“So, mage, I have taken your eyes,” a soft voice said. “We’ll see how well you do when I hunt you in the dark.”
The powder was in Ash’s mouth. His tongue and throat burned, and he was choking, his airway constricted so he could scarcely get his breath. He could feel the tears running down his face, but he could see nothing.
Ash kept moving backward, because he could hear the man advancing, his sandals slapping, somewhere out in front of him. “What . . . what is it? What have you done to me?”
“Lord Darian’s stone,” the voice replied out of the darkness. “Ground fine.”
The same as the assassins had used in Oden’s Ford. The stuff that snuffed out magic. That meant this man must be another of the Darian blade men. Ash shuffled backward as he desperately tried to think of a plan.
“I’m going to cut your throat, mage,” the Darian said softly, conversationally, in case Ash had any doubt as to his intent. “I’m going to cleanse you of the taint and take the sacrament.”
Ash gripped his amulet, extended his other hand, and attempted to send flame roaring down the hallway toward his attacker. He had no idea if it worked or not.
“Is that the best you can do, demon?” The voice was even closer now.
Ash drew his knife.
When Ash could no longer feel the walls on either side, he knew he was in the large storeroom beyond the corridor. He turned and ran, hands stretched out before him, bruising his knees and hips on casks and barrels as he cut a crooked path through the obstacle course that had been laid for him. He moved as quickly as he could, hoping to outdistance the man stalking him, at least temporarily. He knew his only chance was to find his way back to the first floor, but there were not many staircases, and if he took the time to find one, the Darian would get to him first. If the brother followed him onto the main floor, Ash’s identity would be discovered for sure.
He turned a corner and slid between what felt like two large barrels, and sank to the floor, hoping he was out of sight.
“Do you think you can hide from me, demon? I can track you by your stench. I caught your scent a few times in the yard, but I could never find you.” The owner of the voice was coming closer. “You murdered five of my brothers at Oden’s Ford. Now you will feel the blade of Holy Darius.”
Keep talking, Ash thought. That way I’ll know where you are. But then the assassin fell silent, as if he could read Ash’s thoughts.
Ash put his fingers in front of his face and could see nothing. His mouth, his nose, his sinuses were still burning, and he had a raging headache. Every breath he took was like a flame inside his chest. There was no way he could use his power when he couldn’t even see his attacker. He would be dead before he knew the man was there. And given the effect of the Darian stone at Oden’s Ford, he might not have any power left to use beyond what was already stored in his amulet. He couldn’t afford to waste it.
He could hear and see nothing, though he knew the man must be coming closer. He was aware of a rising panic, the smothering onslaught of the dark. His entire body tingled, every nerve screaming, awaiting the cold, intimate touch of the knife. He forced himself to breathe in and out slowly, to think.
Then Ash remembered how he had detected the assassins at Oden’s Ford. He couldn’t see them in the dark, but he could feel their hunger. He let out a breath and tried to relax. Taking hold of his amulet, he pushed his power outward, seeking the man and his bloodlust. An image appeared in his mind, a bright figure against darkness. The priest was about fifteen feet away, and moving slowly in his direction, turning his head this way and that, as if to sniff the air. Ash couldn’t see anything else in the room, but he could roughly place the assassin.
Ash palmed his blade, though he knew he’d fare poorly as a blind man in a knife fight. He would have to hope he could muster enough power to bring the man down. As long as the brother lived, Ash could be identified.