Elena remembered the details of Joach’s dream and the role his staff had played in it—how its magick had driven off the black winged monster and how it had slain Er’ril. “Are you sure this is the place?” she asked.
Joach only nodded, his eyes staring up at the distant parapet.
Not hearing their quiet words, Flint waved them all to the back of the alley, where a wall of red brick blocked their way. He began counting the bricks from the ground and the side.
As she waited, Elena shivered with her brother’s words. It was as if his dream were coming true.
Ahead, Flint finally stopped counting and pushed three specific bricks. Each gave way and receded to the depth of a thumb. Upon pressing the third one, a sharp crack of an unlocking latch sounded from behind the wall.
Satisfied, Flint stepped back, then leaned both palms on the wall and shoved. A triangular section spun on an axis, opening the way into a dark tunnel beyond. He grinned at his success and waved them toward the opening. “The catacombs delve deep into the heart of Mount Orr, the peak upon which the Edifice rests. This tunnel is an offshoot from the fourth level of the great spiral. We must reach the tenth level to retrieve the book.”
“Then let us hurry,” Elena said.
They all pushed inside, and Flint collected an oiled torch from a sconce. Once the torch was set to flame by a strike of flint, the old man shouldered the door closed. A staircase descended from the small landing here. “Move quietly and cautiously,” he warned. “More traps or enemies might be placed along our path. I suggest that we also leave a guard at this door to protect our escape.”
No one volunteered. No one wanted to abandon Elena. So Elena made the choice for them. She touched Tol’chuk’s shoulder. “If the d’warves have another change of heart or reinforcements are sent, the Try’sil may be needed to sway the enemy.”
The og’re nodded. “I will guard your backs.”
With the matter settled, Flint showed Tol’chuk how to work the door, and they proceeded down the stair. No one spoke for the hundred steps it took to reach the passages below. Flint led them quickly down a long winding hall to where it emptied into a wide passage. Here the rough rock was polished to a sheen and adorned with carvings and stone grave markers.
“The fourth level of the catacombs,” Flint whispered, raising his torch.
They continued deeper along this spiraling concourse. Mama Freda had her pet Tikal scamper ahead into the darkness to spy out any ambushes. But without the eyes of her pet, Meric had to help guide the old woman. Their progress was too slow for Elena’s liking. Even though it was a false twilight above, Elena knew that true evening was not far behind.
Mama Freda suddenly hissed and dragged Meric to a stop.
“What is it?” Flint asked, pushing near the old healer.
“A light,” she answered. “Through Tikal’s eyes, I can see a glow reflecting around the curve of the passage farther ahead.”
Flint frowned. “Someone else must be down here.”
“Can you get Tikal to creep nearer?” Elena asked.
“I’ll try, but after the battle above, his fear runs high.”
Mama Freda leaned against the wall. She tired rapidly as her herbs began to wear off. “I see . . . I see a man! He crouches along the side of the passage. The light comes from a small lantern he carries.”
“Are there any others?” Elena asked.
“No, the passage is empty.”
“Strange,” Flint said. “What does he look like?”
“He wears a ragged white robe and looks disheveled, as if he has not bathed in many moons.”
“Hmm . . . The white robe suggests he may be one of my Brothers. There are many hidden passages and holes to hide from the evil here. If he’s truly managed to avoid the darkmage’s forces, he might have valuable information.” Flint leaned closer to Mama Freda. “Can you get Tikal to show himself? His response may give us some indication of his heart.”
“I’ll try,” Mama Freda mumbled. “But Tikal is shy of strangers.”
They all stood in silence as Mama Freda used her bond to the tamrink to guide its actions. Elena glanced to her brother, who wore a worried expression. She also eyed Flint but could read no deception in him. Still, there had been so many traps. Could this be another?
Mama Freda suddenly smiled. “The fellow seems normal enough. Tikal startled him at first, but after the initial fright, he called my little pet to him. It seems that even in such a dire situation Tikal is not above begging a cookie from a stranger. He is now perched on the man’s shoulder enjoying a scrap of stale bread crust.”
Joach and Elena shared a glance.
“We should still be wary,” Flint cautioned, his face grim. “Let’s go and find out more about this odd denizen of the catacombs.”
Flint again took the lead. Joach followed with Elena at his side. Meric and Mama Freda kept up the rear. It did not take long until the glow that Tikal had seen became apparent. Flint passed Meric his torch. “Let me go on alone. If it’s a trap, let it only catch me.”
As Flint crept away, Elena nudged Joach. “Go with him.”
Joach frowned at Elena, but something he saw in her eyes silenced any questions. Elena watched her brother join Flint. If the old Brother was the traitor setting these traps, Elena wanted someone else to bear testimony to what lay ahead. The pair disappeared around the curve of the corridor.
Elena held her breath. For too long, no sign of what might lie beyond was hinted. Elena bit her lip.
Suddenly a spate of mumbled conversation flowed around the corner, too low to make out any specific words. Elena glanced at Meric, then back down the passage. Suddenly, Joach popped around the corner. He frantically waved them to follow, a smile of relief on his face.
Elena and the others hurried after him. Once around the corner, Elena saw Flint bent in whispered conversation with a ragged man. His once-white robe was soiled a deep gray, and his cheeks bristled with unkempt reddish beard, barely hiding the sunken, starved look to the man’s face. Contrasting his beard, the pate of his head was bald as a newborn.
“Who is it?” Elena asked.
“Brother Ewan,” Joach answered in an excited hush, his words rushed with relief. “He’s a healer. He . . . he was the one who helped treat Conch from his injuries. He stayed behind when we left the island before to see if he could be of help in defending the island from within. He is a Hi’fai, too, and knows all the secret byways. He’s been hiding out in the maze of the catacombs for the past moon.”
Elena felt a burden lifted from her own heart. It was good to know someone could survive within the evil here. It stoked a measure of hope in her. Still, she remained cautious as she approached this stranger.
Flint waved Elena over. “I want you to meet someone—a friend who knows several other ways in and out of the catacombs.”
Brother Ewan straightened from his crouch. He seemed embarrassed by his appearance. One hand went to smooth down his rumpled robe; the other tried to pull his beard into some semblance of order. Tikal still rode on his shoulder, noisily chewing on a crust of bread. “So this . . . this is your wit’ch, Brother Flint?”
Elena nodded her head. “It’s good to meet you.”
Brother Ewan grinned shyly and took a step toward her. His motion slightly dislodged the little tamrink. Tikal snatched at the man’s ear to keep his perch but missed. The Brother’s grin grew with the tiny beast’s antics. He caught Tikal as the tamrink slipped.
“I’m sorry,” Brother Ewan said, holding back a chuckle. “But I think this little creature has outlasted his welcome.” Brother Ewan lifted Tikal and, in one swift motion, snapped the tamrink’s neck and tossed his limp form away.
Mama Freda gasped and fell back into Meric’s arms. “Tikal!”
The man’s grin continued to spread into a foul leer. “Now let me see this wit’ch of yours more closely.” Unburdened, he reached for Elena.
Too shocked to respond, Elena almost fell with
in his grip. Tikal’s sudden, brutal death had frozen her heart and mind. But Flint thrust himself between Ewan and Elena. He fumbled for his sheathed sword but was too slow.
Ewan ripped the ragged robe open, baring his chest. Latched to his pale skin were hundreds of small purple leeches. He lunged and hugged Flint before the old Brother could raise his sword.
Joach grabbed Elena and dragged her back. She was still too stunned to think clearly. “He’s an ill’guard, El! We must get away!”
Meric hauled Mama Freda, now blind and broken, along with him, while Joach pulled Elena. As they stumbled back, Flint fell free of the ill’guard’s embrace. He turned as he collapsed, his face and neck covered with the sucking leeches. In only a single heartbeat, the sick creatures swelled to the size of bruised fists, drawing more than just blood from Flint. His very form and substance seemed to be sucked into the writhing parasites. Flint crashed to the floor. As the creatures rolled off their host, bone shone through the wounds they had left. Still, Flint struggled to dislodge the monsters. One hand rose, quivering, then collapsed back down as he died.
The last sight Elena saw before she was drawn around the corner was Brother Ewan stepping over Flint’s corpse. His chest, now bare after hugging Flint, sprouted a new crop of the purple leeches, ready for the next harvest.
Then Elena was around the corner, and they raced away. As they ran, the horror slowly lost its paralyzing hold on Elena. She was able to think again and slowed to a stop. Joach tried to tug her onward, but she let out one sob and pushed him away. “Go! Run!”
“El?”
Elena raised her right hand and unbound the spell that locked away the spirit glow. Her hand bloomed a rosy azure. She fed the magick into her hand and willed the glow to spread. Elena saw the effect in Joach’s eyes as she vanished from sight. “Take Mama Freda and Meric!” she ordered. “Join Tol’chuk!”
“You can’t face the ill’guard alone.”
Elena frowned and hurriedly shed her clothes. “I’m not going to confront it. We don’t have the time. But I must check on Flint and retrieve the ward, while you all lead the monster away from me. Can you do that?”
Joach nodded. “What are you going to do?”
“I am going to get that cursed book!” She removed the last of her underclothes, then retrieved her wit’ch’s dagger. She held it before Joach and blew forth her magick from her fist. In his eyes, she saw the knife vanish.
After a few moments, Joach glanced up and down the passage. “El?” he probed tentatively.
Elena remained silent. She saw a look of fear and defeat grow on his face. He glanced back down the passage, thinking she had already left. “Be careful, El.” But before he turned away, he added in a whisper. “I love you.”
Elena did not fight the tears that rose in her eyes.
There was no one to see them anyway.
ER’RIL STOOD BETWEEN the wall of black ice and the darkmage’s circle of wax. His chains, now bolted in place to iron rings in the floor, only allowed him a single step in any direction. He had been stripped of his shirt; black runes of power had been carved into his chest with the tip of Shorkan’s blade, their father’s hunting knife. Blood dribbled in hot trails down his belly, soaking into his belted breeches. Er’ril ignored the pain from the thirteen runes; his greater concern was on the final rites being performed within the mage ring. Half naked, his one arm bound to his waist, Er’ril felt a twinge of vulnerability. All his hopes would depend on the next few moments.
Denal stood within the ring wrapped in binds of dark energy, all but forgotten. Only his eyes shone brightly with terror and anger as, like Er’ril, he studied the final preparations of the other two mages.
Greshym spoke as he and Shorkan painted symbols on the floor along the inside edge of the mage ring with his own black blood. “I sense the Dire Beacon has been lit. The skal’tum must already be in flight.”
“It matters not,” Shorkan said. “With the number of traps set in and around the island, we have no need to fear intruders. By the rising of the moon, the island will no longer matter. With the book unbound, this city will be only a place of ghosts and lost hopes. We will have been victorious.”
Greshym met Er’ril’s eye for a breath, then glanced away again. It was the signal. Er’ril cleared his throat. “Shorkan, you will fail here,” he spat out. “Brother Kallon’s spell will defeat you . . . again.”
Shorkan continued to work, undaunted and undistracted by his words. “It was your blood that fed this spell, Er’ril. And it will be your blood that breaks it.”
“Are you so sure, Brother? I tell you that a piece of the puzzle yet escapes you.”
“And what might that be?”
“You were right. The spell did require my blood and part of the magick of eternity gifted by the book. It even took a part of the tome’s power, too. But it took one last item, something you have never suspected. This missing element will be your downfall.”
“And I suppose you’re going to tell me?”
Er’ril’s eyes narrowed. “You may have weaseled out my companion here,” he said with a nod toward the bound Denal. “But this last secret I will never tell—not even to save the wit’ch.”
Shorkan shrugged and went back to his painting. “I thought not. Well, I’ll take my chances, dear brother.”
“You will die if you try, and there will be no coming back.”
Shorkan waved his words away. “Enough, Er’ril. I know you grow desperate. Your protests only help support that I’m on the right path here.”
Er’ril frowned. He needed to get Shorkan to react, to abandon his painting for a moment. Greshym needed a distraction to complete his betrayal. Even now Greshym glared at Er’ril. Time was running out.
Er’ril’s mind spun. “Think back, Shorkan. From the times you’ve tried to pierce Brother Kallon’s spell before, you know there is something unusual in the spell. Something that confounded you.”
Shorkan scowled but finally pushed to his feet. He stepped toward Er’ril, keeping the wax ring between them. “Then tell me. What is it that you think my spell is missing?”
Even as evil flowed in waves from the darkmage, Er’ril kept his stance. He had to keep the man’s eyes on him. Er’ril dared not even glance to see if Greshym was taking action. “And what boon will I gain if I tell you?”
“I can make it so you survive this night,” Shorkan growled.
“And what of my freedom? Do I live in your dungeons?”
“That is up to you, Brother. Now tell me what—” Suddenly, Shorkan spun around on a heel.
Er’ril glanced to Greshym. The old bent-backed mage still knelt at the ring’s edge.
“What are you doing?” Shorkan screamed. “That is not the correct rune!”
Greshym did not answer, only stood with the aid of his staff and stepped out of the ring. Shorkan leaped at him, but Greshym reached within the wax circle with his staff and tapped the last rune he had painted. The symbol, two twining snakes, glowed with a reddish fire. “The rune of entrapment is the right rune for my purposes, Shorkan!”
Shorkan’s dive pulled up short of the ring’s edge. He stumbled back from it. “You!” He seethed at Greshym, his face as black as thunderclouds. He then glanced back to Denal.
Greshym waved a hand at the boy. “Yes, Denal was always the loyal one, always the little pup.”
Shorkan stalked along the ring as if seeking a means of escape.
“You know the spell I cast,” Greshym explained. “You will live as long as you don’t try to cross the mage circle.”
Shorkan crossed back to glare at Greshym across the thin dribble of wax. “Why?”
Thumping with his cane, Greshym sidled around the ring. “I could not let you destroy the Blood Diary. It is the only hope of returning vitality to these hoary bones of mine.”
“Vitality? You already live forever! What gift could be greater?”
Now it was Greshym’s turn to spin on Shorkan. “I will tell yo
u what gift is greater. You see it in the mirror each morning. Youth! Of what use is immortality if one continues to age and rot!” Greshym spat at Shorkan, but his spittle hit the invisible barrier above the wax and sizzled in midair.
Greshym continued around the circle until he stood beside Er’ril. “Your brother and I made a deal.”
“You’d betray the master for such a small prize?”
“Master?” Greshym let out a rude noise. “What do I care of the Black Heart’s machinations? You were his pet, not me. As for this small prize, it is the least I deserve after serving the Black Beast for so long.”
“You will pay for your blasphemy, Greshym. This I promise.”
Greshym ignored Shorkan and turned to Er’ril. “Now to complete our deal, plainsman.” Resting his staff in the crook of an arm, Greshym reached to the shackle imprisoning Er’ril’s wrist. With a wave of his fingers, the irons opened, and Er’ril’s arm was finally free. “I don’t know where you hid the sliver of my staff, Er’ril. But the magick in it is now active. It will unfetter your ankle chains and free you. It will also open any lock that stands between you and freedom.”
Er’ril reached for his neck, but Greshym stopped him with a claw on his wrist.
“But first, you promised to free the book. You claimed to have the power.”
Er’ril nodded. “I do.” He did not know if Greshym’s promise of freedom was true or not, but Er’ril had plotted his own defense against any betrayal by the darkmage. Yet it was a dangerous game each man played.
Turning, Er’ril stepped toward the wall of black ice. Over its surface, ageless energies still coursed. Er’ril could see a reflection of the room behind him in its glassy surface. He saw Greshym’s hungry expression. He watched the old mage’s fingers greedily clasp at the wood of his staff. Er’ril raised his own hand to the ice barrier, but sudden motion in the reflection stopped him.
Turning with a clank of chains, he saw Shorkan shove Denal and topple the boy mage backward. His small form sprawled across the wax ring. Instantly, the spell of entrapment punished its prisoner. Even through the bindings of dark energies, the boy’s screams sounded. His tiny body writhed on the pyre of the wax ring. Smoke and the sizzle of burning flesh swelled in the small room. Denal’s bindings were quickly eaten away, revealing a charred husk underneath. And still the boy struggled. A bleating cry flowed from his cracked and blackened lips, until eventually even this died away.