sorcerer first. It’s time. We must move—fast. Aryn, it will get very dark in a moment. If you can’t see, let Irian guide you. We can’t wait any longer.”
Aryn heard her urgency and was about to ask for the cause.
But she was moving and following instinct, he moved with her, seeking out the narrow staircase built into the hacked-out stone wall.
“Don’t touch the sigils, brother,” Irian warned as they drew close. “Nasty work there.”
Aryn didn’t need that warning. His skin crawled just looking at the foul marks.
He could barely make out a deeper shadow when Tyriel stopped.
“The door,” she murmured, reaching out to grip Aryn’s upper arm. “Hold steady, Aryn. Jaren. Now.”
An explosion shook the ground. Aryn clenched his teeth against the curses that wanted to tear out of him, pressed his head back against the stone and told himself he wasn’t going to be buried alive with a couple of insane fae for all eternity.
The shaking went on and on.
“That…” Jaren said, raising his voice to be heard above the earth’s protestations. Abruptly, everything stilled. “Should do it. The sorcerer’s circle is broken. We can enter.”
Aryn’s ears popped, the pressure changing yet again, and although muffled, he could hear beyond the door just in front of Tyriel now.
Voices. Men shouting and curses, a few quiet cries.
“We go now,” Tyriel said.
They rushed in. In the flickering light of the fire, Aryn saw Tyriel fling one hand to the fire—the flames rose as if reaching for her—then died, gone in a blink, not even embers glowing in the hearth of the massive fireplace dominating the north wall.
Candles guttered and lanterns went dark.
In just a few heartbeats, the small temple was as dark as a tomb, only a few beams of moonlight falling through the gaps in window coverings offering any illumination. People went still. Others crashed into tables or benches or companions while cries of alarm and cursing rent the air.
“My turn…our turn,” Irian said, reminding Aryn of the plan they’d put together in the inn’s room earlier.
Aryn let Irian guide him, yielding to the experienced enchanter as the scent of blood, swear and fear painted the air.
Irian had laid the groundwork for the enchantment before they left the inn and now, pulling a small strip of paper from its place inside Aryn’s vest, he lifted it upward and Irian—he—they blew on it.
It caught flame.
Again, Aryn saw sigils. These had been written by his own hand and as the flames touched them, they burned bright, then disappeared.
Before the first was gone, a man had started to scream.
Fear spread out from them, a magical illusion set to affect anybody and everybody who’d come to this place seeking the worst of foul vices.
“Lets show these monsters what it is like to be the prey, my brother.”
Irian settled behind Aryn’s eyes, almost like Aryn was drawing on a set of protective gloves—a useful tool, not a blindfold. Somebody fell into him and through the enchantment, he knew it was one of the abusers.
“Yes,” Aryn said simply, replying to Irian’s comment. Then he drove his sword into the man’s gut, sight unseen.
Someone—a man—began to chant.
Jaren shouted out in high elvish.
“He’s found the girl…no, several girls…one is wounded.” Irian translated, speaking in a practical tone as Aryn drove his blade into another stomach, turned, hacked, sliced, turned, sliced. More high elvish, this time in a husky feminine voice. “She wants the other long-ear to find –” Jaren again. “Never mind, he’s a fast fucker, even if he is a bloody ass.”
The chanting continued.
“Irian? Hear that?”
He felt Irian’s focus sharpen and they both moved toward the unfamiliar masculine voice.
Tyriel spoke again, answering something from Jaren. A door flew open. Fresh air rushed in as some of the men fled, seeking to escape before being identified.
Aryn went still as a small form crashed into him. Before the youth could dart away, he reached out, snagged the arm. With Irian’s spectral eyesight, he could see the young woman, and the other two she tried to hide behind her slim form. “It’s alright,” Aryn said. “We’re here to help.”
But the girl jerked against his hold, likely too scared to believe in anything.
He didn’t blame her. But he didn’t let go, either. Some of the men had started fighting back and while they were no threat to Tyriel or her fae friend, these scared lasses here were a different matter.
Once they were within arm’s length of the door, he let them go. “Just wait—”