Iron Blooded

The door crashed open with a bang, and Draxus and I ducked inside, swords at the ready. I had expected to be met by an inferno, but at a glance, there were no visible flames. The suite was long and narrow, the single lantern casting a dull glow across the upholstered four-poster bed. The lush carpets were neat and tidy, and a single redwood desk was set against the wall.

I strode toward them, eyes brushing over the titles in search of something suspicious.

Draxus patrolled to the end of the room, turning in a slow circle with his brows furrowed.

“There was smoke,” he said finally. “And I heard…at least I thought I heard…” He trailed off, and our eyes met.

“I heard it too,” I said. “And I saw the smoke as well.”

The tip of my sword dipped as I made for the window. I ran a hand along the seam at its center, but the window itself was stuck fast. The smoke hadn’t come from outside… it couldn’t have. A prickling feeling of unease made me turn, scanning the far wall. To all appearances, the suite was in perfect order with nothing out of place. It was that that gave me the most pause.

Draxus made to put away his sword, but I held out a hand as I continued to examine the wall.

“There is something off…” I said, my mind turning over as I considered the possibilities. Just then a wisp of silvery smoke emerged from the naked wall. It drifted upward toward the high beams of the ceiling and back toward the door.

Draxus and I exchanged a look.

I nodded at the memory and strode forward, reaching out a hand. I felt along the wall, searching for a familiar feeling. When my fingers passed through a support beam, I froze. I had known there was a good chance that we would face strange magic. Ser Connel himself had said that my attack had been the result of occult magic. But here again was confirmation of something unnatural. I turned to Draxus.

“Find Kato and Ser Connel. If we’re going to face this—to face him—then we should do so prepared. Draxus’s lips thinned, but he nodded and made for the door. Long, tense minutes passed as I paced, waiting. When he finally returned, both Ser Connel and Kato were grim-faced.

“There is something strange going on in this place,” said Ser Connel, stepping forward. His grip on his sword was tight.

“We’ve questioned several of the Patrons, and many have claimed unusual happenings over the past week. Loss of memory, struggles recalling details. The type of thing one might associate with either a mind mage or a witch.”

I grimaced as the memory of that night flooded back to me. A fight with the mind mage that had very nearly resulted in my death.

“Is that likely?” I asked Ser Connel. The old knight scratched his chin, then reluctantly shook his head. “I do not believe so. What happened back there in the jailhouse—the flames that burned that note? That speaks more of the occult at least as I know it. I’m no magus, but the Inquisition has guidelines for reporting such behavior. It could have been one of the reasons the Lady inquisitor was drawn to Ceris.”

“And now she’s gone.” A muscle twitched in Draxus’s jaw. “Summoned by the crowned prince to explain what happened in this cursed city. Meanwhile, the remnants of the cult are left to fester.”

“Not for long.”

I drew Iron Fang from its sheath, and the cursed blade let off a small hum of power as it came free. Draxus was correct. When Ceris had been reclaimed—when the mind mage had been killed—we had assumed that the Kadian Army had been victorious. Occupied as we were with dealing with the threat of the red ork horde, we had failed to address the real threat that still lurked within the city.

“We end this here,” I said grimly, gripping the hilt of the blade that, only hours ago, had been my last line of defense against an unholy beast intent on devouring me.

I stepped forward, lifting the blade. At first nothing happened. Then the wall seemed to warp, bending like light through a glass bottle. In moments the illusion fell away, and I was left staring at the dark mouth of a stone staircase. Cold, rancid air struck me, and I grimaced as I drew a sleeve across my face.

Ser Connel drew his sword with a soft rasp, his eyes hard.

“Whatever is down there,” he said. “We can let none of it live. Man, beast, or other.” He met my gaze, searching for any doubt. I stared back with only resolve. I had seen what this cult was capable of… seen the murals on the wall. That humans were capable of evil, there was no doubt. But that mankind could choose to worship demons… That they could willingly perform rituals to raise abominations like what had come out of the lord governor that dark night. That was entirely unnatural.

So instead, I raised my chin and met the night’s gaze.

“There will be no survivors.”

Ser Connel dipped his head, and after a moment, he ducked past me and into the dark mouth of the staircase. With our blades out, we descended the stone steps slowly and carefully. The occasional sound drifted upward, and I strained my ears. Mumbling. The sound of voices, but the words were impossible to make out.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

I glanced at Draxus and saw a similar look of unease on his face. A cold breeze kissed my cheek, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I’d felt this feeling before. Cold, foreboding unease—like the way I’d felt when we had discovered that dead horse on the road before the shadow kin attacked. Or the feeling I’d had as we descended into the depths of the city sewer.

Perhaps it was instinct, but the wrongness in the air had triggered my senses. Almost without conscious thought, I reached within myself and touched that thrumming power in my core.

Warmth flooded my veins as mana skittered along my arms.

Whatever we would face, this time I would be prepared.

Up ahead, Ser Connel slowed, and I saw the knight cock his head to one side. I came to a halt, straining my ears. The sound of mumbling and whispering had grown louder. There was something else… a faint humming and a charge in the air.

“Magic,” mouthed Draxus grimly. I nodded and tightened my grip on my blade.

We descended slowly, with Ser Connel and I in the lead and Draxus and Kato trailing behind to either side. Below, a soft orange glow permeated the semi-darkness of the stairwell.

Shadows shifted, and this time, a voice drifted toward us.

“Forgive me, Master. Had I known the knight was a threat, I would have ensured his death myself. I merely thought—”

Another voice, this one low and raspy, answered. I furrowed my brow, trying to hear the words, but they were difficult to make out.

The unknown speaker’s answer came moments later.

“Of course,” he said. I heard the rasp of cloth on skin, and moments later, a shadow on the wall flickered.

“I beg the pardon of the council,” he said. “And I request more time. The presence of the Kadian Army was an unexpected obstacle but no more than a delay. Already, our agents have begun to gather intel Lord Blackthorne and those that follow him. Enais may have named him Spear of the King, but his influence only extends so far.”

Ser Connel cut a sharp look toward me, his lips curving downward. I knew what he was thinking. I had only heard the Godking’s name spoken once, and that was by Lord Blackthorne himself in the way of explanation.

To hear another say it so freely was oddly jarring. Though I supposed it was to be expected of a cultist that defied the throne.

We had reached the bottom of the steps now, and I lifted a finger to my lips. Slowly, Ser Connel and I crept forward. I pressed my back to the cool stone and inched my head around the corner, trying to see. A small stone room with an arched ceiling lay before me. Tables crammed with old books, scrolls, and what looked to be glass pitchers and vials lined the walls. The books themselves were in disarray, as if someone had thrown them open in a great hurry. Loose pages lay scattered across the floor.

A man stood in the center of the room, his back to us. He wore a hooded cloak that obscured his features, and his arms were clasped behind his back. There was something crusted on his fingertips… something that looked a lot like old blood.

I scanned the room quickly, looking for the source of the other voice. But there was only the one man. I glanced at Ser Connel, but the old knight’s attention seemed drawn elsewhere.

“I thank the council for its wisdom,” the man drawled, yanking my gaze back to him. “I can assure you that your trust is not misplaced.”

This time I could hear the low response.

“See that it is not,” came the gruff response. A familiar nasal tone that I had heard before. A chill prickled my skin as I focused on the hooded figure and what lay beyond him.

In the corner of the room was a blurred blue outline of another. His dark cloak billowed around him like water, and shadows seemed to ebb and flow from the strange light that surrounded him. The shadow magus… but not quite. His image was distorted, almost static. And his voice sounded far away.

Wherever the shadow magus was, he was not in this room—at least physically.

Behind me, Kato and Draxus moved to either side of the stone room, their weapons ready. I held up a hand as the magically projected image of the shadow magus spoke.

“Though the failures of Ceris may be forgiven, the council still has questions. There is still much to answer for.”

The hooded figure shifted slightly, and though I couldn’t make out his features, I saw the tightness to his shoulders. Tension, maybe even fear. Whoever this shadow council was, it was clear that the cultist was wary of them.

“The mind mage,” continued the shadow magus. He tilted his head. “She made certain assurances, ones that set the expectations for our foothold in the south. Her failure may have been forgiven—especially with the presence of Blackthorne himself. Her death, however, was… unexpected. How did the inquisitor come to kill her?”

I had been creeping slowly forward behind a low oak table stacked high with books. At his words, I froze, eyes fixed on the image of the magus. My heart began to pound.

“Forgive me, Magus, but it was not the inquisitor that killed her. At least, that is what our agents claim. It was that knight, the one oath sworn to the son of the Count of Basset.”

The shadow magus’s head turned, and though his face was lost in shadow, the image of him appeared to be conversing with someone I couldn’t see. After a moment, he turned back.

“She was trained by Evander himself, and if rumors are to be believed, one of his most gifted students. No mere knight would have the training or capability to kill her on his own.”

There was a weight to his words, an unspoken implication that the cultist seemed to grasp. My pulse thrummed in my core as I waited. Beside me, Ser Connel tried to get my attention, but my gaze was fixed on the figures in front of me.

“Then you believe,” asked the cultist tentatively, “that there is a chance that he—”

“I believe,” said the shadow magus, cutting the man off, “that any threat to the rising of the red moon must be snuffed out. Lord Blackthorne may hold power in the south, but he holds little to no sway over other provinces in the kingdom. The council was given promises, and we grew restless for results. Three months is all we can give you. Rebalance the scales, travel forth, and alert the other chapters of the herald’s arrival. We will deal with the lords and their pet knights.”

He spat the last words like an insult.

The cultist bowed his head.

“As the council demands.”

I was so focused on the interaction that I failed to notice when my arm brushed against the table. The corner of a book caught on my bracer, and I blanched, lunging for the tome as it slipped off the table. I managed to catch it before it hit the ground. But the resulting ruffle of pages was all it took.

The cultist’s head snapped sideways, and through the stacks of books, crimson eyes met mine. The shadow magus made a hiss that sounded far less human than I might have imagined.

“It seems you have a rat infestation. Take care of it.”

And with that, the blurred magical image winked out of existence, leaving the four of us face-to-face with an angry cult warlock.