There were only about twenty-five men in the common room, along with a few whores, the barmaids, and a musician playing the harp for tips. Patrick stealthily inspected each of them, including the inn’s owner, who also served as the barkeeper. He stood behind the counter and served drinks. If he had been bribed in return for stowing away Nero, it certainly didn’t show on his face. He gave Patrick the same mistrusting glares that he gave the rest of the common room.
For the next half hour, Patrick waited for any sort of indication that this inn had a connection to Nero’s kidnapping. But in his heart, he knew he’d chosen wrongly—he knew he wouldn’t be finding the boy here. He cursed under his breath and gave an apologetic frown to the Champion.
“I’m afraid I need to get back to attending to my city. I’ll have the guards continue to inspect every inch of Hahl, but I simply cannot keep the city closed off while we examine all the inns in Hahl.”
The Champion’s face was emotionless, blank. Without the slightest sign of apprehension, he said, “I don’t think you should be so…quick to leave.”
Patrick was only a moment from taking a coin out of his coin purse and tossing it on the center of the table before standing up and making his way out of the inn. Instead, he folded his hands in front of him and narrowed his eyes at the Champion.
“And why’s that?”
“Since we entered this place,” the Champion whispered, “something has felt…off.”
“Off? What do you mean by ‘off’?”
The Champion lowered his eyes, so that much like Patrick was doing, he stared at his own full mug of ale. “Magic is being done here,” he said. “I can feel it, though it is of a different sort…a ‘quieter’ sort.”
“What are you implying?”
“I’m implying that the people we are searching for may very well be in this room.”
“Are you sure?” Patrick smiled at the Champion, knowing that to show even the slightest trace of alarm would be detrimental. “I’m fairly certain that no one here knows where the boy is. Either that, or they possess a truly spectacular level of ability to blend in. I’m a good judge of faces.”
The Champion, in a display rare for him, returned the smile. But his catlike eyes lit up with warning, causing Patrick to struggle not to reflect the same look back at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Those men who attacked me and took the boy. They’re…here, in this room.”
Patrick took a slow, casual breath. He continued to make his presence in the common room obvious. For him to suddenly change his demeanor to that of someone trying not to stand out would only have the reverse effect. So he laughed loudly and continued to make it clear to everyone in the inn that someone with noteworthiness was among them.
“I don’t see anyone out of the ordinary,” he whispered, still taking careful glances around the room. “You said they were black-robed men who were unmistakable to spot, and yet I don’t see anything of the sort.”
“Of course you don’t,” the Champion whispered. “I’ve only just figured it out—they’re using shadow magic. I’m sure it’s what I’ve been feeling. But this…changes things. Up until now, I have done as you have commanded, because your decisions were wise and logical. Now, prince, you shall pay heed to
my
words, is that understood?”
Patrick begrudgingly nodded. “I’m listening to you, Item.”
“The reason you cannot see them is because they are…not the sort that can be seen.” The Champion, slowly, slid his hand across the table’s surface. “It took me some time to adjust to their levels and find them, but now I see them as clear as day. So, prince, touch your hand against mine, and when you’ve done so, you will see them at the table in the front left corner of the room, along with a certain man…one familiar to the both of us.”
Magic made Patrick uncomfortable. He looked at the Champion’s hand as if it were a poisonous thing. “What happens when my hand comes in contact with yours? I’ll be able to see them?”
“Yes, but make sure you do not look directly at them. As it stands, they know we’re here, and they know we’re looking for them. But what they don’t know is that we are just as aware of them as they are of us. This…amuses the one who calls himself Ghell.”
At the mention of the commander’s name, Patrick had to exercise every bit of restraint not to scowl. Questions flooded his mind. At first, he thought he’d heard the Champion wrongly, because Cah’lia had claimed that she’d killed the enemy commander on his trek back to his allies. Yet as Patrick mulled over the Champion’s words—a face familiar to them both—he had no doubt that, somehow, through some means, Commander Ghell was in this very room with him.
Patrick pretended to shake the Champion’s hands, half-expecting to feel a jolt run through his brain or fingers. Instead, he felt nothing out of the ordinary. He was about to ask if it had worked, but then, as he darted his eyes from the right end of the room to the left then back again, he briefly caught sight of five dark figures. Fearing discovery, he didn’t let his gaze linger, but he was sure that whoever was sitting at that table had not been there just a moment—no, mere seconds ago.
“Do not let them know we can…see them,” the Champion whispered. “I have crossed swords with those five before, and they are not to be taken lightly. I could kill them, of course, but they would almost certainly kill you in the process. Wait just a few…minutes, and we will strike. But we must wait just a few more minutes.”
Patrick didn’t appreciate being underestimated, but he refused to comment. Instead, he looked at the bar counter and then back, the motion giving him another brief glimpse of Ghell and his five men. Without a doubt, Nero wasn’t among them.
“Are you sure that those five men are the same who kidnapped the boy?”
“I am.”
“Well, the boy is obviously not with them, so our plan is simple: we’ll tail them until we find where they’re keeping the child, and then I’ll have my entire armed guard cut them down. I’ll also send some of my people to raid this inn. That way we can be sure they’re not stowing him in the cellar below.”
Patrick’s mood brightened now that he had a lead on the boy, though contempt and fear overshadowed most of his joy.
Ghell
.
He was responsible for the death of so many people, including Daniel, Patrick’s dear friend, who didn’t deserve what had happened to him—not
him
or any of the others who’d suffered at the enemy commander’s hands. In a way, Patrick was glad that Cah’lia had failed to kill the man; Patrick longed to wrap his fingers around Commander Ghell’s neck and watch the life slowly fade from his eyes, and now he might actually have the opportunity to do it, too.
And all I have to do is keep my cool
.
Just keep my cool and wait until they leave
.
Then I’ll follow them
.
I’ll save Nero and have my revenge
,
all in one fell swoop
.
Patrick decided to take a sip of the foul-tasting ale in order to dull his emotions. He was smart enough not to drink an amount that would affect his reflexes or his judgment, but just enough to keep him from lunging at Ghell. Of course,
too
much ale and he’d likely go down that route as well.
During the course of the next few minutes, Patrick was able to make a few quick sweeps with his eyes. He never allowed himself to settle on them long enough to draw suspicion, so each time left him with nothing more than a quick flash—a blur. But it was after several dozen such blurs that he was able to clearly visualize Ghell and his five shadow assassins. Now all he had to do was wait for them to leave.
If I’m going to be here awhile
,
I may as well get something to eat
.
Patrick signaled the barmaid, and she came hustling over. He ordered a plate of food—which he was sure would be bland and disgusting—and offered the same for the Champion, who declined with a shake of his head. The barmaid returned soon after with a plate of something that, to Patrick’s surprise, held a delightful scent. His stomach rumbled; he’d worked up quite an appetite from all the searching.
Before he could eat a single forkful, the Champion whispered, “They’re leaving.”
Patrick froze with the fork only an inch from his mouth. He almost laughed at his own miserable luck. It figured they’d leave just as he was about to sate his hunger. Not wishing to draw suspicion, he kept his eyes glued to his food.
“If we wait until they leave, will you be able to track them?” Patrick asked.
“I believe so,” the Champion whispered. “I was born of magic, and so I can follow it as easily as a dog can follow a man’s scent, though…for some reason, this applies only to the five robed men. Though I doubt tracking him will be necessary.”
For once, Patrick was grateful to have an ally like the Champion. He allowed genuine happiness to break away his gloom. Finally, things were looking up. For the first time in a long, tiring day, Patrick had a reason to smile.
As long as he remained calm—as long as neither he nor the Champion alerted Ghell to their presence, everything would be fine. No matter what, they couldn’t allow Ghell or his men to become spooked.
No matter what
,
I will remain calm…no matter what
.
A loud bang from across the room caused the fork to fly out of Patrick’s hand. The entire inn shook, and out of reflex, Patrick turned around to see what had caused such a sound. Then he let out a yelp and ducked as the door to the inn flew just over his head. With a crack, it came crashing down onto the wooden floorboards in the middle of the common room. A moment later, people began to shout, the musician stopped playing, and Patrick filled with confusion as two figures hidden behind a screen of smoke ran into the room.
“This is the place!” a voice shouted. “This is where I felt the shadow magic. I’m sure of it. It’s definitely coming from in here!”
And then Patrick heard another voice, and at the sound of it, his body went cold, his throat locked up, and it became a struggle for him to breathe. It was the voice that, as of late, haunted his dreams: the voice that brought him misery and suffering. It was the only voice in the world that was guaranteed to turn
any
good situation into a bad one.
“ATTENTION INN BITCHES! I HAVE COME TO DESTROY YOU ALL!”
A ball of flame soared across the room, striking a startled man who happened to be in its path. It knocked him out of his chair, and he began to roll around on the floor, screaming. Two more fireballs struck another two men, and then people began shouting at the top of their lungs.
Sehn ran into the room with his sword in one hand and his other hand balled into a fist. Without bothering to ask any questions, assess the situation, or even consider what he was doing, the elf who had ruined Patrick’s life marched up to the nearest man and clocked him in the face, knocking him on his back, and all despite the fact that the poor man had nothing to do with any of this.
“Kick everyone’s ass!” Sehn roared. He strolled up to one of the prostitutes, and Patrick’s heart leapt in his chest as Sehn sheathed his sword, picked the woman up, and then body slammed her on top of the table behind him, breaking it with a loud snap.
“Sehn! Stop this! This isn’t what we agreed to!” a girl's voice shouted.
“Fuck what we agreed to, Shina! Nero has been kidnapped, and this place has…it has…Kellar! What is it this place has again?”
There was a chuckle, and then the mage-boy came into view behind Sehn. “Shadow magic, Sehn.”
“—Shadow magic,” Sehn finished. “It’s got whatever the fuck that is, my foolish sister. That means we get to kick the shit out everyone without asking permission. Kellar! Something is moving over there! It must be shadow magic! Blow it up with me!”
Patrick ducked just in time as a series of fireballs slammed into the walls. Windows exploded, tables were overturned, and the entire place was set on fire. Something grabbed his shoulder, dragging him away. He looked up into the face of the Champion, who pulled him away from the spreading flames.
“I see more movement over there!” Sehn shouted. “I bet it’s more fucking shadow magic! Destroy it!”
“Sehn!” Shina screeched. “Not everything that moves is shadow magic—hey! Why are you attacking
me
now? Hey, stop!”
“All who talk back to the Great Sehn are guilty of using shadow magic!”
Patrick twitched each time a fireball exploded. He covered his eyes as bright light and heat assaulted him from every direction. He hoped this place didn’t collapse around him.
“Sehn,” the Champion whispered, his voice returning to an ever-present whisper.
At once, the magical attacks ceased. Even from across the room and through the smoke, Patrick could see Sehn’s face light up as he saw the Champion.
“My minion!” Sehn cried. “What are you doing here? I’m here to save my disciple.”
“As am I, master. You have come to the right place. The ones who have taken Nero are here.”
Sehn growled. “Where? I can’t see them?”
The Champion finished dragging Patrick over to where Sehn stood with Kellar. Now, Patrick could make out others: Shina, Mistress Orellia, and Cah’lia were there with him. The Champion tapped Sehn on the shoulder.
“Do you see them now? I am adjusting you to their level.”