Deals With Demons

The chapel passage breathes hot incense and old damp. Beyond the grate, the Warden’s boots strike the main corridor, slow and heavy, drawn toward the shadow Kaelith marks.

Alaric shifts beside Buer, hilt half-drawn, eyes fixed on the moving light beyond the arch. He keeps himself still, waiting for Buer to choose the moment.

Buer slips from the passage edge as the Warden turns into the choke point. A knife flashes low, and the iron signet snags free from his belt with a sharp jolt of metal.

Kaelith points once, precise and impatient, toward the fleeing shadow at the corridor’s bend where the chapel route narrows toward the laundering tunnel.

Buer plants a hand on the Warden’s head and snaps a bolt of arcane force through him. The torchlight lurches. He staggers, clutching at empty air, and the corridor rings with the crack of raw magic.

The iron signet lies in Buer’s grip, cold and solid. The Warden’s shout breaks into a strangled gasp as he reels backward, his retinue suddenly shouting over one another beyond the bend.

Kaelith’s pointing hand snaps toward the laundering tunnel, her spirit form flickering hard in the incense haze as the corridor behind the Warden fills with pounding boots.

Alaric lunges from the passage mouth, sword clearing at last, and squares himself between Buer and the narrowing choke point. The route forward is open, but the prison wall of steel is closing fast.