Salamin leaned over, catching his breath as Lane walked him through the moves a dozen times. Each infuriating time, Salamin found himself defeated, the tip of her blade at his throat.

  She had techniques that had not been covered in his own training with his own Master Storath. His and Haldar’s Master, he corrected himself, wincing at the memory.

  “Yield,” Lane said with a smile.

  Salamin raised both hands. “I yield. Teach me that move.”

  Lane’s eyes sparkled. “Gladly.”

  The next few hours Lane taught him the moves. As he went through the slow motions, he realized his body still was not yet strong and agile enough. Salamin closed his eyes, vowing to be ready before the Catacombs.

  “You’re coming along well,” Lane said. “We’ll keep practicing.”

  Elian cleared his throat from the entrance. “Learning from a girl, huh, Sedwick?”

  “I’ll take you on any day,” Lane spat.

  Elian gave her a lopsided grin. “You wouldn’t last a minute.”

  Lane lunged forward, and Salamin placed a steady hand her arm. “Wait,” he said. “Elian. What do you want?”

  Elian gazed between them, an amused expression on his lips. “Staya found a library on the upper level.” Elian ignored Lane and focused solely on Salamin. “Would you like to come?”

  Salamin inclined his head to Lane to decide. “Why not,” she glowered.

  Elian looked between them and nodded.

  “He’s not worth it,” Salamin whispered in her ear.

  Lane sheathed her sword. “One of these days,” she muttered under her breath.

  The Keep was strangely quiet. It appeared the mages had left to honor the fallen. Perhaps a sacred place nearby? It was good news because that meant they had just left Farak to guard the place. And now the initiates would have free rein.

  Staya led them up the stairs and into a large hall with scrolls and books that smelled of must and old leather. Ancient dark wood carved with runic flourishes lined the ceiling and shelves.

  The other initiates entered, staring in awe as light filtered down from gold-stained glass illuminated the sheer number of books.

  “Wait a moment,” Salamin said to Lane. “I have a better idea. There’s a place that we can get much more useful information.”

  Lane glanced at him questioningly, then at the other initiates already taking down scrolls from the shelves. "Let’s go.”

  It would be risky, and they’d have to be on the alert for the Mages coming back. What did he expect to find? Salamin didn’t know, but if there was any advantage to be had, he needed to know.

  The office was also on the second floor of the Keep, and Salamin held his ear to the door, listening.

  He touched the wooden door with one finger, and a cascade of energy washed through him. It was spelled. Salamin held up a hand to Lane. “It’s spelled. I can absorb it with my right hand, but we’ll need to pick the lock.” With his former magic, he’d no need for the skill, and had never learned it.

  To test it, he reached out with his charred right hand. The energy surged through his fingers, then dissipated in the burned flesh. “Will you show me how to pick it?”

  Lane stepped back, regarding the door, then nodded.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  She handed him a small, sharp-tipped dagger and patiently went through the steps with him. Lane was a good teacher, Salamin mused, as he failed to get the latch for the second time.

  “Take a deep breath in,” Lane instructed, “then exhale, and forget everything else but the lock.”

  Salamin released his breath, and this time the latch clicked. He smiled at Lane and opened the door, his right hand taking the energy of the spell, and he let it burn and dissipate up his arm.

  The room was just as he remembered it. Light filtered onto the large desk, illuminating scattered scrolls and papers. Inlaid shelves stretched up to the molded ceiling, filled with scrolls and books.

  “What are we looking for?” Lane asked, studying the runes on the walls.

  “Something is off,” Salamin said. “I want confirmation. And anything on the First Gate.” He wanted to go into the catacombs with full knowledge.

  Lane nodded and went over to the shelves, peering at the spines of the bound books.

  Where Salamin thought he’d truly find answers was in the desk, where he guessed Paxton spent most of his time. Scattered on the desk were inventories of the spelled objects and financials. Lists of the protected places and people they were to bring in for questioning.

  One scroll read, Apostates. Salamin combed through the names and quickly saw Taldera, Aleda on it. Her name had a strike through it.

  “What is it?” Lane asked

  “Aleda was on their list of apostates.”

  Lane frowned, then nodded. Being named an apostate was a death sentence. “Look at this,” she whispered.

  There was a crack behind the bookshelves. “Something is behind here.”

  Together they pulled the shelves back to reveal a dark opening behind, an alcove that had been intentionally covered. Salamin glanced at Lane. “Wait, don’t touch anything. We don’t know what kind of spells he has back here.” He reached a hand into the darkness and felt the tingle of energy through his fingertips.

  Salamin felt the pulse of energy within and heard a familiar grating in his ears, like music playing off key. He covered his ears, and Lane looked at him uneasily. “What is it?”

  “You don’t hear that?” Salamin asked.

  She shook her head and peered into the darkness. It was pitch black. “We need a light,” she said, going back into the office.

  “Luminas,” Salamin whispered. For a moment the grating sound abated in his ears, and he felt peace descend down his arm, and a glowing light formed in his palm.

  Lane returned. “How did you?” She gazed at him and frowned.

  Salamin held his palm up and took a step inside. Immediately, the cacophony of sound echoed in his ears, painful and increasing in intensity.

  Covering his ears, the sound increased in intensity. “Focus on my words, and the pain will stop.”

  Salamin stepped forward, holding the light up towards the walls. Runes lined in gold stretched from the floor to the ceiling. He didn’t recognize them from the void. This was something else entirely. He jumped when he saw dark green eyes staring directly at him from behind.

  He turned and held up his palm. There on a pedestal was a gold carving, green eyes stared at him with a protruding gold tongue. Horns adorned the head, and grotesque goat shaped face. Salamin searched his memories. This could be Malak, a god that was defeated long ago. He would need to learn more and be sure. Their lives could depend on it.

  The noise in his head deepened. Lane touched his shoulder. “What is that thing?” she whispered.

  “I am not certain,” Salamin said, covering his ears as the pain intensified. He caught a thread of words and focused on them.

  "I am the only path forward. I see your power, and it will only be from me that you destroy your enemies".

  Somehow this dark god had seen him. Lane did not seem affected. Using the moonpath spell had lowered his disguise. Salamin cursed himself for his carelessness. He clasped his hand, and the light extinguished, leaving them both in darkness.

  “Let’s go,” Salamin said, even as he heard a sound from the side. The shelving was closing off.

  Lane rushed over and blocked the opening with her body. The wood slammed against her. “I can’t hold it!”

  Salamin pushed against the barrier, and the weight increased. It was going to crush them both, and he pulled Lane out of the way. The opening shut with a final slam.

  Putting all his weight into it, Salamin pushed once more, and the outer shelves did not budge. This was magic, and dark magic at that. They were both stuck within the darkness with that…thing.

  “Someone’s coming,” Lane said.

  He couldn’t see her anymore in the thick darkness, but he heard the door. They had forgotten to relock it, and Salamin cursed himself.

  “This is odd.” Paxton’s voice carried into the chamber. “Akar did you lock this when we left?”

  “Yes, sir. I did lock it.”

  There was a silence and a ruffling of papers. “Everything looks in order,” Paxton said. “Check on Farak and the Initiates.”

  “Yes, sir. I didn’t see them in the Hall, sir.”

  “That is odd, because I instructed Farak to keep them there. Bring him to me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Salamin heard the words, but the grating sound had returned in his head and was growing in intensity.

  The door shut in the office, and all that could be heard was a chair scooting and a drawer opening. Salamin tried to regulate his breathing. He could hear words forming in his mind, and he didn’t want to focus on them.

  Paxton began a slow chant in a language Salamin didn’t know. The words in his head repeated the chant, and for an instant the pain vanished.

  Lane’s hand came down on Salamin’s arm. “I think we’re in trouble,” she whispered.