Page 135 of Vasmora

“He’s protected by a powerful ward. Getting to him would be as impossible as trying to kidnap Pestilios himself.”

Lothare threw up his hands. “Might there be another mage who knows the ritual?”

“There might. He’s as skilled in reading tomes as Akmyrios. Perhaps even more so.”

Hands behind his back, Lothare nodded. “Then it seems you’ll be inviting me along on your trek back to Nyxteros.”

Zevander groaned. “Believe me, that isn’t my first choice.”

“Nor mine. I hear your country is rather bland.” Lothare turned to the Wrathborne behind him. “Tyvonys, have Fennyx send Naviro back to Kestellias to warn Riona and the wolves that a plague is imminent and creatures are afoot. We will be heading to Eidolon.”

Zevander didn’t recognize all the names he mentioned, but he suspected Naviro was one of the wolves and Riona must’ve been Lothare’s second in command.

“Do you have a proper fleet of ships to cross the Australius?” Zevander watched Tyvonys depart from the group and head toward the stretch of trees behind them. “An army certainly won’t go unseen.”

“For now, the Wrathborne will remain in Kastellias and defend our home. As for us, there is another way to cross the Australius.”

“With all due respect, Sir. I don’t believe we should consider that,” another mercenary beside him said, bowing his head.

“Consider what?” Zevander asked.

“A day’s ride from here lies the entrance for a subterranean gallery that extends beneath the Australius Channel. An abandoned dragon’s cave.”

Surely, he must’ve lost his senses. “You intend for us to walk endless miles beneath the sea? It would take weeks.”

“If only that were the worst of it,” the other mercenary muttered under his breath, but Zevander caught what he’d said.

Lothare glanced toward him and back. “Ignore Makhai. He fears what he’s never seen. It would take no more than a couple of hours. There is a portal about eight miles into the passage. Just beyond a rock formation called Devils Teeth. It was believed to have formed centuries ago after the death of a Syrenian matriarch.”

A couple of hours would certainly eliminate days at sea, but there was something he seemed to be omitting. “If that were true, it’d be teeming with those who seek passage.”

Lothare sighed and exchanged a look with Makhai. “I’ll not lie, it’s a dangerous trek. The gallery is said to be inhabited by the Aqedormisz. An ancient and vicious species who have lived within that corridor for millennia. But they are dormant this time of year. Those who move silently through the portal can successfully traverse it. Should you make a single sound, though, they will awaken.” Brows pulled tight, he huffed. “And in that case, we would be trapped at both ends. The portal will not allow the Aqedormisz to slip through.”

Zevander stroked a hand down his face and groaned again, shooting a quick glance to Maevyth, whose face had turned pallid. “You’re not entirely convincing me.”

“No?” Lothare snorted and waved his hand toward the surrounding forest. “What do you imagine the world will look like two weeks from now, when you’ve finally returned back to your home?”

Zevander crossed his arms over his chest. “I suppose it won’t matter if I happen to die trapped in a cave under the sea.”

Lothare tipped his head. “Are you afraid to die, Assassin?”

Of course not. He’d made peace with death long ago. He wouldn’t even hesitate, had he been traveling alone.

As though he’d read his mind, Lothare glanced toward Maevyth and back and a smile pulled at his lips. “If you’ve got a better idea, I’m happy to hear it.”

Unfortunately, the smug bastard was right. A portal was the most practical. Zevander shifted his gaze to Maevyth again, and at her nod, he returned his attention to Lothare. “You haven’t got anyone who can cleave us?”

He twisted toward the mage whose throat he’d slit. “Andalone.”

“Fine. We’ll take the caves.”

“Excellent. I propose we wait until darkness falls again. It’ll be safer to travel around the city then.” He turned toward his men. “Back to your posts. We’ll rest in shifts then prepare for travel.”

Zevander stroked his chin. “How do you intend to keep your men and wolves silent through the tunnels? Our footfalls alone could wake them from slumber.”

Lothare held his hands splayed out to the side, and a pale blue glowed across his palm.

Zevander’s guts lurched as his body rose up into the air, as if pulled by an invisible thread. Maevyth’s arms flailed, the imbalance throwing her upper body forward before she caught herself.