Derwen Hold shook with explosions. Smoke filled the air as fires raged somewhere. As they rushed through the halls, running towards the dungeons, he heard bits and pieces of orders – someone was asking for reinforcements in the courtyard, the armoury was on fire, the mess hall had been blown up…

  He turned the corner to the wide hallway on the ground floor, only to come face to face with about a dozen soldiers clad in black. A dozen blades turned towards him, though they recognised him quickly.

  “Your highness,” one of them stepped forward. A single feather was embossed onto the shoulder pads of his armour. “We will escort you to-“

  “Lieutenant,” Midhir cut him off. “You and your men will follow me.”

  “But sire-“ The lieutenant tried to protest.

  “You and your men will follow me!” Midhir repeated his words before marching through the group of soldiers with Arwen in tow.

  “Yes, sir.” The lieutenant bowed his head.

  The Lieutenant took his place on his left, while another guard marched on his right side, their hands resting on the hilts of their blades, and gazes scouring their surroundings. The rest of the troops were right behind them, marching alongside and behind Arwen.

  At least now she had someone to stand between her and the enemy. Good, Midhir thought as he led them down, through the spiral stairs leading to the dungeon. As he descended the steps, a dull, yet familiar pain throbbed behind his left eye.

  A hand touched his shoulder. “Something is very wrong.” Arwen whispered wide eyed. “Midhir, I don’t know what they’re doing, but please be careful. Something is wrong with the spiritual power down there.”

  His brows furrowed as he glanced at the lieutenant in front of him. “Do you notice it as well?”

  The man nodded after a split second of hesitation. “There shouldn’t be so much spiritual power anywhere near Derwen Hold. Not even now.”

  Not even when the Emperor was away.

  A few moments, and half a dozen steps later, the low hum of voices reached his ears. There were people down there. His ears perked up. He held his breath as he tried to listen in, but the words blurred together, indistinct and lost to distance and echo.

  “We’re out of time.” He whispered. “Go and be ready.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  They rushed down the stairs as quietly as they could and barged into the dungeon. The guards rushed forward, forming a half circle in front of Midhir and Arwen.

  “Welcome, welcome!” The cultist leader’s voice echoed. He stood up in his cell and approached the thick metal bars. “So kind of you to come all the way here to welcome my people.” He stretched his arms out, gesturing towards the men and women clad in dark brown and black cloaks and robes.

  He counted at least three dozen of them. More, if they hid in the narrow hallways stretching out of this central chamber. How had so many of them snuck into Derwen Hold? And how had they found where the dungeons were? They weren’t marked, and certainly not told to the students and staff from Solus.

  The throbbing pain on the back of his eye subsided as most of the cultists formed a line between the honour guard and their leader’s cell. The remaining few rushed to the cell’s door. Crimson crystals glittered in their hands as they held them against the hinges and bolts of the cell door. Red-hot flames scorched the metal in an attempt to melt it.

  Midhir gritted his teeth as he unsheathed his blade. They were outnumbered, but Captain Marr would probably arrive soon. All they needed to do was hold this exit.

  “Kill them.” The Cultist leader’s words echoed. “But keep the prince alive.”

  The cultists stepped forward in unison. Their spears pointed at the honour guard, the augments embedded into the wooden hafts glittered. Flames gathered at the tips of their spears before leaping towards the imperial guard.

  “Shields!” The Lieutenant shouted. The honour guard raised their left arms to their chests, squeezing their hands into fists. Brown-gold augments embedded into their gauntlets glimmered. The earth shook, and walls of thick rock rose in front of them a split second before the flames hit them.

  “Advance!” The Lieutenant ordered as soon as the flames dissipated.

  The honour guard stretched their left arms forward, palm facing forth. The augments in their gauntlets glimmered again, and as if mimicking their arms’ movements, the walls of stone slid forward, slamming into the line of cultists.

  Screams filled the air. He heard the faint crunch of breaking bones amongst the noise of shattering rock.

  The honour guard moved forth.

  “Look out!” Arwen shouted. Her staff’s crystal burst into blinding light as a golden barrier formed between the honour guard and the narrow hallway to the left.

  All sounds were muffled for a split second. Air rushed out of the room, towards the hallway. Then, a white hot line appeared from the darkness, smashing against Arwen’s barrier. The young woman grunted, beads of sweat rolled down her forehead as she fed more and more power into the crystal – into her defensive resonance.

  Midhir ran his hand along the curvature of his blade. The metal was cold to his touch and remained so as silver-white flames appeared in the wake of his touch, then slowly gathered in his now open palm. It was difficult to command the flames separately, but thanks to Instructor Caarda he could do that without immediately exhausting himself now.

  The flames condensed in his palm as he narrowed his eyes. The white-hot beam’s caster was hidden in the darkness. But the beam was enough to know where. With a deep breath, he hurled the condensed ball of silver-white flames into the hallway.

  The beam cut off and the flames clung onto the silhouette of a person.

  “Go after that one.” The Lieutenant ordered one of his men.

  The cell door snapped off its melted hinges, falling onto the ground with a deafening clang. The cultist leader stepped out of his cell slowly. He gently touched the top of his helmet. “Let us begin.”