“Yes, sir.”
Lifting the lantern high, Cole walked past the runes again. The hairs on his neck tickled as he continued into the unknown.
He walked for what felt like an eternity. The tunnel narrowed and widened unpredictably, until suddenly the walls fell away entirely, and Cole found himself in the bowels of a building. A forest of wooden beams and posts supported a low ceiling. The faint smell of mildew and animal musk filled the air. His lantern light revealed crates stacked haphazardly against the walls. He heard the occasional rustle of movement—rats or perhaps something larger. Nearby, a low grunt echoed, unmistakably animal.
He came to a staircase and climbed cautiously. At the top, he emerged into a warehouse, its vast interior shadowed and cluttered. Crates of varying sizes formed mazelike rows, and the occasional glint of glass hinted at bottles or jars. A pair of goats in a cage beside a stack of barrels chewed idly, their eyes reflecting the lantern light with an eerie gleam. This wasn’t the warehouse they’d searched before.
Cole moved slowly, heading toward the wall in hopes of finding an exit. As he neared it, he spotted a door. A guard stood there, his stance casual but alert.
Blazes! Cole ducked behind a stack of crates and turned the lantern flame so low it was almost out. Hopefully, it would still be lit if he needed to come back for it.
The loss of light heightened his hearing, and every creak of the building, every animal noise, every scuff of his boots on the floor sounded louder than before.
Achan hadn’t bloodvoiced him. The runes, then—they must be painted somewhere on this warehouse, blocking his magic.
Cole peeked around the crates at the guard, the door, the wall until—sure enough—he spotted the runes, painted just above the doorframe, a place they couldn’t be seen from the street.
Well, that explained that.
His pulse quickened. No help was coming. Not until he made it outside.
How was he going to get past that guard? Should he attack the man? Look for a different door? What if he couldn’t get out?
He’d find Mistel and go back through the tunnel to the Black Boar.
Cole left the lantern behind and worked his way around the warehouse, searching for Mistel, for another door. The only thing he found was more guards—five, by his count, stationed in various places, though he couldn’t see that they were guarding anything in particular.
No sign of Mistel.
She could be anywhere. Or she might not be here at all. He didn’t want to waste time wandering. He needed to get outside so Achan could send in Lord Livna’s soldiers. They’d make quick work of this place, subdue the guards, and search it much faster than he could alone.
Doubts clawed at him, twisting in his chest until it was hard to breathe. Please, Arman, help me get through this. Thank you for the good in my life, for the king and Kurtz and Mistel and Matthias. Watch over my father. I pray that Kurtz and Zanna have already found a way to get him out of there. Help me find Mistel. Don’t let me fail.
He returned to where he’d stashed his lantern and studied the door, breath slowing as his racing thoughts settled. This seemed to be his only way out. The guard on duty yawned and shifted his weight but otherwise showed no sign of leaving. Cole thought back to Kurtz’s lessons.
Distract, disable, and don’t overthink it.
How to distract the guard? Create a noise to draw him away? Push the crates on his head? Try and talk his way past, pretending to belong?
All those options would make noise, which might call the attention of the other guards. He needed a silent option.
Cole fingered the rope belt around his waist. If he succeeded, Kurtz would love this.
He withdrew the sword and leaned it beside the lantern. Then he untied the knot in the rope belt and slipped it from around his waist. He gripped each end loosely, then crept to a position just behind the guard. The moment the man turned his head, Cole darted forward. He looped the rope around the guard’s neck and pulled tight. The guard stumbled, his hands clawing at the thick hemp. Cole kicked in the backs of the man’s knees, and when the guard collapsed, Cole wrestled him to the floor.
It wasn’t graceful, but it worked. He held tight until the guard went unconscious.
Cole tied the rope back around his waist and started to rise. Pain exploded at the back of his skull. White light spun across his vision, and he fell to his knees. His hands fumbled for his sword, but he only felt air. He’d left it with the lantern.
Another blow—a sharp punch to his temple—sent him sprawling onto his back.
A shadow loomed over him.
Blinking through the haze, Cole recognized the face. Drustan.
“Thanks for coming,” Drustan said. “You saved me the trouble of having to find you.”
Cole pushed up onto one elbow, his head swimming. “Where is Mistel?”
