Maybe Father would stop looking for him then.
Ivar shook his head and strode toward the carriage; Erich fell behind, pretending to strap his dagger onto his hip while he looked for an escape route. A man entered the alleyway, walking toward them with his head down. Erich attempted to move out of his way, but the man collided with his shoulder, knocking him back a step. Spinning, Erich reached for his dagger, but drew a stick from the holster instead.
He blinked at it in confusion, then looked to the ground and then up to see the man running back down the alleyway. He’d stolen his dagger. But why steal it of all things? He didn’t bother to question it, and chased after him, as Ivar shouted his name.
On the main street, early morning vendors pulling carts of produce blocked the road, and Erich had to weave around them. Then a woman with her baby strapped to her back, pulling a cart full of fresh-baked pastries, stepped into his path, and he slid to a stop to prevent a collision. Craning his neck, Erich kept his eyes on the man, tall and thin and walking at a half jog. The thief darted down another alleyway and out of sight.
The city was like a labyrinth; if he didn’t keep up, he’d lose the dagger forever. After apologizing to the woman, he leapt over her cart to continue his pursuit. He couldn’t lose that dagger. Lucky for him the alley narrowed into a dead end, and there was nowhere for the thief to escape. Erich stalked closer as the thief turned to face him, the clerk.
Somehow, he’d escaped the prison. Perhaps he was working with those thugs. Were they angry that he’d turned him down and taken the dagger to lure him into a trap?
“Give me back what you stole, and I won’t pummel you,” Erich said, holding out his hand for the dagger.
The clerk held it loosely at his side, and his demeanor shifted. Gone was the timid, shy clerk and in his place was a confident creature staring at him with uncanny golden eyes. Erich glanced over his shoulder, expecting someone to be closing in from behind, but they were alone. What made him suddenly sure?
“It’s thrice we’ve met now. Surely, it’s time we exchanged names. I’m Fritz. And you are?”
“In no mood for games.”
“Strange name.” A mischievous smile curved his lips.
Growling, Erich lunged for the dagger but grasped nothing. The clerk blinked in and out—there and gone in an instant. Not anticipating his sudden disappearance, Erich stumbled and caught himself on a brick wall.
“Seeing as you drew a dagger on me the first time we met, I thought it was safer to approach you unarmed. Hear me out, and I promise to return your weapon to you,” the clerk said.
Erich turned to face him, hand clenched into a fist.
“And what is it you want?” Erich hated to admit it, but he was intrigued; he rarely met other corrupted, and none were faster or stronger than him.
“I need a way into the palace.” He nodded in its direction, to where the tips of its spires were just barely visible over the city skyline.
“I can’t get you in. Now I’ve heard you out; give me my dagger.”
“Then did I hear wrong? You weren’t looking for the Miracle Worker of Artria?”
“Listen, I imagine you had to sell your soul to get out of that hell hole. But I’m not interested in stardust. There was a misunderstanding.”
“And I’m not selling false hope. I’m authentic.”
He was too young for a healer; the healing arts took decades to master. But while he held his dagger, Erich would play along.
“Prove it.”
“Very well.”
Grabbing his chin, the clerk’s flesh spread like clay in a potter’s hands, forming a cleft. Then he pinched his cheeks, and they swelled rosy and plump. A subtle stroke across his eyelids and his eyes changed from brown to a startling green.
Mouth agape, Erich stared at a stranger’s face. Magic, real magic. Not the fractured remnants hoarded by the Church of Sol, or poisoned corruption. After years of searching, had he found it, a cure?
Erich shook his head. After six years of living as a ghost, he couldn’t just stroll into the heart of the most powerful empire without Father finding out.
“I’ll do anything else; name your price. Do you want geld? I have plenty.”
Fritz shook his head. “I have no use for coin. What I need is the Golden Blade.”
The Golden Blade, a powerful magic sword, brought kingdoms to their knees. And was currently in the possession of Empress Eveline, ruler of Neolyra and champion of light. She’d made it her mission to eradicate corrupted like him. Even if he were willing to enter the palace, stealing that sword would be a suicide mission.
“I can’t help you.”Erich shook his head.
