The Scourge of Gods

CHAPTER SIX

It was a cold afternoon on the shrouded island-city of New Helena. A hard rain had fallen not an hour before, and fresh fog wove its way between buildings and markets, even across the gray walls of Fort Tsunkai. Eriden walked beside a vast stone battlement. The shapes of sentries moved above him and soldiers patrolled down every street and avenue.

He already felt like a prisoner.

Eriden could possibly end up one after meeting with Commander Vardinon, but he put that out of his mind. Escape wasn't an option yet. If he deserted before reporting to the man, he'd be looked for earlier than anticipated. That wouldn't do. Even the lowliest tracker mage would be able to follow the residue of spiritual energy Eriden would leave in his wake. It'd be like following a trail of paint. Dyed a bright red. With glitter.

Dazzling orange light flashed up ahead. A crowd of soldiers cheered and laughed, spread out along a training court below the eyes of the Black Keep. Two magi in robed uniforms, one in grey, the other in black, stood at opposite ends. The twin white rods they held indicated them as fire adepts. The material was made from salakite, a type of rock that helped them fuel their power. They couldn't just conjure fire out of thin air.

They needed a spark first.

Both adepts struck their rods and two jets of flame collided, bathing the area in a wave of heat. The warm gust of power washed over Eriden, even from his distance. The mage in black dropped his assault. He tossed his rods high overhead and slammed his hands together to split the surge of opposing fire, his body steady like a rock in a river, patient, unmovable. With a sweep of his arms, he blasted away the inferno.

The same adept caught his falling rods. He rolled forward, lashed out, and his combatant blocked his strike. Both magi proceeded to exchange blows, filling the courtyard with the clack of salakite and the flash of sparks. They ducked, lunged, deflected, so fast Eriden's eyes couldn't keep up. The black-robed adept flipped backwards. He used the final spark to trail a ring of fire through the air. It expanded in an instant, sending his opponent flying across the flagstones with a grunt.

That seemed to end the match. The soldiers roared and clapped, hailing the victor. Eriden walked closer, and even though his vision was seared with writhing lines from the firefight, he realized the mage in the black uniform was no ordinary soldier.

It was Commander Vardinon.

The tall man, somewhere in his fourth decade, tucked his salakite rods into his belt and combed his fingers through a short crop of black hair. Vardinon met his gaze, his face impassive. His expression revealed nothing. Cold sweat began to dampen Eriden's own battle robe and his heartbeat soared. Did the man know, then? Eriden had the sudden urge to flee, but he planted his feet and decided such a course of action was unwise.

Vardinon nodded and turned around, waving a hand for him to follow. Eriden took a deep breath and pursued the commander into his lair of the Black Keep. Guards had spread themselves around the building and important officials ran to and fro, more frantic than usual after news broke about the demons.

"I apologize for the delay, Inquisitor," said Vardinon, in an unwavering baritone despite having just walked out of intense combat. He kept walking and didn't look back. "I needed to relax a little after dealing with this bloody mess."

Eriden didn't know what was stranger. The fact that an officer of Vardinon's station apologized to him or that the man found fighting a calming activity. He cleared his throat. "It's quite all right," said Eriden. "I imagine the chaos has taken a certain toll on you."

"That it has. Not to worry though. Did you find the location of Saint Gamori?"

"She's in Ephesus, my lord."