Fortunately, or rather unfortunately for Erich, he didn’t need to hear because two priests burst into the hall. When they saw him, they hesitated just long enough for Erich to launch himself at them and knock them both unconscious with two swift strikes to the tops of their heads. They crumpled onto the ground, and Erich dragged them out of sight. He didn’t want their unconscious bodies to alert the next wave, and he felt certain there would be more. And the next one might be Midnight Guards.
“How’s it going?” Erich shouted over the alarm.
Dots of perspiration dampened Fritz’s forehead, and the runes were off his arm and back on the door, more purple and quivering but in place. Then with a gasp, they turned blue, and Fritz stumbled back, panting for breath as the screeching stopped. With the alarm disabled, they’d likely bought themselves a little time, but not much. The entire temple would be on alert. Fritz got back to his feet and threw open the doors of the vault, and stepped inside. Erich turned his back to keep watch.
“Uh, Erich,” Fritz called from inside the vault.
“Problem?”
“Huge.”
Erich turned and found Fritz, holding the Golden Blade.
“We got the sword; what’s the problem?” Erich asked, eyes darting down the hall, not taking long to look at their prize.
“That’s the problem. I don’t feel any magic coming from this. It should be imbued with the goddess’ essence, but it’s just dead metal.”
A stone settled in his stomach. A decoy? Then they’d come all this way for nothing… Erich rushed over and took it from Fritz, but he knew it was true as soon as he grasped it. He felt nothing at all, no call of the ancient, no wellspring of magic welling up in response to his. Footsteps thundered down the hall, and if they wanted out with their lives, they had to get out of there before they were cornered.
The problem was the only way out was toward them. They ran back the way they came and stopped at the top of the stairs, their path blocked by three Midnight Guards. The dragon reared its head, nostrils flaring and leathery wings flapping against his ribcage. There was no getting away without a fight, and if he unleashed the dragon’s power, he could win, but it meant exposing himself.
“Do it,” Fritz said as if reading his thoughts.
Erich unleashed one of the chains holding back the dragon, and, with one link free, he was greedy for more. It tugged at the rest of its bindings, fighting him for control, but he held back, not ready to unleash his full power. Despite his inner struggle, strength pulsed through him, burning in his veins like poison. When a guard swung a sword at him, he caught it in his hand. It sliced his palm, and blood dripped from his hand, but the wound was already healed. Erich bent the tip of the sword in his hand, and the Midnight Guards’ eyes widened in terror.
Pulling out his dagger from its sheath with his free hand, he twirled through them, slicing with superficial cuts enough to wound and disarm but not to kill. Blood splattered onto the pure white of his priest robes as the guards crumpled to the ground in front of him. The scent of blood and the rush of the fight was going to his head, and the dragon roared, hungry for fresh meat. Erich knelt down, grasping the front of a man’s shirt, bringing him close, his nostrils flaring.
Fritz grasped onto his shoulder, pulling him back, and it brought Erich to his senses.
“What are you waiting for? Let’s go,” Fritz said, not mentioning Erich had been seconds away from tearing out a man’s throat.
Erich blinked at the chaos he’d unleashed, felt the dragon pull loose, and he slammed the chains back again, holding tighter than before. Then they ran. It would take too long to go back through the tunnels, and if they were cornered, they couldn’t fight properly, so they bowled over pilgrims leaving the temple late and down the steps.
Erich ran hard and fast, until his heart felt like it might burst. He had to get out of the city. Now that the Midnight Guard knew he was corrupted and worse, that he’d gotten a taste for blood. If he stayed in Artria, he’d be a danger to himself and others. But to get away safely, he needed Ivar’s help.
27
Liane woke with a gasp and sat up straight in bed. She blinked past blurry eyes at the shifting light and shadows around her. It took a moment for the room to come into focus, but as her bedroom solidified around her, she noticed Mother sitting at the edge of her bed, clutching a cold cloth in her hand. As a child, Mother often dabbed at her forehead to help soothe her as the fevers raged.
“I think your fever’s broken, but you should rest some more,” Mother said, in a low, soothing voice.
“How long was I out?” Liane asked; her mouth was dry and her throat scratchy.
“An afternoon and the night.”
Liane pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples. Typical of her fevers, her head was pounding, and her back ached, accompanied by an itching, burning sensation spreading out from her spinal column. The rash would linger for days, but at least there wasn’t a massive black crow staring at her from the corner of her room. She’d been hallucinating again, but these past few times felt more real than usual… She shook her head; there wasn’t time; the fever had already robbed her of what little she had.
“Heinrich is going to attack during the Sun Ceremony,” Liane said, infusing all the confidence she had into that single statement.
Mother smoothed the blankets and wouldn’t look her in the eye.
“It was a bad dream, darling. You’ll see when you feel better,” she said.
“It wasn’t a dream.” She tried to grab Mother’s shoulder, but her grip was weak, the fever had sapped her strength, and her arm trembled with the effort of holding it up.
Mother gently removed her hand before sandwiching it between hers with a sigh. “Enough, Liane.”
“He’s put you under a spell that I’m immune to. He’s twisting all your minds with some diabolic magic, and planning to overthrow the throne.” The words spilled out of her like an overflowing cup, and the same urgency flared in her skin, making her skin warm.
