6: Rescues

*Content warning: mild fantasy violence, dagger cut.

Brennan padded along the mausoleum’s passageways, magelamps casting light enough he could see a few feet around him. There were no signs of anyone. Leneah had gone in here, he was sure of it. He’d seen her and the hooded man walk through the main entrance and heard unearthly screams coming from inside. Now, there were no traces of them. His heart pounded and his stomach churned with the need to find her.

He made his way back to the foyer to investigate again. The mausoleum was a pentagon with arched doors leading down to a new section of crypt in the center of each of the five walls. He’d traveled all the hallways twice over, as well as the outer walkway with tall windows looking out into the cemetery.

There has to be a hidden door or something, he mused to himself.

The silence of the mausoleum was so thorough he kept finding himself holding his breath, wary of making any noise at all. He stepped forward, but paused, instinct once more guiding his actions.

Why had there been no tapping sound as his sole hit the stone? Brennan rubbed his forehead, a strange pressure lurking behind his eyes and thudding in his ears.

Pressure…

He’d seen this before, once. Or rather, felt it before—popping of the ears and unnatural quiet. Silencing spells were highly advanced and required a powerful leymage with earth affinity to perform the actual casting. If the hooded man had such a spell in place, or paid the boatload of gold freelance mages charged, then something taboo must be happening.

Brennan moved toward the first of the doors on his right, beginning his search anew. This time, he walked slowly enough he could scarcely stand it, studying the floor, walls and ceiling for anything out of the ordinary.

He’d noticed earlier that some of the side halls had branches of their own, all going to a single large crypt, someone wealthy or important. The entrances to these rooms were just out of reach of the light from the evenly spaced magelamps. Everything looked like before, though–at least, until he reached the last hallway.

It was small and in a puddle of darkness that he’d missed before. A thumbnail-sized patch of white against the cold stone floor, deep in the shadow where he’d not looked before. Brennan glanced around him to be sure there were no traps or enemies lying in wait, then ducked to pick up the object. It was a tiny fabric square, one side frayed where it had been torn from a garment.

He brought it to his nose and caught the cinnamon and spice scent of his thief. Warmth flowed through his heart. She had been here and had been well enough of mind and body to leave him this clue to guide him to her, to help him on his hunt. He pocketed the scrap and crept forward, into the darkness at the side of the hallway. Was there another crypt entrance he had missed?

The darkness didn’t last long. Eerie green magic spilled from under the arched door, twisting Brennan’s stomach with dread. He’d encountered corruption, but never like this. As stealthily as he could manage, he unstrapped the buckler from his back, fitting it over his left arm, and unsheathed his sword. Good thing he’d oiled it only that morning–there was no ting of metal to betray him. Before he could second-guess himself, he pushed through the door into the room.

The sight that met him was nothing like he’d imagined. This crypt was a miniature pentagon, with each wall housing three graves, and a raised dais in the middle. Brackish green flame tore through the room along seams in the floor, pouring from orbs that five hooded figures clutched. At the center of the room⁠⁠⁠—

“No!” he yelled before he knew what he was doing. Leneah stood over a body tied down and wrapped in black, the stolen dagger dripping blood as she held it to her side. She wouldn’t have hurt that poor soul. He knew it.

His eyes sought an answer and found a long streak of red along her forearm. The blood was hers, prompting a mix of relief and concern within him. The weapon pulsed with sun-gold rays that melted away the surrounding corruption. She lifted the dagger and rushed toward the tall figure from the courtyard as bravely as any warrior.

Too many things happened at once. The five people holding the magical items spewing out that sickly fire rushed towards him, shouting as prepared spell sigils. The evil magic was fading, though, tongues of gold light shimmering over the cracks in the floor.

Leneah ran to place herself between the tied-up body and the original hooded figure, whose mask shattered to the ground when she jammed the dagger blade underneath it in an expert stroke, knocking it loose.

Brennan fought off a wave of sickness.

The creature revealed was something out of a nightmare. Skeletal and wizened, cracks in its skin glowing with corroded magic, it howled in rage, a sound that no being of the light could utter. Brennan had just enough time to see Leneah swipe the dagger along the creature’s face before another burst of gold light nearly blinded him.

The other five people in the room trundled toward him but were slow and clumsy. He bashed the closest one with his shield and struck another over the side with the flat of his sword. Both cried out, sounds of mundane, humanoid pain.

Mortal, and none of them warriors, from the looks of it.

“Good, I can work with this,” Brennan growled, striking out at their hands.

The first dropped the magic orb to the ground, glass shattering, the light whooshing away in a haze of noxious smoke. He spun as two more charged him, punching the one on his right and kicking the next in the thigh. Double crashes, shattering glass muted in the effects of the silencing spell. Three of the hooded cultists lay on the ground, groaning in pain. The last two paced a wary circle around him, chanting. Brennan ran forward just as they raised their hands in unison.

“Bastards!” Leneah’s voice sounded from behind him. Something whistled by his ear. The dagger hurtled through the air to lodge in the forearm of one and startled the other enough that they didn’t finish their spell. Brennan turned toward the dais, where the inhuman leader had crumpled to his knees, corrupted leymagic seeping out of him like viscous green blood, seeking solace beneath the stones.

Brendan ran to Leneah’s side, his heart pounding at her approach. Anticipation rose within him he hadn’t felt in a long time. Would her touch be feather-light or strong? Thief or warrior?

She turned aside at the last moment, directing her attention to the cultist next to him. Disappointment washed through him strong enough to make his chest ache, but he quickly pushed it aside. Her course of action was right. They had other things that needed their attention.

“He won’t be hurting anyone, not anymore,” Leneah said as she pulled the dagger from the cultist’s arm. “Tie up this filth. I need to help whoever that is,” she added, and walked over to the body on the cot.

Brennan fished a length of rope from his kit and tied the hands and feet of all five cultists. He rifled through their robe pockets, smashing the remaining orbs on the ground beside them. As a finishing touch, he paced to each of them, slicing the ribbons that held their masks in place with the tip of his sword.

All human men, except for one Empyrean elf woman who did her level best to spit in his face. When he was certain they wouldn’t cause any more trouble, he joined Leneah on the dais. The creature was gone, a fine dusting of black ash covering the stone where it had stood, mixed in with the remains of the shattered mask. A horrible stench hung in the air–rotting corpse and decay–then faded into nothing.

“She’s still alive,” she said. She’d cut away the rope and fabric binding a young human woman wearing a filthy white dressing gown.

“Quinnley Northmarch?” Brennan asked, stunned. The daughter of a pair of eccentric and wealthy antiquities merchants had been missing for a fortnight. Now here she was, a prisoner in a crypt, meant to be the sacrifice of a horrifying cult. This was uncharted territory.

“I… I was trying to s-study them,” she said brokenly, tears tracking over her dirty cheeks where Leneah sat next to her, holding her upright. “I was going to tell the Valiants, but I was in deep, then I was afraid, but I had made so much progress.” Quinnley’s voice broke as she sobbed into Leneah’s shoulder.

“Oh, darling,” Leneah whispered, a strange expression on her face. She’d thrown her hood back, her tangled copper hair glinting in the now wholesome light from the two magelamps in the crypt. “Never take something like this upon yourself again. Do you understand me? Even those of us trained for such things put ourselves in terrible danger–” she stopped short, not meeting Brennan’s eyes.

“You both need medical attention, and this needs to be reported to the Garrison. I have a sending stone–I’ll get help.” Brennan dug the small, unassuming sandstone tablet out of his kit. He tapped his fingers and thumb on its time-worn surface in a complex pattern. White magelight flowed from the stone, casting a halo around his hand. He traced the shorthand for his location onto its surface, re-tapped the pattern from before, and its light pulsed three times.

Message received–good.

“I’ll check you both for any serious wounds until the others get here. And thief?” He addressed Leneah with a partly feigned look of consternation on his face. “I want to know what happened here.”

“You won’t believe it,” she laughed.

“How about you try me,” he said, and settled in.

“I’m from a group of protectors who have tracked this cult for a while now. My job was to do what this one here was misguidedly attempting.” She glanced down at the girl next to her, who had stopped crying. “I thought Brother Night was trying to recruit me just so he could get my money or brainwash me into petty crime. There was much more to it.”

“You don’t say,” Brennan offered in a dry voice, bandaging up a cut on the girl’s hand. The easy camaraderie between him and Leneah surprised him at first. But after all they’d shared that evening, he realized it was just another strand of the Source connecting them.

“I don’t know more beyond that. They did not prepare me for this. I don’t think anyone could have been ready. This was entirely dark power, like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I was supposed to steal the dagger to use in an initiation rite. Instead, he ordered me to, well,” her voice faded as she looked meaningfully at Quinnley.

“That dagger is not supposed to be magic, not going by what the Archives curator told me. What is it really?” Brennan asked.

Leneah shook her head. “He’s right. It’s just a dagger, but it has a grisly history. A cultist from the Harbingers used it in the ritual torture of nobles he wanted to extort. It was only supposed to be a symbol, something meant to scare me into taking orders. Before I stole it, one of my colleagues enchanted it with the same spells that cleanse corrupt leytemples. The plan was to undo any unsavory magic they had gotten into. Nobody had any clue how bad it was. He tried to infect me with it, you know. It’s why I slashed myself in hopes it would cleanse me, too. Seems it worked.”

“You knew how and where to injure yourself with minimal damage. I’m impressed. And here I thought I was catching a simple thief,” he said. They sat for a time in silence as he cleaned and bandaged the wound on Leneah’s arm. The sound of talking in the hallway heralded his reinforcements. Startled, Leneah reached out, winding her small, icy fingers into his. That she sought comfort from him warmed his heart.

“Please, Brennan the Valiant, send word to Archmage Miir about what happened here. She will know more than anyone else what to do next.”

He watched her, finally able to take in the details of her face, wanting to memorize them. Her blue-gray eyes were serious, pleading, trained on him with an intensity that made him shiver. He leaned close, squeezed her hand, and pressed his forehead to hers. “I promise,” he said, then drew away with more reluctance than he’d imagined possible.

It was time to clean up and report to the Garrison for an unholy ton of paperwork. As he greeted his reinforcements, advising them on the situation, he glanced back at Leneah, who was being led out of the room by Liall, a Valiant with a warm disposition and sunny smile.

Excellent. Liall will take care of her better than anyone but me, he thought, throat strangely tight, heart galloping, trying to ignore the urge to run after her himself.