PROLOGUE
Shadows consumed the city at nightfall, the hazy sky bereft of the moon, but that was the only time Henrick could traverse the alleyways and lanes. His kind wasn’t welcome here, not in an official capacity. But the city guards flanking the entrance kept their mouths shut and their eyes diverted when Henrick led a troop of Dark Guild soldiers into Maganthia.
The officers had been paid off, no doubt. Henrick and his allies were escorted by a high-ranking council member, the first he’d managed to turn, and that was how the deities’ natural enemy managed to stroll into their city unchecked.
Most of the city slept, giving them clearance to slip through the back alleys to the residential district. Then they made their way to a stately, gray manor. The windows were dark and still, just a solitary lantern glowed near the front door, which they bypassed, venturing around the estate to the backyard. A vibrant garden surrounded a tidy seating area and stretched into the trees, but no one took the time to smell the magical blooms before following the councilman to a tiny tool shed. When he opened the door, Henrick found himself at the top of a dark stairwell, so he smiled at the provisions and descended the narrow steps.
His soldiers filed in behind him, delving about thirty feet underground. Then the passageway opened up to a large chamber with a long dining table, a fully stocked bar, seating for around fifty, and two prison cells. Multiple rooms branched off the first, and Henrick poked his head in them all, discovering a three-bedroom suite, a handful of latrines, a kitchenette, and a few hundred beds.
“Well,” he sighed, “it’s not The Spire, but it will do.”
He moved to one of the cells and searched it for weaknesses. Then he coated the floor, ceiling and three walls in a dense shield before demanding his soldiers bring their captive forward. They obeyed, dragging the large wizard named Bull into the cell, and the councilman moved closer to the bars, watching them bind the gagged man to the bars and floor.
“How do you know he’s a Servant of Ava? Can you see the mark?”
Henrick approached the liquor and poured a drink. “We’re not even certain he can see the mark. Our last servant swore until his dying day that Ava hadn’t branded him. It makes sense that the mark would stay concealed until necessary. If it appeared at birth, the information would be too vulnerable. Our researchers have concluded an unknown factor will reveal the information to the servant. Now we need to discover what that factor is. If the answer exists in this realm, it’s in your Dark Vault. Have you procured us access?”
“We’re working on it. So, if the mark doesn’t exist yet, how do you know he’s a servant?”
“He and his ilk have Ava on the brain. Since the dawn of the Dark Guild, we’ve been studying the Seven Sisters theory. Direct answers are nearly impossible to find, but one can learn a lot from centuries of experience and research. When we were finally ready to put the wisdom to good use, we discovered there were at least three young wizards who could draw the woman from their dreams before they could talk, and that woman looks a lot like historical depictions of the one and only Ava. We tried to take custody of all three boys, but two of them slipped through our grasp, including this one, so we used different tactics to take the third. I’m afraid we were a little rough on him. He recently committed suicide, so we tracked down this guy again. He goes by the name Bull. Or so we’re told. He hasn’t spoken a word since we took him.”
The door to the shed opened, and quiet voices garbled down the stairwell as three men descended into the hideout, one of them with an unconscious witch flung over his shoulder. The wizards were introduced as councilmen. Then the witch was introduced as the key to the library’s Dark Vault.
“Turns out our high priest isn’t so holy,” one of the council members added. “He’s been screwing this chick on the sly for over a year. Once he knows we have her, he’ll do whatever we want.”
“Why do we need him?” Henrick asked. “You’re members of the esteemed Maganthian council. Let us in your vault.”
“We’re not even allowed in the Dark Vault. The high priest is the only person who can enter without raising alarms. And not all our members have accepted our path. There are a few holdouts. Thankfully, they’re no more sympathetic to your enemies’ plight. The Crusaders are here petitioning us for access to the library. We’ve refused to meet with them, but our excuses won’t hold forever. They’ll start pulling strings if they don’t get their way.”
Henrick drew close enough to stand toe-to-toe with the local. “Whose strings? Yours?”
The councilman swallowed and slightly shook his head. “No.”
“Then let them tug.”
Henrick walked to the cages, draining his glass as he watched soldiers bound the female captive’s wrists and ankles to a stone platform that served as a bed. “After all, it is us who has the key to the vault.”