Sea of Death: Blade of the Flame - Book 3 (18 page)

The two young acolytes approached the mill warily, walking side by side, their footfalls making no sound on the grass as they drew closer to the shadowy structure. Diran hadn’t had any formal training in sensing evil. Those sorts of priestly skills—assuming one had an aptitude for them—were taught in seminary. But he had a natural ability, Tusya said, honed by his previous life as a hired killer, and that sense was screaming now. He felt a tingle on the back of his neck, as if burrowing insects had dug their way beneath the skin and were crawling around. Diran had never sensed evil this strong before, and he paused, his gorge rising, and feared he was about to vomit.

Leontis stopped and look at him with concern, but Diran focused his mind just as Emon Gorsedd had taught.

Forget everything, boy. Forget where you are and what you’re doing
.
Forget even who you are, and just breathe. In and out, in and out … until your mind becomes clear
.

Diran did as his old teacher had instructed, and after several moments he felt better. He gave Leontis a reassuring nod, and the two of them continued approaching the mill.

When Diran had first begun studying the ways of the Silver Flame with Tusya, he had been reluctant to make use of his assassin’s training in any way.

I used those skills in the service of evil, Teacher
, Diran had once asked.
Doesn’t that make the skills themselves evil?

Tusya, as always, had possessed a ready answer for Diran’s question.

Skills are simply
tools, the priest had said.
It’s what we do with them that results in good or evil. It would be wasteful for you to abandon skills you already possessed just because you once misused them. Far better to redeem those skills by employing them for good
.

“Should we go in together or separately?” Leontis asked. He was well aware of Diran’s practical experience as an assassin and, just like Tusya, he didn’t hold it against Diran.

Diran considered for a moment. His experience didn’t extend to entering lairs of evil without Tusya’s guidance.

“Together, I think. If we were facing a mortal foe, it might make sense to approach from different directions. But as our foe is a spiritual creature of some sort, we will be stronger if we remain together and combine our faith against it.” Diran frowned. “Besides, I have a feeling that whatever evil lairs within the mill is already well aware of our presence.”

“So much the better,” Leontis said. “Evil should be confronted head on.”

Diran knew that life was never that simple. Sometimes the direct approach got you killed. But he saw no benefit to sharing this information with Leontis right now, and the two acolytes continued making their way steadily and cautiously toward the mill’s entrance. It wasn’t difficult to find.

Now that they were up close, they could make out the mill’s features. There was nothing remarkable about it, nothing to
differentiate it from dozens of others Diran had seen before. The mill had been constructed from wood and stone on the eastern bank of the river, and a waterwheel provided the motive force for grinding grain. Effective enough, Diran supposed, though a contained water elemental would’ve performed more efficiently. Not that it mattered anymore. The wheel hung slightly askew and was frozen in place, resisting the river’s current. The mill’s stonework remained in good repair, but its wood was weathered, a number of the planks cracked, broken, or missing altogether. The mill had been abandoned for some time, Diran judged. Decades, at least.

Of
course
it’s abandoned, Diran thought. What self-respecting evil spirit would want to haunt a newly constructed mill?

“Do you feel it?” Leontis asked. “The temperature is several degrees colder this close.”

Diran nodded. He’d noticed. He’d also noticed that now that they stood at the mill’s threshold, Leontis seemed hesitant. Diran wondered if he were talking in order to postpone entering.

Leontis went on. “Should we take a light with us?”

If he were going in alone, especially to confront a mortal enemy, Diran would’ve wanted to use the darkness to his advantage. The shadows are an assassin’s greatest ally, Emon had always said. But Tusya had taught him that light could be a powerful weapon against spiritual evil. Besides, if Leontis were to make the most effective use of his bow, it would help if he could see what he was aiming his arrows at.

Diran reached into a pocket and withdrew a light gem—a favorite tool of the Brotherhood of the Blade. Each gem contained a tiny fire elemental that began to glow in response to the touch of a human hand. The gems provided light: not too strong or harsh, just enough to see by without giving away one’s presence unnecessarily. In addition, they were small and easily portable, and their light could be shut off simply by closing one’s hand or tucking the gem into a pocket. Of course, the gems had their drawbacks, chief among them being how easy it was to lose hold of the damned things. If Diran had a gold piece for every light gem he’d lost over the years …

“I’ll go first,” Diran suggested, but Leontis shook his head.

“You open the door for me, then I’ll go first. If you weren’t so tall, maybe I could shoot over you. As it is, you’ll be in the way of my arrows.”

Diran nodded and Leontis—who already had an arrow nocked and ready—stepped back and raised his bow. Diran held the light gem steady as he took hold of the mill’s door handle, depressed the catch, and gently pushed.

The handle tore free from Diran’s hand as the door fell inward with a thunderous crash. A cloud of dust billowed forth from the now open entrance, and Diran turned to regard his fellow acolyte.

“If whatever is inside didn’t know we were coming before, it surely does now.”

Leontis grinned wryly. “I suppose that means the time for stealth has passed.”

Diran grinned back. “I’d say that was an accurate supposition.”

He stepped aside so Leontis could enter the mill. As his companion stepped past, Diran slipped a silver dagger out of a hidden sheath in his cloak. He’d owned the dagger for years, having acquired it on a job when he was seventeen, when he’d been hired to assassinate a baron in Adunair who’d turned out to be a vampire. It had been Diran’s first and only encounter with one of the undead fiends, but he’d kept the dagger, just in case. It had come in handy on several occasions since he’d begun studying with Tusya, and he had the feeling he’d have further need of it this night.

As soon as Leontis had passed across the mill’s threshold, Diran slipped inside after his friend with silent grace. The air inside the mill was even colder than outside, and the dust from the collapsing door had yet to settle, making visibility poor, even with the aid of the light gem. Leontis continued holding his bow at the ready, but he didn’t loose the arrow. Leontis wasn’t one to act on impulse.

Inside, they saw only what they expected: a large room with floorboards warped and broken, sacks filled with old grain piled against the walls, millstone set in the middle of the floor, wooden rods and gears for turning the stone, ceiling beams overhead, missing roof tiles allowing shafts of moonlight to fall upon the dust-covered floor. But Diran noticed something else. The grain sacks
had no holes from where hungry mice had nibbled their way inside, no bats hung from the ceiling beams, and there were no spiderwebs anywhere, only strands of cobwebs. There was no life of any kind within the abandoned mill.

“Now what?” Leontis spoke in a low voice even though there was no longer any need to maintain secrecy, but Diran knew the man couldn’t help it. The mill’s atmosphere of dread inspired one to speak in soft tones.

Now what, indeed? Up to now, Tusya had always taken the lead whenever they’d “bearded evil in its lair,” as the old priest half-jokingly referred to it. And whenever they’d done so, the evil had obligingly made its presence known—usually by leaping out and trying to slay them. But it appeared that the evil that infested this place had no intention of being so cooperative.

“I suppose we could always try summoning the evil forth,” Diran suggested.

Leontis kept his silverburn-coated arrow ready and swept his gaze slowly back and forth, continuous alert for danger. Diran noted with approval that Leontis’s hands were steady, and the tip of his arrow didn’t waver.

“And how, pray tell, are we supposed to do that?”

Good question. Diran knew such rites existed in Church lore. Tusya had spoken of them a time or two, and Diran had read about similar rituals during his years at Emon Gorsedd’s academy, when—at Emon’s encouragement—he’d read widely about all manner of subjects, including the supernatural. But to how those rites were carried out specifically, Diran had no idea. But that didn’t stop him from giving it a try.

He knelt down and wedged the light gem into a small crack in the floorboard near his foot. He then straightened and, still gripping the silver dagger in one hand, he reached into his tunic pocket and withdrew an arrowhead. Leontis had once asked Diran why he chose to keep the symbol of his new faith hidden when it was the custom among the Purified to carry their arrowheads in plain sight. Diran had responded that it was a practical decision. Just as with smiling in the moonlight, displaying a piece of silver where
light might glint off of it wasn’t conducive to approaching an enemy without being noticed. Leontis had seemed less than satisfied with this explanation, but he’d never challenged Diran on it again.

Diran planted his feet apart, raised his hands into the air, and spoke in what he hoped was a commanding voice.

“Spirits that inhabit this place, in the holy name of the Silver Flame, we beseech you to reveal yourselves!”

Diran thought he could almost feel the mill tremble in response to his voice, but no unearthly voices answered, and no undead creatures came charging toward them out the shadows. After several moments passed without anything happening, Diran lowered his arms and looked to Leontis.

“Beseech?” Leontis asked with a raised eyebrow.

Diran shrugged.

Despite the failure of Diran’s exhortation, Leontis continued to hold his bow steady. Just because nothing had responding to Diran’s summons didn’t mean nothing was present. After all, they could both still sense the evil permeating the mill.

“So what do we do next?” Leontis asked. “Tear the place apart looking for hidden chambers? Rip up the floorboards to see if any bodies are hidden beneath?”

Diran thought for a moment. “I say we burn the mill down.”

Leontis looked at Diran as if he’d taken leave of his senses. “Are you possessed?”

Diran smiled. “I hope not. If the evil will not come forward to confront us, then it must be because for whatever reason it’s hiding from us. So the best way to flush it out is to take away its hiding place.”

Leontis mulled over his fellow acolyte’s suggestion. “It’s worth a try. Given how old this place is, we shouldn’t have any trouble getting a good fire going in short order. And who knows? Perhaps by destroying the mill we’ll also destroy the evil presence that inhabits it. I’ll keep watch while you start the fire.”

Diran nodded. He slipped his dagger back into its sheath, then reached into his tunic for his flint and striker. He knew a way to release the fire elemental from the light gem if necessary, but he
didn’t want to waste the little flame spirit if he didn’t have to. But as he brought out the flint, he felt a sudden chill gust of wind waft through the mill and enfold him in its icy grasp.

No …

It sounded like the mournful wail of a distant wind, but Diran knew he was hearing a voice. The coldness surrounding him intensified, and he thought he could feel delicate fingers gripping the wrist of the hand that held the flint. But when he looked down, he saw nothing but his own flesh.

“Diran, what is it?”

Diran tried to answer his friend, but his lips felt sluggish and numb, as if he’d been outside in winter cold for too long, and his voice refused to come. He felt his strength begin to ebb, and he knew that the unseen creature holding onto him was stealing his life essence.

“Use your arrowhead, Diran! Thrust it toward the creature!”

Excellent advice. Unfortunately, Diran couldn’t move. Whatever foul power the invisible creature possessed, it had rendered him immobile. But then again, perhaps not entirely. He tried to wiggle the fingers of his right hand—the hand holding the flint—and though his fingers were too numb for him to tell whether or not he succeeded, Diran was rewarded with the sound of the flint hitting the floor. Marshalling all the strength remaining to him, Diran concentrated on speaking a single word.

“F … fffff …
Fire
…”

Leontis understood. He dropped his bow and ran forward to snatch up Diran’s flint. He moved quickly away from Diran lest he be caught by whatever force had taken hold of his companion and then drew a fresh arrow from the quiver slung over his shoulder. Holding the arrow near the metal tip, Leontis knelt down close the floor and began using his makeshift striker on Diran’s flint. Sparks leapt forth from the flint, arcing into the air and landing on the mill’s wooden floor, only to fizzle out in the layer of dust covering the planks.

Diran felt vertigo wash over him, and his vision was starting to go gray. As consciousness began to desert him, he prayed that Leontis would be able to get a fire started before their unseen attacker finished draining the rest of his lifeforce. If not … well, then Diran
would just have to experience his reunion with the Silver Flame a bit earlier than he’d expected, wouldn’t he?

Diran heard the spectral voice whisper mournfully once more.

No … fire …

And then the voice spoke a word that startled the young acolyte.

Please …

A spark hit the floor and ignited into flame, causing Leontis to let out a shout of triumph. The flame grew quickly, and Diran knew that within moments the mill would be beyond saving.

Though he had virtually no strength remaining, Diran somehow managed to speak three more words. “Put … it … out …”

They were little more than whispered exhalations, and Diran wasn’t sure that Leontis had even heard them, let alone that he would understand and heed them. But the other acolyte looked at Diran for a long moment before finally rising to his feet and stomping out the fire he’d just made. It took several tries, but Leontis managed to extinguish the flames.