Aryn barely felt the sharp metal slice through the toughened flesh of his palm and he stared at the welling blood for a long moment before Irian guided him into sheathing the blade with his uninjured hand and smearing his index finger through the blood. “If we were protecting the ground we watched, it would be a circle we paced. But we ward ourselves. Gather earth, spit, and salt.”
“I don’t carry salt,” Aryn said. His voice sounded loud. Too loud.
Irian laughed. “Aye, but you do. Look in your belt, my brother. What kind of—”
“…Enchanter would you be if you let your ward go out without salt,” Aryn finished in a mumble as he reached into his belt and rifled through it. And lo and behold, a small vial of salt. Fine-grained, and worth a small fortune. Cupping his bleeding fist to keep the blood from spilling the precious grains, he added the salt, the earth and then spat into his hand, listening to Irian’s voice and making the paste with a curl of his lip.
He dimly heard Tyriel laugh.
“Never thought I’d see the day. Aryn makes a fastidious enchanter,” she murmured to Jaren. “Oh, wouldn’t he hate earth witchery?”
He was also distantly aware of Irian’s amused chuckle but he was too focused on the heat in his soul, something he hadn’t ever felt before.
“That’s the magic, boy. It’s becoming a part of you…the more we do together, the more it becomes a part of you,” Irian said softly. Aryn felt Irian settle more firmly inside his body and realized he was just a watcher now as Irian’s magic took over. “Not mine…ours…and soon…it will be yours.”
Symbols etched onto Aryn’s face, wrists and hands. One on his chest. Irian’s deep, guttural voice echoed out of Aryn’s mouth and foreign words filled the tunnel as the runes on Aryn’s skin seeped into his body. The heat spread outward and took on color and form, a silvery blue in the corner of Aryn’s eyes that disappeared every time he tried to focus on it.
“The ward. And you can see it. Enchantment takes its hold on you, more and more,” Irian mused as he left Aryn’s body with a sigh and shimmered back into view. He bowed to Tyriel and said, “He is protected against any magic that may be thrown at him—save for mind magic. The protection from mind magic has always come from the blade. Asrel’s magic still holds, after all these years. A fine blade, like none other in the world. Only the Jiupsu could have forged such a blade of steel and magic and have it hold after all this time.”
Jaren turned to look at them, his dark-green eyes gleaming against his pale skin.
“We must go—something calls to me,” he murmured. “One of them...I sense someone with fae blood. She’s suffering and screaming.”
He took off, moving at an impossible pace, considering the low ceiling and how it demanded they all scuttle half-bent over. Soon, though, the ceiling opened up, catching Aryn off guard.
He went still, uneasiness flooding him as he looked around.
“This isn’t part of the town sewer,” he muttered, more to himself than his companions.
“No, but I imagine pieces of shit spend a great deal of time here.” Tyriel wasn’t smiling as she made the cutting remark, her eyes shifting around as she took in the rough-hewn walls, carved into earth and stone by no natural means.
Dark sigils marked the space every few hand spans and Aryn suspected he knew it was no simple ink or paint used to make them.
Jaren stood in the direct center, staring upward. His breath came in hard, staccato bursts and a faint green glow burned from his eyes as he turned to glare at Tyriel.
“We need to move.”
The next few seconds happened too quickly for Aryn’s mind to process. Jaren leaped—it was more like he flew, but even the fae couldn’t do that.
Halfway to his goal, Tyriel lunged and caught him, twisting as she did so, bringing him back down to the hard-packed earth with a solid thud.
The fae male jerked back, snarling soundlessly.
“No,” Tyriel ordered.
Jaren went to shove past her and she shoved back.
Aryn knew the fae were strong. But this was the first time he’d seen such clear evidence. Jaren went flying back, striking the wall behind him with such force, dust flew out from the wall and small bits of gravel rained down.
“I hope nobody up there heard that,” Aryn muttered.