“I am a Shae,” Thealos said, stepping forward, “a barter out of Avisahn. I’d like to use the porter doors tonight.”
“You know the cost?” one of the men said, rubbing some gritty growth on his face. The man’s paunch reminded him of Tannon. But the face was different. Even after being with humans so long, they did all start to look alike.
Thealos opened his money pouch and let it jingle as he dumped the pieces into his hand. “That should be enough.”
The doorman with the lantern looked at the pieces and grinned. He scooped them up, bit one on the edge to be sure, and nodded cheerily. “A fine night it’s turning into, my bartering friend. Plenty of coins to be made in the Shoreland, that’s certain. You here because of the war that’s starting?”
Thealos looked at the man, stung at the irony of it, and nodded with a sad smile.
“Very well, very well. Let’s get the keys.”
The downrush of the stones’ magic was still leaving Thealos’ body. That was probably why he hadn’t smelled it before.
Forbidden magic.
He stiffened as the scent became an overwhelming reek. It came from the door itself, thickening in the air and freezing him down to his boots. From something on the other side.
“Don’t unlock it!”
“What’s wrong, lad? This way is safe. Let me show you…” The key jiggled in the lock.
“No!” Thealos shoved the man aside and the key clattered to the floor.
“What’s all this?” one of the other doormen said, angered. “You can’t go shoving Bront like that.”
“Don’t open the door!” Thealos warned, backing away. They were human. They couldn’t feel the sickening tendrils of rot and filth exuding from the outside. The thing had been waiting for him in Castun. How could it know about the porter door?
“You sick-hearted Shaden,” the other doorman said and spat on the ground. “I ain’t giving you your banned pieces back. Treating me like that…I ought to call the garrison, I should. Stupid Shaden.”
Thealos retreated towards the alley.
Something heavy slammed against the door.
The doormen all looked startled.
“What in the Druids did that?”
“Something shuddered the door!”
The door jolted again and little patters of crumbling stone fell from the archway above.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know, fool! Ring the bell! Call the garrison! This Shaden has something to do with…where’d he go?”
Thealos clenched the stones again, wrapped himself in their magic, and ran. This thing was more cunning than he had imagined. Not some mindless incarnation of magic, but a creature with a will—a drive. It wanted to kill him. Just as it had killed his family. Just as it would kill all the heirs of Quicksilver. Of course the Sorian would have sent it. They did not play by the rules of mortals.
Had Xenon and the other Wolfsmen left yet? Would they have bothered looking for him? He wanted to scream with frustration. Go back to Xenon? No doubt the Wolfsman would search him for magic and he’d find the stones. But what other choice did he have?
Thealos rounded the corner, sprinting into the night as it fell over Sol. He had made another mess for himself. What other choices did he have? If this creature of Forbidden magic would outrun Crimson Wolfsmen, what chance did he stand outdistancing it to Castun, let alone all the way to Landmoor?
A prickle of awareness went down the back of his spine, and the sensation made him stop. He released his hold on the magic and soon heard his own ragged breathing. Smells from the gutters choked him with their filth. But it was not Forbidden magic. That had a different smell entirely.
Jaerod emerged from the shadows.
“This way.”
*
Jaerod took Thealos into the ruins of Sol, to alleys so dark and slanting that the only light came from the winking stars. It was an old part of the city, so decayed and ramshackle that not even street people slept there for lack of scraps. A crumbling watchtower blocked the way ahead, its top stones lying in heaps around the broken shops and deserted buildings. The Sleepwalker entered through a soot-scorched door. The air was heavy with dust.
“Over here,” Jaerod said, motioning for Thealos. He took him to a back room on the ground floor of the dilapidated tower. The floor stones were arranged like tile, intersecting at odd angles. Jaerod strode to the center of the room where several points met.
Thealos stared curiously and then recognized the pattern on the floor. An octagon with a cross. The same symbol that marked Jaerod’s medallion.
“Kneel here,” Jaerod said and demonstrated by dropping to one knee at the intersection of tiles. He planted his hand on the ground and crossed his other arm in front of him. He looked up at Thealos. “Do the same.”