“If you can reach her. Though not many can,” the older man in the cart replied.
“This is the first bit of good news we’ve had in a long time,” she said, hoisting her pack up higher.
“Don’t know how lucky we are. There’s also a rumor going around that a dragon attacked the city,” the man with the pack said, nodding toward the scorched walls.
“I heard! My stars, what is the Midnight Guard doing, sitting on their hands while the corrupted run mad? I saw a man on the road from Hutthausen, said his entire flock was devoured and he’s come to the city asking for compensation from the church.”
Erich flinched at this. If he had the means, he would have found a way to compensate those who were terrorized while he was in dragon form. But he not only lacked the geld, he would incriminate himself. But if he were king, he’d have geld a plenty to send, a voice whispered at the back of his mind. A thought he quickly dismissed. He wasn’t going back.
“The church is protecting the goddess’ chosen, as they should. If the forces of darkness are attacking, I’d say the church is doing right. We all should return to our villages and not trouble her with our small worries,” said the man with the withered arm.
“Hush now. She’ll heal you,” the woman with the pack chided.
“Should have left me behind to die in peace. If they catch me...”
Then the line lurched forward as more people were let in through the gate. And Erich noticed the space around them had grown, and the others eyed the man skeptically. Typically, those with the withering were treated as social pariahs, borne of the belief that it was contagious. The man in the cart and his son shifted uncomfortably. Erich felt for the man; he’d been subject to similar scorn and hatred from people once they’d realized what he was. This world wasn’t kind to those who were blighted. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right.
The line moved forward, and Erich noticed the guards were checking everyone who was attempting to pass through the gates, and as the man in the sling reached them, they turned him away. He and the woman with the cabbages retreated, dejected. By the time it was Erich’s turn, he was a jumble of nerves. The pit master’s token was lost, and after his performance last night at the gate, he wouldn’t be surprised if they turned him away or arrested him on sight. He intended to use the allure to convince the guards to let him through. And if that didn’t work, then he’d fight his way in if he must. Whatever it took to get back to Liane.
A guard waved him forward, and Erich held his breath as he attempted to school his features into indifference.
“Reason for entry?”
“I’m here on business,” Erich said, infusing his words with persuasion, glamouring the guard to see what he wanted them to see: another merchant coming in from the countryside. The clothes he was wearing, hopefully, helped sell the illusion.
His luck had run out, it seemed. The guard’s gaze snagged on him as he surveyed him up and down, and then he signaled for his nearby companion. Erich shifted from foot to foot, clenched his fist, and reached for his dagger, but he’d lost it when he’d shifted early. It was probably lying in a gutter somewhere in the city, along with the tattered remains of his clothes.
“Can you step aside for a moment?” they said.
Erich’s hand flexed, prepared for a fight, but he lacked weapons. He wasn’t even certain if he could transform and fight, even if he wanted to. Days of transformation had depleted him. The guard turned his back to him, presenting an opening for him to attack, but before he could strike, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Erich looked up to see one of Leonhard’s goons—the one with the scar across his face—grinning at him.
“He’s with me. Leonhard vouches for him.”
The guards looked annoyed but waved Erich to leave with the goon, who steered him down a street with a firm, beefy hand on his shoulder. They headed toward a nearby alleyway, where he half expected to get jumped by more of Leonhard’s men.
“Went on a little journey outside the city, I see,” the grunt commented.
“Thought I’d get some fresh air,” Erich remarked.
“Well, good thing you came back; I was about to hunt you down through the countryside.”
“Wouldn’t want that,” Erich replied, and maybe it was just his imagination, but the brand they’d put into his skin started to burn. Out of one trap and into another. He supposed he ought to be grateful that they hadn’t assassinated him straight away. Leonhard would throw him in the pit first, he was certain. Better to get a show and make some extra coin from Erich’s death to repay his debt.
As he’d suspected, three more armed hunters emerged from the shadow of the alleyway.
“I suggest you come along quietly,” the hunter said.
“I was hoping to meet with Leonhard. You’ve saved me fishing for an invitation,” Erich said.
Erich let them lead him to a carriage and throw him inside. Sandwiched between two of Leonhard’s hunters and with two more sitting in the carriage seat, there was no point in trying to escape.
They rode in tense silence until they reached Leonhard’s town house. As he was escorted up the steps, Erich had a sinking feeling. He’d almost prefer being taken to the coliseum. A servant answered the door and silently led Erich to Leonhard’s study. The same room where they’d first met. But this time, his face wasn’t pressed to the carpet, and he could see the dark oak shelves lining the walls and the old books. His desk was strewn with documents, and a half-drank bottle of port sat open next to his hand. Leonhard looked up as he entered, as if they had an appointment.
“There’s our wayward prince,” he said. So close to seeing his uncle, the comment stung.
Leonhard was taunting him. He was certain of it. Would this be the end of their cat-and-mouse game at last? Had he come to call in his debts?
“You wanted to meet with me?” Erich asked.
