.¡±

    He gulped, his eyes darting from Sindra to Alessia.

    Alessia gestured with her hand, and he closed his eyes, keeping them closed as he spoke the next few words.

    "It was like he wasn¡¯t alone,¡± he continued, ¡°Like someone else rode with him.¡±

    ¡°A second mage?¡± Alessia wondered, but the boy shook his head.

    ¡°Like a¡­a presence,¡± he explained. ¡°Something not¡­¡±

    He stopped.

    ¡°Like a demon?¡± Sindra wanted to know, and Alessia waited for the boy¡¯s emphatic refusal, but he didn¡¯t.

    Instead, he gave Sindra a contemplative look. ¡°Maybe?¡±

    From the tone of his voice, the suggestion didn¡¯t quite fit, but it was similar to what he felt he needed.

    ¡°So, something other planar, then,¡± Alessia concluded, and he nodded. The wizardess turned to Sindra. ¡°How do you feel?¡±

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Sindra looked from her mistress to Varan and back, contemplating her answer. How did she feel?

    ¡°A little queasy,¡± she decided, realizing it was true. ¡°Like I¡¯ve eaten something I shouldn¡¯t have, and it hasn¡¯t agreed with me.¡±

    Alessia pressed her lips together, and shuffled her chair until she was sitting in front of the girl.

    ¡°Let me see,¡± she instructed. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure nothing¡¯s been done to you.¡±

    Sindra gave her a worried look, but didn¡¯t flinch away when Alessia placed her hands on either side of her face. Leaning forward so their forehead¡¯s touched, the wizardess reached for the spell she needed, calling on the magic she needed to power it.

    In her mind¡¯s eye, she watched as a golden light spread from beneath her palms, spreading up the girl¡¯s cheeks to crown her head in a lacework of light, before extending to cover her shoulders and back like a shawl. Slowly and carefully, Alessia guided the magic until her apprentice was completely shrouded in a glowing golden nimbus.

    Once she was done, Alessia crafted a second spell to help her interpret what the golden light revealed. To Varan it was as though the two women became statues, one carved in magic and light, and the other from colored stone, but he didn¡¯t dare touch either to see if they were still flesh and blood or had been truly transformed.

    After what seemed an age, his mistress relaxed, raising her head and taking her hands from Sindra¡¯s face. Pushing back her seat, Alessia rose, wiping her hands on her night-shift and moving a few paces away from the table and back again.

    Sindra watched her, seeming oblivious to Varan¡¯s presence. Both apprentices waited.

    After a few more paces away and back, Alessia sat back down, taking Sindra¡¯s hands in her own.

    ¡°No damage was done,¡± she said, ¡°but it was a fairly thorough probe and disrupted the network of your own talents. You¡¯ll be tired, and the magic may not do your bidding as you intend it, until things settle back the way they were.¡±

    ¡°But¡­why?¡± Varan asked, looking upset.

    ¡°Because he was careless when he withdrew the tendril,¡± Alessia told the boy, then, to soften the blow, ¡°and because he wasn¡¯t too careful when he inserted it, either. He was searching with no care for either the flesh or spirit of the person whose essence he studied.¡±

    ¡°Essence?¡± Sindra asked it, but both apprentices looked worried.

    ¡°Essence,¡± Alessia confirmed. ¡°The sum of your spirit, soul, talent and heart.¡±

    ¡°But why would he want to study that?¡± Sindra asked.

    Alessia pressed her lips together. ¡°There are a number of reasons,¡± she told them.

    ¡°And none of them good?¡± Varan guessed.

    Alessia shook her head. ¡°We need to find out who he was to know his motives.¡±

    ¡°But a powerful mage¡­¡± Sindra began.

    Alessia caught the concern in the girl¡¯s eyes, and decided not to lie. If someone were coming for her apprentices, it would be better if they weren¡¯t unsuspecting.

    ¡°It is concerning,¡± she admitted, ¡°but until we can figure out the who, we won¡¯t know the extent of the danger.¡±

    ¡°So there is danger, then,¡± Sindra concluded.

    Alessia pursed her lips, thinking on it.

    ¡°I suspect so,¡± she finally stated, ¡°but nothing we can guard against until we have a better idea who it is.¡±

    She turned to Varan.

    ¡°Fetch me the crystal from the knothole in your room,¡± she instructed.

    The boy¡¯s look of surprise made her smile.

    ¡°I knew of it almost as soon as you discovered it,¡± she told him, ¡°and, while I was going to let you discover its properties and uses for yourself, that time is gone, and it is exactly what we need, now.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Mistress.¡± Varan slid out of his chair. If he was disappointed by the turn of events, he didn¡¯t show it. The concerned glance he cast in Sindra¡¯s direction said he thought some things were more important.

    She listened to the sound of him running down the corridor, as she turned her attention to Sindra.

    ¡°I¡¯ll have the others watch over you,¡± she told the young woman, ¡°But, for now, it¡¯s important you rest and not use your magic for a day. Understood?¡±

    Varan returned as a pale-faced Sindra nodded her understanding, and Alessia turned her attention from her oldest to her youngest apprentice.

    ¡°Thank you, Varan,¡± she said, when he handed her the eight-sided crystal. ¡°That¡¯s perfect.¡±

    Getting to her feet, she led her two apprentices to a clear patch of floor, and knelt, signaling they should do the same. When they had settled, she placed her index fingers, on either side of the crystal and rotated it until one of its triangular faces was turned toward her. Narrowing her eyes in concentration, she murmured the incantation she needed in order to discover the origin of the scry.

    As the last syllable drifted from her mouth, the facet blurred, and a picture began to form. Beside her, Varan drew a breath of surprise and the picture wavered. Frowning slightly Alessia tweaked the magic and the scene within the crystal steadied.

    It was more a portrait than a scene. As she looked into the crystal, the face of a man looked back out at her. The scene rippled as though water flowed between them, and Alessia knew beyond doubt she¡¯d found the one who¡¯d spied on them¡­but that was not all she saw.

    Is that a shadow? she wondered.

    Whispering another word to focus the enchantment, she tried to sharpen the crystal¡¯s focus. It improved her view, but not enough to bring the shadow behind the man into focus.

    ¡°Strange,¡± she murmured, and it was as though her words touched the water¡¯s surface.

    She waited, watching the ripples slowly fade, as she tried to get a closer look at the shadow. It was definitely the shadow of another, and not the man she was observing, but¡­ She couldn¡¯t make it out.

    A presence? she wondered. A spirit, perhaps? Some kind of shadow creature?

    Making a note for later research, Alessia tried, once more to bring the shadow into focus. Adjusting the scry so she could see more of both man and shadow, she noted the shadow was man-shaped, but that was all.

    No matter what she tried, its features remained undefined.

    As though it doesn¡¯t want to be observed¡­not even through a scry, she pondered. As if it shrouds itself from not just the world but any chance of being seen.

    Looking further only confirmed the impression of a shroud being cast between the face of the man looking down into the pool and that of the shadowy figure standing behind him. Reluctantly, Alessia released the magic and let the picture dissolve.

    ¡°Now, we have seen the face of the one scrying on us, we shall try to see if we can replicate what Varan saw,¡± Alessia told the two apprentices.

    They nodded, their eyes bright with curiosity. Varan¡¯s face was full of wonder and Sindra¡¯s focus on the crystal so keen, she barely acknowledge Alessia¡¯s words.

    Without explaining more, Alessia repeated the spell, extending it slightly to bring the events of the past to the fore. This time it was not the man who looked out at her, but the undefined shadow. The sides of the pool were gone, as was the man who¡¯d stood beside it.

    Tweaking the magic caused the image to shiver and spin, until she saw the semi-transparent picture of the man standing beside a very familiar desk.

    As the image formed, both apprentices glanced toward the desk standing by the door, then watched the man who¡¯d scried them, looking down at the desktop.

    ¡°He was here,¡± Varan breathed, and Alessia could not help agreeing.

    She pressed her lips together, until they formed a thin line of anger.

    How dare he intrude into my home! How dare he!

    The picture wavered and she forced herself to calm enough to steady it. She would find out who he was. As the picture cleared, the man moved, stepping through the closed door and into the corridor beyond.

    The scry followed him as he stepped through the wall, hesitating before the door to the chamber shared by Zarine and Xanthia, her other two apprentices. Alessia tensed, and didn¡¯t relax, when the intruder turned and took the few paces required to step through the wall leading to Sindra and Varan¡¯s chamber.

    Alessia clenched her hands to fists, taking a deep calming breath as the intruder looked down at Sindra¡¯s sleeping form and brought a long silver tendril into being.

    The girl gasped as the tendril snaked into the head of her sleeping image, and she raised both hands to cover her mouth as the man moved the tendril into her torso. They dropped to mirror where the tendril entered her body as the intruder shifted the tendril back and forth, like a fisherman manipulating a fishing line.

    They all froze, when the line stilled and he darted a glance across the room. Shifting the scry, Alessia brought a newly-woken Varan into view. Sindra cast the boy a horrified glance, even as the intruder jerked the silver tendril from her image¡¯s chest.

    A second look from the stranger showed puzzlement, but Scry-Varan continued to stare, and the man stepped off Sindra¡¯s bed and onto the floor, not taking his eyes from the boy. Again, Alessia caught a glimpse of shadow, but more as an aura than a separate entity.

    What is that? she wondered, but the stranger took a quick step to the side, studying Varan as he did.

    His frown grew deeper as he saw Varan¡¯s head move to follow him, and he jumped back. When the boy¡¯s gaze didn¡¯t falter, the stranger smiled and extended a hand, which is when Varan screamed and hit the floor.

    The stranger¡¯s smile faded, and he stepped back through the wall, vanishing from view. Rather than follow him back to the pool, Alessia ended the scry, then turned to her apprentices.

    Sindra looked like she might cry.

    ¡°Who was it?¡± she asked, her voice filled with misery and revulsion. ¡°How did he get in here? How did he even know to come?¡±

    Her voice rose, and Varan reached over and took her hand in his own. The girl gulped, then took a deep breath. When she spoke, again, she was a lot calmer.

    ¡°What are we going to do, Mistress?¡±

    Alessia thought about it.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know who he is,¡± she admitted, ¡°so we need to go somewhere safe until we find out who it is and how to defend ourselves against him. In the meantime, I can ward the cottage so he doesn¡¯t know we¡¯re gone.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re going to the guild?¡± Varan asked.

    Alessia pursed her lips, looking none-too-pleased with the option, but she nodded.

    ¡°We are. Roamer will shelter us. Varan, get Xanthia and Zarine. Sindra, start packing. Everything we can carry, for now. If Sophriel smiles, we may have time to return for the rest. The guildmaster will help us with that.¡±

    Varan gave her a look that said he wasn¡¯t so sure, but he didn¡¯t argue, and Alessia was glad. Her history with the master of Deverath¡¯s thieves¡¯ guild wasn¡¯t something she¡¯d ever shared¡­and she didn¡¯t intend to, not if she could help it.

    Some things were best left in the past.

 20éˆ¥æ“ªing Takes Wizardess

    Dawn proved to be too late.

    Alessia and her apprentices had managed to fill five travel packs with the necessities for a few nights away, and Alessia had divided the household budget between them so they had something to offer the guild when they arrived, when they heard the tramp of boots in the street outside.

    Alessia looked up from where she was packing her books into a trunk.

    Soldiers?

    She straightened, wiping her hands against her skirts, and hurried to the window overlooking the street. Lifting the curtain carefully aside, she peered out. The patter of footsteps on the stairs heralded the arrival of her apprentices at the door.

    ¡°Mistress?¡± Sindra¡¯s whisper, made her jump, but Alessia signaled for silence.

    What she saw in the street below made her almost freeze with fright. Not one, but two, squads of soldiers had entered Cat¡¯s Lane and were marching toward her cottage. If she¡¯d had any doubts as to why they¡¯d come, they were dispelled when one of the men leading them looked over at the other and gestured toward her front door.

    The nod that answered him, confirmed her fears, even as he turned and signaled his troops forward.

    Alessia watched long enough to see him turn purposefully toward her door.

    ¡°By the dark god¡¯s teats!¡± she swore, and turned to her apprentices.

    Ignoring the shock on their faces, she started issuing orders.

    ¡°Varan, unlock the passage in the garden wall.¡±

    His look of shocked surprise would have been comical if the situation hadn¡¯t been so dire. The little wretch had obviously thought he¡¯d been the only one to find it.

    ¡°I knew of it when I moved in,¡± she explained, moving on. ¡°Girls, fetch your packs and follow him.¡±

    They all gaped at her and she stamped her foot.

    ¡°Go! We have no time, and I want you safe. I¡¯ll follow as soon as I can. Now, go!¡±

    They went, and she turned to the box containing the components she¡¯d need if they were to have any chance at all of escape.

    Two squads!

    She had no doubt they wouldn¡¯t all be waiting at her front door.

    As she found the first of her components, a thought struck her.

    ¡°Varan!¡± she called, and relaxed when she heard the boy returning at the run.

    ¡°Mistress?¡±

    Alessia took the parchment she¡¯d retrieved from Duke Hartender¡¯s study, and passed it to him.

    ¡°Make sure this gets to the guildmaster,¡± she instructed sternly. ¡°Promise me!¡±

    ¡°I promise, Mistress, but¡ª¡±

    From the front door below, she heard the squad come to an abrupt halt.

    ¡°No buts, Varan. Now, go!¡±

    He hesitated, and she seized the boy by his shoulders and turned him.

    ¡°Go! The gate needs to be unlocked by the time the girls reach it, but I don¡¯t want you waiting. I want you to keep going. Don¡¯t stop for anything, and don¡¯t look back. If they take us, our only hope lies with you telling the guildmaster what happened.¡±

    ¡°But, Mistress¡ª¡±

    Alessia shoved him.

    ¡°Go!¡±

    Three loud knocks boomed through the cottage.

    ¡°Hurry!¡± Alessia hissed, grabbing the last of the ingredients and steering him toward the door. ¡°Do not tarry!¡±

    The knocking came again, and she hurried down the stairs ahead of him. ¡°Coming!¡±

    Varan followed her down the stairs, and with one worried look in her direction, he ran for the back door. Behind him, Zarine clattered down the stairs, ignoring Varan as she followed Alessia.

    ¡°Mistress?¡± she began, but Alessia turned pointing toward the garden door.

    ¡®Go,¡¯ she mouthed, not daring to say the word out loud. She gave the girl her fiercest scowl. ¡®Now!¡¯

    As soon as the girl had turned toward the garden, Alessia took the last few strides she needed in order to reach the door. Taking a deep breath to compose herself, she lifted the latch, opening it only wide enough to let her slide through, and pull it closed behind her.

    The soldier standing on her front step had no choice but to take a step back to give her room. Seeing the look on his face, and the men arrayed behind him, Alessia hoped she¡¯d be able to give the girls and Varan enough time to reach the secret passage leading from the garden to the streets beyond¡­and that those streets remained clear of soldiers.

    She¡¯d known when she¡¯d seen them that she wasn¡¯t going to be able to escape with her apprentices, but she had faith in Raomar. They might have parted ways, but she still counted him enough of a friend to come and free her, as he had freed so many others before her.

    Pushing those thoughts aside, she focused on the guard captain standing in front of her.

    ¡°Yes?¡± she asked, not having to try very hard to sound as puzzled as she felt. ¡°How can I help the king¡¯s guard?¡±

    Because it was the king¡¯s guard, and not Deverath¡¯s wardens, who¡¯d come to her doorstep, and she couldn¡¯t help wondering why¡­and if the king¡¯s guard had come to take her, the task of her retrieval was going to be so much harder.

    She wondered what Raomar would ask in return, and then decided it didn¡¯t matter. The guildmaster could name his price¡ªespecially if the scenes she¡¯d observed in the king¡¯s temple were anything to go by. Suppressing a shudder at the memory, she looked at the soldiers waiting outside her home.

    A full squad¡­two, even.

    Letting her eyes rove briefly over them, she returned her attention to the man before her.

    ¡°Can I help you?¡±

    He regarded her briefly, as though she wasn¡¯t what he¡¯d expected.

    ¡°Is this the residence of the wizardess, Alessia Mistlewood?¡± he asked.

    Alessia rested one hand against the door lintel, and noted the ripple of unease that flowed through the soldiers behind him in response.

    So, she thought, they know what, if not who, they are arresting. Funny, I thought my face was better known.

    Now that she thought about it, she was glad it wasn¡¯t, otherwise they¡¯d have already acted. Instead, she was able to buy her apprentices a little more time.

    ¡°It is,¡± she replied. ¡°Is the mistress expecting you?¡±

    ¡°Not exactly,¡± the captain replied, raising his face in query. ¡°Is she home? We¡¯d like to speak with her.¡±

    As if he¡¯d given a signal, the soldiers shifted, preparing to move forward, and to enter by force if they had to. Their faces might have been pale with the fear of facing a wizardess in her own home, but they were prepared to do what they¡¯d been asked.

    Alessia didn¡¯t blame them for being nervous. Arresting a magic user was not a duty to be undertaken lightly. Pausing as though she couldn¡¯t make up her mind whether or not to wake up her mistress, Alessia carefully scanned the two squads.

    Somewhere among them, they had to have a wizard of their own. No-one would try to arrest a magic-user without one¡­surely¡­

    She searched for some small detail that would give the waiting mage away, anything that would indicate where the greatest threat was located, so she could counter them before they cast their first spell. She was both impressed and disappointed when she saw nothing.

    It was a rare wizard who could hide so well in the middle of a group of soldiers. It made her hopeful that the soldiers had come without one¡­and worried that they had not, and that she wouldn¡¯t see an attack coming before it arrived.

    Countering spells on the fly, or trying to negate their effects after they¡¯d been cast, took more energy than pro-actively casting something that would protect her and the front door¡­and she had very little magical energy left to spare. Trying to determine who had scried them, had taken a lot out of her.

    ¡°Are you sure it can¡¯t wait until morning?¡± she asked, hopefully. ¡°The mistress has had a long day¡­¡±

    The captain shook his head. ¡°Unfortunately, no. Her presence is needed at the palace immediately, and I¡¯m afraid his Majesty doesn¡¯t like to be kept waiting.¡±

    Alessia hesitated, then bobbed her head.

    ¡°I¡¯ll go and fetch her,¡± she answered.

    She half-turned, intending to slide back through the front door and close it in their faces, but the captain didn¡¯t let her. As she opened the door, and began to step through, he closed the distance between them, pushing her back against the opening door and signaling his men inside.

    ¡°What do you think you¡¯re doing?¡± she demanded, even though that was painfully clear; he was pinning her to the door and making sure his men gained access.

    He gave her a grim smile. ¡°Where is she?¡±

    Alessia smiled back.

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    ¡°Out!¡± she snarled, sliding her palms between them, and pressing them against his chest.

    Drawing enough magic to send a jolt of lightning from her hands, left her slightly light-headed.

    The lightning crackled, sending traceries of energy arcing around his chest and over his shoulders, before propelling his body into the opposite wall. The soldiers who hadn¡¯t entered the house beat a hasty retreat back along the path, and those inside hesitated.

    Another voice broke the momentary stillness that followed, and Alessia turned her head toward it.

    She was just in time to see the captain of the second squad raise his hands in the gestures needed for a spell of his own. The man she¡¯d zapped, slid down the opposite wall, his body convulsing with the remnants of the lightning flowing through him. With him down, Alessia was free to counter the spell coming at her¡­if she was quick enough.

    As she did, she sensed another danger, an almost tangible evil lurking, watching her from the early morning shadows. Terror rose inside her, threatening to steal the spell from her lips. Hearing the captain¡¯s spell reaching completion, she dug deeper, searching for something, anything, that would let her break past her captors, and escape the evil that pursued her.

    The soldiers might indeed be from the king, but she had no doubt they¡¯d been sent in obedience to orders received from the being he worshipped, and she had no desire to become one of the sacrifices on his altar, no desire to see her apprentices shackled to the blood-drenched pillars in the temple beneath the palace.

    Memory of the dark temple and the creatures lurking in its shadows cracked some barrier in her soul, and she tapped a reserve of magic she hadn¡¯t known she possessed.

    ¡°Extreme circumstances¡­¡± The words of one of her teachers echoed in her mind. ¡°Extreme circumstances are required for the birth of one who wields the element of magic, for unlike those who can tap the mortal elements at will, those who can touch raw magic and survive, rarely uncover the ability save in times of great distress.¡±

    Alessia had barely enough time to register the truth of the words, before the magic rose unbidden, carrying one spell more to her mind, one that did not require her hands to guide it, just the sheer force of her will. As the lightning of her previous spell danced its last steps across the captain¡¯s chest and through his hair, she let the new spell tumble from her lips.

    It wasn¡¯t the most elegant of castings, and Alessia was sure she had stumbled over some crucial phrasing, but she released the spell a mere heartbeat after the second captain had finished his final word and gesture.

    The sound as the two spells collided built to a roar and the rebounded around her like a hammer. Alessia found herself knocked back into the house as the magic ricocheted back over her, down the hall and through the back door into the garden.

    The force of it spun her around and slammed her into the floor as it washed past. Alessia¡¯s teeth rattled and her mind clouded. The injured captain said something unprintable about wizards, spells, and magic in general, and Alessia choked on an involuntary laugh.

    Part of her agreed with the man, and part of her was amused that he wasn¡¯t a fan, but none of her found it funny when he slowly and painfully hauled himself from the floor, and wavered toward her. Using the wall for support, he looked down at her, his face stern with rebuke, and the weight of his mission.

    ¡°Mistress Alessia Mistlewood,¡± he said, addressing her in a voice crackling with pain. ¡°I arrest you and your household in the name of King Andreus Feravan the First. Surrender to me.¡±

    Looking up at him, Alessia tried to smirk, but her face wouldn¡¯t obey her any more than her limbs, and she wondered if her apprentices had made it into the garden and then beyond. Lying there, she was vaguely aware of the soldiers moving quickly past.

    Some disappeared up the stairs, and others into the garden and the far reaches of the ground floor. A particularly shiny pair of boots stopped beside her, and she made her eyes obey enough to follow his silhouette up from his boots to his trousers and jacket and, finally, his face.

    He was glaring, and her eyebrows twitched in response.

    ¡°You,¡± the captain of the second squad declared, ¡°have so far been a lot more trouble than I think you are worth, but his Majesty was very specific in his orders, and you are coming with us.¡±

    ¡°His Majesty said to take them alive,¡± the first captain reminded him, and the second nodded.

    ¡°And so we shall,¡± he replied. ¡°See to our men. The wizardess is my responsibility.¡±

    The other captain nodded, then turned away. Watching him go, Alessia wanted to call him back. Despite almost frying him, she had a feeling she¡¯d be a lot safer in his custody than in his companion¡¯s. Discovering her limbs had decided to respond, she slowly pushed herself into a sitting position.

    The movement drew the second captain¡¯s attention, just as she tried to stand and had her feet slide out from under her. She shook her head, trying to clear it of the sudden unbidden haze threatening to overwhelm it, just as he took pity on her and reached down to seize her bicep.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got you,¡± he said, and she wasn¡¯t sure if it was meant to be reassurance or a reiteration of her capture.

    He dragged one of her arms around his shoulders and slid his arm around her waist.

    ¡°Forgive the impropriety,¡± he said. ¡°Let me help you. It would be a pity to keep his Majesty waiting.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure he wouldn¡¯t mind waiting a little bit longer,¡± Alessia managed, but the captain shook his head.

    ¡°The king is not a patient man,¡± he replied.

    ¡°Then he should have made an appointment,¡± Alessia retorted, her voice slurring a little. ¡°I have things scheduled for today.¡±

    ¡°Then I¡¯m afraid they¡¯ll have to wait,¡± the captain demurred.

    ¡°But I¡¯ll be late,¡± she complained. ¡°Surely you can send word¡­¡±

    The captain looked around, noting the pack left standing beside the wall.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid your travel plans will have to be delayed,¡± he informed her, ¡°because you will accompany me back to the palace to make your meeting with the king.¡±

    ¡°But I don¡¯t have an appointment,¡± Alessia protested.

    ¡°Nevertheless, he¡¯s expecting you,¡± the captain replied.

    His quiet insistence frightened her almost more than the destination itself.

    ¡°Please,¡± she tried, ¡°I still have so much to arrange¡­¡±

    She let her voice trail off as the man shook his head.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Mistress Mistlewood, but the king has grown tired of waiting, and bids me bring you straight away.¡±

    ¡°But my apprentices¡­¡± Alessia stated. ¡°Surely, they don¡¯t need to come. I¡¯m sure there¡¯s nothing they can do that I can¡¯t do in their stead.¡±

    The man pressed his lips together and gave another shake of his head.

    ¡°On the contrary, Mistress Mistlewood,¡± the captain informed her, ¡°the king¡¯s master greatly desires to meet with them, in particular Miss Sindra. The king was most insistent they be included in this opportunity to meet with them.¡±

    Them, Alessia noted, and her heart fell. If the captain wasn¡¯t aware of the true nature of the king¡¯s dark master, then he was at least aware there was someone, or something, the king answered to, and was either loyal or afraid enough to ensure the wishes of both were obeyed.

    ¡°There has to be a mistake,¡± she whispered, realizing who it had to have been who¡¯d scried them, for only one man could order the king¡¯s soldiers to fetch someone against their will, and that was the king himself.

    Even though the king¡¯s face had been hidden beneath an ornate helm every time she¡¯d seen him, Alessia feared the king¡¯s name was the one attached to the face of their intruder. A shudder passed through her as memory of his armor, brought memory of his temple, with its dark altar, and a chalice of blood being raised.

    She tried to pull her arm from around the captain¡¯s shoulders, only to find he had a firm grip on her wrist. His other arm tightened around her waist.

    ¡°Come, now, Mistress Mistlewood,¡± he soothed. ¡°I¡¯m sure you have nothing to fear.¡±

    Liar! She wanted to scream, but he held her fast and she found herself trapped by the vision of the body on that altar, and the images of the second sacrifice, Kalain, screaming in terror as the king¡¯s undead servants ate him alive.

    The fear clutched at her stomach, becoming ice that flowed through her veins and turned her limbs to lead.

    ¡°There has to be a mistake,¡± she whispered. ¡°There is nothing the king and his master can possibly want from us.¡±

    The captain tucked her against his side, bending his head close to her own. His warm breath brushed her cheek and throat in an intimacy almost too great to bear.

    ¡°You know there is much they can want,¡± he murmured, and Alessia recognized the magic in his voice, too late to stop it.

    The spell wove itself through her thoughts as he murmured a scattering of syllables to close it around her.

    ¡°You have nothing to fear,¡± he repeated, his voice raising goosebumps on her flesh, even as it soothed her thundering heart. ¡°You and your apprentices will be attended with great care.¡±

    Part of her shrieked that this was exactly what she feared, but another part wondered what she had ever been afraid of. The magic tightened, a silken sheath that soothed her to the point she found herself agreeing with his next suggestion.

    ¡°It will only be for a short time,¡± the captain breathed. ¡°Surely you can spare your king such a tiny fragment, a couple of days of luxury to reward yourself and your apprentices for the hard work you¡¯ve been doing. You deserve that much, don¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Perhaps¡­¡± Alessia demurred, wondering why she was hesitating. After all, was the request so unreasonable? He was the king, after all.

    ¡°Please say you¡¯ll come, now,¡± the captain requested. ¡°Your apprentices will follow shortly, and it really is only a small portion of your time. You deserve the rest.¡±

    He was right, Alessia could see that, now¡ªand the king¡¯s kindness in sending an escort for their safety shouldn¡¯t be spurned.

    ¡°Of course, we¡¯ll come,¡± she agreed.

    ¡°I¡¯m so glad,¡± the captain told her, giving her a reassuring squeeze.

    The clatter of bootsteps on the stairs distracted them, and they glanced toward the sound. Alessia¡¯s eyes widened as a soldier appeared, Sindra¡¯s unconscious form slung over one shoulder. Sound from the garden, led their gaze to the back door, where a second soldier was lugging Xanthia inside in the same way.

    Alessia turned spell-hazed eyes to the captain.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± she asked. ¡°I thought you said they¡¯d be safe? It looks like they¡¯re being taken by force.¡±

    She tried to jerk out of his grasp, but the captain pulled her close, trapping her body against his.

    ¡°Shhh,¡± he whispered. ¡°You know how it is when you don¡¯t want to wake someone¡­¡± His voice asked her to understand, but a part of Alessia¡¯s mind admired his creativity. The sense of danger she¡¯d felt earlier, returned in force.

    This time it was accompanied by such a deep sense of wrongness that she baulked. If that sense hadn¡¯t grown stronger at his touch, the spell he¡¯d woven might have reasserted itself. As it was, he signaled that the soldier carrying Sindra should pass, and the man brushed against her.

    In that instant, Alessia knew her apprentice must not be taken to the palace. Fear for the girl¡¯s safety spiked through her, and she jerked away. The glamor unraveled, and the captain¡¯s request to accompany him to the palace no longer seemed as reasonable as the sun shining on a summer¡¯s day.

    A soft cry escaped her as she realized the girls had not gotten away.

    ¡°Easy,¡± the captain soothed, gently trapping her hands and binding them. ¡°The king and his master will be happy to see them.¡±

    ¡°You!¡± Alessia snapped, trying to pull her hands free, and then to slam her own bare foot into the instep of his boot. It was the knee she brought up into his groin that won her a momentary reprieve.

    She followed it with a two-handed shove that sent him stumbling back. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was enough for her to tear free of his grasping hands. Her terror lent her strength and speed as she turned and ran for the door.

    The captain snarled an expletive more commonly heard in taverns or on the docks than in a wizard¡¯s study, as Alessia managed to duck past him. She felt one of his hands brush the back of her blouse as he tried to snatch her back, but a desperate burst of speed saw her past the soldier carrying Sindra and through the front door.

    ¡°Yannik!¡± the captain roared as she leapt down the short flight of stairs and raced for her own front gate.

    She heard a sudden thump as the soldier dropped his burden and turned after her. She dodged his sudden lunge and heard him swear at her escape. Alessia couldn¡¯t make out the exact words, and she didn¡¯t even try.

    Instead, she bolted into the street, looking for a gap between the closely-packed buildings that made up the cul-de-sac neighborhood of Cat¡¯s Way. At first, she didn¡¯t see one, and a sob of desperation escaped her as she noticed the soldiers forming up to block her path out of the street.

    Footsteps sounded behind her, trotting swiftly down the path and out her gate to the cobbled street beyond. Alessia darted further into the street, almost wishing one of her neighbors would open their front door and offer her a way through to the alley that ran behind their homes.

    None did, and she didn¡¯t blame them. Just because they weren¡¯t wizards, didn¡¯t mean the king couldn¡¯t harm them the same way, and an audience with his ¡®master¡¯ wasn¡¯t a fate she¡¯d wish on anyone.

    No, she decided, better they stay out of sight and mind.

    Wishing it were otherwise, she looked for an escape, even as she heard her pursuer¡¯s footsteps come to a halt and the first syllables of another spell ripple through the air. The spell wasn¡¯t a familiar one, and she found herself fighting the urge to stop and listen to it.

    Now is not the time, she scolded herself, ignoring the thought that her time for learning new spells might soon be at an end.

    She spotted a narrow gap between the buildings opposite her, and bolted toward it. Behind her, the captain¡¯s voice reached a crescendo, and the sense of incoming magic crawled ant-like between her shoulder blades and down her back.

    Alessia put on a spurt of speed, diving toward the gap, but it was too little, too late. The spell broke over her like a wave of fire, and even as she reached the shelter of the narrow passage between two cottage walls, the fire flowed along her arms and down her legs, even as it licked up her neck and into her head.

    She thought she heard herself scream, but she was already falling, her world tipping at a crazy angle. Twisting as she fell, she caught sight of the captain lowering his hands and slapping the shoulder of the soldier next to him. He pointed to where she¡¯d fallen.

    ¡°Fetch her back,¡± he ordered. ¡°We are done here.¡±

    Alessia tried to move, to get to her to feet, and flee, but the fire held her rigid. Darkness flickered at the edge of her eyes. The world faded to a searing red glare, accompanied by the all-encompassing roar of flame, as darkness punctuated one last question from the captain.

    ¡°Do we have them all?¡±

    Try as she might, Alessia didn¡¯t hear the answer, as the flames engulfed her completely.

 21éˆ¥æ“®f Gods and Goddesses

    Alessia and her apprentices were but the first. The captain delivered her to his counterparts at the palace, and took his squad to join a larger force in taking the priests from the temple of Miralei.

    The king had given orders for all Deverath¡¯s temples to undertake a census. All that refused were to be razed, and their priests taken into custody. Miralei¡¯s temple was but the first.

    Flames rose to the heavens and screams rent the night as priests fled the blaze and were captured and dragged away. They were told the king and his master demanded their presence at the palace, and that the invitation could not be declined.

    The neighboring temple of Staravan stood silent and dark, its white walls reflected the flames in cherry-red light. Its priests remained unseen, and if Miralei¡¯s pantheonic husband had any objections, he didn¡¯t make an appearance.

    The only movement on his temple¡¯s stairs, or in its porticos were dancing shadows the color of dried blood.

    * * *

    In the heavens above, however, the gods took notice. They gathered at Staravan¡¯s order until the conclave hall was almost full. Robes of blue and green shimmered amongst the gold and silver hues of the gods of air, metal, healing, and love. They glowed amongst the rougher greens and browns of those who served the interests of forest, mountain, and earth.

    Observing the havoc being wreaked below, and the way every one of Miralei¡¯s servants was hunted through the streets, they had only one thing to say: ¡°This is more serious than we thought.¡±

    Miralei, herself, stood, lips pursed as she observed the attack with bitter anger.

    ¡°Where did this new power come from and why did we not foresee its arrival?¡± she demanded.

    As the goddess of order and law, what was happening below affronted her, but she hesitated to intervene. There were laws about direct intervention¡­and she now had no-one in place who could assist. She turned to the others, just as Toronar spoke.

    ¡°Perhaps it is one of those who preceded us,¡± the god of discovery suggested.

    ¡°Can anything be ancient enough for you not to have heard of it?¡± his son, Adriel asked, and Toronar frowned.

    ¡°This one, perhaps,¡± he admitted. ¡°The annals have no record of anything like it. It does not belong to another of the existing pantheons, nor the inscriptions that have so far been uncovered recording the pantheon before.

    ¡°Maybe we¡¯re searching in the wrong places,¡± Adriel answered. ¡°I could look into that.¡±

    His response brought a snort of impatience from one of the dark-clad gods, although it wasn¡¯t clear which, not even when they spoke.

    ¡°Does it matter what the origin?¡± the dark deity snarled. ¡°We are losing temples to the one, and I repeat the one being who serves it.¡±

    ¡°And we are finding it usurping our own roles in the world,¡± put in a minor god of sickness. ¡°Take that plague in Cherborik, for example. It belongs to none of us.¡±

    ¡°And the horde that followed on the plague¡¯s heels,¡± added the goddess of turmoil, ¡°It was not we who summoned it, and we could do nothing to enforce its retreat.¡±

    ¡°Indeed not,¡± added the god of battle. ¡°Our temples were sacked by the same horde that despoiled yours, and the fallen belonging to the mercenaries hired to protect them rose from the battlefield and joined the horde, despite our best efforts to keep them asleep.¡±

    ¡°Pfft! Don¡¯t go blaming me,¡± protested Stellana, goddess of necromancers, all death and new life, as accusing faces were turned in her direction. ¡°I had no control over what went on, there. My attention, if you must know, was drawn elsewhere.¡±

    ¡°The Pitch Mire,¡± another god cut in.

    ¡°Yes, the Pitch Mire,¡± Stellana confirmed, reluctantly adding, ¡°And in other places where the dead are stirring without my instruction.¡±

    She pursed her lips, then drew a deep breath and continued.

    ¡°And as for that, I have been suffering raids on the souls in my domain, and I would like to know which of you is responsible.¡±

    A swirl of wicked-smelling vapor interrupted the gods before any could reply, and they all turned toward it.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Lady Stellana, but do I look guilty to you?¡± rumbled in smooth, dark tones from its midst.

    ¡°Laganos!¡± Miralei exclaimed angrily. ¡°How dare you?¡±

    The vapor cleared and a large, slime-skinned demon emerged, his flesh glistening in the magic lanterns lighting the area. He regarded the furious goddess with pitch-black eyes and shrugged.

    ¡°It was simple,¡± he told her. ¡°You are discussing a matter of relevance to me, and since being granted the status of a lesser god¡­¡±

    He allowed the words to trail into a deprecating smile and Miralei blushed scarlet. Beside her, her husband, Staravan flushed. Some of the gods snickered, hastily turning the sound into a cough, and hiding their smiles, when the lord of gods cast a searching look their way.

    Laganos¡¯s successful masquerade, had netted him a night of unbridled passion with the goddess¡­and was rumored to have resulted in a child. It was also rumored that only Staravan¡¯s understanding and pleas to not be left alone had kept the goddess from sacrificing herself in shame.

    Laganos took the hastily-smothered laughter as his due, and bowed toward the gallery. Turning back to the angry pair, he gave them an oily smile.

    ¡°I felt it was my duty to attend.¡±

    Broadening his smile in a way designed to irritate, the demon swirled away to the end of the hall, and took a seat among the lesser gods. As he settled himself between the god of assassins and the goddess of shadows, their attention was stolen from him.

    With a clap of thunder and a roar of smoke even more noisome than Laganos¡¯s own, the hall of gods suffered its second demonic guest. Laganos cringed as his master arrived in the center of the room. The mighty creature pivoted, his gaze raking the room, and not even pausing on Laganos as it moved full circuit and stopped on the chief of gods and his bride.

    ¡°I am Trodus,¡± he announced in ponderous tones, which rose swiftly with anger, ¡°And I demand satisfaction. I demand that the one responsible be delivered to me, now.¡±

    Staravan drew himself up to his full height, looking down at the demon with a disdainful glare.

    ¡°I beg your pardon?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I said, I wanted the one responsible to be handed over to me that I might deliver justice.¡±

    ¡°I believe you will find justice lies within my realm,¡± Miralei told him stiffly.

    ¡°And I believe we have no idea who you are looking for,¡± Staravan added. ¡°What justice?¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know?¡± Trodus sneered. ¡°A likely story. Deliver them, now, or I will reduce this hall and all within it to rubble and ash!¡±

    His voice had reached a healthy bellow by the time he¡¯d finished, but Staravan drew himself to his full height and, with a pulse of godly power, he snapped out a reply.

    ¡°Enough!¡± He surveyed the hall, ignoring the demon before him. ¡°I have listened to your quibbles and disputes and none of you appear to realize that we are being set one against the other by the one¡­and I repeat, the one, being, someone who is skilled in power and it is we who¡ª¡±

    ¡°Enough, yourself!¡± Trodus roared. ¡°Someone is assassinating my priests, and I will have vengeance!¡±

    He moved like a stooping hawk, turning his back on the greater gods and crossing the hall. He raised both hands, and was ready to seize those seated on either side of Laganos when a voice as soft and cold as snow, yet as hard as a Northman¡¯s ice dagger, froze him in his tracks.

    ¡°Touch either of my servants, and You¡¯ll lose every priest you possess, for I will order my own people to join the attack against you, until there is no one who dares to utter your name for fear I will hear them.¡±

    With a cry of outrage and frustration, Trodus wheeled his great bulk around, drawing himself tall with fury as he faced the delicately-made goddess who¡¯d materialized behind him.

    ¡°Are you saying you haven¡¯t already declared war on me and mine?¡± he demanded.

    The goddess regarded him serenely.

    ¡°I do,¡± she replied, stilling his next outburst with a wave of her hand. ¡°And I do not appreciate you accusing me of involvement in matters that do not concern me.¡±

    ¡°Then why are you here?¡± the demon challenged.

    ¡°I came here to prevent you from harming those you have no right to harm,¡± she answered, ¡°and now that task is complete, I will leave.¡±

    ¡°Enshul, hold.¡± Staravan¡¯s voice rang out, demanding her attention.

    The other gods stilled, watching the confrontation. Daughter faced surrogate father, her hands frozen mid-spell, her face a mix of curiosity, defiance, and challenge.

    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    ¡°You¡¯d command me, Lord Staravan?¡± she asked, her voice deceptively sweet.

    ¡°I would ask you to attend,¡± he responded, although his expression suggested he¡¯d do more than ask if she made him repeat the request.

    With his grievance answered, and seeing his thunder stolen, Trodus moved quietly to take his seat among the gods.

    Enshul looked around at the gathered deities, then looked back to her father, placing one hand on her hip as she sashayed toward the raised dais on which he and her mother stood.

    ¡°And why should I attend this council of panicked weaklings?¡± she demanded. ¡°My temples stand untouched. My servants serve in safety. And my network of power is uncompromised. What business of mine could it be when this rising power has not touched me or mine?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid you have been deceived, my daughter,¡± Staravan told her. ¡°You have been as compromised as the rest of us, and such is the skill of our opponent that you are ignorant of how deeply our enemy has struck.¡±

    ¡°Lies!¡± Enshul retorted. ¡°I would know.¡±

    ¡°That is what we would all hope,¡± Staravan answered. ¡°If you have time to listen, I will explain.¡±

    Enshul folded her arms across her chest, shaking her head so that her hair shimmered.

    ¡°Prove it,¡± she challenged, ¡°and I¡¯ll stay.¡±

    Staravan sighed. ¡°As you wish¡­¡±

    He swept his hand in an arc, and the floor lying before the tiered seating in which the gathered deities sat, became a picture window framed by the thinnest image of flagstones.

    Enshul stepped swiftly to one side as those surrounding the floor craned forward for a better view.

    ¡°Show me,¡± she commanded.

    The picture frame shimmered and a man with washed-out blue eyes and a weather-beaten face came into view. He was reporting to someone seated on a dais, but the angle of the scry did not reveal who. The gods and goddesses listened as he reported what Alessia had seen in the king¡¯s temple.

    Their eyes widened as they saw the way he was used to scry on the wizardess and her apprentices, unease rippling through the gathering when they registered the presence and vessel it had chosen, but none of them said a word as they watched the Tillerman dismissed, and the king conduct a second scry.

    When the scry was over and the picture faded, Enshul turned to her father.

    ¡°I still don¡¯t see what relevance this has to me,¡± she said scornfully.

    ¡°This should explain,¡± Staravan told her, and the picture cleared to show the weather-beaten man speaking with a seer.

    As they listened, they learned where the Tillerman had sourced his information regarding the wizardess¡­and that Raomar had taken a new apprentice. It was, however, news of the state Raomar had been in after his last visit with Enshul that drew the most attention.

    As they listened, the gathered deities turned their attention to the goddess, watching her mouth tighten with anger. Somehow, she managed to maintain a firm grip on her temper as she turned angry eyes to her father.

    ¡°Minor incidents,¡± she said scornfully. ¡°And easily dealt with¡­now I know of them.¡±

    He gave her a tight smile.

    ¡°Then call this minor,¡± he challenged, his voice hard.

    The scene in the picture frame rippled, the weather-beaten man fading to reveal the dim interior of Raomar¡¯s temple, where a solidly-built priest with warm, brown eyes walked swiftly along a corridor.

    ¡°Misrandar,¡± Enshul murmured, and the man glanced up, as though hearing his name.

    He frowned silently, but when he heard nothing more, he continued on his way.

    All along the corridor, the lamps burned with a steady blue flame, lighting the hallway with patches of blue-tinged light. As the deities watched, the shadows between each well-lit sconce began to lengthen. The priest didn¡¯t notice the gathering dark, but continued on, intent on his errand.

    Enshul moved a little closer to the edge of the picture, her eyes focused on the shadows growing between the lamplight. She drew a short, sharp breath as her priest reached the door leading to the temple¡¯s inner chamber.

    ¡°No!¡± she cried, as he stretched his hand toward the handle.

    The watching gods started back, as black static crackled off the door. Laganos gave an appreciative whistle at the display, but cut it off when he caught Trodus¡¯s glare.

    The priest, on the other hand, froze, his face creasing with puzzlement.

    ¡°Mistress?¡± he asked.

    The shadows beside him writhed with sudden life, and Enshul snarled with fury. With her face contorting in anger, she made a curt gesture, creating a projection of herself to stand beside her priest.

    Dark laughter, thick and rich as velvet, filled the hall, and Misrandar looked around in alarm. His face contorted with shock when he saw his goddess¡¯s avatar standing beside him. The shock faded to concern as he saw the darkness and shadows surrounding them, and finally sensed the gathering evil.

    ¡°Forgive me, Mistress,¡± he said, his face growing pale, ¡°For I haven¡¯t guarded your halls as well as I should. Go! I know you will grant me all the aid you can.¡±

    Enshul¡¯s eyebrows rose in brief amusement at his words, then faded to pity. She laid a hand on her priest¡¯s broad shoulders and tried for a comforting smile.

    ¡°Fear not, Misrandar,¡± she soothed. ¡°If you should fall, today, you will walk with me in the halls of my house before your earthly body has cooled.¡±

    The priest opened his mouth to reply, but was cut short by another burst of velvety laughter. The sound rippled mockingly from the shadows, winding around the pair in soft derision.

    ¡°You underestimate my power, Enshul,¡± a deep voice sneered, as Misrandar whimpered in protest. ¡°His soul is already mine.¡±

    Misrandar¡¯s body crumbled, dropping to the hallway floor, and more laughter echoed around Enshul¡¯s horrified form. The shadows vanished, leaving her to stand beside Misrandar¡¯s corpse, in a hallway still lit by the blue light of her presence.

    Staravan snapped his fingers, and the window closed, leaving only flagstones where its image had once filled the floor.

    Enshul uttered the word that would end her projection, and gave him an angry look.

    ¡°You have my complete cooperation,¡± she snarled, her voice jagged with frustration and grief. ¡°This is one power even I cannot afford to ignore.¡±

    ¡°And now you have a promise to keep,¡± he reminded her.

    ¡°It seems impossible,¡± she snapped, ¡°but I will do everything within my power to retrieve his soul.¡±

    ¡°And you will have my assistance,¡± one of the other goddesses assured her, her face clouding, ¡°For if he steals so casually from you, then he must have also stolen from me.¡±

    ¡°And me,¡± Trodus rumbled. ¡°You have my support.¡±

    ¡°Very well,¡± Enshul replied, not hiding her surprise at the demon¡¯s offer.

    ¡°Hold, then,¡± Staravan reiterated. ¡°We will find who is responsible. Adriel and Toronar have set their minds to it.¡±

    ¡°Name your price,¡± Enshul ordered, knowing there would be one. Even in matters like this, payment would be due.

    ¡°Two of your servants,¡± Staravan replied, raising a hand to silence her as he continued, ¡°One of which must be a priest of good standing¡­ and one of which must be skilled in life¡¯s¡­shadier aspects.¡±

    For a moment, the goddess gaped at him and it looked like she was going to refuse, then she closed her mouth, taking a deep breath before acknowledging his request.

    ¡°Do you have anyone in mind?¡± she asked, and her expression said she knew he must.

    Staravan didn¡¯t hesitate in his reply.

    ¡°Chervain the spymaster,¡± Staravan replied. ¡°He is the best in his field and is familiar with many of the lands to which our servants need to travel.¡±

    Enshul shook her head. ¡°Spymaster Chervain passed into my domain two moon-cycles ago,¡± she told her father, ¡°But he did leave an apprentice, one Brianda Bloodbriar¡­and while she is not my servant, I can still recommend her.¡±

    ¡°Is she as good as her master?¡± Staravan asked.

    ¡°Almost,¡± Enshul replied. ¡°She is the also the only one who has his particular set of skills. The others,¡± and here she glanced at her half-sister, Istilica, with mischief in her eyes, ¡°Are all busy with my latest instructions.¡±

    ¡°Very well,¡± her father agreed, wisely ignoring the exchange. ¡°And the priest?¡±

    Enshul¡¯s face darkened, and she cautiously asked, ¡°Do you have a name?¡±

    Staravan eyed her warily, but gave her the name, anyway.

    ¡°Your high priest, Raomar Filameth.¡±

    Enshul flushed slightly. ¡°Ah¡­can you name another?¡±

    Staravan reluctantly shook his head. ¡°I am sorry, daughter, from the very little we know of your priests, he is the only one who can do what we need.¡±

    ¡°Because he has adventured?¡± Hurt colored the goddess¡¯s tone¡­hurt and resentment, both, as she added, ¡°Or because he is kevarag?¡±

    ¡°Both,¡± Staravan told her honestly. ¡°And also because of where he came from, where he has traveled and where, I suspect, this battle will lead him.¡±

    Enshul met his eyes and held his gaze, looking for all the world like she was assessing the truth behind his words. As if seeing no room for doubt, she bowed her head, her shoulders sagging in defeat.

    ¡°It is true that I have no other servant to match him,¡± she answered, ¡°and it is true that he has been places no other servant has been, and done what none of my other servants have even contemplated, but¡­¡±

    Her face flushed a slightly darker shade as she admitted, ¡°He is a¡­favorite¡­of mine.¡±

    Quickly smothered laughter showed there were those in the ranks of the gods around them, who recognized her discomfort. When Enshul raised her head to survey them, the laughter abruptly stopped and some adopted a blank expression to disguise their sudden unease.

    The undisguised fury and disappointment in her expression was enough to make any of them think twice about provoking her.

    ¡°Will no other do?¡± she asked, but Staravan shook his head.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, daughter,¡± he said gently, his face softening. ¡°But there is no other.¡±

    Enshul stared at him for a long moment then huffed out a sigh. For a moment, she dropped her gaze as though in contemplation, but when she raised it again, her eyes blazed.

    ¡°Very well,¡± she snapped. ¡°Take him, take them both, and consider my part done.¡±

    Staravan regarded her for a long moment, as though deciding whether he could push her further. Deciding it would be better not to, he sighed.

    ¡°Until we call upon you again,¡± he agreed, and watched as she rose from her seat and stalked to the center of the hall.

    There, she raised her hands above her head, clapped them once, then disappeared in flash of darkness that sent echoes billowing across the chamber. Before Staravan could breathe another sigh of relief, another clap of sound heralded her reappearance.

    ¡°He is your responsibility,¡± she announced, her voice full of fury and spite. ¡°And his powers are gone.¡±

    She raised her hands, once more, but Staravan intervened before she could disappear.

    ¡°Be at the Wildejun Meld,¡± he instructed. ¡°Your presence is required for the exchange.¡±

    Enshul slowly lowered her hands, and gave her father a calculating stare.

    ¡°Very well,¡± she agreed shortly, ¡°But I have other business to attend to, until then.¡±

    Staravan dipped his chin in acknowledgement.

    ¡°Be vigilant, my daughter,¡± he told her, and her lip curled with scorn.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, father, I¡¯m about to be!¡±

    Again, the chamber reverberated to a roll of sound as the goddess disappeared, in the deific equivalent of a slammed door. Several heartbeats of silence followed, but when it became clear she was not returning, the meeting continued.

    ¡°Iades, Konik, Lesana, Olias and Nala,¡± Staravan addressed Noraka¡¯s children, ¡°Your people will be needed along the way. I have a direction for the travelers, but that is all.¡±

    The five minor deities bowed in acknowledgement.

    ¡°You have only to call on us,¡± Iades told him, indicating his siblings to show he spoke for them.

    Staravan acknowledged them with a nod. ¡°I would expect nothing less of Noraka¡¯s get.¡±

    He turned to another of those in attendance.

    ¡°Sophriel?¡±

    ¡°I can assign a wizard, if you wish,¡± the goddess of magic replied. ¡°You have only to tell me what kind of wizard you need.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Staravan acknowledged. ¡°When I know the nature of our need, I will call on you.¡±

    ¡°And I will be ready,¡± Sophriel told him.

    ¡°And will you require one of my problem-solvers?¡± Adriel asked, but Staravan shook his head.

    ¡°Not yet,¡± he answered, ¡°but¡­¡±

    ¡°I will have one standing by,¡± Adriel hastened to assure him.

    A gasp of pain interrupted them, and Staravan pivoted to see what was wrong. Beside him, Miralei doubled over clutching her hands to her stomach as she dropped to her knees. A low moan escaped her lips.

    Staravan crouched beside her in concern. ¡°My love?¡±

    Miralei gestured weakly toward the center of the hall, and the floor formed another window. Flames came to life inside the frame, licking up through billowing smoke and lighting the streets around her main Toramarian temple.

    Armored figures moved along the streets, running down the priests who tried to escape and dragging them into a line along one edge of the road. For a moment, Staravan felt relieved they didn¡¯t throw his wife¡¯s servants back into the flame. It took another moment to realize that there were corpses as well as captives.

    These were piled in the street, as the cries and screams of Miralei¡¯s priests rose to the sky. The goddess stretched a hand toward them, seeking to dampen the flames, but another gasp saw her wrap her arms around her middle, again.

    ¡°What is it?¡± Staravan asked anxiously.

    ¡°He has taken their souls,¡± she moaned, and murmurs of horror rippled around the room.

    Raising his hands, Staravan started to call the magic needed to dampen the flames. Instead of obeying, they leapt higher, the fire growing stronger, as though fueled by something other than the temple¡¯s remains and the oil poured on them by the soldiers.

    The smoke grew thicker, coalescing to form a flat plane of black that blocked the gods¡¯ view. Veins of green formed a crazed pattern across the darkness, and the picture abruptly shattered. The cries of Miralei¡¯s tormented priests rose to a soul-tearing crescendo, and familiar, dark laughter threaded its way through them.

    The deities leaned forward, trying to see where the laughter came from but they saw nothing¡­and then, with a suddenness that shocked them all, the hall floor was just that¡­a floor.

    The picture was gone.

    Another power had blanked it out.

 22éˆ¥æ“Ÿast Out and Abandoned

    On the other side of Deverath, far from the flames of Miralei¡¯s burning temple, Raomar knelt before the blue-veined stone of Enshul¡¯s altar. Behind him, lay the body of his priest, and he had not been able to discern who, or what, had killed him.

    He reached out to the goddess, again, and, again, was met with silence. He¡¯d been praying for most of the night¡­and the goddess hadn¡¯t answered.

    Try as he might, Raomar hadn¡¯t been able to sense who or what had caused the priest¡¯s death. He needed the goddess¡¯s wisdom to help him discover the culprit.

    Why aren¡¯t you answering? he wondered. What have I done?

    Or not done¡­ The possibility was there. Was it his fault the goddess had fallen silent?

    Whatever it was, he needed her. The corridor outside was sterile, devoid of any hint as to what had happened, whether it be good or evil. There was nothing. The area had been left too clean to tell him anything, so instead of tracking the murderer down, Raomar was seeking the goddess¡¯s guidance.

    And receiving no answer.

    He¡¯d sent the acolytes to the outer temple to pray, then closed the inner chamber¡¯s door behind him, and knelt before the nightstone. Around him, the candles he¡¯d made and dedicated at Enshul¡¯s instruction and to her service, remained unlit.

    Before him, the nightstone¡¯s usually brilliant veins of blue, barely glimmered, their sullen light doing little more than making the stone visible atop its altar perch. Beyond that, the inner chamber resided in darkness.

    And, now, instead of receiving the goddess¡¯s reply, and a sense of her presence, he received nothing. It was as though she¡¯d closed the door between them. The connection was gone.

    When time stretched and still no answer was forthcoming, he rose stiffly from his knees and slowly approached the altar. He could think of only one more thing to try. Taking a deep breath, he reached out and placed both hands on the silver-seamed, blue-laced darkness of the nightstone¡¯s surface.

    The effect was instantaneous. Within seconds of his hands touching it, he felt Enshul¡¯s attention.

    ¡°My lady,¡± he breathed, pressing his palms against the stone¡¯s cool surface, and trying to suppress the sudden feeling of unease that rolled over him. ¡°My lady?¡±

    Usually her presence brought him comfort, but this time?

    Raomar suppressed an internal shiver. The nightstone¡¯s blue-lit veins dimmed to a dark gray beneath his touch, while around him the candles flared suddenly to life and then went out, one after another.

    ¡°My lady?¡± Raomar asked, shocked to a whisper. ¡°What is it? What have I done?¡±

    A feral growl shivered through the room, the single word hidden in its depths barely intelligible.

    "Nothing."

    Yet, despite that, the candles continued to go out, until, with the wavering of the last one''s flame, Raomar felt the nightstone drawing his power into itself. He cried out, again, trying to pull away, but his hands were stuck fast.

    The wall of his lady¡¯s rejection surrounded him, and his power waned. When he felt as empty of power as he¡¯d ever been, the nightstone let him go, but this time, he refused to take his hands away.

    Instead of releasing it, and leaving the chamber as he sensed Enshul wished, Raomar clung to the altar, pressing himself against its hard surface.

    ¡°Please,¡± he begged. ¡°Answer me, my lady. Don¡¯t send me away without knowing why. Have I not served you well?¡±

    ¡°You have.¡± Her voice rang soft and sharp around him, its curtness making him wince.

    ¡°Then¡ª¡± he began, intending to ask her why, once more.

    The goddess cut him off.

    ¡°Because you are not mine,¡± she snarled, and thick black tendrils disentangled him from the altar and threw him toward the chamber¡¯s door. ¡°Now, go!¡±

    Raomar hit the ground and pulled himself to his feet. Instead of continuing his exit, he turned about and took a step toward the altar.

    ¡°But why, Mistress?¡± he asked, tears edging his voice. ¡°You took me in when everyone else turned their backs on me. Who else would I serve?¡±

    When silence was his only answer, he continued.

    ¡°You favored me with your power and gave me a home¡­¡± His voice firmed with determination. ¡°I will not leave you, not even if you curse me to death. I will not¡ª¡±

    The rest of his argument was cut off by another savage snarl. It continued around him until he was surrounded by the sound. He felt it vibrating against his skin and heard the chamber door shatter behind him.

    Seeing the tendrils gather before him, Raomar tried to brace, but he had nothing to brace against, nothing to stop the tendrils from picking him up and thrusting him bodily out the door. Before he had time to beg for mercy, they¡¯d grappled him and thrown him from the chamber and into the hallway beyond.

    ¡°You may never re-enter,¡± Enshul told him, and he heard sadness underlying her command, bitterness as she continued. ¡°I will not curse you to death. That is not the fate you deserve.¡±

    But I don¡¯t deserve your rejection, either, Raomar thought, staring dazedly at the sudden pattern of static that sprang across the inner chamber¡¯s entrance. Pushing himself slowly to his feet, he noticed how Misrandar¡¯s body lay between him and the crackling barrier that kept him from the lady¡¯s inner chambers.

    Unable to bring himself to believe what was happening, Raomar reached out in prayer, trying to draw the goddess¡¯s attention. Once more, he received no reply. He tried again, even though he didn¡¯t expect one.

    He could hope, but he knew it was an illusion. There could be no going back. The goddess had rejected him and she refused to tell him why.

    Misery enfolded him. Confusion, also, but the approach of hesitant footsteps made him turn. It wasn¡¯t really a surprise to see one of the acolytes, the third in age, walk slowly toward him, a thin lock of blue-slashed black streaking the natural bronze of his hair.

    Seeing it, Raomar¡¯s spirits sank.

    Enshul had chosen another, and sent him to do her bidding.

    Raomar tried to stifle the welling hurt, but felt it heave itself loose in a racking sob. Despite the sudden blurring of tears, he saw the look of dazed curiosity on the boy¡¯s face change to one of concern.

    The acolyte quickened his pace and, in spite of the pain in his soul, he wanted to reassure the lad that he would be all right, that they would both survive this, and that all would be well. Sadness robbed him of words.

    When he tried to speak, and when he couldn¡¯t, Raomar sighed. He felt like he¡¯d been beaten all over. What had she done to him? And what he done to anger her so?

    Despite his desire not to burden the boy, Raomar found himself accepting the acolyte¡¯s help. High priest, exile, or whatever he now was, he felt drained of both power and identity. All that remained was an unreasoning grief at the goddess¡¯s rejection, and a weakness that ran soul-deep.

    He didn¡¯t find it strange that the acolyte didn¡¯t speak. He just assumed the goddess had ordered the boy to silence, and that he¡¯d obeyed.

    Perhaps it was for the best, because in his sense of loss and grief, Raomar felt rage. Why had Enshul rejected him? And why had she placed this¡­this child¡­in his place?

    Words might have triggered his rage, and the child did not deserve it.

    The other acolytes were waiting just beyond the temple proper, in the foyer that linked the thieves¡¯ guild to the temple of its patron deity. Raomar saw them, noting the pile of clothing they offered in place of his high priest¡¯s robes.

    Raomar huffed out a breath, his lips stretching in a humorless smile as he took them, stripping out of the robes and passing them over before dressing. He took the proffered stool, and instead of swinging it in a blow that would end at least one life, he sat, removing the temple boots before accepting the ones he¡¯d worn on arrival.

    Changing from high priest to guildmaster took almost no time at all, but to his soul it felt like forever. After his feet were once more shod, he allowed the acolytes to guide him to the exit, feeling as though a heavy mist had dropped around him.

    The turmoil of his emotions subsided, and his thoughts slowed. He felt¡­nothing, as the door opened and Ghost hurried forward to greet him. She slid alongside him, dragging one of his arms over her shoulders and pulling him into the guild¡¯s halls.

    ¡°Come, Master,¡± she said, only to be interrupted by the oldest acolyte.

    ¡°He is guildmaster no longer,¡± the boy pronounced, then closed the door between them.

    Raomar flinched at the sound of its closing, stumbling away from it another step, before he realized Ghost couldn¡¯t take his weight. Rather than fall on her, he sank slowly to his knees, dragging her to a halt.

    She turned on him, a look of anxious exasperation on her face.

    ¡°No, Master,¡± she whispered. ¡°You can¡¯t stay here. You have to come with me.¡±

    ¡°But¡­¡± he began, wanting to point out she wasn¡¯t strong enough to carry him.¡±

    ¡°Hush,¡± she admonished, keeping her grip on his arm, and pulling him forward. ¡°Get up. You have to come with me. You are still my master.¡±

    Raomar resisted her for a long moment, struggling to come to grips with what had happened, but Ghost was insistent.

    ¡°Get. Up,¡± she commanded in a fierce whisper. ¡°You can¡¯t let the others see you like this. You have to move.¡±

    When he didn¡¯t immediately follow, Ghost frowned, her face setting in stubborn lines as she studied him.

    Raomar wondered what she was up to, and was about to ask what she thought she was doing when he registered what might have been a thick arm of air wrap itself around him and lift him to his feet.

    ¡°Come on, Master,¡± Ghost urged and, this time, when she tried to pull him forward, Raomar found himself following, his weight supported by a force he could not see, and unfamiliar power carrying him where the child wanted him to go.

    They¡¯d made it half way to his quarters, using corridors the other guild members didn¡¯t yet have a reason to travel, before Ghost crumbled to her knees, and the power holding Raomar upright vanished. His own knees buckled, and he dropped beside her.

    ¡°Master!¡± Ghost protested, staggering to her feet, and grabbing one of his arms. She tried to drag it across her shoulders. ¡°Master¡­ Get¡ª¡±

    The shadows stirred in a nearby doorway, and the girl¡¯s order ended in a half-stifled scream.

    Dart chuckled as she stepped into the hall.

    As the shadow-woman stooped to drag him to his feet, Raomar wanted to ask why she hadn¡¯t come forward before¡­but he didn¡¯t, because he really didn¡¯t care. He didn¡¯t even care to ask her why she was helping him now, or what she expected in return.

    The hollowness of the goddess¡¯s rejection radiated through his chest and stomach, numbing his mind. He hunched over his knees, resisting Dart as she tried to get him to his feet, but it did him no good.

    Firstly, because Ghost pulled his free arm over her shoulders, and secondly because Dart pulled his other arm across hers, and the pair ignored his awkwardness as they hauled him upright.

    ¡°Which way, Ghost?¡± Dart asked, and the girl pointed in the direction of the guildmaster¡¯s quarters. Together they started down the hall toward it, only to be interrupted a few paces in by another, familiar voice.

    ¡°Here,¡± Grunwol¡¯s familiar tones rumbled. ¡°I¡¯ll take him.¡±

    Stolen novel; please report.

    ¡°Cursed god¡¯s fucking, Grun!¡± Dart exclaimed, when she saw who it was. ¡°How many times have I told you not to sneak up on me like that?¡±

    ¡°As many times as I¡¯ve managed it,¡± the Northman replied, flashing her an unrepentant grin.

    It faded as he looked at Raomar¡¯s condition and he maneuvered alongside the guildmaster, sliding into Ghost¡¯s place and maneuvering the girl out of it, as he wound a hand around Raomar¡¯s waist, and pulled the guildmaster¡¯s arm across his own shoulders.

    ¡°Gods, but he¡¯s heavy,¡± he grumbled. ¡°What happened to him anyway?¡±

    Ghost opened her mouth to reply, but Dart cut across her.

    ¡°Later,¡± she said, her voice softening. ¡°I¡¯ll explain later, but trust me when I say there is no danger to the guild or the temple he loved.¡±

    Loves. Raomar wanted to correct her, but couldn¡¯t find the energy to bring the word to life. He felt Grunwol pause, and the tension running through his friend¡¯s arms as the big man considered Dart¡¯s response.

    It wasn¡¯t until they reached the door to his quarters that Raomar sensed the goddess once more. The touch of her anger and rejection made him flinch, and he struggled to free himself from the Northman¡¯s grasp.

    ¡°Put me down,¡± he ordered, relieved when Grunwol obeyed, gradually releasing him, but hovering close as though he was in danger of falling.

    As much as he didn¡¯t want to admit it, Raomar had to admit the Northman might be right, but that didn¡¯t change what he had to do next.

    He found his balance and carefully unwound Grunwol¡¯s arm from his waist. Looking slowly around, he made sure to catch the eyes of his apprentice and his two friends.

    ¡°Wait here,¡± he ordered, then straightened his spine and turned to face the door.

    He wasn¡¯t sure what to expect but he reached toward the handle. The sudden surge of rage that met his gesture, was so strong that he pulled his hand back.

    ¡°Well,¡± he said, feeling Enshul¡¯s anger boiling at the edge of his senses. ¡°If that¡¯s the way the Lady wants it, I will obey.¡±

    He turned away, even though he also sensed she was angrier with her fellow gods than she was with him. Even that didn¡¯t change the unmistakable knowledge that she wanted him gone. There would be no refuge in the quarters he had once called his own.

    Nor, it seemed, did she recognize his right to collect his belongings before he left. He turned and started to walk away, but had gone only a few steps when Grunwol stepped in his way.

    ¡°Master,¡± the Northman interrupted. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Raomar looked the big man up and down.

    ¡°The goddess has rejected me,¡± he told his friend, welcoming the numbness the words brought. ¡°She no longer recognizes me as one of hers, and has stripped me of my position both in her temple, and in this guild. I am guildmaster no longer.¡±

    ¡°Surely you are still guildmaster?¡± Grunwol protested. ¡°Even if your goddess no longer requires your services, surely the guild is still yours. We are not a part of the temple.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not how it works,¡± Raomar told him, and the man¡¯s brow furrowed.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I mean the goddess wants me elsewhere,¡± Raomar answered, his voice cracking as he held up a hand to still the big man¡¯s next question. ¡°She has rejected my service and ordered me out.¡±

    He bowed his head to hide the tears that, once again, blurred his vision. Swallowing hard, he fought for control, not trusting his voice until he had quelled the emotion. Only when he had both under control, did he dare meet Grunwol¡¯s gaze.

    ¡°She can¡¯t,¡± the Northman protested. He gestured at the walls around them. ¡°The temple, yes. I understand that, but the rest? This? You built this with your own hands, won your territory on your own¡­¡±

    He stopped when he saw the look on Raomar¡¯s face, his puzzlement only increasing when the guildmaster laid a hand on his shoulder.

    ¡°You forget, my wolf,¡± Raomar said, ¡°that the goddess helped us build the guild in return for establishing her presence in the city. It is as much hers as it ever was mine.¡±

    ¡°But¡­¡± Grunwol still wasn¡¯t happy. ¡°You drove it, Master. You built is as you took each section of the city and brought it under our control.¡±

    ¡°And who helped me?¡± Raomar asked. ¡°Who gave us the intelligence we needed? Who showed us our enemies¡¯ weakness and the secret paths we could not have discovered on our own? We did nothing without her assistance, Grun, and now she says we must leave.¡±

    He sighed, a sob making his breath catch as he spread his arms.

    ¡°This place is as much hers¡­or more¡­than it ever was mine.¡±

    ¡°But she can find another high priest,¡± Grunwol protested. ¡°Why can¡¯t you keep the guild?¡±

    Raomar could see his logic, but he knew the big man wasn¡¯t thinking straight¡­and that his friend didn¡¯t have all the information. The guild was built as part of his priesthood. Of course, it belonged to Enshul.

    Unfortunately, there were so many aspects of its building that he hadn¡¯t shared, that it was no wonder the Northman was confused. Raomar sighed. As much as he wished he could explain, there was no time to do so now. That, and he didn¡¯t have either the strength or the inclination to do so.

    ¡°I have to go,¡± he told them, taking another step away from his quarters. ¡°I have to go, and not return.¡±

    He pivoted slowly to glower at the door and the presence he could feel standing guard behind it.

    ¡°Even my own quarters are barred to me,¡± he added, raising his voice, ¡°And I am forbidden to collect what is STILL rightfully mine!¡±

    He was about to turn around, again, when a small form darted past him.

    ¡°That¡¯s not fair!¡± Ghost declared, and he realized Grunwol wasn¡¯t the only one who needed an explanation of why the guild was more Enshul¡¯s than his.

    His newest apprentice looked furious, her face holding all the righteous indignation of a child who¡¯d discovered something else the world didn¡¯t do fairly¡­and, he guessed, she¡¯d just worked out that if he was no longer guildmaster, then he was no longer a master at all.

    He turned to face the girl, but she ducked past him, sliding under Grunwol¡¯s reflexive grab to take hold of the door handle.

    ¡°Ghost!¡± Dart saw the girl¡¯s danger, but even she was too slow to stop her.

    ¡°Don¡¯t¡ª¡± Raomar managed, but it was too late.

    The girl turned the handle and slid inside.

    ¡°I¡¯ll fetch her,¡± Dart told him, and started to move forward, but Raomar took a hold of her arm, and pulled her back.

    The shadow thief tried to twist free, but Raomar tightened his grip.

    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± he repeated, this time addressing Dart. ¡°She is young, and we can only hope the goddess is feeling more merciful for the innocence of youth than she is towards years of faithful service.¡±

    He heard the resentment in his voice, and ignored it, moving to stand in the doorway and see what was happening. He moved to block the way when he saw what was happening inside, feeling his friends stop behind him, when they would have pushed forward.

    Ghost faced a tall, dark-skinned woman with pale-gold hair.

    ¡°Let me pass,¡± the child declared, her face pale, but set determinedly.

    The woman laughed, a spine-tingling chuckle that sent shivers down Raomar¡¯s spine as his goddess raised a blue-flamed sword between them.

    ¡°And why would I do that?¡± Enshul asked, her voice mild with curiosity.

    Ghost looked the goddess in the eye.

    ¡°Because I have come to fetch his belongings,¡± she declared.

    ¡°Pfft!¡± the goddess sneered. ¡°I have forbidden him his temple, his guild, and his quarters, and he sends a child to do his work?¡±

    ¡°He does not!¡± Ghost declared, her face darkening with anger. ¡°I¡¯ve come to ensure his successor does not get what my master earned and is owed.¡±

    ¡°Owed?¡± the goddess asked, quirking an eyebrow, then, before Ghost could respond, she lowered her sword and stepped aside, leaving a clear path to Raomar¡¯s quarters. ¡°Then by all means, please, collect those things which are dear to him. Take his personal belongings only, and take nothing I gave him for his service, and none of the things he received as part of his office as guildmaster.¡±

    Ghost lifted her face to glare at the goddess, and Raomar tensed. Enshul was being more accommodating than he expected, but that could change at the utterance of an ill-placed word, and Ghost didn¡¯t look like she was prepared to be reasonable. He got ready to intervene, whether it cost him his life or not.

    To his surprise, Ghost merely nodded, her voice civil despite the disapproval on her face. She sketched the slightest of respects in the goddess¡¯s direction.

    ¡°As you command, goddess,¡± she replied, before asking, ¡°And may I ask my master which is which?¡±

    This time, Enshul glanced in Raomar¡¯s direction before replying.

    ¡°No,¡± she answered, turning back to the child. A slight smile curved her lips. ¡°You will have to guess, but know that I will not let you take that which I have forbidden.¡±

    A chill rolled across Raomar¡¯s skin at her words, but he said nothing, watching as Ghost sketched another gesture of respect toward the deity. He took a breath, holding it as the girl stalked past the goddess and entered all his quarters.

    Enshul waited until the girl was inside the room, before moving to stand opposite Raomar.

    ¡°You,¡± she snapped, her voice sharp with anger.

    Raomar jumped, but didn¡¯t relinquish his place in the doorway. The goddess looked him over, then took in the two friends guarding his back, before returning her attention to her ex-high priest.

    ¡°You still carry part of my power.¡± She gestured toward the symbol still hanging around his neck. ¡°Return it to me, now.¡±

    Her command re-awoke some of the emotion Raomar had brought under control, and his heart sank, breaking through numbness to despair. He heard Grunwol draw a sharp breath, but ignored the man, instead raising his fingers to his throat and fumbling for the thick gold chain that hung there.

    With a touch numbed by grief, he lifted it over his head, his vision blurring when he caught sight of the weaver he¡¯d worn so close to his heart. Taking a hold of his emotions, he held out the chain. Instead of taking from his hands, she hooked the tip of her flaming blade through the chain and flicked the chain and her emblem into the air.

    There, it vanished in a sparkle of blue light, returned, he assumed, to her realm. Enshul turned away, ignoring him as though he¡¯d never been.

    She might as well have taken her blade and plunged it through his heart. Numbness flared to pain and Raomar pivoted away from the door, stumbling into Grunwol¡¯s grip. His mottled skin took on a gray pallor and his amber eyes lightened with distress until it looked like he had no pupils at all.

    Returning Grunwol¡¯s hold, and reaching out to grab a hold of Dart, he dragged his two friends down the corridor. His voice grated when he spoke.

    ¡°I need a tavern,¡± he snarled. ¡°A tavern and drink strong enough to put me under the table.¡±

    ¡°Master¡­¡± Grunwol began, but Raomar reached up to take the man¡¯s face in his hands and drag it down to eye level.

    ¡°I am ¡®master¡¯ no longer,¡± he managed. ¡°I am Roamer, kevarag without a home.¡±

    He glanced back at the door.

    ¡°Without sanctuary or protection. You¡¯d be better off staying here and serving whoever takes my place.¡±

    Grunwol shook his head, and Raomar sighed and hid his feelings deep.

    ¡°Then I need a tavern,¡± he said coldly.

    ¡°You cannot,¡± Dart argued, sliding her arm through his. ¡°Kevarag are unwelcome on the streets. You¡¯d be killed on sight.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m unwelcome here,¡± Raomar replied. ¡°And I need to forget. I will drink myself into oblivion with my good friends at my side, or I¡¯ll do it alone. The choice is yours.¡±

    So saying, he stepped away from them, and turned to continue down the hall to the outside world. He¡¯d only gone two paces before a small form stepped in his path, almost tripping him over.

    ¡°What is it?¡± he demanded, looking down to see who¡¯d dare get in his way.

    Ghost¡¯s silver-gray eyes gleamed up at him.

    ¡°The Lady Dart knows a good place,¡± she told him, sending a hurried glance toward the shadow thief. ¡°It¡¯s known for its spirits¡­¡±

    After a brief moment of shock, Dart rolled her eyes.

    ¡°Ghost, you know that¡¯s supposed to be a secret,¡± she managed, but Ghost ignored her.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure she¡¯ll take us¡­¡± she added, in pleading tones.

    Raomar looked from the child to Dart, then wrapped an arm around the shadow thief¡¯s shoulders.

    ¡°Lead the way,¡± he ordered, steering her toward the guild¡¯s main hall and exit.

    When they reached it, they found Brianda had just arrived with Varan. Of the other guild members, there was no sign, save that Druurnal stood beside the collections desk.

    The guild¡¯s Master-at-Arms lifted his gaze as they entered, his expression one of both discomfort and embarrassment.

    ¡°Mast¡­¡± Druurnal began, then hastily corrected himself. ¡°Mister Filameth.¡±

    The man¡¯s words brought Raomar to a halt, and where he¡¯d been about to leave the guild, he stopped and looked over. Druurnal hurriedly continued, his face going from florid to pale in seconds. He extended one hand, using the other to lean on the counter in front of him.

    ¡°Your tokens.¡±

    All four of them froze, staring at him in disbelief, and his face colored.

    ¡°She demands it,¡± he added weakly.

    As if the mere mention of her was a summons, Enshul¡¯s avatar appeared, this time taking station between Raomar and the doors leading out of the guild and into the narrow alley beyond.

    Raomar unwound his arm from Dart¡¯s shoulder, and straightened. He glanced at Druurnal and the guildsman flinched, relaxing only slightly as he gestured toward Brianda.

    ¡°She is to go with you,¡± he instructed, casting a quick look at the goddess as though for approval.

    Following the gesture, Raomar caught the slight nod his Master-At-Arms received in return.

    With a hasty swallow, Druurnal continued, ¡°She is no longer welcome here.¡±

    Raomar felt like he¡¯d been turned to stone, like there was no feeling in his skin. He managed a rough nod. His voice creaked as he gave the required order.

    ¡°Brianda, come with me. Varan, too, if his business is with me and not the guild.¡±

    The boy¡¯s face paled and his eyes widened, and Raomar wondered what had happened for Alessia to have sent her apprentice to meet him, instead of coming herself. Worry settled in the back of his throat, and he coughed to clear it.

    ¡°With you, Master,¡± Varan managed, crowding closer to Brianda.

    Druurnal moved his fingers.

    ¡°Your tokens,¡± he repeated, tensing as Raomar approached.

    His eyes followed the movement of the kevarag¡¯s hand as he slid his fingers into a concealed pocket in the waistband of his trousers, and he didn¡¯t relax, not even when Raomar fished out the night-stone token that marked him as the guildmaster.

    Raomar didn¡¯t look at the token¡ªand he tried not to think about the symbol he¡¯d already relinquished. It was harder than he¡¯d thought, giving up the second piece of what had been his identity for so long.

    "Make sure the next master is worthy,¡± he instructed, pressing the blue-veined token into Druurnal¡¯s palm, and folding his hand around it.

    He hadn¡¯t realized he wasn¡¯t alone in his approach, until Ghost¡¯s small hand reached around him to offer Druurnal a small copper disk. Brianda repeated the movement, her token gleaming bronze in the lamplight. The guild¡¯s Master-at-Arms accepted them, hastily stowing Raomar¡¯s token in a pouch at his belt.

    Enshul watched the proceedings from her post at the door, only intervening when Grunwol stepped forward, offering Druurnal a token made of jade. As the Master-at-Arms reached out to accept it, a blue-flamed blade appeared between them, and Enshul stepped in to confront the Northman.

    ¡°You are still a member of this guild,¡± she informed Grunwol. She tapped his chest with the tip of the blade. ¡°You will remain.¡±

    The Northman gave her a contemptuous look and brushed the blade aside with one gauntleted hand. Meeting the goddess¡¯s gaze with a defiant look of his own, he spoke.

    ¡°I am Grunwol, of the North,¡± he told her. ¡°The one once known by the tribes as the Jade Wolf.¡±

    He made a show of looking her up and down, then continued.

    ¡°I owe my life to the one you have rejected and am foresworn.¡± He clenched his jaw, regarding the goddess with barely suppressed anger. ¡°I chose a friend to be my master, not a guild¡­and not a goddess.¡±

    His expression turned to one of disdain.

    ¡°You have no right to command me.¡±

    Before she could reply, Grunwol went on.

    ¡°If my friend and master is not welcome here, then neither am I, and I withdraw my membership from the guild.¡±

    He flipped the token into the air, sending it arcing over the avatar¡¯s head to bounce off Druurnal¡¯s head. The Master-at-Arms made a hasty grab and snatched it out of the air.

    Withdrawing her blade and ignoring the Northman, Enshul turned to Dart.

    The shadow thief merely arched her eyebrows at her as she met the deity¡¯s gaze.

    ¡°Do we need to renegotiate our alliance, my Lady?¡± she asked.

    The avatar inclined her head, a small smile playing over her lips.

    ¡°Only if you require it, Lady Dart,¡± she replied. ¡°Unless you state otherwise, the terms of our original agreement stand.¡±

    Dart held the goddess¡¯s gaze for a moment longer, then nodded.

    ¡°So be it. The original agreement stands,¡± she stated.

    The goddess rewarded her with a small smile, and made an open-handed gesture toward the door.

    ¡°You may go,¡± she stated, her gaze drifting over the small group before her. ¡°You may all go.¡±

    They looked at her, then Ghost opened the small pack she¡¯d carried from her master¡¯s quarters and rummaged inside.

    ¡°Here, Master¡± she stated, thrusting a bundle of dark blue cloth into Raomar¡¯s hands. ¡°You will need this.¡±

    When Raomar didn¡¯t immediately respond, Grunwol took the cloth and shook it out. Dart nodded in approval as he draped the cloak around the kevarag¡¯s shoulders and pulled the hood over his head, hiding the elf¡¯s straw-colored hair and mottled features.

    With an anxious look at their companion, they moved toward the guild exit, taking Raomar with them. As Dart touched the handle, Enshul spoke.

    ¡°Go to Wildejun, Once-Mine,¡± she told him. ¡°At Wildejun your answers lie.¡±

    Raomar gave no sign of having heard her, following Dart and Grunwol into the street beyond, and leading Ghost, Varan and Brianda into the gray light of dawn.

 23éˆ¥æ“®bligations

    For the first time in over a year, Raomar stepped into Deverath¡¯s streets in the light of day. Walking through the morning gloam with his friends, he found no comfort in their company. His mind dwelt on his goddess and his heart wept.

    She had cast him aside for no reason, and there was nothing his friends could do to give him comfort for that.

    ¡°Master,¡± Ghost began, when they had walked several blocks in silence. ¡°Where¡ª¡±

    ¡°I am no longer a master,¡± Raomar snapped, cutting her short. ¡°I am no man¡¯s master, now.¡±

    To the companions¡¯ surprise, Ghost¡¯s features darkened into a frown, and she wrapped a small strong hand around Raomar¡¯s wrist. While her fingers weren¡¯t quite long enough to encircle it, she took a firm hold and jerked him to a near halt.

    ¡°You are my master,¡± she snarled, keeping her voice low as she jabbed him in the lower ribs with her free hand. ¡°Remember? You chose me! I might have been one of the guild¡¯s runners, but I was apprenticed to none, and you chose me. I called you master, then, and you are my master still.

    For a second, Raomar stared at her, then he yanked his wrist out of her grip with a growl of frustration. He lost it to a gasp as a large hand descended on his shoulder, drawing him deeper into the shadows of the alley in which they stood.

    ¡°She has you there,¡± the Northman assured him. ¡°You never did complete the paperwork to apprentice her to the guild, so she¡¯s officially your apprentice and no-one else¡¯s.¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡±

    Dart snickered.

    ¡°You offered the girl an apprenticeship, and not as the guild.¡± She patted Raomar¡¯s arm. ¡°You have obligations, my friend.¡±

    Raomar snarled something that sounded suspiciously like a curse, and Grunwol chuckled, making sure Ghost stayed close, when his kevarag friend continued down the alley.

    ¡°Where to, Dart?¡± he demanded, and with a brief smile at Ghost, the shadow thief continued to lead the way.

    They traveled for another half a block, before she turned into an alley whose entrance was concealed by a low wall built at such an angle that the small gap allowing access past it was hidden by a trick of the eye.

    As they stepped behind its shelter, Raomar glanced down at Ghost with a look of total consternation, then at Grunwol, Brianda and Varan. His heart clenched at the thought of what he¡¯d lost, and at what they¡¯d lost right alongside him.

    Grunwol caught his look and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

    ¡°Never mind,¡± he soothed. ¡°I¡¯m sure a good day¡¯s rest will help us get a better perspective.¡±

    Raomar froze.

    ¡°A better perspective?¡± he choked out, turning to seize his friend by his collar and pulling him down until he could look the Northman in the eye. His voice was harsh as he continued, ¡°There is no perspective in all the realms that will ease the emptiness she has left.¡±

    He released Grunwol¡¯s tunic, thrusting the big man away from him.

    ¡°None,¡± he added with barely contained savagery.

    How long he might have stayed staring at his friend, he didn¡¯t know, but Dart intervened, taking his arm and leading him gently through the narrow space.

    ¡°We¡¯re almost there,¡± she coaxed, adding with forced brightness. ¡°Let¡¯s not dally in the alley when we could be drowning our sorrows before a friendly fire.¡±

    Raomar slapped Grunwol¡¯s chest with the flat of his hand, and followed Dart to another well-concealed alleyway entrance. A few twists and turns later, and she came to a halt in front of a section of wall partly obscured by garbage.

    She didn¡¯t hesitate, but waded through the miasma as though it didn¡¯t exist. Her cloak and the shadows by the wall hid exactly what she did, but they all heard a click. The sound was followed by a pause, then the wall slid aside to reveal a dimly-lit stone passage.

    The shadow thief stood beside the opening, watching as the rest of the small company waded through the reeking garbage. She found it interesting that only Varan moved as though the noisome mess wasn¡¯t there.

    As soon as they were safely through the gap in the wall, she followed, palming another section of stone on the other side until a second click echoed in their wake. The wall slid back into place, grinding across the cobbles to shut out the garbage pile, the alley, and the growing light of full day.

    As the last of the wall slid into place, Grunwol let out a low, rumbling growl, and Dart stiffened in alarm. Grabbing the Northman by the arm as she passed, she moved around the others and pulled him down the hall.

    Raomar watched as the big man shivered at her touch, then tensed as he saw the Northman¡¯s hand come to rest on the hilt of his sword. His companions grew tense at his touch, but said nothing, waiting, instead, for him take the lead.

    He watched as Grunwol followed Dart to a bend in the hall, then led the others after them. Dart¡¯s quiet urging drifted back to them.

    ¡°Quick Grun. This way. Hurry, now. Let¡¯s get you out of reach of the magic.¡± She glanced back at the turn. ¡°I forgot to warn him about the wards.¡±

    At her words, Grunwol shuddered, but managed to keep his blade in its scabbard as he followed her around the bend.

    The wards! Raomar shook his head, leading the others in their wake. Of all the things to forget.

    Dart knew Grunwol well enough to know what was likely to happen if certain types of magic were activated around him. Such things were too dangerous to let slip. As he rounded the corner after them, he saw Dart hadn¡¯t stopped moving.

    She took the Northman quickly out of the area affected by the warding magicks, taking the steps she needed in order to deactivate her usual array of traps along the way. The corridor continued downward until they reached a small wooden door set in the stone wall at its end.

    Dart quickly opened the portal, leading the group in to the large, simple room beyond. It contained a single long table paralleled by two benches, a fire burning sullenly in a wide hearth, and three other doors leading to unseen spaces.

    ¡°Have a seat,¡± Dart instructed, crossing to a door tucked to one side of the room. Withdrawing a key from her pocket, she locked it, before moving to the one beside it and pushing it open.

    ¡°Kitchen,¡± she explained, going through it.

    Raomar scowled, wondering how he¡¯d ended up in what was obviously the woman¡¯s private residence, instead of the tavern she¡¯d promised.

    ¡°And a cellar beyond,¡± the shadow thief hastily added, catching his expression. ¡°Now, take a seat so I can fetch you a drink.¡±

    On hearing her words, Raomar settled himself on the bench at the end of the table closest the kitchen door. It was a good enough perch. From it, he could watch the entrance, observe the other two doors and stare into the fire¡­or all three, if he so desired. It was good enough.

    He sank into himself, barely aware of Ghost as she climbed onto the bench next to him. Resting both elbows on the table, he ignored her, but she didn¡¯t seem to mind.

    She snuggled under his elbow and pressed herself against his side, ignoring the way he tensed at her touch before accepting her presence. It was odd for her to get so close, but he didn¡¯t push her away.

    If the child wanted to adopt him, who was he to reject her? He knew what it was like to have nowhere to belong. Resisting the urge to drape his arm around the elfling¡¯s shoulder, he sighed. He also resisted the urge to look at Grunwol, when the man took a seat opposite him.

    One by one, the others joined him at the table, but beyond taking note of where they chose to sit, Raomar paid them no mind. He was trying to work out just how much he had to drink to numb the aching hurt he felt inside¡­and how strong it had to be.

    As he did, Dart returned with a tray of glasses, mugs and bottles, which she set in the middle of the table. Raomar watched her open a bottle of wine and set a glass of it before him.

    He saw her wince when he downed the glass in a single gulp, and was relieved when she refilled it a second time. Her tolerance didn¡¯t stop him from draining the glass again, although he was sure he heard her sigh.

    Pushing aside a twinge of guilt, Raomar held his glass up once more. This time, he didn¡¯t down the contents in another single swallow. Instead, he wrapped both hands around it, reconsidering his need to find oblivion despite, the agonizing numbness weighting his chest.

    After all, the pain would still be waiting when he sobered.

    He took a long, slow sip of his drink, ignoring the way the room relaxed around him. Turning in the seat, he set his elbows on his knees and continued to sip as he stared into the fire. Dart started serving the others around the table, and some of the tension in the room eased.

    No one spoke as Dart stoked the fire to a comfortable blaze and vanished back into the kitchen. She returned a short moment later with two more trays, one laden with bread, butter and condiments, and the other with an assortment of fruit, preserved meat, and cheese.

    ¡°Eat,¡± she said, and her guests obliged, settling into companionable silence as they satisfied their hunger.

    As intent as he was on the fire, Raomar still caught the looks they exchanged, and the glances they kept tossing his way. He said nothing, and was relieved when they continued to allow him to sit in silence.

    There was nothing they could say to comfort him¡­and he had no words with which to allay their obvious concern. Instead of speaking, he continued to sip his wine and stare into the leaping flames, letting his mind drift where it would.

    Some time later, someone tugged gently at his arm. At first, he tried to shrug it away, but they were persistent, and the tugging came again. He glanced down, scowling and ready to reprimand Ghost for disturbing him.

    Instead, he found Ghost still curled against his side, her soft breathing showing she was almost asleep. The intense blue eyes of Alessia¡¯s youngest apprentice interrupted his gaze as the boy tugged once more at his sleeve.

    ¡°They arrested my mistress,¡± the boy began, before Raomar had a chance to say anything. ¡°And they took the other apprentices away.¡±

    His expression dipped into a worried scowl.

    ¡°I think they¡¯re going to hurt them.¡±

    That goes without saying, Raomar thought but did not say.

    Reluctantly, he pulled his gaze from the fire, feeling the words driving a wedge through the numbness surrounding his soul.

    ¡°Who is they?¡± he asked.

    ¡°The king¡¯s men,¡± the boy¡­ Raomar¡¯s mind scrambled for his name¡­Varan¡­replied.

    Fear formed a secondary layer of ice through the grief inside Raomar¡¯s chest. It almost split the numbness dragging at his soul.

    ¡°The who?¡± he asked, trying to wrap his head around the importance of the boy¡¯s words.

    ¡°The king¡¯s men,¡± Varan repeated. ¡°Please¡­¡±

    ¡°When?¡± Raomar demanded.

    ¡°The morning just gone,¡± the boy replied. ¡°We were going to ask you for shelter.¡±

    ¡°For shelter from what?¡± Raomar asked, ignoring Dart¡¯s sigh.

    ¡°The king,¡± Varan answered. ¡°Mistress Mistlewood said we needed to seek shelter with you.¡±

    ¡°Then why didn¡¯t she come?¡± Raomar asked, taking a deeper draught from his glass, and reaching over to lift the bottle from the table.

    No one admonished him, but Varan¡¯s face threatened to crumble.

    ¡°She¡­ We weren¡¯t ready when they came,¡± he explained, his voice quavering. ¡°They came¡­and¡­¡±

    His voice caught.

    ¡°They came and we weren¡¯t ready,¡± Varan repeated, his eyes filling with tears as his face reddened. ¡°She¡­ She sent me to o¡­o¡­open the gate in the wall. Sh¡­She told¡­told me to give you this.¡±

    He reached into his tunic, fumbling around inside it until he was able to pull a piece of rolled parchment from its depths. The parchment appeared slightly worse for wear, but was sealed closed with a familiar sigil.

    Across the table, Brianda gasped.

    Feris continued as though she hadn¡¯t made a sound.

    ¡°She said you would know what it is.¡±

    Raomar took the parchment, examining the seal and glancing over at Brianda.

    ¡°I know why the boy has this, but of what interest is it to you?¡± he asked the girl.

    She blushed, as she explained, ¡°It¡¯s what brought me to Deverath. Alessia retrieved it for the Tillerman.¡±

    Varan nodded to confirm her story, then gave Raomar a pleading look.

    ¡°Please, Master, can you save her?¡±

    Dart stopped, her hand halfway to her mouth with a piece of cheese. Grunwol coughed into his wine glass, caught mid-sip, and Ghost stirred restlessly against Raomar¡¯s side.

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    Raomar met the boy¡¯s eyes, and covered the child¡¯s hand with his own.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know where she¡¯s been taken,¡± he told the boy, adding in defeated tones, ¡°and I can no longer scry her.¡±

    ¡°I can,¡± Varan told him. ¡°If I can find her, will you try to get her back?¡±

    Seeing the hope in the boy¡¯s eyes, Raomar felt a sudden swell of despair.

    ¡°I would, but the goddess¡­¡± He let his words trail into defeat and looked away. ¡°I cannot.¡±

    He raised the bottle to his lips and drank it dry, before looking to the table for more.

    Dart was not quick enough to stop him seizing another¡­this one a fortified wine that had taken her some trouble to find. She stifled a groan, and rolled her eyes.

    ¡°I know of someone who can help,¡± the shadow thief told him, settling her hand over Raomar¡¯s and drawing his gaze with her own. ¡°Ghost can fetch her, and we can have her in the city by nightfall, if we hurry.¡±

    Ghost became fully awake, shrugging herself free of Raomar¡¯s arm. She looked up at the shadow thief, her eyes bright with excitement and hope.

    ¡°The crone, Lady Dart?¡± she asked.

    Dart nodded, allowing herself a small smile at the child¡¯s sudden wakefulness.

    ¡°The crone,¡± she confirmed, ¡°but first we should have Varan scry Alessia¡¯s location, so we can tell the crone as much as we can.¡±

    ¡°She will want to do her own scry,¡± Ghost said, knowingly.

    Dart shrugged. ¡°True, but she will want to hear all she can, first. The more we can tell her, the more likely she is to help.¡±

    She turned to Alessia¡¯s apprentice. ¡°Varan, what do you need?¡±

    ¡°I need an earthenware bowl and clean water.¡±

    Raomar watched them make their preparations and took a large swig from the bottle he¡¯d taken. It looked like they had everything under control, so it wouldn¡¯t matter if he drank some more to dull the pain.

    It didn¡¯t take Dart long to fetch the bowl and water. Once she had placed it in front of him, Varan scrambled onto the table top, kneeling in front of the bowl as he spoke the words for the scrying spell as he settled.

    Raomar registered that the boy drew the magic to him as easily as he drew breath, and felt a small spike of interest at seeing such power in one so young. He also kept half an eye on Grunwol, in case the Northman¡¯s natural aversion to magic rose, and he had to intervene.

    When Grunwol remained calm, he started to relax.

    The water in the bowl rippled outward as though a pebble had been dropped into its center, and a picture slowly formed. As the ripples died away, the picture grew clearer, and they saw a long hall lined by close-set heavy wooden doors, each one with a small barred window set high in its center.

    ¡°The king¡¯s dungeon,¡± Dart observed quietly, ¡°But why would she have been brought here?¡±

    ¡°Not his usual one,¡± Raomar observed, hearing a faint slur in his words.

    Dart frowned, but whether it was because of the slurring, or the fact his observation was correct, he didn¡¯t know.

    Brianda looked from one to the other.

    ¡°Really?¡± she asked, and they nodded.

    ¡°I usually retrieve my people from somewhere better lit,¡± Raomar told her, and Dart nodded confirmation.

    ¡°Those walls look¡­older, somehow,¡± she observed.

    ¡°And there¡¯s a crest on those windows I haven¡¯t seen before,¡± Grunwol added, indicating a small heraldic device carved into the center top of each set of bars.

    They all craned forward for a better look, and Varan made an impatient sound.

    ¡°If you don¡¯t mind,¡± the boy dared to protest.

    They moved back so he had a clear view of the bowl, and the picture began to move. Varan guided them down the hallway, pushing the scry so they could peer between each set of bars to see who, or what, was trapped inside. It didn¡¯t take him long to locate his household.

    Alessia, Sindra, Zarine and Xanthia each had a cell to themselves, and eight other female mages occupied the nearest seven. A man shivered in the twelfth cell, but he was not alone.

    Four dark-cloaked priests attended him, and he was terrified of each and every one of them. From the way his mouth moved, they spoke, and Varan spoke the word for sound to allow them to hear what was said.

    ¡°Come, now, brother,¡± one of the black-robed priests soothed. ¡°You have served the king well, thus far, but now your service will be much greater than before. Don¡¯t be afraid.¡±

    He lifted a black-gloved hand and ran a gentle finger down the center of the man¡¯s face, eliciting a moan of terror as the prisoner tried to escape the manacles chaining him to the cell wall. The priest closed on him.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid,¡± the priest repeated softly, and they heard the magic in his voice.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid,¡± the other priests echoed, taking up the soothing croon, reaching out to stroke his arms and chest.

    At first, he flinched away, but as they continued their soothing drone, and the magic did its work, he relaxed under their touch. Raomar caught sight of a tear rolling down one cheek, and wondered where the tension could have gone.

    Once he¡¯d stopped his struggles, the priests gently released their prisoner from his chains, steadying him as they led him from the room. Another tear rolled down his cheek, but he followed as docilely as a lamb.

    Varan shifted the scry so that it stayed on them as they moved down the door-lined corridor, and Raomar watched the boy work, quietly impressed by the deftness of his control. He¡¯d observed more than a few wizards scry, and there were very few who could follow a subject from one area to another.

    He could see why Alessia had sent the boy on ahead.

    ¡°Watch for wards,¡± he warned, remembering Varan was still an apprentice and might not think of such things.

    The boy¡¯s frown of concentration deepened, but the scry didn¡¯t waver.

    It stayed centered on the prisoner, now walking with apparent calm between the priests who¡¯d caused him such terror before. He seemed unperturbed by his surroundings and his captors, but another tear traced its way down his cheek, and Raomar had to wonder if the emotion had truly gone.

    Studying the scry more closely, Raomar saw the outlines of a multi-colored cloud forming above him. Images flashed through it, and Raomar caught quick glimpses of the man in flight, or faceless monsters, or¡­

    All the terror he must be feeling, Raomar thought, noticing the blurred image of a woman and a child, a young boy, an older couple with similar features.

    These were tinged by blues and grays.

    Sadness, Raomar acknowledged, as another tear slipped from the man¡¯s eyes. And loss. He doesn¡¯t think he¡¯ll see them again, and he didn¡¯t have time to say goodbye¡­or to warn them¡­

    He couldn¡¯t be sure that was exactly what the man was feeling, but those were the impressions he was receiving. Threads of darkness spread through the images the further down the corridor the man progressed, and Raomar had the impression the priests hadn¡¯t removed the man¡¯s fear, but merely redirected it.

    No doubt he¡¯ll feel it all when it suits them, Raomar thought, remembering there were also entities who grew stronger from emotions like fear, despair, and sadness, and wondering if the king¡¯s deity was one of them. We¡¯ll know soon enough.

    The group reached the end of the corridor, coming to a halt in front of the double iron-bound doors leading to the next area. Varan dropped a single syllable into the scry, and the magic guarding them, became visible.

    Raomar¡¯s heart sank, and he got ready to disrupt Varan¡¯s spell if the boy didn¡¯t end the scry before the priests opened the doors. He had no doubt that, if the boy did not, then the scry would be revealed, and who knew what attention they¡¯d draw?

    He was poised to intervene, when the leading priest turned to the door on his right, drawing a heavy ring of keys. They jangled as he moved his hands in the gestures required to dispel the wards guarding the smaller portal, then jangled again as he inserted one into the lock.

    The door unlocked with a heavy clunk, and magic sparkled between door and key as he pushed the portal open. Without the wards, Varan was free to follow the priests into the room beyond.

    Raomar craned forward, curious to see what lay beyond it¡ªand stifled a gasp. The room looked like a scaled-down version of the temple Varan had described, save that the altar was central, instead of standing at one end, and there were only four pillars, each one set at a corner.

    A second set of double doors stood beyond the altar, and Raomar guessed these led to the temple proper. Varan¡¯s gently spoken command saw them light with wards, and Raomar tensed, but the boy kept the scry focus well away from the wards, and Raomar relaxed.

    A tall figure was standing, staring down at the altar as the priests and their escort entered. It turned, its helmed visage causing Varan to tense. The scry wavered, but the boy pressed his lips together, and it steadied.

    ¡°Steward.¡± The king¡¯s voice was unmistakable, and Raomar stilled.

    ¡°Your Majesty,¡± the prisoner replied in monotones devoid of the fear Raomar could see hovering over his head.

    The king extended a hand. ¡°Come.¡±

    He stepped to one side so the path to the altar was clear, sweeping his hand toward it in clear command.

    The steward followed the king¡¯s gesture, climbing obediently onto the altar top and letting the priests steady him as he turned to stretch out on its surface. Inside the cloud over his head, Raomar saw pictures of him screaming, and a frisson of unease ran through him.

    Glancing at the wards on the double inner doors, he caught the sense of a presence, something old and evil¡­and waiting. It reminded him of the dead powers whose temples he¡¯d raided in his days of wandering, when Enshul had released him from the protection of her temple walls and sent him into the world beyond.

    After searching their temples, the idea that even one of those long-deceased powers might still live, sent a slow churn of fear through his gut, and he tensed, preparing to intervene, once more. There was no chance of them going unnoticed once the temple doors had opened.

    He leaned forward, trying to see everything in the room before the priests opened the connecting doors. Fortunately, they were still attending to the steward. Chains rattled and clanked as the priests drew the steward¡¯s hands over his head and raised manacles to his wrists.

    Keeping their movements slow and their touch gentle, they continued to sooth the man as they worked, spread-eagling him, and securing his body in place before carefully cutting his clothing away.

    ¡°Such things are not for you,¡± they soothed, drawing the chains tight.

    The steward turned frightened eyes to the king, but his face remained serene.

    ¡°You have served me well,¡± the king soothed. ¡°I would do you no harm.¡±

    Well, that is patently a lie, Raomar thought, but didn¡¯t say.

    He watched as the priests made their final adjustments, then turned to their king.

    ¡°He is ready,¡± they said, their voices no longer soothing.

    ¡°And the priestesses?¡± the king asked.

    ¡°They are being brought as we speak,¡± the priest informed him.

    As if to confirm his answer, a shriek echoed down the corridor, accompanied by another voice begging to be released and allowed to go. A single slap resounded in the halls beyond and cloth tore. A woman¡¯s voice rose in protest and then in pain.

    The king removed his helm and his lips shifted into a smile that was not his own.

    Raomar shuddered.

    Whatever the king had chosen to serve, it had warped him to its needs, riding his body so that it smiled through him, using his lips to express its own hideous pleasure.

    More cloth tore and another scream echoed down the hall. The thing that was the king closed its eyes, clearly savoring the terror it heard. After a moment, it opened its eyes, once more, and moved to the altar. There, it stood, gazing down at the steward¡¯s face.

    Ignoring the tears running freely down the sides of his face, the king reached out and stroked the flat of his palm down the steward¡¯s cheek, pausing to cup it, before tracing the man¡¯s jaw with a lingering finger touch.

    ¡°You are a worthy gift,¡± he stated, the presence receding and the king returning to the surface. ¡°A perfect appetizer for tomorrow night¡¯s ceremony.¡±

    He moved his finger to the man¡¯s chest, and laid the flat of his palm there, before uttering the word to release all the emotion the steward hadn¡¯t felt.

    Raomar watched the cloud of feeling roll over the man, feeling a surge of pity at the mad struggle that followed¡­and its futility. The chains barely shifted, as the steward did his best to escape them, his body arching as his muscles strained to free him from his captivity.

    Through it all, the king observed him with quiet interest, like a cat watching a mouse impaled on one of its claws. When the man¡¯s grunts of effort had subsided to sobs of despair, and his struggles stopped, he patted the steward¡¯s cheek and turned away.

    The steward watched him go with desperate eyes.

    ¡°Please,¡± he croaked, his voice rising in a breathless sob. ¡°Your majesty¡­ Please¡­¡±

    The king ignored him, moving to place himself in the center of the altar and lifting his helm back onto his head. Spreading both hands before him, he presented the steward to whatever waited beyond the doors.

    Streamers of color were siphoned away from the man¡¯s body, and narrow ribbons of darkness seeped in around the edges of the doors, their presence not activating the wards. Raomar watched with apprehension as the streamers stretched into the room, twining together to form a single tendril.

    The steward turned his head to see what his master was looking at, and saw the tendril snaking its way toward him. He gasped as the tendril touched his head, shaking his head from side to side in an attempt to free himself from the its grasp.

    It didn¡¯t work, and the tendril coiled around his skull and down his neck to slide around his body. The steward shrieked as it continued down his torso, and over his belly. It wound its way around his thighs, twisting from one leg to another and pinning him even more effectively than the chains.

    More gasps signaled the arrival of the priestesses, and their struggles renewed as the priests dragged each of them to a pillar, subduing them with a slap and chaining them in place before they could regain their senses. Soft sobs and whimpers followed, overridden by the deep timbre of the king¡¯s voice.

    ¡°Master,¡± he began, and the tendril stilled.

    Darkness thickened around the edge of the doors, as the priests closed the portal by which they¡¯d entered. The king ignored them.

    ¡°Another servant I need,¡± he intoned. ¡°To serve you at your altar.¡±

    ¡°The living make imperfect slaves,¡± came in chorus from the priests arrayed beside the pillars. ¡°Let this one serve you better.¡±

    ¡°I feel your hunger,¡± the king continued, and the priests gestured toward the pillars with their struggling burdens.

    ¡°These have the power and strength you need,¡± they intoned.

    The king smiled, echoing their gesture but encompassing all four pillars.

    ¡°Let these lives unspent, their talents untried, and their regret and anger, fear and unfulfilled potential, sate your hunger and ease your need,¡± he told the presence, stretching his hands toward the double portal, and making the first movements of the spell that would open them.

    Varan ended the scry, slapping the bowl to one side and sending it crashing to the floor, but not before the steward scream of denial was joined by a chorus of others. The sound lingered after the bowl shattered, and water cascaded across the table to the floor.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± the boy whispered, sliding from his seat, and starting to gather the pieces. ¡°Sorry, Master¡­so, so sorry.¡±

    Raomar moved to crouch beside the boy, wrapping his arm around his shoulders and pulling him close, as Dart brought a mop and a brush and dustpan and took over tidying the mess.

    ¡°Sorry, Mistress,¡± Varan apologized, but she only shook her head.

    ¡°You did what had to be done,¡± she reassured him. ¡°Don¡¯t apologize for that.¡±

    Varan nodded miserably and remained huddled against Raomar¡¯s side. The guildmaster drew him back to the table and settled him beside him, watching as Dart finished her task.

    She set the mop to one side when she was done and pursed her lips. After a moment, she spoke.

    ¡°I need to borrow your apprentice,¡± she told Raomar, indicating Ghost with a slight jerk of her chin.

    ¡°We can¡¯t let them die like that,¡± Varan whispered, and he didn¡¯t mean those being sacrificed as they spoke¡­but those that waited, his mistress and fellow apprentices among them. Raomar¡¯s grip on the boy tightened.

    ¡°No,¡± he agreed, transferring his attention to Dart. ¡°What do you need her for?¡±

    ¡°She knows a woman who can help us,¡± she informed him, fixing Ghost with a gimlet stare. ¡°It would be expedient if she went to fetch her.¡±

    Ghost tensed, her small face pinched with early refusal, but Varan caught her gaze, his face beseeching.

    ¡°Please,¡± he whispered, and Ghost darted a swift glance at him, before returning her gaze to her master.

    After a moment¡¯s hesitation, she nodded.

    When Raomar didn¡¯t immediately answer, Varan stirred restlessly beneath his arm.

    ¡°Please,¡± he repeated. ¡°We cannot leave her there.¡±

    Still Raomar didn¡¯t answer, the loss of Enshul¡¯s favor falling hard as he realized he didn¡¯t have the skills to help his friend. Grief crashed through him, the horror of her fate tumbling him toward despair. He flinched as Dart touched his shoulder.

    ¡°Roamer¡­¡±

    The old nickname only served to remind him of his days of wandering, the days when he¡¯d walked the world, the goddess by his side, learning his power as his devotion improved, but now¡­

    ¡°She¡¯s gone,¡± he whispered, the hopelessness he felt, coloring his tones. ¡°And she¡¯s left nothing behind.¡±

    The feeling of hollowness grew, until it threatened to engulf him. He might have welcomed it, if Dart hadn¡¯t pulled him back from the brink.

    ¡°Your magic isn¡¯t the only skill you have,¡± she reminded him, and Grunwol agreed from across the table.

    ¡°You weren¡¯t always a priest.¡±

    For some reason the Northman¡¯s words stung, and Raomar snapped him an angry look.

    ¡°None of that will save them from¡­¡± He gestured helplessly at where the bowl had fallen, ignoring the fact the pieces were no longer there. ¡°That.¡±

    ¡°The crone and Varan will help you fill the gaps,¡± Dart reassured him.

    ¡°Sure, they will,¡± Raomar sneered. ¡°And then I won¡¯t be able to protect them, either.¡±

    Defeat threatened to engulf him.

    ¡°She has abandoned me.¡±

    ¡°But we haven¡¯t,¡± Ghost declared, scrambling up onto the seat on the other side of him to where Varan sat. She wrapped her hands around his arm. ¡°Please, master. We have to try.¡±

    Raomar glanced around the table, and saw every eye was on him, that those gathered still considered him their leader, even without the goddess aiding him. It made him want to weep.

    Now, he thought. Of all the times she could have left, now is the time she chooses to abandon me.

    He looked at Dart.

    ¡°You¡¯re sure she can help?¡± he asked, not meaning Enshul.

    Dart solemnly inclined her head.

    ¡°I am sure,¡± she told him. ¡°But she lives outside the city, and we have to hurry if Ghost is to return with her by dusk.¡±

    The feeling of hollowness increased and Raomar fixed the shadow thief with a defeated look.

    ¡°And how do you know she¡¯ll come?¡± he asked.

    The shadow thief contemplated him for a moment, her eyes taking on a faraway look as though she was remembering something. The look didn¡¯t last long, and her voice was full of certainty when she replied.

    ¡°She¡¯ll come,¡± she reassured him, adding, ¡°When she knows what we face, she¡¯ll come.¡±

    Raomar met her gaze and held it, reading the conviction she felt. After a moment¡¯s hesitation, he nodded, and looked at his apprentice.

    ¡°Go,¡± he ordered her. ¡°Be back as quickly as you can.¡±

    The child didn¡¯t wait for anything more, but slipped off the bench and out from under his arm. Dart joined her before she could leave the room and step into the corridor beyond.

    ¡°I¡¯ll take you through the protections,¡± the shadow thief explained as they closed the door behind them.

    Raomar watched them leave, then turned back to the fire, staring into its depths as though trying to find the answers he needed in the orange glow of its flames.

    He didn¡¯t see how this crone could make up for losing Enshul¡¯s support and the power that came with it. He didn¡¯t see how anything could make up for that¡­and he didn¡¯t want to think about Alessia¡¯s fate if his doubts proved true.

    By any god that cared, he wished he could spare her that.

 24éˆ¥æ“³he Crone

    Raomar was still staring into the fire when Dart returned.

    ¡°She¡¯s on her way,¡± she told him, her voice drawing his attention from the flames. ¡°And I would only slow her down.¡±

    ¡°How long?¡± Grunwol asked.

    ¡°Close to dusk,¡± Dart replied. ¡°Nine turns of the hourglass.¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t leave much time,¡± the Northman observed, and she pressed her lips together.

    ¡°I know.¡± She looked around the table, taking in the state of them.

    Raomar vaguely wondered what she thought, but it was hard to care through the miasma of hopelessness that threatened to engulf him. Nine hours was enough time for him to get drunk in, wasn¡¯t it?

    He felt the heavy warmth of a somnolent Varan leaning into his side, and watched as Grunwol set an elbow on the table and rested his chin against his hand. Brianda was sitting upright, propped against the wall, as she tried to keep her eyes open.

    ¡°You all need to rest,¡± the shadow thief decided. ¡°Who knows what the crone will ask of us when she arrives?¡±

    Brianda pushed herself slowly to her feet.

    ¡°What can I do to help, Lady Dart?¡± she asked.

    Dart indicated one of the other doors. ¡°There are blankets in the cupboard closest the door. Bring two apiece. I have no spare beds to offer, but you¡¯ll be warm enough in here.¡±

    She watched as Brianda returned and they each found a clear patch of flagstone to settle on, and her expression became almost regretful.

    ¡°I rarely host guests,¡± she said, by way of apology, ¡°And they don¡¯t usually stay long enough to sleep.¡±

    Raomar pondered that as he drifted off¡­and the way she had avoided Grunwol¡¯s gaze as she¡¯d added that last. He remembered a time when Dart and the Northman had been close¡­perhaps as close as lovers¡­but something had happened.

    He tried to work out what that had been, but couldn¡¯t. All he knew was that Dart had vanished and Grunwol hadn¡¯t been able to find her¡­and when she¡¯d returned, their relationship had been noticeably cooler.

    Grunwol had refused to speak of it¡ªeither then, or at any time after.

    Knowing what they¡¯d been involved in during those by-gone days, Raomar wondered what had happened between the pair. Dart, always reserved, had grown distant, remaining an ally and still a friend, but she¡¯d become a law unto herself, conducting her business, like her life, in secret.

    What did Grunwol do? he wondered as sleep overcame him.

    He was woken by an echoing whisper from the hallway.

    ¡°Intruders! Intruders!¡± came the sibilant chorus, growing louder. ¡°Intruders!¡±

    A wave of sound flowed out of the corridor, clawing its way under the door and into Dart¡¯s main hall. When it reached Raomar, it felt like a myriad of fingers crawled across his chest and onto his head. They tugged at his hair and poked at his ribs until he rolled to his feet.

    Across the room, Grunwol scrambled to his feet, releasing his axe as he did so. Given his earlier reaction to one of Dart¡¯s protection spells, the Northman seemed surprisingly calm.

    From where Raomar stood, the Northman looked alert but not enraged, the touch of this spell hadn¡¯t triggered his usual reaction to magic. There was no sign it had set his blood alight, or lit his eyes with the mad need to erase its source.

    One of the far doors was flung open, and Dart hurried across the room and into the corridor. Grunwol moved swiftly behind her, and Raomar followed the Northman. She left the door open, but halted them with an upraised hand and signaled for them to stay back.

    Reluctantly, they obeyed, positioning themselves so they could see through the open doorway into the corridor beyond. They almost disobeyed Dart¡¯s order, when a screech of hurt surprise sounded from around a bend in the corridor¡¯s rise.

    A moment later, the reason for the alarm, and the source of the surprised screech came into view.

    An elderly woman was waving a stout staff and trying to shake Dart¡¯s hand from her arm in an attempt to pull ahead of the woman.

    ¡°You might be glad to see me,¡± she scolded, ¡°but it is not you I have come to see.¡±

    ¡°It is still my abode,¡± Dart insisted, ¡°and, while you were invited, you should at least tell me how you gained entrance, when that shouldn¡¯t have been possible.¡±

    ¡°Very well.¡± The old woman huffed, coming to a halt and grinding the butt of her walking stick into the stone floor.

    A smell like the one preceding a thunderstorm filled the air and small glimmers of lightning flickered up and along the staff.

    ¡°Dart!¡± Grunwol cried out in alarm. He leapt forward in an attempt to protect her.

    Raomar saw he was going to be too slow. The old woman¡¯s lips kept moving and the staff¡¯s glow intensified.

    Dart fumbled at the chain she wore about her throat, her fingers curling around the amulet that hung there, just as blue light washed out from the old woman and her stick, enveloping her. Raomar remembered that both chain and amulet had been a gift from Grunwol, and wondered why Dart had kept it when the two had gone from being partners to distant friends.

    Perhaps, she wanted something to remember him by? he mused, but had to wonder why.

    Whatever the amulet was meant to do, however, it offered no defense against the two giant arms that grew out of the air and solidified around Dart¡¯s body. The shadow thief gave a frustrated shout, doing her best to kick free from the air elemental¡¯s unforgiving grasp.

    The old woman didn¡¯t give the shadow thief a second glance, but looked over at Grunwol, her expression daring him to come any closer. To give him credit, the Northman paused, listening when she spoke.

    ¡°I have come to see Raomar Filameth,¡± she announced. ¡°He who was once guildmaster of Deverath¡¯s finest, and the Dark Lady¡¯s high priest.¡±

    She paused, not taking her gaze from Grunwol¡¯s face.

    ¡°And who is guildmaster and high priest no longer,¡± she added, a note of finality in her tones.

    Grunwol stared at her, and she shifted her gaze, taking in his still upraised sword before shaking her head.

    ¡°I will do your master no harm,¡± she assured him, ¡°Or your friend, for she is my hostess, but I must insist on speaking with your kevarag friend.¡±

    She looked past him catching sight of Raomar¡¯s stunned expression, before returning her attention to Grunwol.

    ¡°Take me to your friend,¡± she instructed, stepping determinedly forward.

    Casting an anxious look toward Dart, Grunwol caught the shadow woman¡¯s gesture instructing him to do as the old woman said.

    ¡°This way, uh¡­¡± He hesitated, not sure how to address her.

    ¡°Most call me ¡®Mother,¡¯¡± the crone informed him. ¡°You may do the same.¡±

    ¡°This way, Mother,¡± Grunwol agreed, retreating down the hall.

    Raomar didn¡¯t move from the doorway, but watched them approach. When Grunwol reached him, he stepped aside to let the Northman pass, then he stepped into the old woman¡¯s path.

    ¡°Let my friend go,¡± he ordered.

    The woman looked up at him, her dark eyes sparkling with humor as she studied his face.

    ¡°Very well, Master Filameth,¡± she said, making a simple gesture with her hand.

    The airy arms holding Dart off the floor, dissipated, but not before setting her feet carefully on the ground. Raomar watched, but still did not move from the old woman¡¯s path.

    ¡°And I¡¯d like my apprentice returned to me,¡± he ordered.

    The crone nodded and snapped her fingers. The sharp crack of sound was immediately followed by the pitter pat of small feet, Ghost allowing them to hear her, just before she emerged from the shadows.

    ¡°Is everything all right, Mother?¡± she asked, glancing from the crone to Raomar, Grunwol and Dart.

    ¡°Your master requires your presence,¡± the old woman told her, ¡°And I need to speak with him.¡±

    Ghost frowned, as though she couldn¡¯t see why the crone wasn¡¯t able to speak with her master, but she crossed the space between them to stand before him.

    ¡°Yes, Master?¡± she asked, looking up at his face.

    Raomar pressed his lips into a momentary hard line and looked down at her. Taking a breath, he replied.

    ¡°I needed to see you had returned safely,¡± he told her. ¡°Now that you are here, we can meet with the lady.¡±

    The old woman snorted. ¡°It¡¯s been a long time since I was mistaken for a ¡®lady,¡¯¡± she told him.

    ¡°She is not a lady, Master,¡± Ghost corrected. ¡°Her correct title is The Crone. You should call her that.¡±

    Raomar gave the child a look of mock worry. ¡°Are you sure?¡± he asked. ¡°Where I come from it¡¯s not polite to call a lady a crone¡ªnot even if that is what she is.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Master. She is The Crone, and you should address her as such.¡± She lowered her voice to a whisper. ¡°We don¡¯t want to upset her.¡±

    The old woman tried to suppress a smile, and the twinkle in her eyes seemed to grow brighter.

    Raomar swallowed as smile of his own as he replied, ¡°Very well. We will meet with your Crone and see if she will assist us.¡±

    His heart dropped as he said it, the fact he couldn¡¯t go to his friends¡¯ aid without asking for help a sharp reminder of what he had lost. If the crone noticed his suddenly sadder visage, she didn¡¯t say.

    Instead, she stepped around Ghost and stalked past him, her staff making sharp tapping sounds on the floor as she went. Dart and Grunwol followed, with the latter stopping beside Raomar.

    ¡°After you, Master,¡± he instructed, indicating the kevarag should follow the crone to where she was settling herself at the table.

    She looked around as though seeking something, then looked at where Brianda was standing uncertainly beside another of the doors leading out of the room.

    ¡°Don¡¯t just stand there, girl!¡± she snapped. ¡°I need a bowl suitable for scrying. Earthenware with a plain glaze if you can find it, although wood would be better.¡±

    Brianda glanced over at Dart, and the shadow thief pointed at one of the unopened doors standing opposite the entrance to the corridor.

    ¡°I need it brimful with clean water,¡± the crone called as Brianda took a step toward the door.

    ¡°Yes, Mother,¡± the girl replied, hurrying to do the old woman¡¯s bidding.

    Raomar took a seat opposite the old woman, and they waited. It seemed to take longer than it should for Brianda to return, but when she did, it was with a large earthenware bowl brimming with water, and Varan skulking along behind her.

    The boy was glaring up at her from behind his fringe, but as soon as he saw Raomar he hurried to worm his way onto the bench beside him. Fortunately, he didn¡¯t try to take the side Ghost already occupied. Grunwol moved to give the boy room, amused at the child¡¯s persistence.

    What took you so long?¡± the crone demanded.

    ¡°I had to let Varan out of the pantry,¡± Brianda explained, carefully setting the bowl down before her.

    ¡°Daughter of the Briar¡¯s Thorn,¡± the crone addressed her. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    Brianda gave the old woman a startled glance, then moved to take a seat beside Dart. The shadow thief ignored her, turning to address the crone.

    ¡°Mother¡­¡± she began, only to have the old woman irritably cut her short.

    ¡°Not now, ask me later.¡±

    ¡°But¡­¡± Dart persisted, ¡°Mother¡­¡±

    ¡°Ask me later,¡± the old woman snapped irritably, ¡°Or I will silence you with a spell!¡±

    The shadow thief subsided to silence, but the crone wasn¡¯t finished.

    ¡°And you,¡± the crone barked, turning her attention to Raomar. ¡°I want a word.¡±

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°So you have said,¡± Raomar acknowledged in mild tones. ¡°What was it you wanted to say?¡±

    The crone held his gaze a moment longer, then waved a hand over the surface of the water Brianda had brought.

    ¡°I wanted to show you this,¡± she answered, and Raomar sighed.

    He rose from his seat, but instead of coming around the table, he leaned across it.

    The water moved in the now-familiar ripple that heralded the start of a successful scry. When it cleared, they found themselves looking at the same corridor they¡¯d observed in Varan¡¯s scry.

    ¡°It is a matter of life and death for one very dear to you,¡± the old woman informed him as she adjusted the focus. ¡°She is held here, in the temple dungeons beneath the palace.¡±

    She looked up at him, her gaze encompassing the silent elf child beside him, before continuing.

    ¡°Ghost tells me you have seen this place, before, that you saw the king and his priests preparing a sacrifice¡­¡±

    Her gaze strayed to Varan, and the apprentice nodded vigorously, his eyes wide as he watched the scene in the bowl. His face had gone milk-white, and his cheek muscles bunched as he clenched his jaw, but he kept his gaze on the scene within the bowl.

    A terrified scream echoed down the corridor in the bowl. It leached into the room in which they sat, and chilled their souls. The scream peaked before descending a scale of pure horror, every note hitting home with spine-raking clarity.

    The crone continued as though it hadn¡¯t happened.

    ¡°The king will sacrifice the wizardess Mistlewood, and her three apprentices in the temple beyond those double doors.¡± She brought the scry to focus on the doors, not going close enough to activate the wards her spell so clearly revealed. ¡°When he does, his god will drain them of their power to wield magic, feast on their emotion and their pain, and finally use the energy released at their death to fuel his escape.¡±

    That last caught Raomar¡¯s attention.

    ¡°His escape?¡± he wanted to know.

    The old woman bobbed her head.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she told him. ¡°The Old One is trapped, incarcerated, I assume, by the gods who came before, but my masters believe he is weakening his prison and, indeed, has weakened it enough to extend his influence into the world at hand, but until now, my masters had not known how.¡±

    She indicated the bowl.

    ¡°Now, they do.¡±

    ¡°The Old One?¡± Raomar asked, only to have the crone raise her finger in an admonishment.

    ¡°Hush!¡± she scolded. ¡°I will not speak his name, especially not when I hold a door wide open to an area under his control.¡±

    Raomar remembered Alessia¡¯s fear as she¡¯d recounted what Varan had seen. He also remembered the fear he¡¯d felt the morning Varan had taken them down this same corridor to the small room on the right at its end.

    Raomar turned to glance at Varan, and the scream came again, pulling his eyes back to the bowl. The old woman returned the scry¡¯s focus to the two double doors at the end of the corridor, and they watched as the great portals opened.

    Raomar drew a sharp breath, but the crone was already pulling the scry back, studying the doors intently as she did so. Frowning, she uttered another simple spell, and resumed her focus. When the scry revealed nothing new, uncertainty rippled through her expression.

    She turned the scry focus first one way, and then the other, moving it cautiously closer to the open doors. After a few moments of close examination, she sat back looking faintly surprised.

    ¡°There are no wards,¡± she murmured, as though speaking to herself. She frowned. ¡°There were strong wards set here, before.¡±

    Before Raomar could confirm that they, too, had seen the wards, the old woman had guided them through the doors and into the temple beyond. Again, the scream wailed around them, and this time they could see who made it.

    As they¡¯d already learned, horror could only go so far and the scene that lay before them was well beyond its realm. Raomar felt the last of the apathy caused by his goddess¡¯s rejection crack, but only enough to let him feel a faint sense of disbelief.

    The world swam before him, refusing to come into proper focus, and he wanted to reach into the bowl to steady himself, to prove that what he was seeing was truly real. The crone glanced up and glared.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare!¡± she snapped.

    Raomar blinked, but one of the apprentices beside him whimpered, and he wrapped an arm around each of them, pulling them under the folds of his cloak.

    A small part of his mind railed against the old woman for not thinking of the children, but another part told him they¡¯d see much worse before their journey was through¡ªand they might as well learn how to deal with it. As if in agreement, both apprentices pushed their faces free of the cloak and stared into the bowl.

    Raomar might have scolded them, but he noticed that neither tried to escape the shelter of his arms. His sigh was answered by a hushed voice.

    ¡°I have to see,¡± Varan insisted, even as he pulled Raomar¡¯s cloak more tightly around his shoulders.

    On the other side of him, Ghost did the same. Like Varan, her eyes didn¡¯t leave the scene being played out in the bowl, even as her body trembled at what she saw in its depths.

    The king¡¯s victim screamed, again, and time seemed to pause as they watched the sacrifice continue. The presence of the power being worshipped in that black and blood-spattered place was like a miasma creeping into their souls.

    The king continued, drawing another agonized whimper from his victim, and the sense of terror thickened. Those watching sensed the abomination drawing the pain and emotion into itself, feeding on what the king was creating with the skilled use of blade and finger.

    Unholy delight threaded the sense of pleasure rising from the bowl, and there was a sense of the being that fed growing stronger with each piece of deviltry his servant completed. By the time the king had wielded his knife for the last time, lifting the blood-filled chalice before his victim¡¯s gaze, Raomar was fighting the gorge that threatened to rise.

    He risked a glance around the table and saw his own nausea reflected in the faces of his friends. Grunwol had gone a faint shade of green, and Dart had raised the back of her hand to her mouth. Brianda sat, white-faced and still, but not looking like she was in any danger of being sick.

    There was a scramble of sound as the king raised the chalice to toast his victim¡¯s dying gaze, then took a long, satisfied draught of its contents. Raomar glanced up long enough to see Dart leave the room with undignified speed.

    ¡°Take us from this place.¡±

    That hoarse plea came from Grunwol, but Raomar denied it.

    ¡°No.¡± His denial was as harsh as his friend¡¯s request. ¡°I need to see Alessia.¡±

    He turned to the crone.

    ¡°Show her to me.¡±

    It was half-request, half-command, but the crone ignored its roughness.

    ¡°Very well,¡± she agreed, and took them swiftly from the temple proper.

    They all breathed a sigh of relief to be back in the corridor outside the temple doors. The old woman navigated them along the corridor, only stopping when they¡¯d almost reached the blank wall at the other end.

    ¡°In there,¡± she stated, adjusting the scene so they faced another solid wooden door, this one with a small barred window set a third of the way from the top.

    She said nothing more, but walked them through the solid wooden portal and into the cell beyond, sharpening the picture¡¯s focus against the dark. In less than a heartbeat, Raomar could see Alessia.

    She was curled up in the straw, a plate of untouched food lying beside her. As the picture came into focus, the wizardess stirred.

    ¡°Roamer?¡± she murmured. ¡°Roamer? What are you doing here?¡±

    ¡°She senses us,¡± the crone observed. ¡°That is very good.¡±

    Or very bad, Raomar thought, given if she can sense us, then something or someone else might be able to do the same.

    Not wanting to point out the obvious, he remained silent.

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± Brianda whispered. ¡°How can she sleep with all that noise going on?¡±

    The crone focused on the woman in the straw. She stopped when it felt like they were bending over Alessia¡¯s curled form. From down the corridor came another scream. At the sound of it, Alessia shivered, curling more tightly on herself.

    ¡°Hurry, Roamer,¡± she whispered. ¡°Please, please, hurry. Save my girls.¡±

    ¡°She doesn¡¯t sleep,¡± Raomar stated softly, half extending a hand toward the picture in the bowl. ¡°I¡¯m coming, Mouse. I promise.¡±

    They watched as the wizardess, pressed a fist to her mouth as though trying to muffle a sob. She tensed as another scream overtook them. The next sob was audible, despite her best effort to silence it.

    Raomar almost touched the water¡¯s surface before he pulled his hand back, the urge to comfort her so strong he hadn¡¯t registered the movement sooner.

    The crone turned the scry¡¯s focus, and he bit back a cry of protest. Something was wrong, and they needed to see what it was. The scry¡¯s focus followed the cell walls and ceiling, showing them something was indeed very, very wrong.

    At first, they saw nothing, but then the cell wall rippled, like water disturbed by a sea creature coming to the surface. The crone focused on the spot the ripple had occurred, and they held their breaths as the ripple became a bulge and the solid stone pushed outward, sending a hint of danger and impending discovery ahead of it.

    ¡°Elemental,¡± Raomar whispered, looking at the crone, and Ghost stirred beneath his arm.

    ¡°Your domain, Mother,¡± she added, in soft-voiced awe.

    The crone ignored them both. She was too busy studying the creature emerging from the wall, her expression changing from one of curiosity to one of sudden revulsion and fear.

    ¡°There¡¯s something wrong with it,¡± she murmured, horror edging her words, and softening her tone with distaste and disbelief.

    Raomar leaned forward to see what she meant. It didn¡¯t take him long to see what she¡¯d been referring to.

    The creature emerging from the wall was, indeed, an elemental, but not one from nature¡¯s realms. This one was so warped and twisted it brought to mind deserted wastelands and defiled battlegrounds.

    As Raomar watched, this one lifted its malformed head, its nostrils flaring as it scented the air. Its tongue slithered in and out of its mouth, a grossly malformed thing that reminded him of an oversized slug. Slowly, its tongue flickering in and out, the creature moved its head, swaying back and forth as it investigated the cell.

    Grunwol rose, leaning across the table for a closer look.

    ¡°It seeks us,¡± he murmured, just as Raomar lashed out and abruptly swept the bowl from the table.

    The crone gave a sharp cry of pain as the bowl hit the floor and shattered, sending water cascading over the flags for the second time that day. Her carefully woven spell shattered with it, just as Dart returned.

    She stepped out of the door behind which she¡¯d sought refuge, and stopped. She took one look at the scene, taking in the shattered bowl and scattered water, as well as the pallor of the faces surrounding the table, and stalked over to the kitchen.

    When she came back out, it was to hang a heavy iron kettle over the fire, and to set earthenware tankards before each of them. No-one moved or spoke as she turned and gathered the earthenware shards from the floor. At the sound of her dropping them into the bucket she¡¯d retrieved from the kitchen, the crone stirred.

    ¡°We are in danger,¡± she managed, then frowned, looking at those gathered around her. ¡°Correction. You are in danger.¡±

    She scowled.

    ¡°Now, why is that?¡±

    Before any of them could answer, she got up from her seat and moved to the open space before the fire, motioning for them to join her.

    ¡°Come and stand together, and I will divine the reason.¡± She glanced over at where Dart was wielding a mop. ¡°You, too, Dart.¡±

    She waited until they¡¯d obeyed, including Dart, who set the mop aside with a sigh. Raomar made sure to bring the two apprentices with him, looking slightly bemused as they refused to come out from under his cloak. They ignored the damp splash of water underfoot and waited for the old woman¡¯s verdict.

    When they were all arrayed before, the crone approached Raomar, reaching her hands toward his face. With a soft sight, he bowed his head so she could reach up enough to place her hands on either cheek and rest her fingertips on his temples.

    Unmarred silence filled the room as she closed her eyes, calling a quieter form of magic to her aid. The magic was so subtle that it barely rippled the air around them, although its touch was tangible against Raomar¡¯s skin.

    He forced himself to relax beneath her touch, listening carefully to what she said, when she finally began to speak.

    ¡°You,¡± she solemnly told him, ¡°Are designated a watchman against the rising dark¡ªbut first you must contain it.¡±

    He waited for her to say more, but she didn¡¯t, moving silently on to Dart when she divined nothing further for Raomar. Her stay in front of the shadow thief was short, and the hand she laid on the woman¡¯s cheek gentle.

    ¡°You, my lady,¡± she stated, sympathetically, ¡°will forever be as much of the shadows as you desire to be.¡±

    As the shadow thief murmured her thanks, the crone moved to stand before Grunwol. She stood there a long moment, looking up at him, until he shifted uncomfortably, then moved to his knees, bowing his head before her.

    After another pensive moment of study, the crone reached out, resting one of her palms against each of his cheeks and lifting his head so she could look into his eyes.

    ¡°You are the pillar at the watchman¡¯s back,¡± she informed him. ¡°You will be there when he most needs you¡­¡±

    She paused, and he was about to thank her, when she continued.

    ¡°But, remember, Northman, change comes as surely as the north wind blows, and you must be ready to change with it.¡±

    Grunwol stared at her, and then bowed his head once more.

    ¡°Thank you, Mother.¡±

    The crone acknowledged his thanks with a dip of her head, then circled back to Raomar and the half-elven child sheltering under one arm. Taking one of Ghost¡¯s hands, she drew the girl from her hiding place and set a knuckle beneath her chin, tilting her face until their eyes met.

    ¡°You,¡± she said, catching the child¡¯s eye, then frowning with momentary confusion before reaching for Varan and drawing him out to stand beside the girl.

    ¡°You also,¡± she told him, then glanced at Brianda and signaled the spymaster¡¯s apprentice should come to join them.¡±

    When she had them all gathered together, she went on.

    ¡°You are all parts of this whole, but your sojourn in the Watchman¡¯s circle are of different durations. You will all know when the time has come to leave the watchman to his duty. As with the Northman, the winds will change and you will need to change with them¡ªand, as with the Northman, there will be others to take the places you must leave behind.¡±

    She paused, straightening to her full height, as unimpressive as it was. Taking a step back, she allowed the spell to fade.

    ¡°You are all in danger,¡± she repeated, frowning in puzzlement. ¡°How is it that this evil can sense you so easily? What has marked you in this way?¡±

    None of them answered. None of them could answer, and their puzzlement was writ large on each of their faces. The crone stamped her foot in frustration.

    ¡°Think!¡± she snapped. ¡°And quickly!¡±

    They flinched, blinking as though they¡¯d been slapped, but for a long moment, none of them moved.

    It was Varan who broke the silence.

    ¡°Mother?¡± he began, a though hesitant to draw her attention.

    ¡°What is it?¡± the crone barked, turning on the apprentice.

    The movement reminded Raomar of a viper about to strike, and he wrapped a protective arm around Varan¡¯s shoulders.

    ¡°We¡­ We scried the temple,¡± the boy told her. ¡°Just this morning. We scried it then, and then again with you, tonight. Would¡­¡±

    He gulped.

    ¡°Would that be enough?¡±

    ¡°The truth?¡± the crone demanded, and the boy nodded.

    ¡°Nothing else is going to help us,¡± he told her, and she regarded him for several heartbeats before giving her judgement.

    ¡°The truth is that it shouldn¡¯t have been enough for the power of that place to mark you.¡± She stopped thinking about it. ¡°But it is a power that was millennia old when your gods were still emerging from the conscious needs of men, so who knows?¡±

    She closed her eyes, and Raomar thought he saw her lips moving in silent communication.

    He could only hope the powers she served had more of an answer than the one she¡¯d just given. He waited, jealous of the fact her deities hadn¡¯t deserted her as his had done to him, and hoping they had an answer.

    He¡¯d almost given up, when she spoke.

    ¡°I have some guidance for you,¡± she told them, and turned to Raomar.

    Touching his chest, she said. ¡°You must go to Wildejun for when the tides turn and the rivers and ocean share their waters, so, too, do the gods share their servants, and it is for this purpose you have been set aside.¡±

    Hurt stabbed through Raomar.

    ¡°But I don¡¯t want to serve another,¡± he protested. ¡°I owe my allegiance¡­my very life¡­to one. Why would I leave her.¡±

    The crone tapped him in the center of the chest with a bony forefinger.

    ¡°It is not you who are leaving, and not she who is leaving you,¡± she informed him.

    ¡°Then why¡ª¡± he began, but she overrode him, continuing to speak until he held his tongue.

    ¡°You are to take Bloodbriar¡¯s daughter and the Green Wolf,¡± she instructed. ¡°And your new apprentice is to remain at your side¡ªIt is imperative she survive, and learn all you can teach.¡±

    ¡°But¡­¡± Raomar began, only to have her raise her finger and lay it gently against his lips.

    ¡°You must go the Wildejun Meld with all speed. Tonight, would be best, and I can provide instruction on the path you must take¡­but it is imperative you hurry.¡±

    She took a breath, falling momentarily quiet as she surveyed the small group, and Raomar took the opportunity to interrupt her.

    ¡°Mist¡­Mother,¡± he said, hastily correcting himself. ¡°Forgive me¡­¡±

    He looked around, catching the expressions on his companions¡¯ faces.

    ¡°Forgive us,¡± he told the crone, ¡°but you have shown us the fate that awaits Mistress Mistlewood, and we cannot leave her to it. Prove to me there is another power in the city able to save her, and I¡¯ll leave immediately to fulfil the will of the gods, but if there are no others¡­¡±

    He let the words trail off, catching the agreement in his friends¡¯ faces as they nodded. Drawing a breath, he continued.

    ¡°If there are no others, if you cannot guarantee that she will escape that place without my¡­our¡­help, then we cannot go. It is my fault she is at risk, and I cannot depart with that debt unpaid.¡±

    The crone sighed, and laid a hand on his upper arm, drifting past him to reach the table.

    ¡°I was told to expect no less, but to give you the option. Alessia¡¯s rescue, and the rescue of her apprentices is something my masters say is imperative, but it is not something go be undertaken lightly.¡±

    She paused, becoming pensive as she considered what had passed in the scrying bowl.

    ¡°And after what I have seen, tonight, and knowing the resources we currently have to hand, I believe we still have options.¡±

    Raomar indicated the packs, being retrieved and set by the door.

    ¡°As you can see, we are ready to go whenever¡­and wherever you wish¡­provided the wizardess and her apprentices can be freed to go with us.¡±

    The crone turned to look at their hostess.

    ¡°Mistress Dart,¡± she said, ¡°I¡¯m afraid we must leave your hospitality, if there is to be time for me to summon my masters before the king¡¯s next ceremony.¡±

    ¡°Now, Mother?¡± Dart asked.

    ¡°Now, Lady Dart,¡± the crone reiterated.

    Dart looked troubled.

    ¡°But full dark will have fallen,¡± she warned. ¡°Leaving the city will¡­¡±

    She stopped as the crone laid a hand on her arm.

    ¡°Be at peace,¡± the old lady instructed. ¡°Full dark was an hour ago, and I have other ways of leaving the city. We must be beyond the walls by dawn, for the king will surely be searching. It will have been his dark god¡¯s first command.¡±

 25éˆ¥æ“œ Strategic Withdrawal

    In the end, Dart changed her mind about leaving her home¡­and it took her the longest time to pack. Raomar tried to convince her to come with them, but she refused.

    ¡°My life¡­and my destiny¡­lie within Deverath¡¯s walls,¡± she told him, glancing past his shoulder to catch Grunwol¡¯s eye. ¡°No matter how we might wish things were different.¡±

    She stepped away from the kevarag and moved to set her pack on the table so she could adjust its straps.

    ¡°Not all of us are made to be heroes,¡± she said, when Grunwol opened his mouth to argue, but there was sadness in her eyes as she swung the pack onto her back.

    The Northman sighed. ¡°You don¡¯t need to be a hero,¡± he told her. ¡°I just want to know you¡¯re safe.¡±

    It was the closest Raomar had ever heard the warrior come to an apology, and he still didn¡¯t know what the pair had argued over in the first place. He turned away to make sure Ghost and Varan were ready, pretending he didn¡¯t notice when Dart moved over to Grunwol and laid a hand on his chest.

    ¡°We have refuge here,¡± she said, and it sounded like she was reminding him of something they¡¯d discussed a long time ago. ¡°And that refuge is safer than the journey you have sworn to undertake.¡±

    Refuge? Raomar wondered. And ¡®we?¡¯

    He didn¡¯t pursue it, but bent to the task of shepherding the two apprentices up the corridor and into the alley beyond. It was hard to pretend not to hear, especially when he so badly wanted to understand his friends¡¯ pain.

    He said nothing as Grunwol helped him load the last of Dart¡¯s luggage into a pony cart the shadow thief had borrowed at short notice. Looking around, he observed the crone had been right about full dark¡¯s arrival.

    They had spent more time observing the king¡¯s temple and its halls¡­and the dark rituals undertaken there, than they¡¯d realized. That and the time spent helping Dart pack and load the wagon meant full dusk was no more than a memory, and midnight had come and gone.

    Once Dart¡¯s goods were on their way, she and the others followed the crone through the winding streets and alleyways of lower Deverath. They traveled as quickly as they could, but there were signs that night had almost passed.

    The city stirred about them. People lit lamps in the decrepit tenements lining the alleys and narrow streets they traveled. Laborers spoke swift goodbyes to their wives, their boots making city strays skitter out of their way as they left for work.

    Night carts rumbled out of service lanes. Porridge and nut bread cooked¡­or burnt¡­in the homes they passed, and breakfast dishes rattled. The group moved quietly past each home or establishment, hoping they didn¡¯t draw any attention.

    Only once did the crone draw them against a wall, calling on the very shadows to cover them. Several heartbeats passed, and then a twenty-strong watch patrol marched by them, its boots making less sound than they ought. Four times the size of a normal patrol, it looked like it was heading toward Dart¡¯s home.

    Raomar felt a gentle touch on his arm and glanced toward it. Grunwol caught his eye and gestured briefly toward the patrol¡¯s captain. Following the gesture, Raomar noted the loose-tunicked figure striding in the midst of the soldiers. Silver brocade flashed on its shoulders and more silver glinted from the brooch pinned to its chest.

    Watch-Wizard, he thought, wondering if the crone¡¯s magic would shelter or reveal them.

    To his relief, the patrol passed without any sign the wizard sensed the old woman¡¯s magic. The sound of the watchmen¡¯s boots never grew louder than the fog-muffled tramp of a patrol moving through a field of damp grass, and the men said nothing as they marched.

    As effective as the crone¡¯s magic was, the patrol was on full alert, and their eyes seemed to comb the street as the traveled through it. Raomar felt the two apprentices crowd closer to him. As the sound of their footsteps faded, the crone signaled for them to move on.

    Raomar noticed when Grunwol dropped to the rear of the group with Dart, while Brianda traveled just ahead of them, and the crone kept moving ahead at a pace that seemed too spry for her age. He was pleased to note that, even without magic, their steps were still quieter than those of the Watch.

    Behind him, Grunwol and Dart conversed in low voices.

    ¡°They must have come from the West Gate,¡± the Northman murmured. ¡°The king has finished his ceremony and found time to send word.¡±

    ¡°He is going to regret targeting me and mine,¡± the shadow thief replied, fiercely, adding in softer tones, ¡°Come, let¡¯s get you gone before they find the place empty and close the gates.¡±

    ¡°The gates are already closed to us,¡± the crone told them, her voice carried on a whisper of wind. ¡°But it doesn¡¯t matter; I have another route in mind.¡±

    Raomar could only imagine the expressions on Grunwol and the shadow thief¡¯s faces, but he didn¡¯t have time for speculation. The crone led them on in an unrelenting pace, leading them without pause through the warren of crowded tenements and unmapped alleys that formed the city¡¯s southern reaches.

    Small community squares surrounded by shabby buildings marked the center of each pocket community, and were the sites of most activity. As the sky lightened, the city¡¯s poor and some of its less prestigious classes could be seen readying themselves for the day¡¯s work.

    In the square nearest the city¡¯s western wall, an impromptu bazaar was being erected.

    The crone led them around its edges, avoiding the lowered boards that transformed a building¡¯s ground level of windows into shop counters. With her staff in one hand, she gathered her skirts with the other, lifting them clear of the scattered piles and puddles of muck littering the square.

    Raomar followed, moving as though it was perfectly normal for him to be traveling through that part of the city at that time of day. Behind him, he heard the change of gait as the others followed his lead. There was no point in being furtive here. It would only make those in the square pay them more attention than they might otherwise.

    As it was, no one stopped them, or asked where they were going. For all their efforts to look like they traveled this way every day, or like they belonged there, the citizens living near Deverath¡¯s south-western wall knew better¡ªand wanted no part of them.

    Raomar wondered how long it would take before one of them thought of the possibility of a reward for passing news of their passage. He wondered just how many of those setting up trestle tables and shop fronts were watching them, trying to discern more detail in the lamp-lit dark¡­and speculating on the value of reporting them to the authorities.

    We reduce the chances of that happening, by looking like we don¡¯t care, Raomar reminded himself, glad to see the crone moving like she owned the square.

    The lightening sky brought a soft mist to the city streets, and the crone threaded her way through it, until they¡¯d left the square behind them. Watching her, Raomar thought she looked almost a part of the misty tendrils rising around her.

    He led the others in her footsteps, stopping to place a guiding hand on Varan¡¯s shoulders when the boy stopped to observe the filmy moisture with delight. It was as though the apprentice sensed magic in the very fabric of the mist and reached out to touch it with his mind.

    As he propelled the boy forward, Raomar saw the mist closest him break apart in a burst of subtle light. Glancing back, he saw Grunwol frown. The big man stepped around the patch of fading sparkle, but the he didn¡¯t so much as twitch toward his sword, and Raomar relaxed. Whatever magic the boy had just wielded, it hadn¡¯t triggered the Northman¡¯s rage as other magicks did.

    Just as well, he thought, for we have no time to calm him down.

    Raomar continued after the crone, aware of Grunwol and Dart shadowing his footsteps. When the crone stopped at the mouth of the little street she¡¯d used to lead them out of the southern-most square, they crowded close, looking over her shoulder.

    Before them, they saw the broad cobblestoned road that ran the inside perimeter of Deverath¡¯s walls. On the other side of it, stood the towering walls themselves.

    The crone turned to face them, holding a finger to her lips. Seeing Dart at the back of the group, she gestured for the shadow thief to come forward.

    ¡°Here is where we will part ways,¡± she murmured quietly. ¡°Unless you¡¯ve changed your mind and wish to come with us?¡±

    Dart shook her head, and the old woman sighed.

    ¡°Then say farewell to your friends, for it will be some time before you see them, again¡­if ever you do.¡±

    The shadow thief inclined her head in respect.

    ¡°Thank you for letting me share this much of the journey with you,¡± she said, then turned toward Raomar.

    Reaching out to clasp his shoulders, she leant her forehead against his, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck. Raomar mirrored the gesture, curling his fingers through her hair. There were no words to express what he felt, nothing suitable with which to farewell a companion he¡¯d known for more than two decades.

    ¡°Travel safe,¡± he managed, after a moment, and she gave a soft snuffle of laughter.

    ¡°You, too, old friend.¡±

    There was nothing more for them to say, so they released each other, Raomar stepping away to give her and Grunwol at least the illusion of privacy. If he¡¯d thought his farewell difficult, he could only imagine how it was for the pair of them. He knew what they¡¯ been to each other.

    They¡¯d been lovers, friends, and fighting partners. He watched as Dart looked up to meet the Northman¡¯s eyes, and wondered if some of the droplets clinging to her cheek were tears, and not part of the mist coiling around them.

    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    As soon as their eyes met, they reached for each other, Grunwol crushing the shadow thief to his chest and lifting her from the ground. She, in turn, wound her arms around him and buried her face against his breastplate, before raising it to catch his eyes.

    They stood there like that for a long-drawn breath, staring into each other¡¯s faces as though each of them was trying to commit the other¡¯s features to memory before letting go.

    As if they need to, Raomar thought.

    ¡°You could still come,¡± Grunwol murmured, but Dart shook her head.

    ¡°You know my destiny lies elsewhere.¡±

    ¡°And what of¡­¡± the Northman began, only to have Dart lay a finger over his lips.

    ¡°Theirs, too, but I am sure you¡¯ll meet, one day.¡±

    Grunwol drew a breath as though he wanted to say something more. His lips parted, but then he pressed them together, and drew Dart into a hug, before stepping back and offering her his forearm in a warrior¡¯s farewell.

    Her lips quivered as she took it, clasping it firmly, before releasing him and moving away.

    ¡°I will not forget,¡± Grunwol promised, as the shadow thief vanished into the mist without another word or gesture to anyone.

    The crone softly cleared her throat, drawing their attention. As soon as she had it, she began giving instruction.

    ¡°Come with me,¡± she ordered. ¡°Quickly, now. There is little time.¡±

    She glanced quickly at the walls, and moved swiftly into the street. For someone her apparent age, she was remarkably spry, and they had to hurry to keep up with her. She darted across the mist-wreathed road to the base of the wall, then crouched at its foot.

    The others followed, crouching beside her. Raomar worried at the lack of shelter offered by the wall, and the mist¡¯s poor coverage, but the crone ignored his anxious look. Instead, she laid the flat of her palms against one of the great stone blocks forming the wall¡¯s foot.

    Raomar heard her mumble something to the stone, but recognized nothing about the rhythm of the words. They contained no sense of a wizard song gathering magic to be molded, or anything a pleading a cleric¡¯s prayer might have held.

    Sorcery? he wondered, but cast the idea aside. There was no otherworldly feeling in the language she was using, no sense of power being gifted from another dimension, which, given the king¡¯s activities, gave him a sense of comfort.

    It was obvious to Raomar the crone was drawing her power from a different source, which puzzled him, because he thought he was familiar with them all.

    He waited, watching the streets, and letting the soft sound of her words continue uninterrupted. All he got from them was a sense of great age, then, before he could savor the sound any further, the crone fell silent, and he got the impression he was waiting. It was as though the very stone was deciding its answer and they were waiting on its pleasure.

    Ghost pressed in closer, shivering in the mist. Raomar lifted his cloak and she scampered beneath it. On his other side, Varan was as tense as a drawn bowstring. He¡¯d tucked himself under Raomar¡¯s arm, but was slowly creeping out from under it, his eyes firmly fixed on the crone as if he was trying to see what kind of magic she wrought.

    Raomar reached out and gently pulled him back. Once he had both apprentices where he could protect them, he raised his head to study what the crone was doing. As he did so, he sensed something watching him in return.

    The feeling made him shiver. It was as though he was under some form of scrutiny, an inspection of not just what he looked like, but what he was. He glanced around, searching for its source. Beside him, Varan quivered with tension.

    The feeling passed as power rose to answer the old woman¡¯s call. Raomar stared as the stone moved beneath her hands, sliding away from them like syrup in a bowl.

    The crone spread her arms, lifting them over her head, and the stone answered. Drawing its mortar into itself, the stone before the crone¡¯s outspread arms moved away, sliding into the neighboring blocks to form an arch in front her.

    Centered on her fingertips, an opening appeared and slowly formed a tunnel ahead of her, stretching into the wall. The crone spoke again, and Raomar caught a sense of the power she summoned.

    This time it was the mist that answered. It writhed around them as undercurrents of air rolled through, pushing it into a bank against the wall and drawing more mist into the street to take its place. Before long, the mist covered Raomar and Grunwol¡¯s crouched forms, and the crone was hidden from view.

    A chill infused the morning, making it far colder than it should have been that time of year. Moisture formed on the road¡¯s cobbles, and the mist fed on it, making each droplet a part of itself as it thickened and spread along the streets and alleys around them, before deepening along the road beside the wall.

    Raomar stared at the shifting mass of white, in awe. He¡¯d seen priests gifted with the ability to manipulate air, or water, or weather, and priests who could work stone or earth, but none who could work across elements, or affect them to the extent he saw, now.

    Nor had he seen a priest, or any other kind of magic user who could move mist and air as perfectly as the crone. He wondered why she had answered Dart¡¯s call so quickly¡­and what advantage she and her mysterious masters saw in assisting them.

    Raomar was sure he, Brianda and Grunwol could have left the city unseen. He also believed they could have taken Varan and Ghost with them, and not been caught, but before full sun?

    That he couldn¡¯t have guaranteed.

    He also wasn¡¯t sure they¡¯d have left once they¡¯d seen what Alessia was facing¡­or that they¡¯d have been able to get the wizardess and her apprentices out of their predicament. He still wasn¡¯t sure they could do that, but if they did, the crone was their best chance.

    He just hoped she hadn¡¯t played them all for fools.

    ¡°Come.¡± The crone¡¯s voice interrupted his speculation. Holding something of the cold and something of the stones, it jerked his thoughts from possibility to reality.

    The crone didn¡¯t wait for a reply, but stepped into the arching chasm the stones had created.

    Raomar followed, shepherding the two apprentices beside him, while Brianda and Grunwol stayed close to his heels. Both looked as apprehensive as he felt as they entered the tunnel behind him.

    Ahead of him, the stone continued to flow and bend, lengthening the tunnel in obedience to the crone¡¯s command. The crone herself, stood aside to let them pass.

    ¡°Wait for me at the foot of the wall on the other side,¡± she ordered. ¡°I will see the way closes behind us.¡±

    Raomar nodded respectfully to her as he stepped carefully past. The passage ahead was smooth-floored and sloped gently downward. At one point, the passage took a sudden dive, the floor forming a set of natural stairs.

    Taking us under the inner corridors, Raomar thought, remembering the layout from when he¡¯d crossed the wall, years ago. Back then, he¡¯d entered those corridors and led his friends successfully past the guards inside the walls.

    The soft sound of his footsteps whispered around him, and he hoped it didn¡¯t carry to the soldiers moving above. The sound of Ghost¡¯s progress wound itself around him in delicate counterpoint, while Varan¡¯s less sure movement, by contrast, was deafeningly loud.

    Raomar frowned at the boy, then became aware of the sound Brianda¡¯s feet were making. He turned, intending to remind her to move quietly, then saw the girl was sacrificing silence for speed, and that Grunwol for all the silence he kept, was also moving quickly.

    Looking beyond them, he saw why they chose speed over stealth; the stone was closing behind them, running like molten lead to fill the space they¡¯d left¡ªand the crone moved but a hairsbreadth before it.

    Surprised the old woman¡¯s magic still hadn¡¯t triggered his north-lands friend, and trusting it wouldn¡¯t, Raomar quickened his pace, moving into a slow jog until he¡¯d reached the end of the tunnel. There, he came to an abrupt halt, staring at the murky water of the city¡¯s moat.

    ¡°Wait,¡± the old woman¡¯s voice reached him on a whisper of breeze. ¡°I¡¯ll ask the water to grant you passage, and the mud to bear your weight.¡±

    Raomar stepped to one side, crouching at the base of the wall, but still inside the tunnel. His companions joined him without argument, crouching beside him as the crone swept past. To their relief, the closing stone halted, leaving them their shelter.

    Without saying a word to them, the old woman knelt at the end of the tunnel, holding her hand palm down over the moat, and addressing it quietly. At first, nothing happened, but then there was a swirl and a gurgle, and the water separated to grant a narrow corridor between two perfect walls.

    The crone made another request, and the earth beneath her shuddered, stretching itself into a set of stairs that led to the mud below. There, the crone repeated her palm-down gesture, and made another request.

    This one was answered with a series of sucking and crackling sounds softened by the mist. They were followed by something similar to a sigh, and the crone crossed to the other side of the moat, where the earth obeyed her request to form a second set of stairs.

    Turning at the foot of them, the crone beckoned for Raomar and the others to cross. Moving half-way up the stairs and leaning on the water as though it were solid, she indicated the narrow band of road that ran the city¡¯s circumference.

    ¡°There¡¯s a ditch at the field¡¯s edge,¡± she told him when he reached her. ¡°Shelter there¡ªand hurry!¡±

    Casting a wary glance at the wall¡¯s top, Raomar quickly climbed the earthen stairs, then dashed across the road to the ditch. Half-expecting to land in a puddle of water, he slid into it, creeping along it until he was hidden by one of the clumps of bushes standing beside the field.

    The apprentices, Brianda and Grunwol followed, crouching beside him to look back at the road. Mist floated above it, extending into the field, and he relaxed. The cold, swirling tendrils would protect them almost as surely as the shadow of the wall.

    The crone was the last to cross the gap. She didn¡¯t stop to kneel with them, but took the mist, embellished it with more of her magic, and gathered the resulting shroud around them. When it was thick enough to conceal them from the archers patrolling Deverath¡¯s walls, she spoke softly to the grain.

    ¡°This way,¡± she commanded, when the wheat moved aside to form an aisle, and they followed.

    Glancing back, Raomar saw the aisle closing as they passed, and knew there¡¯d be no tell-tale runnel through the crop. Once more, he found himself admiring the crone¡¯s command of the natural world¡­and wondering where she had learned it.

    The day brightened around them, and Raomar glanced back. The first ray of sunlight touched the tops of Deverath¡¯s guard towers. Soon the mist would dissipate and they¡¯d be exposed for all to see. He wondered what the crone would do in response to that.

    He needn¡¯t have worried. As soon as the mist began to thin, the old woman released her magic, letting the shroud around them drift away in tatters, indiscernible from the rest. Glancing around, Raomar saw his fears were unfounded.

    They¡¯d reached a road and would look like any other party of travelers taking advantage of an early start to embark on the day¡¯s journey. There¡¯d be no challenge from the walls, or the inhabitants of a nearby farmstead.

    Glancing back at the dawn-drenched walls, Raomar felt a small stab of alarm.

    Surely, she means to hide us from the king, he thought. Once they¡¯ve found Dart missing, they¡¯ll start searching the city¡­and once the gates have opened¡­

    He had no doubts as to what would happen once the city gates opened¡­and they were still walking in full sight of Deverath¡¯s walls. It wouldn¡¯t take long for the alert to go out.

    The road was a four-yard strip of hard-packed earth, kept in good repair by work crews recruited from the city jails, and those owing in their taxes. Stonework marked the approach to the bridges crossing the numerous streams cutting through the surrounding farmland, feeding into the broad river bay on which the city sat.

    In the wetter months, sand and stone were laid over the road in a mostly successful attempt to keep the city¡¯s access ways from turning into quagmires.

    It¡¯s a good thing there¡¯s no rain, Raomar decided, as the crone raised a hand to greet a passing farmer.

    The road was busy for so early in the day, and Raomar knew there¡¯d be no shortage of witnesses to the small group of travelers they¡¯d seen heading away from the city. Fortunately, though, most returned the old woman¡¯s greeting with a disinterested wave as they continued on their way.

    None of them seemed to pay any attention to those traveling with her. An old woman returning home with her family, wasn¡¯t interesting¡­and the cloaks concealing their faces were easily explained by the morning chill.

    The farmers were more focused on eating a hasty breakfast of bread and cheese, while keeping their animals moving, or flicking the reins to quicken their pace. It was nothing unusual to meet travelers on this road.

    Raomar made sure he kept his cowl pulled low over his head, and his face shielded from view. Most who¡¯d heard of the kevarag reviled them, even if they¡¯d only heard of them in stories. Glancing at Ghost to make sure the girl¡¯s cloak was also in place, he saw she didn¡¯t need the reminder.

    She moved beside Varan, her head bent and looking for all the world like a dutiful granddaughter walking with her brother. Brianda moved just behind them, like a hovering mother, and Grunwol, for all his size could have been mistaken for their father.

    Raomar gave a mental shake of his head, but had to admire the crone¡¯s foresight. Unless a farmer was looking for a group of escaped thieves, it would be easy for them to pass as a family on the move, a theory that was easily proven when no one seemed to notice them.

    No farmer drew back from them in sudden shock, and no teamster raised his whip in threat. The only looks they received were those reserved for any band of travelers moving this early in the day: looks of casual curiosity, and nothing more.

 26éˆ¥æ“³he Croneéˆ¥æªš Refuge

    Around mid-morning, the crone led them off the road. The sun had cleared Deverath¡¯s walls and Raomar longed to throw back the hood of his cloak. He hadn¡¯t been abroad in daylight since reaching the city, and the sun¡¯s warmth on his cloak made him want to feel more.

    More comforting than wine-soaked oblivion, he thought, and didn¡¯t notice how his steps grew lighter.

    Leaving another of the stone-walled bridges behind them, the crone led them swiftly from the road and onto a small track running along the edge of the river. No more than a goat track, its usual traffic consisted of the local deer and shepherds.

    Looking to see who might have seen them change course, Raomar was relieved to find the landscape empty. No-one fished from the bridge or riverbank, and the road stretched emptily in both directions.

    Perhaps we are too far away from the city for fishermen, Raomar thought, glancing around at the others, pleased to see they, too, remained watchful.

    The crone didn¡¯t hesitate or stop. She led them around a bend in the path and, as soon as bridge and road were out of sight, off the path and into the tree-line.

    So far, Raomar noted, glancing once again at the city walls, and realizing they¡¯d reached the forest bordering the western edge of Deverath¡¯s fields.

    Wild and largely uninhabited, it stretched to the river marking the country¡¯s borders. A few feet into the trees and the trail disappeared, leaving the crone to navigate the thickets and trees that soon made the forest feel like a maze.

    Twigs and branches plucked at their clothes and Raomar began to wonder how far they would have been able to penetrate, without the crone whispering to the plants blocking their path. At her words, the bushes pulled back to grant them passage through walls of leaves and thorns.

    It didn¡¯t take them long to leave the forest fringe behind. After the warren of small paths invading the first few yards, a thicket of brush and berry bushes made navigating a route almost impossible. It was a relief to leave the secret hollows frequented by travelers who needed to relieve themselves.

    The crone crossed several of these paths and spaces, before stopping in front a wall of raspberry bushes. Here she muttered a small plea to the plants and, this time, the branches bent and twisted out of their way, while runners removed their foot-tangling stems from their path.

    A hall of green formed before them, and Raomar caught sight of berries beginning to ripen among the leaves. The crone indicated they should follow it. She remained in place, the flat of her hand resting on the greenery as they passed.

    Only when they had safely entered the forest beyond, did she murmur a prayer of thanks and remove her hand from the foliage. As she stepped into the leafy corridor she¡¯d created, the branches swished back into place and the ground behind each of her steps writhed with life as the runners resumed their places.

    By the time she¡¯d reached where they were waiting on the other side of the thicket, all evidence of their passage had disappeared.

    An equal span of time saw them reach the banks of another river. The water bubbled over rocks in the shallows closest the bank, and swirled in mysterious currents farther from the shore.

    The crone led them to its edge, beckoning them to follow when they paused at the tree-line.

    ¡°You can drink a little,¡± she told them, and Raomar realized how thirsty the night and early morning of flight had made him.

    A sudden dryness plagued the back of his throat and he wondered if the old woman had enspelled them. Casting a curious glance to see if his companions had been affected the same way, he saw Brianda swallow as though her mouth had unexpectedly dried. Grunwol¡¯s throat moved, also, as though he sought to moisten it and the Northman frowned.

    After a quick scan of the river, the tree-line and the ground on the other riverbank, the Northman padded to the water¡¯s edge. Seeing him move against the natural backdrop, Raomar noticed a certain animal grace returning to his movements.

    It took him back to an earlier time, when he and the warrior had traveled the northern plains and then through the forests of the south. The Northman had moved like that all the time. He¡¯d only adjusted the way he moved when they reached Toramar¡¯s capital¡­where he needed to blend in.

    In Deverath, he¡¯d moved more like other men, as though his connection with his hunter-self had been suppressed. With the journey he sensed before them, Raomar was glad to see a hint of the hunter returning.

    He watched as Grunwol crouched on the river bank. The Northman glanced warily across the water, then up and down the flowing current, before scooping water with his hand, then raising it to his mouth.

    He reminded Raomar of some wild beast coming down to drink, his stance bringing to mind the plains antelope¡­or, more aptly, the wolves that drifted in packs through the north plains¡¯ grasses. He watched the Northman drink, and waited, a restraining hand on each of his apprentices¡¯ shoulders.

    Only when the Northman had finished, did Raomar release Ghost, giving the elfling a gentle push toward the water. Noticing the girl style her movements after the warrior¡¯s, he glanced at Grunwol and was rewarded by the flicker of amusement that crossed the Northman¡¯s face.

    It vanished as quickly as it came, and the warrior quickly returned his attention to the area around them, including Ghost in his surveillance as she drank. When she was done, Raomar guided Varan to the river, reaching out to steady the boy.

    The apprentice stretched out on the river bank, plunging his face and head into the shallows. Raomar frowned with puzzlement as the child followed this ducking with another, then pulled his head clear and shook it, sending droplets of water showering around him.

    Only then, did he slick his hair back, and scoop water into his cupped palms to drink. Raomar waited until the boy was done and knelt, silently watching the shifting reflections beneath the water¡¯s surface.

    The child was so taken by the patterns he saw there that Raomar had to nudge him to get his attention.

    ¡°It¡¯s time,¡± he said softly, jerking his head toward the trees.

    He glanced over at Grunwol as he went, noting how the Northman¡¯s gaze flitted between their surroundings and each member of their group, and how it was diverted each time one of them moved. It looked like he wasn¡¯t missing a thing, but Raomar couldn¡¯t help but follow his observations.

    Ghost had gone to join Brianda, the crone stood to one side, and the other side of the river stood clear of threat. Raomar frowned.

    ¡°Best drink Briar,¡± he said, and the girl gave a sharp nod of acknowledgement, before moving down to the water.

    Grunwol waited until she had slaked her thirst, before looking pointedly at Raomar.

    ¡°Now, you,¡± the big man stated, and Raomar set Varan beside Ghost and Brianda before returning to the riverbank to quench his thirst. The first drops of water tasted sweeter than any he¡¯d had in a long while, and his second mouthful was just as good. Scooping a third palmful from the river, he sipped slowly, feeling the scratchy dryness in his throat begin to fade.

    The crone waited silent beneath the trees, and spoke only once he¡¯d returned to their shelter.

    ¡°There¡¯s food at my cottage, and a place to rest.¡±

    She said no more, only waiting a moment, before turning from the river and walking deeper into the woods. In the silence of growing exhaustion, Raomar and his small group followed her through the forest shade. It was a shade whose greenness grew brighter as the day wore on.

    The crone¡¯s cottage was well hidden. It stood in a clearing surrounded by forest giants, hidden behind another barrier of thorny berry bushes. Raomar wondered how the forest giants had avoided the loggers, and guessed the crone had her own means of protecting her secrets, since berry bushes alone would not have been enough to deter a merchant woodsman.

    As he watched, Brianda reached out to trace her hand along the moss-covered bark of one of the trees, only to suddenly snatch her fingers back from its trunk. Judging by the way she shook her hand afterward, Raomar guessed she¡¯d been stung by the power he sensed surging just below the surface.

    He smiled in wry amusement when the girl wrapped her hands in the folds of her cloak and continued walking, giving the trees a wary look as she passed. This time, she gave them a wide berth, frowning slightly as she did.

    Fallen leaves, still soft from lying in the misty shade, made no sound beneath their feet, and the elder oaks arched over them until Raomar felt as though he¡¯d stepped into an ancient temple, or some other stronghold of the gods.

    A sigh escaped him as they left the shelter of the forest and the corridor created through the thorns to enter the clearing. His gaze was drawn to the stand of saplings that had sprouted around the old woman¡¯s cottage, their young branches reaching for the gap of sky above it.

    They ended at a narrow, bark-covered path that formed an inner circle in the cottage¡¯s clearing before leading from its edge to the crone¡¯s front door. The crone led them onto it, then bade them stand still while she approached the door alone.

    Raomar was sure she was speaking to the door, or perhaps the timber that formed it. It was hard to tell since the language she used was as unfamiliar to him as it had been before. From what he could gather, it was not the language of sorcery, or the druids, and it wasn¡¯t the tongue used by priests, or that of wizards.

    Those he might have identified, but this one? He frowned.

    A witch? he thought, thinking over what else he¡¯d seen, and considering the idea.

    Witches were the sons or daughters of the elements, similar to sorcerers, save that witches had an inherent gift to communicate with elementals, and the sorcerers sold a piece of themselves or something they held dear, to another entity who would give them power to use, mostly, as they wished.

    Witches were also similar to druids, but druids cared only for the piece of land they were sworn to protect, and usually limited to their territorial borders, unless they were tasked beyond them.

    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    No, his frown deepened. The crone wielded her power, both in the city and near her home. She¡¯s no druid¡­

    He was betting on her being a witch, and he hoped she could bring something to the battle that the king had no way to combat. Unless he did, for who knew what power he served.

    As he watched the crone disarm the safeguards she¡¯d set about her home, Raomar remembered the elemental he¡¯d seen ion the palace dungeons, and realized he¡¯d been mistaken about the king.

    I¡¯m wrong, he thought. Anyone who can twist an elemental to such a form, might very well be familiar with the witch kin.

    The more he thought about it, the more likely it became that the king, and his master, might not only know about the witch kin, but might even be their sworn enemy¡­and an enemy to the druids, foresters, and all those who held the natural world in high regard.

    Perhaps we really have found an ally, he mused, looking up in time to see the witch woman make one final gesture at the door.

    ¡°This way,¡± she called to them. ¡°It¡¯s safe for you to enter.¡±

    After a moment¡¯s hesitation, Raomar led them forward, almost stopping when he heard the crone¡¯s next words.

    ¡°And only you,¡± she added as soon as Grunwol had crossed her threshold.

    Turning to watch her, Raomar waited. Outside the sun had reached its zenith, and he was sure the midday sun had also dispelled the shelter of the crone¡¯s magic as surely as it had dispelled the mist. Now, the king and any others who wished to scry them, could do so.

    The crone looked over at him and smiled, then, as if catching his thought, she answered.

    ¡°You and yours are safe as long as long as you remain in the cottage,¡± she told him. ¡°None can scry you here.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± he replied, watching as she bustled over to the fire and stirred its embers.

    ¡°You¡¯re sure your goddess will not aid you?¡± she asked, as she fed more wood and gently coaxed the coals to flames.

    She glanced over at him when he didn¡¯t immediately answer, taking a battered iron kettle from beside the hearth and hanging it from a hook beside the cauldron already dangling there.

    In the silence that followed, Varan fetched more wood from the box, passing her a piece each time she held out her hand. The crone nodded her thanks as she took the first one, her coal-dark eyes noting the momentary pain that drifted across Raomar¡¯s face.

    She remained silent, until he could give her his answer.

    ¡°She will not,¡± he confirmed, his voice trembling. He took a breath, his voice grating with pain as he replied, ¡°She refuses to acknowledge me.¡±

    He paused, fixing his gaze on a distant point on the wall, and clearing his throat as he added, ¡°She would not even tell me who had murdered my successor.¡±

    Again, he paused, then closed his eyes and lowered his head, his next words starting as a whisper, and slowly hardening to a growl.

    ¡°She cast me out, saying I was no longer one of her own.¡±

    His voice caught, drawing a sharp breath at the sudden, sharp grief piercing through him. When he had fought enough of it back to speak, he continued.

    ¡°Not her own,¡± he repeated, ¡°even though I have served her faithfully for the past ten years, never failing to do what she asked, or faltering in my devotions. She cast me out. Told me my answers were at Wildejun. Answers?¡±

    His voice rose, then dropped in pained denial.

    ¡°I need no other god.¡±

    He allowed his voice to trail into silence, bowing his head to hide the tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

    The crone studied him a moment longer, then turned to the cauldron, stirring it briefly before breaking a handful of dried leaves from one of the bunches hanging from the ceiling, and tossing them into the kettle.

    That done, she dusted her hands, then crossed to stand before him. Taking one of his hands in her own, she reached up to touch one of the strands of blue marring his pale-yellow hair with the fingers of her other hand.

    ¡°She has not rejected you completely,¡± she told him, stroking her fingertips along the blue. ¡°If she had, she¡¯d have erased all sign of her favor.¡±

    Raomar drew a shaky breath, feeling the truth of her words, but not willing to open his eyes and meet her gaze. She continued, regardless.

    ¡°I see the signs of your faithfulness,¡± she assured him. ¡°The fact they are still there means that whatever forced her to reject you was something too great for her to refuse.¡±

    She paused, letting her words sink in, before adding, ¡°Her summons to the Wildejun meet points to that.¡±

    ¡°Then why¡­¡± he managed, his voice breaking.

    She squeezed his hand.

    ¡°I asked more for myself,¡± she explained. ¡°Those to whom I owe my allegiance bade me ask, and if you are indeed, the chosen of the gods, they will be well-pleased by your summons to Wildejun.¡±

    ¡°They will?¡± Raomar asked, then snorted. ¡°Well, they¡¯d be the only ones.¡±

    ¡°Truly?¡± the crone asked. ¡°Even though they¡¯re the very ones who order you receive all aid to reach the temple there¡­and that Alessia Mistlewood is retrieved from the king¡¯s dungeon?¡±

    ¡°But why would they care?¡± Raomar asked. ¡°What could Alessia possibly mean to them?¡±

    ¡°She means a great deal,¡± the crone replied. ¡°You already know she is a talented wizard, but what none knew, until the two days just past, was that she could tap the plane of magic itself.¡±

    ¡°But¡­¡± Raomar was confused. ¡°She¡¯s shown no ability to do so, before¡­¡±

    The crone smiled. ¡°My masters inform me the discovery came as a surprise to her, as well.¡±

    ¡°And why does that make a difference?¡± Raomar wanted to know. ¡°If your masters would have let her be taken, before, why would they save her, now?¡±

    ¡°Because before,¡± the crone replied, ¡°she would only have provided a boost to the Old One¡¯s power. Now, she can provide him enough power to break free of the prison that currently holds him, and if he manages that, there is no-one left who can contain him.¡±

    ¡°You mean there used to be?¡± Raomar prodded, and she nodded.

    ¡°There did,¡± the crone confirmed, ¡°but when they departed this plane, they did not look back¡­and we do not know if there are any who can convince them to return.¡±

    ¡°And have they tried?¡± Raomar wanted to know.

    Again, the crone dipped her chin.

    ¡°They are in the process of trying,¡± she assured him, ¡°but they say their chances of success are slim to none.¡±

    ¡°So, they need me,¡± Raomar continued, and the crone regarded him with a dark-eyed stare.

    ¡°My masters have ordered me to take Mistress Mistlewood and her apprentices from the Old One¡¯s altars, so he does not escape his prison before the gods¡¯ chosen can reach him. Without the wizardess, we can give you the best chance of doing that.¡±

    ¡°And you are assuming I¡¯ll have a deity¡¯s support by then,¡± Raomar added bitterly.

    ¡°That is why you have been sent to Wildejun,¡± the crone confirmed.

    ¡°I had a deity¡¯s support,¡± Raomar snarled, ¡°and, for this, she has rejected me.¡±

    The crone indicated the blue locks in his hair.

    ¡°Unwillingly,¡± she reminded him, ¡°Which means that whatever task lies before you, it is worth the cost of being forced to give you up.¡±

    ¡°And if I don¡¯t agree?¡± he asked.

    The crone regarded him darkly.

    ¡°Then the Old One will have ten years in which to escape before the world has a chance to be free of him.¡± She gave him a stern look. ¡°Or ten years in which to hunt the Mistress Mistlewood and secure his freedom earlier.¡±

    ¡°She would know no peace.¡± Varan said, horrified by the idea. He laid a hand on the kevarag¡¯s arm. ¡°Master¡­¡±

    Raomar glanced down at the child¡¯s anxious face, then laid a hand over the boy¡¯s.

    ¡°She is my friend,¡± he reassured the child. ¡°I will not let her suffer that fate.¡±

    The crone cut in. ¡°Without the Mistress Mistlewood, the gods¡¯ chosen can hope to reach and contain the Old One before he can escape, because, without her, the power he takes is barely enough to hold open the small breach through which he projects himself into the world.¡±

    ¡°That is a heavy burden to lay on any man,¡± Raomar stated. ¡°Tell me, again, why you think the gods have passed that task to me?¡±

    The crone gave him a sly and secretive smile.

    ¡°My masters have their own means of discovering some of what the gods might plan,¡± she replied. ¡°But they would rather those means remained their secret.¡±

    ¡°And retrieving the wizardess?¡± Raomar asked. ¡°How do your masters expect us to do that, if the Old One has recently been strengthened.¡±

    For a moment, he saw, again, the altar and the pillars and the shrieking sacrifices from the night before.

    The crone¡¯s answer momentarily banished it from his mind.

    ¡°Just as he had to remove the wards in order to give his master access to last night¡¯s sacrifices,¡± she replied, ¡°so, too, will the king have to remove them to give the Old One access, tonight. If he does not, the god will not be able to make the gap in his prison wide enough to take it all in¡­and the sacrifice will be wasted¡­and he cannot risk that. The Old One is desperate for more power.¡±

    ¡°But how will we reach them?¡± Raomar asked. ¡°I have never seen those dungeons before. I have no idea how to reach them¡­and, now, I am no longer guildmaster, I no longer have the means to find it.¡±

    ¡°We already know the way in, and have the means to access it,¡± the crone told him.

    ¡°But, how?¡±

    ¡°We will fly,¡± she answered, ¡°and the masters will lead the way. My lords have agreed to send people of the air to carry your friends from the temple.¡±

    ¡°People of the air?¡± he asked. ¡°You mean, elementals?¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± the witch woman replied. ¡°They will carry us inside and the wizardess and her apprentice out once we have freed them. The only drawback is that those who enter the temple will then have to find their own way out.¡±

    ¡°If the temple connects to the palace or the sewers,¡± Raomar declared, ¡°then I will find a way out.¡±

    ¡°But you are needed to defeat the Old One, himself,¡± the crone protested.

    ¡°Then the gods had best keep me safe,¡± Raomar snapped. ¡°For if you don¡¯t give me your word that I will be assisting in Alessia¡¯s rescue, then I will leave, now, to find my own way into the temple without your help.¡±

    ¡°But you can¡¯t¡± the crone argued. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t reach the gates before he found you!¡±

    ¡°So, I have your word I¡¯ll be assisting in the rescue,¡± Raomar pressed, and the crone stared at him.

    Her mouth worked silently for a short moment, and Raomar gave her a grim look, before heading for the door.

    ¡°I¡¯ll take that as a ¡®no,¡¯¡± he told her, laying his hand on the latch.

    Grunwol, Brianda and Varan followed him, and the crone closed her mouth with a snap. She found the words a few seconds later.

    ¡°You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re facing,¡± she managed to protest. ¡°You¡¯d be dead before nightfall, yours the lives feeding the god the energy he needs in order to attend tonight¡¯s sacrifice.¡±

    ¡°At least, we wouldn¡¯t be late,¡± Raomar quipped back, starting to lift the latch.

    ¡°Stop!¡± she commanded, and he looked back at her, his face grim.

    ¡°We need your word, Crone.¡±

    ¡°That promise is not mine to make,¡± she explained, desperately. ¡°Even if I agreed, my masters might not, and the elementals would still leave you behind.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯d dishonor your word?¡± Raomar asked, pressing her with, ¡°In a matter such as this?¡±

    The crone opened her mouth, then closed it.

    ¡°I would have to ask to know what answer to give,¡± she insisted, ¡°and I will not forswear my masters in a matter as important as this.¡±

    Seeing the determination in her face, Raomar sighed.

    ¡°Can we ask them, now?¡± he asked, relieved when she nodded in reply. ¡°Then we will come with you, and place our petition ourselves.¡±

    The crone moved to stand in front of him.

    ¡°I cannot conceal you all,¡± she told him, looking at them. ¡°You, Master Filameth, and perhaps the wolf, but the others would have to wait in the shelter of the hut.¡±

    ¡°I am no more wolf than he is a priest,¡± Grunwol argued his voice dangerously soft.

    ¡°Nevertheless,¡± the crone answered, ¡°You will come.¡±

    ¡°And Briar¡¯s daughter and the apprentices will remain here,¡± Raomar decided.

    ¡°Brianda and the apprentices will do no such thing,¡± Brianda declared, and looking toward her, Raomar saw three defiant faces.

    ¡°Brianda and the apprentices had better,¡± the crone declared, ¡°because not only will I turn them all into frogs and drop them in the butter churn, but I will set it against the fire until I return with their master.¡±

    Three sets of eyes widened at her threat, and three gazes darted to the fire and then to find the butter churn set against the wall on the other side of the hut. The crone continued as though they were giving her their full attention.

    ¡°Or they could remain in the cottage so I can ensure their master and his guardian remain undetected as they petition my masters directly.¡±

    The three exchanged glances, and Varan sighed.

    ¡°As long as they are safe, and don¡¯t leave us behind,¡± he stated. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be left alone.¡±

    Looking at him, Raomar wondered if it was being left alone, or being left alone in a witch¡¯s cottage that bothered him more. He didn¡¯t ask, but glanced at Ghost.

    The girl scowled briefly, before adding her own reply.

    ¡°I¡¯ll stay with you,¡± she promised, curling a hand through Brianda¡¯s.

    The spymaster¡¯s apprentice frowned, then sighed.

    ¡°Fine,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll stay with them, but¡­¡±

    Raomar lifted an eyebrow, and she hurried on.

    ¡°I will be coming, tonight,¡± she declared, sounding more determined than defiant.

    Raomar nodded. ¡°Agreed.¡±

    Seeing all arguments settled, the crone led Raomar and Grunwol out of the cottage, and into the clearing in front of it. As they stepped onto the path leading to the open space between the cottage and the clearing¡¯s edge, she stopped.

    Raomar and Grunwol came to a halt behind her.

    ¡°Be still,¡± she commanded, weaving her hands in a spell that summoned the leaves from the ground around them.

    As Raomar watched through narrowed eyes, the leaves swirled into two small clouds and whirled toward them.

    ¡°Still, I said!¡± the crone snapped, when Grunwol started warily back. ¡°They will conceal you from any who might be watching. The glade is not far from here, but I don¡¯t know how far into the forest the king was able to trace us.¡±

    The pair stilled, letting the leaves settle over them. Raomar tensed, but the swirling foliage shrouded them, leaving space around their mouths and nostrils and gaps for them to see by.

    The crone¡¯s glade was just a short walk from the cottage and her masters were waiting when they arrived.

 27éˆ¥æ“±escue and Confinement

    Nothing intercepted the trio as they left the safety of the witch¡¯s glade to travel to the meeting place appointed by her masters. When they arrived, representatives of the four main elements were already waiting.

    A water elemental swayed in a graceful column in a reed-lined pool fed by water diverted from the river. It had chosen a serpentine form, but without scales. It¡¯s human-like head was hairless. The creature had arrived with an entourage, and half a dozen smaller forms rose around it, swaying with liquid grace.

    An air elemental revealed its presence in the rustle of leaves and tossing of grass. It kicked its way through the few fallen leaves of early autumn. Watching them flutter and swirl, Raomar sensed the elemental¡¯s pleasure.

    There are two of them, he realized, feeling the brush of a warm, spring-like gust, and then the icier touch of a breeze that reminded him of snow-melt in the high peaks.

    An earth elemental appeared. It¡¯s mole-like head appearing from beneath an undulating wave of grass that rolled through the center of the clearing. With its black eyes gleaming with the dull sharpness of stone, an earth elemental drew itself out of the ground to settle in a neat coil, near the pond.

    It had brought no companions, but when Raomar met its gaze, he had a sense of being watched by others, a sense of something else looking out through its eyes. Looking into them, he could easily imagine other elementals of earth and stone observing him from the comfort of an underground chamber. Looking into that pitch-black gaze it was easy to imagine the warmth of rock surrounding them, keeping them safe from the open ground above.

    On the opposite side of the glade to the pond, a large, stone-walled fire pit had been dug. Matching the pond in its size, it was full of burning embers from which rose the slightly acrid scent of coal, the sharp scent of burning pine and the sweeter scent of¡­

    Something else, Raomar decided, unable to place it.

    The heady scent drifted across the clearing, mingling with the smell of freshly-turned earth and clean water. Smoke wafted upward in a variety of grays and whites, and heat shimmered in clear waves over the pit itself.

    Flame rose from its depths, in reality a fire elemental settled comfortably in the heated coals, like some great fiery bird resting on its nest.

    The crone paused at the edge of the glade, bowing toward the center, before straightening and extending her hand to indicate her guests.

    ¡°Raomar Filameth, Chosen of the Gods,¡± she said, by way of introduction, ¡°And his guardian, Grunwol of the North.¡±

    The earth elemental rose with serpentine grace, the sound of stones grinding in its depths vying with the soft rustle of earth. It bent its head and regarded them closely.

    ¡°We appreciate the part you have to play in this matter,¡± the earth elemental rumbled. The earth rippled as it approached. ¡°But why have you come?¡±

    The crone answered for them.

    ¡°They wish to aid us in rescuing the wizardess from the Old One¡¯s altar,¡± she told them.

    ¡°They do?¡± The earth elemental¡¯s voice reminded Raomar of landslides and mountains colliding. ¡°But the journey to Wildejun is long, and the Meld, but two nights¡¯ hence.¡±

    ¡°And it will mean ten years without power, if he fails to be there on time,¡± the air elemental whispered anxiously, its words lifting Raomar¡¯s hair and riffling the edges of Grunwol¡¯s cloak.

    ¡°Ten years in which the Old One will grow in power and grow his armies,¡± the water elemental added, its voice wavering in alarm. ¡°His corruption will spread. Perhaps beyond our power to repair.¡±

    ¡°This cannot be!¡± the fire elemental spat.

    ¡°We forbid it,¡± the earth elemental added, its voice grating.

    Raomar flinched from the avalanche in its tones, but he stood his ground.

    ¡°It must be,¡± he insisted,¡± for I will not leave unless I know Alessia is safe.¡±

    ¡°The wizardess?¡± the air elemental demanded, wind shrieking in its tones.

    ¡°You risk too much,¡± the fire elemental sputtered.

    ¡°We cannot guarantee your survival, or the survival of your friends,¡± the water elemental put in, adding in a cajoling burble, ¡°And there is no one able to take your place in the gods¡¯ errand.¡±

    ¡°Then they¡¯d better protect me, as well,¡± Raomar growled. ¡°For if Alessia falls to the Old One¡¯s touch, then all else is in vain. The Old One must remain contained if we are to have the smallest chance of defeating him.¡±

    He tasted the truth in his words the moment he spoke them, and the elementals heard it, too. He watched them draw back, each one swaying in place as it considered what it had smelt and heard.

    ¡°Why was he imprisoned, in the first place?¡± Grunwol asked, before any of them could come to a decision.

    They pivoted slowly toward him.

    ¡°Why?¡± the Northman continued fiercely, ¡°if he is so dangerous, was he allowed to live?¡±

    Fire, water, earth and air, conferred. Their voices hissed and whispered and sputtered, crackled, roared and ground against each other until, at last, they had exhausted their arguments. As their conversation died to silence, they turned to Raomar with their reply.

    ¡°They could not,¡± Fire stated.

    ¡°Could not what?¡± Grunwol wanted to know.

    ¡°They could not cease his being,¡± Water clarified.

    ¡°He could not be killed,¡± Earth admitted with slow certainty.

    ¡°They were not strong enough,¡± the air elemental sighed, reluctantly adding, ¡°Capture and containment were the only way.

    ¡°But¡­¡± Grunwol frowned, looking pensive. ¡°If the gods that were before could not defeat him, and he must be contained if we are to have the vaguest hope, what is the point of us cowering in safety while the key to his freedom stands in jeopardy?¡±

    ¡°And saving the wizardess is key to that,¡± Raomar added. ¡°Who is to say that is not the first task the gods have assigned to me?¡±

    ¡°Because we were there when the goddess of the dark gave the order for you to seek your answers in Wildejun,¡± the air elemental added softly.

    Raomar pivoted toward it, but fire¡¯s voice rose in a demanding crackle, and water hissed and splashed in response. Earth rumbled, and soon their voices blended to create a cacophony that reminded Raomar of the balance of life.

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    Watching them confer, Raomar watched the sun¡¯s gradual slide down the afternoon sky, but he dared not intervene. While the elementals could not have missed the truth, or the logic of his argument, they were far from granting him permission to help save his friend.

    As the shadows grew longer, he began to worry. With the ceremony happening that night, Alessia didn¡¯t have much time¡­and neither did they. He was just about to intervene, when all conversation ceased, and the earth elemental turned toward them.

    ¡°You will wait here,¡± it stated gravely, and both Raomar and Grunwol opened their mouths to protest. Before either could make a sound, it continued, ¡°Our servant will fetch the Briar¡¯s daughter. Her skills will be needed, tonight.¡±

    ¡°So, we¡¯re going?¡± Raomar asked, feeling a faint tendril of hope.

    The earth elemental dipped its head.

    ¡°As soon as the Briar¡¯s daughter has been brought, warriors of the air will carry you and your companions to the temple. ¡°Once the ceremony has begun and the Old One¡¯s servant has relinquished his defenses, then we will enter the temple.¡±

    ¡°There is little time,¡± the fire element crackled anxiously. ¡°You must distract the king¡¯s undead servants, and free as many of those chained to the pillars as you can. The fewer the Old One has to feed his power¡ªand the more we can divide his attention¡ªthe more likely it is we will escape with the mage and her apprentices.¡±

    ¡°Go,¡± the air elemental instructed the crone. ¡°We will keep watch with your friends, and guard them in their vigil. Dusk is falling the ceremony will soon start. By the time you return, our brothers and sisters will be waiting.¡±

    The old woman nodded, and moved spryly from the glade. Grunwol and Raomar watched her leave, then waited silently, keeping an eye on their four elemental companions. Left to his thoughts, Raomar¡¯s fears for Alessia mounted as twilight fled into dusk, and dusk carried them closer to the fullness of night.

    As full dark cloaked them in velvet, the air elemental spoke, its voice snapping like an ice-laden breeze.

    ¡°Stand back,¡± it ordered. ¡°The warriors arrive, and they need room to land.¡±

    ¡°Stand by me,¡± the fire elemental instructed. ¡°My warmth will carry you through the flight.¡±

    ¡°She must hurry,¡± the water elemental bubbled. ¡°I fear the evil has already begun.¡±

    ¡°She comes,¡± the air elemental soothed, and not long after, the crone returned, bringing Brianda with her.

    The girl¡¯s face formed a pale oval in the dark, but she didn¡¯t look afraid.

    ¡°I instructed the apprentices to remain in the cottage,¡± the crone informed them. ¡°There are many things that roam the riverside at night, and not all of them are sealed to my will, nor I to theirs.¡±

    ¡°Where will you bring Alessia?¡± Raomar asked.

    ¡°Back to the cottage,¡± the crone replied. ¡°There is room on the path outside for the warriors to land.¡±

    By warriors Raomar guessed she meant the air elementals. Just as he looked around to see where they were, a breeze bent the branches at the edge of the clearing.

    ¡°They come,¡± the crone stated, stepping away from the fire elemental¡¯s warmth.

    Another breeze kicked up the leaves on the western edge of the clearing, as an air elemental touched down. The first was already lifting the leaves at the clearing¡¯s edge, piling them into a twisting funnel of dancing air.

    A third elemental arrived just as the second was building its own funnel of coruscating leaves. The witch woman picked her way between them, her footsteps becoming faster as she twisted and turned in a whirling dance of her own.

    He tensed as the leaves at the old crone¡¯s feet began to rise around her, and her form thinned and shifted until another funnel of air danced amidst the first three. Raomar stared at it, finding it hard to believe the creature the elderly scholar of elemental lore had become.

    His eyes widened. He¡¯d heard of shapeshifters, even known a few, but he¡¯d never heard tales of witches who transformed into dancing columns of air. The elementals continued to spin around them, picking up speed and dropping their gathered leaves. If he hadn¡¯t been watching her as she transformed, Raomar wouldn¡¯t have known which of them was the witch.

    ¡°Move to the center of the clearing and leave a yard between you,¡± the fire elemental instructed. ¡°They will need room to pick you up.¡±

    Pick us up? Raomar wondered, stepping forward.

    Grunwol and Brianda moved beside him, stepping a little away from him until they were separated by the distance the fire elemental recommended.

    The sound of a great rushing wind, engulfed him at the same time as he was enveloped in the grasp of air more solid than it should have been. Raomar gasped, wrapping his arms over the arms that held him.

    Gusts of air whipped the branches of the bushes bordering the clearing, and he was lifted from the ground. The roar reached a crescendo as he speared upward, bursting through the canopy and into the night sky beyond. Glancing down, Raomar saw the last of the autumn leaves lifted with him, drop to the treetops below.

    * * *

    Far below the palace, the wizardess, Alessia Mistlewood, woke in a sudden sweating fright. Unsure what had pulled her from her doze, she forced herself to lie quietly amidst the straw in her cell, and listened to the dark. It took her a moment to register the presence that had woken her¡ªthe thing that guarded her, even though she was still too weak to call the magic to her hands.

    The king was taking no chances. He had made it clear how much his god, his Walshira, desired her power, and had described with chilling clarity exactly what the god would do with her abilities, her emotions, and her soul, as the king seasoned that sacrifice with her pain.

    Alessia dreaded the coming night. She dreaded it because, when all the king had described was done, her torment would not be over. The Old One would claim her, taking her to live with him, as he completed the torture the king had begun.

    She would be stripped, peeled like an onion, until he had taken every ounce of energy from her, and there was nothing left. No wonder he¡¯d left the beast to guard her.

    Keeping the beast in mind, she slowly rolled over to face the creature sharing her cell. Even though she¡¯d expected it, she couldn¡¯t quite manage to stifle a scream at the sight of it. At first glance, it resembled a serpent, but on closer inspection¡­

    Alessia shuddered.

    Looking up at the six feet of it she could see, Alessia couldn¡¯t help wondering how much more of it lay beneath the dungeon¡¯s flagstone floor.

    Fear clogged her throat, and she stifled a sob, scrambling carefully to her feet and backing away. It was hard to quell the panic she felt when she realized she couldn¡¯t sense the magic that once came so easily to her touch.

    The creature followed her, lowering its head so it could look into her face, its maw widening into something resembling a smile. Alessia tried to back further away from it, but only succeeded in stumbling up against the cell wall. There she dropped into a crouch, covering her head with her arms, and curling against the stone.

    The thing pressed closer, its lips parting as it flicked its tongue out. As much as the rest of the creature resembled a snake, its tongue did not. Its tongue resembled a dog¡¯s tongue, only grotesquely swollen and covered in lumps and hairy nodules, all coated with a thick river of green-and-black slime.

    Alessia screamed, again, shoving both hands hard against the creature¡¯s muzzle and drawing her knees close to her chest.

    The rasp of its tongue across her hands and forearms made her cry out again, this time in pain and revulsion. Slick, gravelly stickiness grated against her skin and the creature¡¯s breath surrounded her, the stench of it coating her.

    The floor of the cell rippled beneath the straw as the creature drew closer, pressing the weight of its body against her. Alessia tried to stand, but the beast swept its body up through the stone floor beneath her, taking her feet out from under her.

    Alessia landed awkwardly, and tried to roll away from her tormenter. The creature rippled closer, its movement almost playful as it tilted the floor, making her roll toward it. She swung her legs around, kicking against its stony hide with her feet, wishing it would go and find something else to do to relieve its boredom.

    ¡°Leave me alone!¡±

    In the corridor outside the cell, she heard footsteps. With another frantic kick at the beast¡¯s hide, she scrabbled frantically toward the door. The creature whipped its head around, cocking it to listen.

    The footsteps stopped outside the door, and Alessia drew a deep breath, preparing to shout for help, but the creature twisted, lowering its stinking maw to within an inch of her face, and she knew better than to make a sound.

    As the beast pinned her with its gaze and fetid breath, the person in the corridor, continued on their way. As soon as the sound of their steps had faded, the beast gave what sounded like a grunt of satisfaction, and blew out a long and stench-filled breath, before lowering its head.

    Alessia tried to shimmy away from it, but couldn¡¯t move an inch, as it opened its mouth and ran its tongue from her toes to the top of her head. She froze at its touch, not daring to move as slime covered her leggings, tunic, and face.

    Through eyes stuck half-shut, she saw the creature draw itself back to inspect its handiwork, the same self-satisfied smile splitting its face. With what sounded like a gurgle of amusement, it sank slowly back into the floor, its gaze mocking her as it went.

    When it had disappeared beneath the flagstones, Alessia collapsed to the floor and wept. She didn¡¯t notice when the wall opposite her rippled, and an imprint of the creature¡¯s face peered across the cell at where she lay.

 28éˆ¥æ“³he King Prepares

    As his twisted creature kept watch over the wizardess, King Andreus Feravan woke and stretched. The dying light of a horizon-bound sun leaked through the heavy curtains covering his windows, and he smiled, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

    Beside him, his concubine whimpered in her sleep. Andreus reached over and gently stroked her brow.

    ¡°Shhh,¡± he soothed, repeating the gesture. ¡°Shhh.¡±

    She whimpered again, but drifted slowly into sleep. Andreus waited until her breathing had evened out, then slid softly from the bed. Turning to tuck the blankets in around her, he smiled, wishing he didn¡¯t have more important matters to attend.

    Letting her sleep, he padded across the room to enter the adjoining office. His feet made no sound on the thick rugs of his bedroom floor, and the door swung smoothly closed behind him. The draperies behind his desk rippled softly as he passed, and he inclined his head in greeting.

    Good, he thought. The priests are waiting.

    Crossing to the wall, he touched the dragon statuette posed on a pedestal beside it before twisting its head to the right. With a well-oiled grind, the wall slid aside, letting him step through into the space beyond. Four priests slipped out from behind the tapestries behind his desk, and glided after him.

    Waiting until the last one had passed the statuette and entered the corridor with him, the king pulled on a heavy brass hook, jolting the lamp hanging beneath it. The walls closed with a soft thunk, and he turned to follow the priests down into the temple, to greet his eagerly awaiting god.

    When he reached the antechamber at the end of the concealed hallway, the king stepped into the scented steam of a great, communal bath. Other priests, devoid of their robes, were there already. They turned their faces to acknowledge him as he closed the door behind him.

    Checking the lock, the king surveyed the priests in return. There were eighteen in all, and he smiled at the sight of them.

    My lord¡¯s power is increasing, he thought, removing the light robe he¡¯d slept in. He could never have supported so many when we first began.

    His deity¡¯s reply dripped with satisfaction. ¡°But then I never had fresh blood on my lips and the despair of tortured souls every night.¡±

    The king¡¯s smile broadened as he stepped, unclad, into the bath.

    ¡°And tonight, my lord,¡± he answered, ¡°You will dine upon the blood and soul and essence of one who, unknowingly, has tapped into the very plane of magic, itself.¡±

    He felt Walshira¡¯s anticipation rise, like a swelling wave of hunger-blinded lust, which threatened to overwhelm his mind. Andreus resisted it, sending reassuring thoughts to his god that the feast would soon begin.

    When the god¡¯s desire subsided enough that he was no longer in danger of being consumed, Andreus became aware of his grip on the bath¡¯s edge. Only the strength of his fingers had kept him from sliding under.

    With a grunt of effort, the king pushed back the urge to send for one of the would-be sacrifices in order to blunt the god¡¯s hunger, straight away, and then he urged Walshira to patience. Feeling the god subside, he ducked his head under the water, running his fingers through his hair, then lifting it clear to splash his way to the other side.

    One of the bath attendants rushed to his side as he emerged, offering him a towel folded neatly on a cushion. Andreus ignored him and strode toward a small, cell-like room, the attendant hurrying in his wake.

    There were preparations to make, orders to be given¡­a freedom to be paid for. With his thoughts lingering on payment, Andreus ushered the attendant into the room before him. His hands trembled with anticipation as he took the towel being offered and dried the steam from his skin.

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    The attendant waited until the king had thrown the towel into a corner, then offered him his undergarments, before lifting his gambeson from a stand in the corner of the room, then, with careful attention to detail, the attendant helped his master dress.

    When the attendant had assisted him in fastening his bracers, Andreus stepped back, and saw fear rise in the man¡¯s eyes. Under the cover of his helm, the king smiled, knowing what the man saw. No longer did King Andreus Feravan stand before him, but High Priest Azdravan, first priest of Walshira the Returned.

    Granted, Walshira had yet to complete his return, but he had almost succeeded, and Azdravan would ensure he returned to the world in all his glory. Azdravan hadn¡¯t known the Old One existed. He hadn¡¯t even been aware there¡¯d been a pantheon before the one that now ruled them.

    That had changed when Walshira¡¯s presence had found him. The deity had revealed that before man had turned to gods of wealth and farming, mining and deeds done in the night, they had been more mindful of other things.

    Back then, the elements and the elementals that served them had been of greater importance than such petty trivialities as justice and childbirth, forests and fishermen, plague, pestilence and death. Back then, man had been known to appease the elements of stone and wood, water and fire, darkness, decay, and blood.

    Eventually, man had recognized¡­and learned to fear and respect the element of power.

    Unfortunately, by then the Old Ones had seen men starting to revere such concepts as love and justice, and those concepts associated with a trade. They had watched as men had called on gods governing safe journeys and children, motherhood, and the hearth¡­and they had observed the deities that formed in response to mankind¡¯s demands.

    As elemental worship waned, the Old Ones had decided to absent themselves from the world, and grant the new pantheon the room they needed to grow, and as the new gods grew in power, few men followed the older gods and preserved their ways.

    ¡°It is better,¡± the Old Ones reasoned, ¡°for us to leave.¡±

    Only Walshira had objected. Even though his followers were departing to worship more finite aspects of power: wealth, assassins, rulership, royalty. When the vote was taken, he refused to leave, and the gods had imprisoned him so he could not interfere with the new gods¡¯ growth.

    ¡°But I created a window, in my prison, through which I could see, and then touch, what lay beyond, just a little. I found you.¡±

    ¡°And I shared your beliefs,¡± the king had replied, remembering the conversation. ¡°That the souls of men are yours to reap, and the gifts of rulership and control, yours alone to bestow.¡±

    ¡°Which is why,¡± Walshira assured him, ¡°You shall have the kingdom you know and all the lands beyond it.¡±

    Azdravan smiled.

    Eyeing his valet through the slit in his visor, Azdravan saw the man swallow convulsively¡ªand fail to hide the faint revulsion he felt when he looked at the king¡¯s imposing form. He noted the man¡¯s swiftly suppressed shudder and the way the man¡¯s hands trembled as he picked up the discarded towel and tossed it into the wash basket.

    With Walshira¡¯s consciousness now bound to his own, Azdravan decided to leave the attendant free for the night, but marked him as one of the many he planned to grace his master¡¯s altar.

    ¡°Very soon,¡± he promised. ¡°Soon, he will grace one of the pillars, and his cries, his fear, and his life¡¯s blood will feed your power.¡±

    He did not add that the man¡¯s sacrifice would also bring more power to his own hand. He did not need to. Walshira read the intention and rewarded the king¡¯s promise with a promise of his own.

    ¡°When I am free, you will rule my realms, and all will bow to you.¡±

    Fierce joy filled Azdravan as he left the room through a second door. This one led away from the baths into the dungeon corridor where the next sacrifices were housed. Two doors along, he paused, his attention caught by the sound of muffled sobbing.

    So, he thought, the wizardess can feel fear.

    Stretching a tendril of Walshira¡¯s power through the door, he identified fear and despair both, and felt the god¡¯s answering thrill of delight. Walshira was pleased. The wizardess¡¯s apparent ability to resist had concerned him, but now? Now he knew she was ready for the harvest.

    Continuing down the corridor, the king kept the tendril active, letting it drift through the corridor¡¯s walls and into the cells beyond. As he did, he was able to savor the varying degrees of fear, loathing and despair emanating from each of the occupants they passed.

    Inside him, he felt Walshira gathering the emotions to himself, and was reminded of a maiden, picking flowers in a springtime meadow. Laughter rolled through his head, laughter and anticipation.

    By the time his footsteps had reached the metal-bound doors at the corridor¡¯s end, Walshira had decided the order in which the prisoners would be sacrificed¡­and the means by which the most fear could be garnered before their deaths. As he flung the doors wide open, Azdravan gave the orders for who was to be brought and when.

    His priests answered, fetching those prisoners he requested, and chaining them to the pillars in the temple proper. Alessia Mistlewood would be among the last. Walshira wanted her to hear the fear of those who went before her, and then she would be made the ceremony¡¯s center-piece upon his altar.

 29éˆ¥æ“³o Walshiraéˆ¥æªš Table

    Alessia waited. Moans of fear washed over her. Cries of denial. Calls for mercy. She stayed curled up in the straw until she was sure the earth beast had lost interest in tormenting her. Once she was sure it had gone, she pushed slowly into a sitting position and leaned against the wall.

    When the creature stayed gone, she focused her attention inward, trying to block the effects of the sounds washing over her from outside the cell. As she did, she tried to find that strange well of magic she had tapped when trying to escape.

    She was still unsuccessful when she heard footsteps come to a halt outside her cell.

    Knowing they signaled the start of another ceremony, she held her breath, praying that tonight was not the night the king had called her name. When Sophriel did not at first answer, Alessia thought of shouting the goddess¡¯s name out loud.

    Before she could try, she heard Sindra cry out in fear, followed by Xanthia¡¯s scream of denial, and knew it was too late. She knew, then, that the priests would come for her, just as she knew that her voice would end the tortured chorus that sang power to their unholy lord.

    Pulling herself up from the straw, Alessia stood and brushed the dry stems from her blouse and adjusting her tunic and leggings and wishing she¡¯d been allowed to keep her boots. She was peeling dried slime from her clothes as she listened to the priests taking the prisoners from their cells.

    Outside, the shouts grew louder, followed by a terrified sobbing, but¡­ It took her a few heartbeats to realize the sobbing stopped almost as soon as it could be heard clearly in the corridor, almost as though the person making the sound suddenly calmed.

    When she heard the key turn in the lock of the door to her cell, she lifted her chin, and waited.

    Behind her, the cell wall rippled, and the hideous head of the creature guarding her grew out of the stone. It watched with red-rimmed eyes and slightly parted jaws as graveled slime slid from its mouth and dripped slowly to the floor.

    At the sound of the first drop hitting the floor, Alessia¡¯s composure threatened to break. When she saw the faces worn by Walshira¡¯s priests her composure shattered. Gaunt and pale, with red-rimmed eyes glowing with unnatural intensity, the priests¡¯ faces were oddly still and devoid of emotion.

    They¡¯re masked, Alessia thought. They have to be masked. No man can hold that expression.

    She discovered how wrong she was when the priest looked at her and his lips lifted in a leering grin. Tucking her horror behind a blank expression, Alessia watched as he looked her up and down, then nodded in greeting.

    Rather than acknowledge him, she selected a point on the wall beyond him, and fought to keep her face blank. When he took her chin in his hands and turned her head until she faced him, she did her best not to meet his eyes.

    He smiled at her resistance, and Alessia felt her courage falter. Up until that point she had been determined to face down whatever fate the king had planned, but the priest¡¯s smile¡­ It reminded her there would be no peace beyond death, that Walshira would take her soul from Sophriel, and torment it until he had whittled it down to nothing.

    When that happened, she would cease to exist, in the afterlife, or any other form of life that could be had beyond the realm of death. Worse than that, Walshira would use her essence for his foul purposes, and the thought of serving him even that much made her shudder.

    She would be a prisoner of something whose evil so permanently marred the faces of its followers that they could be mistaken for the dead.

    I would rather die, she decided.

    With an effort of will, she stopped the next shudder that tried to run through her, and tried seeking the well of power she had found before. Somewhere, deep within herself, she had sensed a spring, a means of calling magic that did not require a spell, or the ritualistic gestures that focused her ability to draw magic from the world around her.

    She knew it was there. She had found the well only yesterday¡­or the day before¡­or however long ago it was, and she was desperate to find it again. Magic need not be taken from the world around her, but from somewhere else, a well-spring that contained so much more than her surroundings could ever possess.

    She wished she had known of it before the soldiers had come to take her. She wished¡­

    Movement caught her attention, one of the priests, leaving. As he moved out of the doorway, another of his fellows filled it, and Alessia tried to focus herself enough to continue her search. The internal spring of magic had burned dry with her initial demand. She only hoped it had begun to flow again, while she had been ¡®resting¡¯ in the cell.

    The priests responded to her apparent calm by reaching for her arms.

    Behind her, the twisted face of Walshira¡¯s elemental stretched further from the wall. Its rough, stone body twisted this way and that as it inspected her, and its nose wrinkled as though scenting something of interest. It snuffed the air, its questing nose drawing in great, snorting breaths as it searched.

    Alessia heard it move behind her, listening to the grate of its knobbly body against the stone work as it swung back and forth. She heard the great whuffing inhalations and her concentration broke. The spring within remained unfound.

    The beast nuzzled the back of her neck, smearing the graveled stickiness of its saliva through her carefully plaited hair. Alessia allowed its muzzle to push her to her knees, her breath catching in a sob of revulsion. When it lifted its head from her hair, she glanced up in time to see it curl its lips in a grin.

    That was not as disturbing as seeing the priest¡¯s mouth curl in an answering grimace, at which the beast rapidly withdrew. Too shocked by the exchange to resist, Alessia allowed the priests to cup their hands beneath her elbows and lift her from the floor.

    A terrified cry from outside the cell made her flinch, and the grips on her arms tightened. The floor rippled beneath her feet, making her stumble out through the door and into the corridor beyond. She had not seen the metal-bound doors when she¡¯d arrived; she¡¯d been unconscious.

    Now, she saw both the doors and the double line of prisoners being led between them. Not all of those prisoners walked as docilely as she did. While she watched, one of the prisoners closer to the door suddenly flung herself back against her captors.

    She didn¡¯t get very far. Three of the black-robed priests took a more secure hold on the woman, and a fourth stepped away from the resulting struggle. Extending a hand toward the captive, he snapped out a command, and Alessia saw a soft, yellow light spring about his hand.

    ¡°No¡­¡± she breathed, then found her voice and pushed forward. ¡°No!¡±

    Heads turned toward her, and she forced herself to come to a halt. The priests reaching to restrain her, lowered their hands as she took a deep breath and appeared to settle. Before they could realize what she was really doing, Alessia sank into herself, searching for the magical spring.

    This time, she found it, and felt the renewed flow of its power. It was her undoing that she had no spell in mind to leash it. Thinking only to disrupt the priest¡¯s amber-lit enchantment, Alessia directed her intentions against them.

    The magic rebelled against her wishes, and Alessia knew from the moment she struggled to form the right words, that she had unleashed something she could not control. The magic boiled up from inside her, flooding out of her mouth in a screeching cacophony of sound.

    As the words poured over her tongue, she heard the elemental wrench itself free of the wall. It knocked aside the priests escorting her, coiling itself around her body and throwing her to the floor. The flow of magic jarred to a momentary halt as she hit the flagstones.

    The elemental made sure it would not start again by twisting into a roll that threatened to crush her in the process. Grayness washed against Alessia¡¯s mind, and the flow of magic seeped back into its pool, waiting for when she would call on it, again.

    Darkness followed and she did not see what havoc she had caused.

    At the end of the corridor, the priest was frozen mid-gesture. He had become stone, like the wall behind him, and his companions had frozen as well. Beneath the solidified grip of their grasping hands, the captive had become a terrified statue¡ªalbeit one of flesh and blood instead of stone.

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    Together, they blocked the entrance to the temple proper.

    In the silence that followed, Alessia regained consciousness as the metallic clank of heavy footsteps echoed out of the temple proper and everyone looked in their direction. As though sensing she was awake, the elemental raised itself from the floor, lifting her upright as it did so.

    It raised her high enough to see the dark-armored form come to stand, silhouetted in the temple doorway. She drew a sharp breath as he spoke.

    ¡°What?¡± he demanded in a strangely booming voice, ¡°Is the meaning of this?¡±

    Even though it wasn¡¯t directed at her, Alessia flinched at the reproach in his voice, and wasn¡¯t surprised by the silence that answered it.

    After a minute, one of her escorts cleared his throat.

    ¡°Wild mage, your Majesty,¡± he whispered, and Alessia wondered how he expected to be heard where the king stood. She also wondered whether the fear she heard in his voice would carry to his ruler.

    As the elemental slowly lowered her to the floor, the priest continued, ¡°The master expected her, and you shared his hope.¡±

    He waved a hand toward Alessia, as she registered the threads of hope and relief in his voice. Alessia frowned. Perhaps he thought his news would save him from the king¡¯s wrath?

    As he spoke, she felt the faint breath of a breeze she could almost see, and realized the priest used a spell she knew. Its whirling center carried the priest¡¯s voice to his master, removing the need for him to shout.

    Alessia wondered if it was the same spell as the one she knew as ¡®message wind¡¯, and tracked it as it blew the length of the corridor, before reaching the king¡¯s horned helmet and working its way inside.

    The king tilted his head as though listening, and then his visored helm turned in her direction.

    Alessia felt his gaze coming toward her, and started kicking against the elemental¡¯s coils.

    The creature grunted in annoyance at her efforts, and squeezed until she found breathing difficult. She pushed a little harder, until the creature¡¯s coils continued to tighten, and she realized it just might crush her if she didn¡¯t stop¡ªand then, when she continued to struggle anyway, it shifted its sinewy body around her, pinning her arms and legs until it held her immobile.

    Alessia gasped again, partly in fear at being helpless, and partly from pain. Held as she was, she could see the king at the end of the corridor, and felt his gaze settle on her. The sensation brought with it a compulsion to raise her head and meet his eyes.

    Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and tried to fight it, but she was injured and tired, and could not stop the slow movement of her head or the opening of her eyes, as her body answered his command. No matter how hard she fought his magic, Alessia knew she was losing.

    ¡°Mistress Mistlewood.¡± The king¡¯s greeting was like soft, black velvet.

    It reminded Alessia of a funeral shroud.

    ¡°I gather you have only just discovered your gift,¡± he said. ¡°A pity.¡±

    For an instant, Alessia found herself relaxing in the face of his sympathy, but then he laughed, raising his hands above his head. His fingers traced a familiar pattern, and Alessia tensed.

    This was a spell she knew well: Girfring¡¯s Instant Transportation. She¡¯d used it to take Brianda, Aral, and Mika across the outer wall of Duke Hartender¡¯s garden.

    As Alessia watched, the king disappeared from before the iron-bound doors, and reappeared in front of the earth weird. When he spoke, he addressed the creature in its own spittle-laden language, and received a grumbling reply.

    It loosened its coils, letting Alessia drop the two feet to the floor. She snatched at the elemental¡¯s hide and missed, somehow still managing to land feet first without being able to control her fall. She hit the cobbles with a jarring thud, and the king¡¯s gauntleted hand was around her arm before she could recover.

    With a cry of muted terror, Alessia pulled against his grip, trying to jerk her arm free from the burning sense of ancient evil emanating from the glove. The king tightened his grip.

    ¡°I think, Mistress Mistlewood,¡± he said, ¡°That you should enter, immediately, into my master¡¯s house. You¡¯ve caused enough delay.¡±

    He muttered the spell for Girfring¡¯s, and Alessia felt a familiar wave of dizziness as the spell took effect and the world swirled around her, before vanishing in a momentary burst of black. When it returned, and the swirling stopped, the gauntleted hand wrapped around her bicep was all the prevented her from falling¡ªand running.

    The king jerked her back to his side, before she could try to escape, again.

    ¡°Come,¡± he invited, ¡°My lord awaits.¡±

    Alessia looked around, trying to register what she saw, and her legs tried to run again, because she stood in the middle of a nightmare, but one she¡¯d seen in her scry¡­and one Varan had described. They¡¯d missed some of the finer details¡ªthe tiled circle in which she now stood, for instance.

    The pillars standing in a long line around the edges of the room were familiar. Some stood with waiting shackles, and others were already occupied by chained and manacled priests and wizards.

    ¡°This way,¡± the king invited, turning her even as he indicated the blood-stained altar with the darkened trough around its base.

    It was too much, and Alessia sobbed a denial, trying to peel the king¡¯s unrelenting fingers from her arm. As she struggled to free herself, all she could see was blood. The base of every pillar was surrounded by a raised step encasing a small gutter. Every pillar held loops of silvered iron from which hung chains of the same material.

    Alessia trembled at the sight, and the king wrapped his armored arms around her, drawing her against the breast plate covering his chest. One gauntleted hand cradled her head as he spoke.

    ¡°You shall be the center of our attention,¡± he whispered, dipping his head so his lips almost touched her hair. ¡°You shall be the culmination of our power and the gift that lies within you will gain the freedom we have long desired.¡±

    As he spoke, Alessia heard echoes of a second voice, weaving its way through the king¡¯s tones, an older voice, one weighted with eons of power and unseemly desire.

    ¡°No,¡± she whimpered. ¡°Nononono¡­¡±

    The king¡¯s arms tightened around her, until he kept one around her waist, then freed one and raised it to the visor that concealed his face. His mailed fingers fumbled at the catch beneath his chin, freeing it before raising the metal faceplate.

    ¡°Look at me, Mistress,¡± he ordered, placing a finger under her chin, and tilting her head so she looked into his eyes. ¡°Look upon my face and know my power.¡±

    Unable to resist the spell of command woven into his words, Alessia looked¡ªand saw another face cast across the features of the king. Pale as night, and ivory skinned, with eyes that luminesced with blues and greens of every hue, the face was narrow and finely chiseled but neither elven, nor human.

    ¡°Obey me,¡± the vision commanded, continuing when Alessia felt herself agree. ¡°Walk with me to the altar and yield to the chains I shall put around you.¡±

    Alessia bowed her head at this command, relaxing in the king¡¯s arms until he released his grip on her waist and set her feet back on the floor. She placed her hand on his arm when he offered it, then stepped lightly beside him as he walked her to the far end of the room.

    Inside her head the battle raged for control, even as feelings of contentment tried to overwhelm the terror she knew she should feel. She didn¡¯t even notice when they left the tiled circle, or when the king reached up to close his visor with a muted click.

    Sounds of terror came from beyond the main doors. The king ignored it, guiding Alessia to the red-drenched altar before his master¡¯s glamor wore away. Once he had reached it and lifted the wizardess to its bloodied top, he signaled the temple servants forward to secure her chains.

    The glamor held, until they¡¯d secured the second chain¡ªand then the wizardess screamed.

    ¡°Hush, now,¡± the king soothed, laying the steel palm of his gauntlet alongside her cheek. ¡°It won¡¯t be long.¡±

    Seeing her gather herself for a second shriek, he grimaced, his face echoing the displeasure radiated by his master.

    ¡°Such a rich source of terror and emotion going to waste,¡± his god observed, and that was all the encouragement he needed.

    He murmured the words to hold the wizardess¡¯s fear at bay. As the last syllable drifted to her ear, all the tension went out of her body. Quickly fastening the last of her chains, the king hurried back to settle the commotion rising in the corridor beyond.

    The priests petrified by Alessia¡¯s last spell still stood frozen at the door. Their statue-like forms blocked all entrance to the temple, and would have to be cleared.

    With a growl of frustration at the power he was forced to waste, the king spoke the spell required to turn the figures back to flesh. Before the prisoner could continue her struggle, he stepped forward and took hold of her himself.

    ¡°Peace, little sister,¡± he soothed, using another compulsion to still her terror, and resenting the loss of yet more power. He hid the resentment from his voice, forcing it to become reassuring. ¡°There is nothing to fear beyond these doors.¡±

    Nodding to the priests who¡¯d now returned to their fleshly forms, he handed the priestess into their care and raised his head to survey those remaining in the corridor. With a sigh of resignation, he turned and raised his hands.

    Projecting his voice, he spoke the words he needed to calm the rest of them.

    ¡°There is nothing to fear beyond these doors,¡± he told them, making the compulsion strong enough to contain them all. Struggling to keep his tones soothing, he added, ¡°Enter willingly into this realm of peace. Here, you will be safe.¡±

    The spell rolled down the corridor, draining the tension as it went. Prisoners ceased their panicked struggles, and walked calmly forward between their escorts. Only Walshira, the king and their priests could see the suspended fear and dread growing in a plane where the prisoners couldn¡¯t feel it.

    But they will, the king thought to himself, and the harvest was going to be richer indeed for the greater terror the sacrifices would feel when all that stored emotion came crashing down around its source.

    The king stood by the door, waiting until they all walked past him, ignoring the horned helm and the ceremonial armor he wore. He watched as they stepped docilely to their assigned pillars and Walshira¡¯s priests chained them in place.

    As soon as the last one had been secured, the king pulled the iron-bound doors closed behind him, and set the locking bar in its place. Walshira stirred, using his eyes to survey all he had gathered, and the god¡¯s approval made the king smile.

    This was feast enough for Walshira to consolidate his strength. More than enough, since the wizardess really was a conduit to the elemental plane of magic. Her sacrifice would more than pay for the power they¡¯d been forced to use to subdue her and clear the aftermath of her resistance.

    A cruel smile twisted the king¡¯s features, and he was glad of the visor masking his face. If any of the prisoners had seen it, such a smile would have torn the calming compulsion to shreds, and chaos would have erupted, once more. It was a small mercy, and one for which he was grateful.

    With their captives secure, the king hurried to the tiled circle in the center of the temple. It was time to drop the wards and give his lord full access to the temple. It was time for the ceremony to begin.

 30éˆ¥æ“Ÿeremony Interrupted

    Raomar, Grunwol and Brianda flew with the people of the air, and the crone flew with them. They hadn¡¯t been able to take a direct route to the city, and had needed to come in low over the waters to the city¡¯s north.

    As they did, storm clouds gathered above the king¡¯s palace in the city¡¯s north east, but it felt as though some dark power focused its attention on the dock-yard end of the palace proper. Glancing over at his companions, Raomar saw they felt it, also.

    To his left, Grunwol scanned the ground below, concentrating on the dock yards, where the darkness seemed its strongest. As he followed the Northman¡¯s gaze, Raomar saw the shadows in that part of the city grow unnaturally long, as street lamps flickered and dimmed before going out.

    To his right, Brianda had drawn her short sword and was keeping an eye on the skies around and above them. Beside her, the whirlwind that was the crone was as silent as her companions¡­or so Raomar thought, until her mind touched his.

    ¡°Accept this spell,¡± she said, ¡°And you will hear us as we speak.¡±

    ¡°And my companions?¡± Raomar asked.

    ¡°Her offer was to us all,¡± came Grunwol¡¯s unbidden reassurance.

    Brianda said nothing, and the crone returned her attention to the darkness slowly spreading across the city, both ahead and below. The air elementals dipped low, coming in under the wall, and then climbing until they skimmed just above the darkest section of the sky.

    ¡°Is it He?¡± the crone asked, turning her attention to one of the accompanying elementals.

    ¡°It is the One¡± the tornado replied. ¡°If we do not disrupt him, tonight, it will be too late to prevent his escape.¡±

    ¡°Then disrupt him, we must,¡± Grunwol declared.

    ¡°Look at what he has done,¡± the elemental¡¯s words were full of disgust and loathing.

    ¡°Our brethren,¡± another of the tornadoes added. ¡°Look at what he has done to our brethren.¡±

    ¡°Those are not our brethren,¡± the third elemental told them. ¡°They were never our brethren, but creations of his making.¡±

    ¡°How do you know?¡± the others demanded.

    ¡°I know,¡± the third beast replied, and its voice was full of bitterness edged with grief. ¡°I have faced their kind in battle before. We must strike quickly, or we will not prevent his escape, and the death of those who fought to defeat him, before, will have been in vain.¡±

    ¡°We give you our support and strength,¡± Raomar declared. ¡°When will you be able to get us inside?¡±

    ¡°¡¯Ware the darkness,¡± the third elemental answered. ¡°It will thicken and gather, and the stench of evil will assault our every sense. When the ground below us shimmers green, followed by a burst of golden light, the defenses will have failed. The earth will open to give the Old One access to his souls and pain, and we will be able to get inside.¡±

    ¡°And the darkness?¡±

    ¡°It will be as thick as ever,¡± the elemental lord replied, his voice showing revulsion at the fact. ¡°We shall have to fly through it.¡±

    ¡°But they will know we have come,¡± Brianda noted.

    ¡°It cannot be helped,¡± the elemental said, and indicated a point in the ground below. ¡°Watch. See how it begins.¡±

    Even though the words hadn¡¯t been directed at him, Raomar turned his attention to the ground below. He watched as it flared with a bright green light that flowed outward from a central point before disappearing in long, slow waves.

    When it had vanished a burst of yellow light flashed after it, and the ground began to shake. A bubble of earth pushed out of the palace gardens overlooking the docks, and earth, grass, garden beds and ornamental fruit trees shivered down its sides to come to rest at the garden¡¯s edges.

    Above it, the darkness grew, stirring impatiently over the dome and the hidden temple below. It was like watching smoke roil above a forest fire, or seeing the thick mist of a winter morning. As he observed it, it twitched, as though a light breeze tickled its folds.

    Green lightning ricocheted in the cloud¡¯s depths, disappearing in golden flame, making the observers flinch. The sensation of evil increased, pressing around them until they thought it might drown them. Anticipation emanated from the cloud, followed by an unholy eagerness which rose with the first scream that escaped as the earthen bubble split open.

    They flew closer. Soon¡­ The anticipation beat all around them. It was like standing on the edge of a battle, just before the bugler signaled the charge. Danger rolled through the surrounding air. The darkness heaved and rolled, crowding closer to the growing earthen split.

    As soon as the gap was wide enough, the air elementals made their move. The third tornado, the elemental lord who¡¯d spoken of fighting the twisted elementals of old, arrowed itself into a strong wind current and dove into the blackness filling the temple.

    Swiftly, as though moving before their courage could break, the others followed.

    No sooner had they entered the split, than the stench of evil assailed their nostrils. It forced its way into their senses, and along the sinews of air from which they were made. Nothing could be done to prevent it.

    Raomar felt it and forced himself not to struggle free of the airy arms holding him, as the elemental bore him deeper into that dark cloud¡¯s heart.

    When they arrived, the ceremony had barely begun, but already the sickening smell of fear rose from the temple proper, and cries of terror and despair tainted the night. They escaped the temple¡¯s confines to horrify the city at large.

    The cloud moved around them, swooping low to meet the rising cries, and then wallow in the emotion-laden air through which they flew.

    When the Old One¡¯s presence had settled over the palace, physical barriers such as walls and the cracked ceiling of the dome above them were nothing in the face of Walshira¡¯s need to escape. Raomar felt the outrage and anger that overlaid the fear and revulsion of the creature carrying him. He felt its surge of determination as it wove its way through the tortured wails and roiling darkness, and into the temple below.

    ¡°Free as many as you can, and then escape,¡± the elemental instructed, setting him down. ¡°There is the door, and a corridor beyond.¡±

    It hesitated, shifting to look at the horror surrounding them.

    ¡°Do not tarry, too long,¡± it told him sternly. ¡°You are needed in the world beyond.¡±

    The moans of fear and anticipated agony grew louder, with one or two voices taking lead roles in a macabre song of terrified horror, pleading and pain. With a growl of anger, the elemental twisted away, tearing straight toward the altar.

    The creature carrying Grunwol, set the Northman down and darted for one of the pillars closest the altar, the one on which Xanthia hung. Raomar saw the girl flinch at its touch, then watched as the creature enveloped her so that she was surrounded by clean, cold air, her hearing buffered from the noise around her.

    The last of the elementals burst through the cloud surrounding Sindra, and began to strip away the older apprentice¡¯s chains, while the crone, rushed over to where Zarine sagged against a third, bloodstained column.

    The girl startled beneath the witch-woman¡¯s touch, the brush of airy fingers against her skin enough to make her cry out in fear. One of the priests turned toward them, and the crone froze, using the column to conceal her presence.

    Keeping her fingers against the girl¡¯s skin so Zarine knew she was there, she waited. The priest studied the girl for a few minutes more, but when she subsided with a quiet sob, he returned his attention to the creativity being applied to one of Miralei¡¯s priests.

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Raomar flinched as the man¡¯s voice rose in another tremoring scream, but he forced himself to look away. There were others chained to the pillars nearest him, to all the prisoners lining the walls of this dark place. He might no longer be Enshul¡¯s high priest, but he could still wield a sword and undo a set of chains.

    What was more worrying was the movement stirring in the temple¡¯s shadows, the hungry undead shuffling toward them, their arms raised to attack. From the other end of the temple, he heard the tell-tale clatter of shackles falling to the floor, and risked a glance in that direction.

    The witch-woman had seized a fainting Zarine from the pillar, and once more becoming a column of air, surrounded the girl and poured herself and her passenger toward the crack in the ceiling. Hoping she would reach the sky, Raomar didn¡¯t wait for her to disappear, but divided his attention between freeing the man closest him, and watching the approaching undead.

    Like the crone before him, he let the chains and shackles fall to the floor, ignoring the sound they made as they hit the stones at his feet.

    ¡°Free the next man!¡± he shouted, slapping the terrified priest when the man didn¡¯t immediately respond. ¡°Free him! We¡¯ll get as many of you out as we can, but I need your help. Hurry!¡±

    There was no time to see if the priest obeyed. The first of the undead had reached them, its unseeing gaze fixed firmly on his face, its long-clawed hands reaching for his throat. Raomar ducked beneath its first clumsy grasp, stepped to its side, and took its head from its shoulders. When it fell, unmoving, to the floor, he didn¡¯t waste time in gloating.

    Another of the monsters swung at him, its claws snagging in the fabric of his tunic and tearing it open. As it made another attempt to strike him, Raomar parried slicing off its hand in the process. Reversing the strike, he opened up its throat, then danced back.

    Someone small and slender darted past him, diving beneath a reflexive slash of the creature¡¯s good hand and lashing out with a blade as she went.

    Brianda! he thought, as the zombie wobbled and teetered over.

    Taking advantage of its disadvantage, he swung hard and fast, removing its head, and glancing around to find the next target. Brianda darted back past him, her short blade flashing and dropping another creature in her wake.

    Raomar¡¯s gaze brought him to Grunwol, as the big man worked his way back toward them, half a dozen freed prisoners behind him, all doing their best to avoid the attacking undead. All around them, Walshira¡¯s evil grew. It infected the very air they breathed, the Old One¡¯s presence growing stronger as he fed.

    Raomar sensed something else, though. Beyond the evil and the greed, the desire to sate himself, the Old One was feeling a growing frustration and anger. He¡¯d finally noticed the invaders in his temple, and was about to take action.

    ¡°Out!¡± Raomar roared, not sure his order would be heard above the ruckus of sacrifice and battle combined.

    Behind him, the priests surged toward the door. Ahead of him, Grunwol¡¯s small flock darted around pillars and dived beneath clawing hands and snapping jaws. The priests who¡¯d headed for the door surged back toward them, seeking shelter from more of the oncoming undead, and Grunwol skidded to a halt beside him. The way to the main door was blocked.

    ¡°Who knew there¡¯d be so many?¡± the barbarian complained, but Raomar heard a touch of glee.

    He was about to reply, when Brianda¡¯s shout of victory reached him.

    ¡°Yes! There is one.¡±

    ¡°One what?¡± Grunwol asked, striking down another of the closing undead as he maneuvered to see what she had found.

    ¡°A way out.¡±

    ¡°Is it open?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Will be in a flicker!¡± she called back.

    ¡°We don¡¯t have a flicker!¡± Raomar retorted, signaling the priests to move in the direction of her voice.

    Once he¡¯d got them moving, he followed, forming as much of a rearguard as he was able.

    Looking down the temple to the king¡¯s armored form, he saw the monarch raise his head. His visor hid his expression but the sudden halt in what he was doing caused his victim¡¯s screams to subside into sobs. The undead paused, and the king spoke.

    ¡°Your turn will come.¡± The helm turned back to the priest before him and he sank his hand into the man¡¯s belly. With a sharp ripping movement, he pulled the unfortunate¡¯s intestines free and hurled them into the gathered undead.

    Looking past the scene, Raomar watched as the chains binding Alessia to the altar carefully lowered themselves against the side of that unholy structure. If they made a sound as they were set down, it did not carry over the sounds made by the feasting undead.

    Careful to keep his head turned to the king, and forcing his gaze to the monarch¡¯s dread form, Raomar watched him, while in reality watching Alessia¡¯s body levitate from the altar behind him. The wizardess looked, for all the world, like she was being cradled in two airy arms.

    The wizardess¡¯s eyes were wide with fright, but she didn¡¯t appear to be seeing what was before her. Slowly and carefully, the elemental lord lifted away from the altar and fled toward the crack in the dome above. The king did not appear to notice her escape, but returned Raomar¡¯s gaze and pointed toward him.

    ¡°Don¡¯t let them escape!¡± he commanded, before turning back to the priest dying on the pillar before him.

    The undead surged forward.

    Is it open, yet?¡± Raomar shouted.

    ¡°I¡¯m trying, but it needs a wizard¡¯s touch,¡± Brianda replied.

    ¡°Any wizards here who can help?¡± Raomar called, gutting another zombie and kicking it off his blade into a third.

    After a quick exchange of glances with his fellows, one of the freed prisoners replied, ¡°We¡¯re all priests here.¡±

    ¡°By the dark god¡¯s teats!¡± Grunwol shouted, beheading another of the undead as Raomar removed yet another clawing hand. ¡°Keep trying!¡±

    There was no reply to that, as the creature roared in pain, then growled, lunging for him with its teeth. Another blade arced out, taking its head from its shoulders.

    ¡°My thanks,¡± Raomar acknowledged, lashing out, again, grateful they were creating enough of a distraction that all eyes not watching the king were watching them...and none had registered the empty altar or the escape of his friend.

    On either side of them, prisoners had taken up the chains that had once bound them to the pillars and were swinging them from side to side to keep the zombies at bay.

    ¡°Yes, thank Sophriel!¡± Brianda¡¯s shout of relief, alerted him to the fact the door was now open, and whose priest had had a hand in helping.

    ¡°Go!¡± Raomar shouted, feeling the sudden draft created by a newly opened door.

    Signaling the freed priests to fall back, Raomar reversed after them. The priests closest Grunwol also backed up, heading for the door as fast as they dared. He almost didn¡¯t make it, but Grunwol took off the arm of the zombie trying to seize the back of his robe, and the man skidded through the open portal and fled, unhesitatingly, into the darkness beyond.

    ¡°You next, Roamer,¡± Grunwol ordered, as the last of the freed prisoners fled through the portal.

    Rather than waste time by arguing, Raomar obeyed. The quickest way to get Grunwol to safety was to get himself out of the fight. The Northman would not break from combat until he knew Raomar was clear of the battle and arguing would only prolong the danger.

    Even so, Raomar held his breath until the big man stepped back through the portal.

    ¡°Which way?¡± Grunwol asked, reaching out to slide the door closed.

    He was beaten by stone-gray arms that stretched down from the roof and slammed the portal shut. A familiar winged creature released its grip on the ceiling and dropped down next to the door, flipping itself mid-air so it came down on its feet.

    Ignoring the two men, it spat a stone wedge from between its teeth, and slammed it beneath the base of the door.

    ¡°This way,¡± ordered a sibilant voice behind them, and a tall, hard-faced elf slipped free of the shadows.

    ¡°Shards and ice!¡± Grunwol swore, and his voice was edged with fear. ¡°Tell me it is not time.¡±

    ¡°Time for what?¡± Raomar asked, and was ignored as the elven woman replied.

    ¡°Not yet,¡± she said.

    ¡°Then why did you and the garitzik help us?¡± Grunwol asked.

    ¡°Because there are some things more important than the politics of territory and trade,¡± the elf replied, hurrying into the tunnel dark, but leading them toward a not-too-distant silver shimmer. ¡°The kevarag must live.¡±

    ¡°Me?¡± Raomar asked. ¡°But why?¡±

    She gave him a single icy glance, then answered, ¡°Because if you fall, the whole world will fall with you.¡±

    ¡°Then free my guardian from his bond,¡± Raomar snapped, and heard the hiss of indrawn breath.

    ¡°That we cannot do. That would require a payment greater than the debt he owes, and you have nothing to offer.¡±

    ¡°But¡­¡± Raomar began, only to be cut off.

    ¡°But nothing,¡± the she-elf replied. ¡°What we have done for you ensures our survival also. What we did for him, benefitted him alone. For that a debt must be paid, and it cannot be taken by another. Such are our laws.¡±

    As she spoke, the garitzik bounded past them, springing around them and over the heads of the fleeing priests, by using the walls and ceiling to speed its path. It barked something unintelligible to the shadow fey, and she darted a quick glance back the way they¡¯d come.

    ¡°Hurry!¡± she ordered. ¡°They are holding the portal. It will take you from the city.¡±

    The sound of stone shattering behind them, had her running toward the light.

    ¡°What of the priests?¡± Raomar asked, breaking into a run to keep up.

    ¡°We have sent them through a portal that will land them in the tunnels below the docks. We can hide them there and smuggle them out on the ships that pass.¡± She caught his worried look and gave him a disconcerting smile. ¡°They will be safe. We do not need to anger the gods or distract them from their battle. The Old One must not succeed.¡±

    More stone shattered behind them, as they rounded a bend in the tunnel and the light grew blindingly bright. Before them, stood a glimmering archway of silver and white. The garitzik was waiting to one side of it, hopping impatiently from one foot to the other.

    Brianda stood there, also, sword out and directed at the creature, a look of sheer and utter defiance on her face.

    ¡°She would not go with the priests,¡± the garitzik explained to the elf. It pointed at Raomar. ¡°She said the gods had ordered her to go with him, that the crone told her her destiny is entwined with his¡ªat least for now.¡±

    The shadow fey gave him a brisk nod.

    ¡°Then so be it,¡± she snapped, and turned to Raomar. ¡°Go, now. We cannot face the undead that pursue you. Their corruption is of the elements and we cannot risk infection.¡±

    ¡°After my friends,¡± Raomar stated, gesturing for Grunwol and Brianda to precede him through the portal.

    ¡°We¡¯ll all arrive at the same place?¡± Brianda asked suspiciously.

    ¡°You have our word on it,¡± the shadow elf promised, and Brianda stepped through, sword at the ready for whatever might meet her on the other side.

    Grunwol hesitated, looking at Raomar.

    ¡°Hurry,¡± the garitzik growled. ¡°We need time to open a portal for our own escape.¡±

    Before any of them could react, Grunwol reached out and seized the she-elf by the shoulders.

    ¡°Why do you fight them?¡± he demanded, glancing back down the corridor.

    The elf met his eye.

    ¡°Because he means the end of us, if he wins,¡± she snapped back. ¡°Now, please go.¡±

    ¡°Go!¡± Raomar echoed, when the Northman looked to argue, and Grunwol released the elf with a glare that said he had unfinished business.

    As soon as his friend had vanished into the portal, Raomar followed. Behind him, came the unmistakable shuffle of undead feet, and he did not wish to be responsible for their rescuers¡¯ demise. With any luck, he, Brianda and Grunwol could make the crone¡¯s cottage before the king thought to rouse his guards in pursuit.