Page 143 of Vasmora

Allura swiped up a cracked pitcher for water, and the two made their way down the winding stairwell. An approaching servant offered a nod, to which Dolion reciprocated.

“Be sure to spread it thin,” the man said on passing. “I reckon it’ll be a while before we see fresh straw in times of blight.”

Again, Dolion nodded and kept on. When they arrived at a crossroad of corridors, he discarded the straw beside the one that led toward the prison cells and opted for the opposite direction, toward the mage’s chambers. A place Dolion had once called home.

He approached slowly, careful not to draw the attention of the few apprentices gathered in the commons. No doubt, they were lost without their leader, Akmyrios, and discussing a plan of defense. A bit late. Had they taken Dolion seriously all those years ago, they might’ve been better prepared. While he shouldn’t have gleaned any satisfaction in that, he couldn’t help feeling a small bit of vindication in knowing he’d been right.

Eyes on Akmyrios’s chamber door, he kept his head low and his steps light. Seeing servants come and go wasn’t out of the ordinary, though, and the straw sticking to his cloak would only help serve his disguise. Apprentices certainly weren’t as observant as soldiers for spotting a complete stranger. More like lost puppies following after the more seasoned mages most of the time.

“Hey!” one of them called out, and Dolion froze, his face turned away from the voice that’d spoken. “Any water in that pitcher?”

“Um.” Allura lifted it and shook her head. “I’m afraid I’ve run out.”

“Why carry it around, then?” the mage pried, and though his voice sounded amused, perhaps flirtatious, it set Dolion’s teeth on edge.

She breathed a laugh. “Just gathering empty pitchers for cleaning and filling. I suspect you’ll need them. I’ll be sure to return with fresh water.”

“I’d appreciate it.” The mage turned back to his fellow apprentices, casting another glance toward Allura.

Skipping over Akmyrios’s room, which would’ve had them suspicious, he opted for one of the lesser mage’s chambers first, swiping up the linens from the bed. Gods be damned, the worst part of infiltrating the castle was simply trying to get where he needed to be.

He entered the adjacent room, which happened to house an empty pitcher that Allura took the opportunity to gather. From there, they followed the line of rooms, pretending to gather linens for washing. After each room, the mages seemed less interested in them, until they didn’t bother to look at all.

Shoulders rolled back, Dolion boldly entered Akmyrios’s room, and as he tossed the linens he’d gathered onto the floor, Allura closed the door behind them. “Quickly,” he whispered. “Grab anything you can find that may be insightful.”

On a table set apart from the bed, ancient scrolls and leatherbound books lay scattered over the surface. Dolion thumbed through them, but paused, halfway through the stack, when he came across a book that held an intact binding seal on the edge. Without care, he snapped it away, the spine creaking when he opened the cover. It must’ve been one of Cadavros’s old journals, the handwriting and sketches instantly recognizable.

Flipping through took him to a depression in the pages where a silver blade with gold embellishments sat. The accompanying notes detailed the binding of Prince Dorjan to the amulet. Dolion slammed the book closed and quickly gathered it in his satchel then skimmed through the other books and scrolls.

“Here.” Allura handed over a grimoire, pointing to a spell on the page. “We can move invisibly.” Unfortunately, the ability to move unseen wasn’t something Elvynirans could summon through Nexumis with the glyphs. She tapped the page and darted toward a shelf lined with various apothecary jars, retrieving one of them. Her hands trembled when she handed it to Dolion, her urgency mirroring his own.

A knock at the door jarred his muscles, and Dolion popped the cork of the jar, squeezing two drops onto his tongue, as the grimoire suggested, then passed it to Allura, who did the same. Within seconds, she vanished, right before the door behind her swung open to reveal the mage who’d questioned them earlier.

His gaze dropped to the floor, where the linens lay piled, then swung toward the table where the pitchers sat. “Where’d they go?” he asked aloud. Two steps into the room, he stood nearly nose to nose with Dolion, frowning as he glanced around.

The mage didn’t dare so much as a breath.

The moment he exited, Dolion exhaled a sigh and shoved two more books into his satchel. “Come. Let’s find the king.”

* * *

Weaving through guards unseen, Dolion and Allura made their way toward King Sagaerin’s quarters.

One of the posted soldiers sneezed as Dolion passed him, and when the old mage froze in place, Allura bumped him from behind, sending him stumbling forward, into the guard.

The guard frowned, turning to his fellow soldier beside him. “Hey! Watch it, will ya?”

“What’d I do?”

“You know damn well what you did, you clumsy bastard!”

While the two bickered, Dolion kept on toward the door ahead, using the opportunity to open it a crack. He slipped inside and, once he felt Allura brush past him, quietly closed it. He turned to a dimly lit space, decorated with impressive paintings of Lunasier soldiers in battle. A table in the center of the main room held a glowing map of Aethyria topped with figurines, likely used to strategize. As Dolion closed in on it, he noticed rows of soldiers lined against the forest. More placed at the wall around Costelwick. Some scattered throughout Costelwick, and the rest of the king’s army posted on the castle grounds.

A noble effort, but not enough. Infecting mancers who possessed blood magic would give the creatures an insurmountable advantage.

Dolion shook his head, imagining how many would die before day’s end.

He kept on toward the king’s sleeping chamber, carefully tiptoeing across the room. King Sagaerin didn’t often like to be crowded by soldiers, that much Dolion remembered of the man, so he didn’t expect too many barriers within the quarters.