Salamin stood over the lifeless body of the mage, Tanas. Surprise had worked, and the thrust of a dull knife between the ribs. The mage let out moist rasps as blood from his chest seeped into the dirt floor.

  Wiping the dagger on his tunic, Salamin clipped it back to his belt and knelt beside the fallen mage. His side ached with the movement. The rachnid poison was working its way through, and he’d need attention.

  He grabbed the robe's edge and pulled it off the mage’s limp body, struggling to get it over the mage's arms and head. It was worth the effort. Only a disguise would get him out of here.

  In the shadows of the pit, he put the robe on, covering his head with the hood. Salamin reached into the pocket, his fingers touching a smooth, round orb.

  Could it be? In the dim light, the interior of the blue orb sparked and crackled. The boy had risked his life to save this very orb. What was it? Carefully, he pocketed it and found a few coins.

  He moved up the stairs, glancing at the runes and reliefs of battles. Powerful void path spells were etched into the stone. Power that was just out of his reach.

  Salamin used his inner gaze and frowned. [Moonpath Tier 1] He’d lost some power in all of this. Was it because he’d just killed a man? He took a deep, calming breath and gazed inward.

  Sedwick Draken ? Moonpath Tier 1 ? Class Healer

  Health 20/100 ? Intelligence 10/100 ? Power 0/100 ? Stamina 20/100

  Abilities: Lunapassus (Minor Healing Spell)

  No power and a light healing spell. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

  He thought of Hex and felt a tug in his chest. What he wouldn’t do to have his familiar on his shoulder sharing the world and adventures. A remembrance of his childhood and happier times. He’d put it all behind him to join the Order.

  Salamin glanced at his charred hand. Without power, what was he?

  He reached the upper floor and stopped, peering out at the cobblestone floor and walls. A pile of old blankets lay in the corner, and a statue honoring the god Argor.

  Salamin peered down into the pit at the lifeless form below.

  The mages had used torture to extract information. A shiver ran down his spine as he gazed at the statue of Argor. The god’s gold eyes glittered back at him.

  Hastening his step, he moved outside into the cold darkness of night. Up above, the moon was just a sliver, moving towards fullness. Deep resonant bells rang overhead, and Salamin looked up to orient himself.

  He glanced up at the chapel tower. He’d been so in awe when he’d first come here as a young acolyte. Most impressive of all was the Castle of Argor looming over everything on the high cliffs.

  Salamin stared up at it. Could Haldar be nearby? He looked down at himself. He wasn’t ready, and that fact burned inside him. Soon, he thought, gazing up into a dark window.

  Haldar would pay for his treachery.

  The bells stopped, and a rush of hooded mages emerged from a cobblestone pathway leading to the dormitories. They paid no attention to Salamin as they rushed towards the chapel to make it in time for services.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  A low voice growled into his ear. “Acolyte, what are you doing? Don’t just stand there. Get going.”

  Salamin spun to see an elder mage standing before him, his hands tucked into his large sleeves, eyes regarding him imperiously. Pulse quickening, Salamin gave a stiff bow, and hurried toward the chapel.

  The stained glass of the chapel window loomed down at him. The familiar figure of Argor conquering his enemies, and the sword that brought freedom to all. He stood at the bottom of the steps, looking up at the imposing doors.

  Another mage called from his side, motioning with his hands. “Prayers start soon. Do you want a demotion?” he said. “Hurry!”

  Salamin drew in a ragged breath. Being trapped in the chapel was the last thing he needed.

  He glanced behind him at the expectant mage below and entered. There would be another way to sneak out.

  Simple wooden pews stretched up towards the altar and the breathtaking stained glass at the end. Red hangings of fine silk covered the walls, each stitched by hand, recalling the many conquests in Argor’s name. Sconces held torches, lighting the inside in a warm glow.

  Salamin stopped in his tracks when he glimpsed the altar. There, chained to a bar was a young woman, a mere girl, really. Hands were tied behind her back, her ankle chained to the altar and a cloth tight around her mouth.

  An acolyte motioned him to sit on the bench beside him. “Another sacrifice,” the acolyte beside him whispered. “Why are we doing it every night?”

  Salamin had no words as he sat down. Row after row of acolytes sat in front, all waiting attentively for the service.

  Who was she? That was what Salamin wanted to know. The girl at the altar looked up, and their eyes met for the briefest of moments. Salamin gasped. She was Devold. He was sure of it. She had the mark on her cheek visible beneath the dirt. Her brown hair was matted and tangled, her eyes feral as she gazed over the crowd defiantly.

  Another loud clang of the upper bell, and three mages appeared on stage, dressed in red robes. The tallest one raised his arms. “Hail Argor!”

  Voices rose in the hall in unison. “Hail Argor!” The words echoed off the walls and ceiling.

  The mage’s low baritone resonated through the chapel. “We’re gathered here tonight to honor our god.”

  “Hail Argor!” the acolytes roared in unison.

  Salamin’s pulse raced. Calm, he told himself. Emotions caused mistakes. His training would come through.

  He looked up at the torches flickering and casting light around the temple. If he could remove that light. “Obscura,” he whispered and motioned with his charred finger towards the first torch.

  Nothing happened. Salamin squeezed his eyes shut in frustration.

  The head mage raised a chalice up towards the ceiling. “In honor of Argor,” he called, gazing up reverently at the stained glass.

  “All honor to Argor,” the acolytes said in unison.

  Another mage solemnly unwrapped a royal red cloth on the altar. With utmost reverence, he took the sword in his hand, holding it up to the acolytes. “We honor Argor with our sacrifices. We give our honor to our Lord!”

  “Praise Haldar!” The crowd erupted and rose to their feet.

  Salamin followed, horrified. He looked up to see the girl staring directly at him. She knows I’m not one of them. Salamin held her gaze.

  The head mage bowed his head to the girl and swept the gold sword over his head. The acolytes gasped, awaiting the blood soaked horror in front of them.

  Salamin surged out of his seat, grabbed a torch from the wall, and lit a wall hanging on fire. The fine silk took to the flame with a spontaneous whoosh that quickly spread down the line. An acolyte’s robe caught fire, and he screamed, heading for the exit. A mass wave of panic ensued as the acolytes ran for the exits. Salamin ducked low, making his way between them towards the altar.

  “Stop! Everyone, stop!” The head mage shouted, but no one took notice as another hanging burst into flame. A woven rug ignited as flames leapt towards the altar.

  Raising his hands, the mage chanted a spell of dissipation while the other two tore at the silk cloth, stamping out the spread of flames.

  Smoke grew heavier, obscuring everything, and Salamin ducked behind the young woman. He took out his dull blade and worked at sawing through the rope binding her arms behind her back. The dagger was too dull, and he picked the knot with his fingers, her hands finally coming free.

  The girl worked her ankle through the metal clasp, letting out a quiet scream as her leg came through bloody and raw. Adrenaline took hold, and she set her jaw, eyes flashing with anger and determination. “Come on,” she hissed, and fled to the side of the altar.

  A quick glance back at the fire as the girl smashed a stain glass window with her fist. “Run,” she shouted.

  Salamin took one last glance back at the inferno and followed.