Chapter 16 Deliverance
DELIVERANCE
Venrick stumbled deeper into the tunnels, deliberately making enough noise to draw pursuit away from Edgar’s escape route.
The corruption had spread to his chest now, each pulse sending black tendrils creeping across his torso, starting to work their way up his neck toward his face.
His breaths came in ragged rasps, each one more painful than the last.
“Over here!” he called out, his voice echoing through the ancient passages. “Come and get me!”
The response was immediate. Heavy footfalls quickened, voices shouted commands. Venrick smiled grimly. At least this part of his plan was working.
He rounded a corner and found himself in a section of tunnels older than the rest. The stones here were fitted without mortar, bearing the distinctive craftsmanship of the original sanctuary builders. Faint carvings flickered in the dim light.
Venrick pressed his hand against the wall to steady himself as another wave of pain washed over him. The remaining metal pages were growing heavier, a burden he could barely carry.
His thoughts strayed to Lark. Was she taken elsewhere by the King, or the Void Drinker? The uncertainty of her fate cut deeper than the spell’s corruption. He had abandoned her, necessary though it was, and now he might never see her again.
No. He pushed the thought away. Division was what the spell wanted, what the corruption fed on. He had to believe there was a way forward, for both of them.
The tunnel ahead split into three branches. Venrick hesitated, unsure which path to take. He heard the clatter of his pursuers’ armor, the low murmur of their voices as they coordinated their search.
Instinctively, he reached for the elven half of his senses. They had never been one hundred percent reliable, but they were keen. Tel Roan had always encouraged Venrick to trust them.
A subtle awareness bloomed at the edge of his consciousness. The right-hand passage felt wrong, as if the air there rejected him. The central path was neutral, but the left. The left passage called to him with a familiarity he couldn’t explain.
Venrick took the left path without further hesitation. The tunnel narrowed immediately, forcing him to hunch his shoulders as he moved forward. Then it made a sharp turn, and Venrick nearly collided with a solid wall. It was a dead end.
“No,” he whispered, pressing his hands against the stone as if he could force it to yield through sheer desperation.
As his fingers grazed the surface, he felt subtle indentations in the stone.
They felt intentional and purposefully carved there.
Squinting in the dim light, he made out familiar shapes.
The dragonrider wing symbol they’d seen in the Northern Sanctuary, interlaced with what he now recognized as fae script.
A hidden door, just like the one they’d found in the sanctuary core.
But this one would require magic to open, magic he no longer possessed. The Yogo Sapphire in his sword was depleted, and he had no natural ability to channel power like Lark did through her bonds.
As the footsteps grew louder, Venrick estimated he had a minute before they found him.
In desperation, he pressed his palm against the center of the door where the two scripts intertwined most intricately. “Please,” he whispered, though to whom or what, he wasn’t sure.
Nothing happened.
He leaned his forehead against the cool stone, fighting for clarity as his vision began to blur.
Whether it was from desperation or defiance, Venrick muttered, “The corruption seeks division. Unity is its bane.” As he spoke, something that Tel told him once, from years ago, burst into shocking focus.
“Being half-elven isn’t about being caught between two worlds, Ven. It’s about being the bridge that connects them.”
In that moment Venrick realized that the door wasn’t responding because he was approaching it as a human would, or as an elf might. But perhaps…
Venrick closed his eyes, focusing not on channeling power from an external source as he’d been taught, but on something deeper. The essence of what he was, neither fully human nor fully elven, but something unique that encompassed both.
At first, nothing changed. Then, as the guards’ voices grew closer, he felt it. There was a faint stirring beneath his palm. Not power exactly, not like the raw magic of a Yogo Sapphire or what he imagined a dragon bond held, but something more fundamental. It was a resonance.
The indentations beneath his hand began to glow. They didn’t emit green light like draconic magic, nor the silver of fae power, but a subtle purple luminescence of two sources forming as one that seemed to flow from his own corruption-marked skin.
The stone door shuddered, then silently receded into the wall.
Venrick nearly fell forward as his support vanished. Beyond lay a narrow passage, clearly part of the original sanctuary and untouched by the Keep’s later construction. Faint light glowed from white crystals embedded in the ceiling, illuminating a path that sloped gently upward.
Without hesitation, Venrick stepped through. As soon as he cleared the threshold, the door slid closed behind him, sealing him off from his pursuers.
For a moment, he simply stood breathing in the suddenly quiet passage, scarcely believing his escape. Then his legs shook like they were going to give way. He leaned into the wall, sliding down until he sat on the cool stone floor.
The rest was temporary, he knew. The King’s spell continued to work its way through his system.
But for now, at least, he had a moment to gather what remained of his strength.
Venrick didn’t know how long he sat there, drifting in and out of consciousness.
Eventually, he forced himself to his feet, swaying as he fought for balance.
He followed a gentle spiraling ramp, angling up. Venrick walked carefully, until he saw a natural light spilling in from ahead. It wasn’t the dim glow of embedded crystals along the ceiling, but the silvery illumination of moonlight.
“An exit,” he breathed.
He quickened his pace, ignoring the protests of his body. The passage ended at a simple arch. Beyond lay a small clearing surrounded by dense shrubbery, the walls of the Vermillion Keep visible through the foliage some fifty yards away.
He had emerged outside the Keep proper, somewhere along its eastern face.
Venrick took a cautious step out of the passage, feeling the sticky pull of passing through a warded barrier.
He froze, waiting to hear some kind of warning.
The area seemed deserted, with no guards in sight.
Alarm bells rang in the distance, but nothing disturbed this quiet area.
Venrick swiveled to examine the path he’d just emerged from, but there was nothing but the stoney side wall of the Keep.
Unable to explain any of this, Venrick refocused on navigating to the service entrance. The metal pages inside his coat clinked lightly as he lurched and jogged through the shadows.
He froze upon seeing movement ahead. He pressed himself against the trunk of an ornamental tree and held his breath as a patrol passed by. Their torches illuminated their grim expressions.
“Sweep the entire perimeter,” one was saying. “No one leaves the grounds without inspection.”
“What exactly are we looking for, sir?” asked another.
“The intruders stole something from the King’s private collection. General Ashbrook, the Archmagus, and Duke Ronan want them found, immediately.”
The patrol moved on, their torchlight fading into the darkness. Venrick waited until he was certain they were gone before continuing his painful progress.
Finally, the eastern service entrance came into view. The small gate was closed. Two guards stood at attention guarding it. Beyond them, Venrick could just make out a familiar figure lurking in the shadows. Hardin.
But how to reach him? The space between Venrick’s position and the gate was open ground, with no cover to speak of.
In his current state, he couldn’t hope to evade or overcome the guards.
Scanning the area again, Venrick spotted a small drainage ditch that ran beneath a decorative hedge.
It might provide enough cover to get him closer to the gate without being seen. It was his only option.
He began to move toward it, but his body betrayed him. His legs simply stopped responding, and he collapsed.
Just as he saw a guard turning at the faint noise of Venrick’s body slumping into the grass, the man was distracted.
A figure approached wearing the robes of a Keep servant.
As Venrick watched, the figure gestured emphatically, pointing toward the main courtyard.
He could just barely see the blond braids emerging from under the hood.
After a brief discussion, both guards nodded and followed the hooded figure away from their post, heading toward whatever disturbance had been reported.
Venrick looked back to where he’d seen Hardin. He wasn’t there anymore.
Where did he go?
“Venrick?” Hardin whispered as he crouched beside him. “Ashes, what happened to you?”
“I was attacked with a spell,” Venrick said, his voice little more than a rasp. “The guards,” he managed.
“Don’t worry about the guards. Sasja’s pulled them away,” Hardin said. A moment later, Venrick thought he heard a brief cry before it was silenced, a splash of water sounding immediately afterward.
Venrick ignored it, saying, “Did Edgar reach you?”
Hardin nodded, frowning as he examined Venrick’s condition. “He delivered the page. I sent him off with enough coin to get him and his family out of the city.”
“Good,” Venrick breathed. With trembling hands, he reached inside his coat and withdrew the remaining metal pages. “Here. The rest of the ritual.”
Hardin took the pages carefully, securing them inside his own clothing. “We need to get you out of here. Now.”
“My legs… I can’t walk,” Venrick admitted.