The Sanctum was, supposedly, known for its clever and nigh impossible to survive snares, and she had expected to spend hours or even days disarming them, but every means of certain death had easy ways to be traversed. The pit full of vipers appeared fed and happy, a mended and steady bridge over top, and the room of statues that had once clearly been alive was filled with bases instead of full figures, crumbled stone, and an odd arm gripping a sword here and there.
She hurried along, not wanting to dawdle for fear of her good luck running out, until finally Amma came upon the sigil from the book marking the room she needed. The Scroll of the Army of the Undead was only a few short steps away, and it would finally be hers.
Except someone else—and a familiar someone at that—was already picking it up.
CHAPTER 3
THE EBBING SANITARIUM OF MAL-SOMETHING-OR-OTHER
Why not?thought Damien as he picked up The Scroll of the Army of the Undead. It was here, and he’d already come all this way, made a blood offering to open the door, disarmed each perilous trap, and answered all three riddles of the ghoulish spirit that guarded the inner chamber. The Sanctum was full of odd, nefarious objects, and along with Skrimger’s Amorphous Earthen Illusion and the Sack of Obfuscare, a scroll that could unleash the literal Abyss could come in handy, so he slipped it into the inner pocket of his cloak alongside the enthrallment talisman. Now, if only he could locate a stronger shielding pouch than the one he’d found, one strong enough to mask said talisman like his father had suggested.
Damien picked up on the presence just before it made itself known. Movement from the chamber’s entrance and a sharp inhale that belonged to something living gave itself away a second later. He threw his arm to the side, called out Chthonic words, and blindly cast a binding spell in the sound’s direction. He expected it to ping off the Sanctum’s walls and disperse when it missed—of those daring and skilled enough to enter the Ebon Sanctum Mallor, a raider or thief could dodge such a simple spell, and a mage would shield themselves from it with little effort, but in either case the intruder would reveal what they were, and then he could properly do away with them. Damien was very surprised then when the spell hit its target dead on.
There was a shriek as his arcana struck and then a thump as a body collapsed to the floor, the sound echoing out into the Sanctum that was meant to be empty. Damien turned to see the bandit at the chamber’s entrance, a small, lumpy shadow, though not as small as a draekin or goblin. His binds of necrotic energy had wrapped themselves around it completely, head to toe, and under the arcane glow of the sapphire stones lining the Sanctum’s walls, the tendrils glistened as the form tried fruitlessly to wriggle free.
Unlucky, he supposed, for this novice to show up when he, an adept blood mage, had decided to raid the place. Then again, perhaps this was the luckiest they were ever going to get: following on his heels was surely the only way they’d survived thus far, especially if they couldn’t dodge a poorly-aimed, base bind that didn’t even require his blood to cast.
He took his time striding over to the body, considering how to handle it as they managed to squirm over onto their shoulder in a valiant if futile attempt at escape. He would likely just leave them—in a few hours the spell would wear off, and they could stumble out the way they’d come—but it would be helpful to know if there were more coming behind. A party of adventuring imbeciles, especially one he may have run into before, wouldn’t take kindly to their sorry excuse for a scout being bound up, and he wanted to be out of Aszath Koth by nightfall, not wasting his time and arcana clearing a path back into the city.
Coming to stand over his captive, hands clasped behind him, he used a boot to roll them from their side onto their back. A tendril of the bind was pressed over their mouth so that their cries were muffled, but when their eyes, big and bright and blue, fell on him, Damien started. “You?”
He glanced down the length of her, bound tightly in his spell, clearly female, then crouched to yank her hood back and reveal that wheat-colored hair. So, it was the same girl from the streets. He peered out of the chamber to the long corridor and listened, but he could hear nothing else save for the panicked breaths she was taking through her nose. She’d been alone in Aszath Koth that morning, and there was no reason to think she’d made friends since, though he was sure she’d tried and failed miserably.
“What are you doing here?” Damien frowned down at her. “You should already be on the other side of the mountain pass by now.”
The girl mumbled against the bind and craned her neck. He sliced down through the single, arcane tendril with a finger, dispelling it.
She sucked in a huge breath, round eyes unblinking as they stared up into his, and then finally whimpered, “You gave me bad directions on purpose?”
Damien’s mouth fell open, thrown. “Y-yes?”
She scrunched up her nose in the same way she had in the alley, all petulant and insistent, and the freckles spattered across her cheeks tightened. “That’s not very nice.”
Nice? Did she have any idea where she was? Damien scoffed. “Well, I’m not very nice.”
Breathing hard and casting a wary gaze over all of him, she gave himthatlook, the one of profound fear that he had seen hundreds of times before, but never on a face so…well, to borrow a word, so nice.
He ground his jaw, crushing the thought between his teeth. “This time, I will be clear.” Damien swept a hand over her to dispel the bind completely. As the tendrils melted away into nothingness and she scrambled to sit up, he leaned in close, face inches from hers. “Go home.”
She didn’t attempt to run despite being free, staring back at him like a wild prey animal caught in a thorny copse.
“Do you understand?”
She gave him the briefest of nods, her eyes never leaving his, lips parted and trembling. Still crouching before her, Damien knew he should have backed off if he really wanted her to flee—she was little more than a rabbit in an open field while he bared down on her like that—but a question hammered at the back of his mind, anchoring them both to the floor of the Sanctum.Why did you help me?It begged to be asked, though he kept his lips drawn into a tight line, only able to stare back, trapping her there without binds.
And then he felt it, the tiniest tug at his side. His brow cocked, and the realization flashed on her face that he had discovered her nimble fingers—those same ones that had tied the cloth around his hand so swiftly—had found their way into his cloak pocket. Ah, so she was just a dirty, little thief after all. Good enough to pull one over on him temporarily, but no one was truly good enough to get away with that in the long run.
Damien grinned. “What do you think you’re do—”
She shrieked, her face changed, the fear draining out of it and replaced by a shock of pain.
Then it was Damien’s turn to have what little color there was in his face drain away. He grabbed onto the arm she was cradling that had been in his cloak pocket, turning her palm upward. Bloodthorne’s Talisman of Enthrallment was in her hand though she didn’t clutch it. The inkarnaught ore was already embedding itself, pulsing crimson as it burrowed down into her skin.
She screamed, kicking against the floor to pull away, but Damien held her still by the wrist, shifting onto his knees and making a grab for the talisman with his free hand. His fingers just grazed the stone’s smooth surface before it disappeared completely, leaving only a crimson glow in her palm, skin unmarred.
He unsheathed the dagger hidden in the bracer of his other arm, squeezing her wrist that much tighter. “Stay still,” he growled, jerking her forward and measuring to be sure he could properly cut it out, hovering the blade’s tip over her palm.
“Oh, my gods, no!” Her shrieking finally formed proper words, and she grabbed onto his dagger-wielding hand. “Please, don’t stab me!”
