The rest of the skirmish was over, except for Arg pulling his rapier from another thrall. Despite the knife still in his side, Arg wore an exhilarated smile. “That was an exceptional fight. I think I might have broken a sweat.”

  “Where’s everyone else?” Calvin asked. Eight dead thralls lay on the ground, and Dorothy stood timidly near the trees, but the others were gone.

  Arg gestured toward the house with his rapier. “Pelias said someone was hiding inside and might escape if we didn’t enter and find them. So they went in and left the remaining thralls to me.”

  Calvin nodded and entered the house. The first room was exactly what one might expect from a little hermitage: a table, a chair, several cupboards, and a bear hide rug. The room was otherwise empty, so Calvin followed his ears to the next room. It had a small bed in one corner, a dresser in another, and a window looking out toward the front of the house. Pelias and Bob were wrestling a gag onto a Rikchay cultist, and Shale was helping a shaky Julius to his feet. “The stars were falling,” the knight said, a haunted expression shadowing his face. “The sky was void of light.”

  “Rikchay venom,” Calvin said. “They make you hallucinate so they can use your fears against you.”

  “It seemed so real,” Julius muttered.

  Calvin patted his shoulder. “I know. But it wasn’t, and it won’t be. It’s okay.”

  Julius smiled and moved to clap Calvin’s shoulder in thanks, but Calvin dodged it. Julius frowned. “You’re hurt. Let me—”

  “No, no,” Calvin said. “I’m fine. Please don’t.”

  “Oh, that’s right. You allergy. Sorry, my bad.”

  “It’s fine.” Calvin scanned the room but didn’t notice anything that might hide a holding cell for Rikchay’s captives. “Did you guys find the cellar?”

  “No,” Shale said. “We were too busy with that guy.” She pointed at the cultist. “Pelias insisted we subdue him without injuring him, which gave him the chance to spit at Julius.”

  Pelias nodded. “We need to interrogate him. While we do that, you two should find the captives and take them back to town.”

  “Now?” Calvin asked. “Here?”

  “I have the gear,” Pelias said, gesturing to his pack, “and doubt bringing him back to town is wise.”

  Calvin shrugged and turned back to the front room. “Alright. I’ll help them find the captives first.”

  Arg and Dorothy met them in the front room. Arg’s wound was healed, and he was playing with the thrall’s knife. Dorothy’s gaze locked on Calvin’s shoulder injury. She stretched out her hand. “Let me heal that for you.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Calvin stepped back, raising his hands wardingly. “No, thank you. It looks worse than it is.”

  “He’s allergic to divine healing,” Julius said, “Or else I would have healed him already.”

  Dorothy paused. “You, too? I thought— I thought it was just your friend. Where is he?”

  Calvin’s stomach twisted. “He’s— his injury crippled him. He retired.”

  Dorothy lowered her gaze. “The way you talked about his condition, I thought it was unique to him.”

  “We were only talking about him then. I didn’t think I’d need to mention myself.”

  “Excuse me,” Shale said, “but I found the cellar.” She and Julius had peeled back the bear rug, revealing a trap door beneath it. They found four captives tied up in the darkness below. Calvin instructed the mercenaries to take the captives back to Rowan City, then returned to the bedroom to help his men with the interrogation.

  Pelias and Bob had already secured the cultist to the bed, his wrists and ankles bound with ropes and stretched toward the corners of the bed. Like Bob, the cultist looked almost human. The only giveaways were the patches of dark green scales scattered across his skin and his reptilian yellow eyes. He glared daggers at Calvin as if wishing his expression alone could kill his captors and let him go free.

  But seeing as the cultist’s expression didn’t give Calvin an ounce of pain, or even concern, he proceeded to the cultist’s side and pulled off the gag. Immediately, the cultist spat at him. The glob of spit landed right on Calvin’s cheek. He wiped it off with an amused smirk. “You already tried that. It won’t work again.”

  “Kahaza curse you,” the cultist said.

  “He can try.”

  “He knows your greatest fears. He can make them a reality.”

  “They’re already—” Calvin winced as his stomach twisted sharply.

  The cultist cocked his head. “Already what?”

  Calvin shook his head. “Nothing.” He straightened. “Let’s just do this. Pelias, you have the negotiators?”

  Pelias pulled the box from his pack and handed it to Calvin. It was small but heavy. Its surface was smooth except for tiny pinholes in the lid, and a combination lock held it closed. Calvin set it on the bed, entered the code, and opened it. Inside the box writhed between twenty and thirty snakes. They were small, the biggest only as thick as a pinky finger and the length of a man’s arm. Each was solid colored: either red, black, or white. The snakes slithered over each other, bathing in an acidic fluid that half-filled the box.

  Calvin dipped his hand into the box and drew out a handful of snakes. They slithered around his arms and between his fingers, opening lizard-like jaws and hissing in anticipation.

  The cultist clenched his teeth and pulled at his ropes, but he was bound fast.

  “Talkus requires your service,” Calvin said. “Leave behind your meaningless life and accept your master.” He touched the cultist’s chin, and the snakes poured onto his face. The cultist shook his head violently, forcing some of the snakes off of him, but they crawled right back up. Still, they’d need help to complete the negotiation. Calvin and Pelias seized the cultist’s head and forced his jaw open. The eager snakes piled down his throat as he kicked and shook and yelled.

  A gasp pulled Calvin’s attention to the bedroom door, and he caught a glimpse of Shale’s horrified face just before she closed it. Bob cocked his head. “Did you hear something, sir?”

  “It’s nothing.” Calvin gasped and clutched his stomach as it twisted. “Me. It was me.” His stomach twisted tighter, but that only added credibility to his claim. “I’ll be okay. I’ll get it under control.”