All knowledge was worth having, and the risk of the Midnight Guard taking note of him in the crowd was low. They had enough on their plate keeping the masses under control. People stood on rooftops and hung out of windows to watch the closed carriage as it inched its way toward the temple. Erich caught glimpses of it from the alleys and back ways he traveled to avoid the bulk of the crowds. They kept the curtains drawn, robbing him of an opportunity to see her en route. When the carriage reached its destination, the crowd surged again. They were pushed back by the Midnight Guards. Erich had to elbow his way to the front of the temple steps. The guards stood, arms interlocked, in two rows, preventing anyone from getting close enough to touch her. Despite the well-armed wall of flesh in their way, the people grasped at her. Their desperation was reaching a fever pitch.
The stench of unwashed bodies and sickness turned Erich’s stomach. He was jostled as hands pulled him back in an attempt to steal his place. Under normal circumstances, being this close to strangers would make him uneasy, but this time, his dragon twisted and thrashed against its chains, and he feared it’d break loose among the crowd. The effort to maintain control was making his head pound more. He couldn’t so much as bend an elbow without accidentally jabbing someone in the ribs. He’d thought the crowds in Artria were bad, but Basilia was unbearable.
But he wanted to see her safely enter the temple. With this many guards around, they’d keep her party safe. As much as he hated to admit it, she was safest in the church’s care, for now.
The carriage doors opened, and Liane stepped out, looking shaken and terrified. Six guards escorted her up the temple steps as the people cried out for her to turn their way. She didn’t glance at the crowd, even as Erich’s gaze burned into the back of her skull, willing her to find him. Which was for the best. Erich had a sinking suspicion she’d seen him at the dock, and when she’d stopped to find him, the crowd had swarmed. The thought made his chest constrict. Even when he was trying to protect her, he endangered her. Attempting to see her was a selfish indulgence, and yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away until she passed through the temple doors and they slammed shut behind her.
With Liane’s safety ensured, he retreated. As he did, the pilgrims chanted her name, a rising chorus demanding to see the goddess’ avatar. When their demands were not met, they grew agitated, pushing harder and harder. The line of guards retaliated with clubs, dispersing the crowd, who let out a scream that rippled like the tide. Erich was nearly out of the square when the pilgrims fled. He knew they’d be back. The city was swarming with the devoted, seeking a miracle. More would arrive as the word spread. They would not be dissuaded, and Erich had to admit he shared their sentiments. Fritz couldn’t heal his curse, but maybe Liane could.
It was what had driven him, against his better instincts, to come to Basilia. He’d made a deal with a rogue elf and risked capture by the Midnight Guard all because of his vain hope that he might be saved.
The crowds thinned away from the temple, and the tension in his chest eased a measure. Though he doubted he’d be able to unclench his jaw and relax his shoulders until he, Liane, and Fritz were out of this Trinity-damned city. He and Fritz had arrived in Basilia by a swift merchant ship shortly before Liane, and by then, rumors had already been swirling about the goddess’ avatar. They spoke of her miracle-working and her ability to heal the ill and, perhaps, heal corruption. Fritz said her power had awakened, and Erich wondered how much she’d learned since they’d last spoken. Could she perform miracles, or had the gossip twisted the truth? Erich had to know.
First, they needed to get Liane away from the Church of Sol. The church would wield her like a sword to exterminate the elves and everything they deemed unholy. Fritz had seen it in a vision, and though Erich didn’t trust much, he trusted Fritz.
Erich’s footsteps dragged as he walked. Summer had passed its peak, and he felt the gray cloud of autumn looming on the horizon. They’d spent weeks planning and preparing, but he felt woefully underprepared. The Church of Sol had a mountain of magic, influence, and arms, and Erich felt as if he were standing at the foot of it, unsure how he’d reach that summit.
The wind blew down the street, and he caught a faint sour odor. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, but rather than look over his shoulder and alert his stalker, he kept walking. Residents passed him by, disinterested in him and muttering about the influx of pilgrims in the city. Without seeing his stalker, he couldn’t say for certain, but with the lack of metal clinking or the sweet smell of magic, he assumed whoever was following him wasn’t part of the Midnight Guard. He’d felt eyes watching him from the shadows before. This town was crawling with Midnight Guards, and at first, he’d chalked it up to paranoia. But now, he could hear leather-booted footsteps echoing behind him on the cobbles. When he stopped, pretending to examine a shop window, the footsteps halted as well. A tingle raced up his spine, and he made an abrupt turn down an alleyway.
The footsteps increased their pace as they followed. Two sets of them—large men from the sound of their footfalls. The dragon, already too close to the surface, roiled beneath Erich’s skin, seeking to break free of the tight chains that kept it in control. The mental barriers that he held it in place with were meant to prevent a transformation before the full moon, when the dragon became too powerful and overcame him. He turned a corner, hurried down an empty street, and abruptly met a dead end. It would appear to them that he was cornered, but he’d led them there for a reason. These ruffians were doing this outside the law, and he wasn’t about to alert the Midnight Guard to his presence with a street brawl.
Erich turned to face the empty alleyway. There was nothing there but shadows. But he could sense the stalkers close by.
“Come out. I know you’re following me,” he said.
Silence answered, and for a moment, he thought he’d imagined the footsteps. Until three people stepped into view—one more than he’d counted. Either he was losing his touch, or there was mischief afoot. The largest of them had a jagged scar bisecting his face and an empty, puckered socket where his eye used to be. The second man was missing a thumb and pointer finger, as if they’d been bitten clean off. The smallest man was well-dressed and unscarred, a strange juxtaposition to his comrades. Erich also realized, as he tried to study the smallest man, that his eyes kept drifting away from the man as if some spell were repelling him from looking too closely. Not good.
“You’re rather brave, corrupted,” the smallest man, and the presumed leader, said in a silken tone.
“I’m impatient, is what I am. Why are you following me?” Erich asked, his hand resting on the pommel of his dagger.
“I’m doing what all men must—earning geld. Your head will fetch a good price, I think.”
Hunters. He should have known. He’d been so preoccupied with the Midnight Guard that he hadn’t thought about the Hunters’ Guild. Basilia had the largest group of organized hunters and smugglers on the continent. He hadn’t been as inconspicuous as he’d thought.
“I think I’d rather keep it, thank you.”
The man shrugged. “Suit yourself. Watching these two fight is half the fun.”
The largest man was wielding an axe, twice the size of his head. It would have a slow swing but a deadly, bone-crushing strike. The best thing Erich could do was try to avoid it.
Erich drew his dagger from its halter, and the axe man laughed at the sight of it.
“Is that all you have?” he asked.
“It’s all I need.”
Erich lunged at the leader. As expected, the big man swung his axe toward Erich. He dodged and backed up a step, and the smaller lackey pinned him between him and the larger one. What he hadn’t expected was for the leader to move, lightning quick, out of harm’s way. Erich slashed the axe wielder at the elbow, and his massive weapon sagged. Erich turned to the smaller one, who blew a cloud of something foul-smelling into Erich’s face, which rendered him partially blind.
Stumbling in the dark, Erich narrowly avoided another crushing swing of the large man’s axe. Someone let loose a bloodcurdling scream, and Erich jabbed in the direction he last remembered the big man to have been in. He heard a loud thud as the axe fell to the ground, and using his heightened sense of hearing, Erich rushed the man, grasped him by the neck, and twisted. A sickening crack sounded as the man fell to the ground. Erich could hardly see through the haze of poison, and his sense of smell was impaired. The dragon inside him roared, eager for bloodshed, hungry to destroy them all, but the sensible part of him held on. It had been long enough since the last full moon that he had greater control. Erich used his dragon sight to find an opening, sliding in close enough to stab a dagger into the poisoner’s ribs. He crumpled to the ground.
As soon as they were dispatched, Erich stumbled away, half blind, for several city blocks before he found a fountain that he could dunk his face in and wash the poison from his eyes. His dragon blood would take care of the rest. But even with his quick healing, his vision remained blurry. A disadvantage he couldn’t afford should the men recover and come after him. Erich took the long way back to the inn. He was afraid that he was being followed and had to loop around several neighborhoods before he was confident that he wasn’t leading the hunters to Fritz. If a corrupted like him fetched a high bounty, he could just imagine the geld they’d offer for an elf.
That was why Erich preferred being alone. If you didn’t have companions, you didn’t have to worry about risking their safety. Worrying about someone else only made his job more complicated. By the time he returned, the sun was high, and he was exhausted.
The inn they’d chosen was a shabby, run-down establishment in one of the more unsavory parts of town. When Erich entered, Fritz was sitting in the common room. His body was angled toward the flames, and there was a blank expression on his face. It was a painfully uncanny scene, and Fritz may as well have waved a flag over his head that declared him nonhuman. Thankfully, the innkeeper was the sort who accepted bribes, and Erich, anticipating this, had paid her extra when they’d rented the room, just in case. She was the common room’s only other occupant, and her gaze was averted.
Erich fell heavily into the wooden chair across from Fritz, startling him from his vision. Fritz blinked at Erich in a haze, before shaking himself like a wet dog. How Fritz had survived this long among humans was a mystery. At times, he seemed wise beyond his years, while at other times, he seemed terribly young and naive.
