Salamin finished peeling another batch of taters, the slimy peels clinging to his fingers and arms. Elian and Caden worked together in a corner packaging dried meat.. Dim light from the upper windows illuminated a wooden table, wood stove oven, and storage containers scattered about the stone floor.

  The mage Akar had kept Salamin under his watchful eye. His sunken cheekbones and dark eyes had a hawk like appearance. There was no doubt in Salamin’s mind that they suspected something, and rightly so. He only hoped the dark spell lasted on Farak, and the command to forget. It would be very close with their departure tomorrow morning.

  Salamin could feel breath on the back of his neck, and looked up. Akar was appraising his work, nodding with his arms crossed. “Your last night of comfort,” the mage said. “Better enjoy it.”

  Salamin gazed up at him. “I will.”

  The mage gazed back at Caden and Elian, then his lips twisted up in a smile. “Every five years, you lot come through.” His eyes sparkled in the dim light. “And every five years, the catacombs are their final resting spot.”

  Salamin nodded, only half listening. His thoughts were on the first gate. How had the initiation changed with the dark elements? In the past, those with potential could get in and those without, could not pass the entrance. It had been the simplest way to root out people who could not wield much power.

  Everything had changed. As well as the need to gain a Fury Stone. A once near impossible task.

  “This time will be different,” Salamin said. “I don’t believe that someone anyone has to die. There is another way.”

  Akar smiled knowingly. “They all say that. A way without sacrifice has not been found. Not for the first gate.”

  Salamin remained silent. He would not argue the point.

  “My advice to you is to keep your eyes open and watch your back.” Akar nodded his head towards Elian. “Get into Elian’s good graces. He will be the leader, and he will decide who…” The mage paused, and made a slicing motion across his throat.

  Leaving that decision to Elian would not happen, Salamin thought.

  Salamin finished chopping and helped Elian and Caden load up the carriage. Walking along the corridors, he could hear whispers among the mages about Farak’s disappearance. The spell held so far. He still felt the strange energy from using that dark spell, like a slime that couldn’t be washed off.

  He caught Lane coming in from the stables outside. Her eyes were downcast, her posture slumped. Something was off. “Lane, are you alright?”

  She looked up at him with those sharp black eyes. “I’m fine. Just the jitters.”

  Salamin nodded. Tomorrow, they’d start the trek for the catacombs and their lives were about to change forever.

  “I’m going to sneak into the library at sundown,” Salamin said in a low voice. “I want to confirm my suspicions about the statue.”

  “What was it doing in Paxton’s office?”

  Salamin shook his head. “Their power comes from a new source, and that statue is a key.” He needed to know much more before he infiltrated the Order. It would be a matter of life and death.

  “They’re keeping close tabs on us,” Lane said. “I don’t think now is a good time to be sneaking around.”

  Salamin inclined his head. It would be risky, but it was necessary. “I’m going after midnight. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  Lane glared at him. “Fine, I’m coming.”

  ***

  Salamin lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. The moon was waning and only a sliver of light cast into the sleeping quarters. Caden’s soft snoring filled the chamber, and Elian and Parric had not stirred on their cots.

  The big day was tomorrow, and the entire town would send them off. There would be a celebration, but not one they would attend. The initiates would be focused on what lay ahead.

  He pushed the covers off and sat up, slipping on his boots. All was quiet outside the corridor. Carefully Salamin crept out into the corridor to women’s sleeping chambers.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  He peered inside the smaller chamber lined with six cots. Staya was lying on her side away from the door, and Lane had her eyes closed. Women were not usually present in the outer Keeps and had their own organization, the Morais within the Order. No doubt that had been corrupted as well.

  Salamin was about to leave when Lane’s eyes shot open. She turned to check on Staya and slipped out from under her covers.

  She had her boots on already, and they walked through the empty halls together. The torches were no longer lit, and all they had was memory of the layout, and putting one step in front of the other.

  Salamin passed the spelled chamber where Farak lay inside. He placed his fingers on the outer door and resisted the urge to check on him. Would it weaken the spell? They still had until morning. A prickle formed on the back of his neck, and he left, following Lane through the shadows.

  They went up the stone steps quietly and reached the upper level. The library was not far, and they passed Paxton’s office.

  “Luminas,” Salamin whispered as they entered the library. A small wisp of light ignited in his palm, and he held it up to the surrounding books. There had to be something about that statue.

  “You have to teach me how to do that,” Lane whispered, gazing at the blue light glowing in Salamin’s hand. She turned and began scouring the books. Lane taking the lower shelves and Salamin above.

  They worked in silence, taking in the titles, and occasionally pulling one out.

  “I found it,” Lane said, and had to lower her voice. “This is the statue. It’s on the cover.”

  Salamin walked over to her, and his skin crawled as he gazed at the cover. It was the same grotesque goat’s face, the protruding gold tongue, and green, glowing eyes.

  A loud crash came from the doorway, and Salamin spun as the book fell from his hand and clattered to the floor.

  The tall figure lowered his hood slowly in the entryway, and faced them. It was Farak. His bald, shaved head reflected the dim light, and his dark eyes glittered as a satisfied smile crossed his lips.

  “You,” he said, pointing a long bony finger at Salamin, “will pay for what you’ve done.”

  Salamin looked past him in the corridor. They couldn’t afford to attract attention to themselves. If Farak made too much noise, it would alert the mages, even at this late hour.

  Salamin extinguished his luminas spell, and the library fell into darkness. A window high above allowed a sliver of light from the moon.

  “Sedwick,” the mage called out, stepping closer. “I will end you tonight. Your stupidity lost me a tier.” He drew out a sword from his belt and held the blade up to the light, admiring the jagged blade. “I plan to get it back,” he glanced at Lane and smiled., “and more this night.”

  He moved fluidly, revealing an advanced kata with his sword. Salamin watched, pulse quickening. This was not a technique he’d been trained in. He reached to his side and realized he didn’t have a sword.

  “You have to go through me first,” Lane said, and stepped forward. Her sword Virtas held tip forward in a classic stance.

  “Lane,” Salamin whispered. “This isn’t your fight.”

  Lane lunged forward, and Farak brought his sword down in time, caught off balance from the ferocity and swiftness of her attack. She gave him no chance to regain his balance.

  Farak’s eyes widened. “You have some training.” With those words, he got his footing back and went on the attack. Salamin winced each time his blade came close to Lane, but each time she brought her sword up in time.

  It was a sight to behold, as Lane kept up with him blow for blow. She matched his advanced technique with her own and improvised several styles. It was soon apparent that they were equals, and Farak was wearing down, as he deflected a side thrust and held her sword with his own, trying to catch his breath.

  It was a matter of who made the first mistake. Lane slid her sword away from his hold and lunged with a barrage of attacks. She now had Farak on his heels.

  Salamin saw where this was going. Had Lane killed before? He didn’t want to put her in this position. Not now. He saw her look of pure hatred and determination and knew there was nothing he could do.

  Farak sensed it too, his face drenched with sweat. Her sword caught the moonlight and seemed to take on a glow of its own. The one thrust that he didn’t catch hit its mark, slicing clean through his chest. Farak’s eyes widened in shock as he tried to raise his sword and failed to block in time. “You will… pay,” he rasped, and slumped over to the ground, blood oozing onto his brown robe.

  Lane stepped back, her sword trembling as she pointed it at Farak’s neck.

  Salamin put a hand on her shoulder and felt her body trembling. “It’s done. I’ll take care of this.”

  She brushed his hand off her shoulder and moved away, wiping the blade on her tunic.

  “Lane?” Salamin stood behind her.

  “This sword carries power,” Lane said slowly, admiring the silver blade catching the moonlight. “The ancient power of the Devold.” Her smile was wide, eyes sparkling. “It’s first kill.” Then she said more softly. “My first kill.”

  Salamin nodded grimly and looked down at Farak’s body. “We need to hide the body.”

  She nodded, and together, they dragged Farak to the side of the inlaid shelves and left him slumped in the shadows, limbs and cloak askew. It would have to do. Hopefully, the journey to the Catacombs in the morning would distract the mages just enough.

  Lane’s eyes were distant, as if in a trance.

  “Lane, are you okay?” Taking a life would change a person forever and Salamin suspected this was her first.

  “I’m good. More than good.” Her voice had lost its edge though, and her shoulders slumped.

  Salamin grimaced, remembering his first kill, and the burdens of memory. He scooped up the book they’d found, felt the tingle of power as he grasped its leather spine. “You did good tonight,” he said, his eyes roving over the grotesque god on the cover.

  Lane sheathed her sword in her belt. “Sal, I need to know who you are.” Her eyes lingered on Farak’s body, crumpled in the shadows. “You’re just a boy. It makes no sense.” She placed a hand on the hilt of her sword, chin raised. “I need the truth. Who are you?”