Chapter 16

Lacilius walked slowly through the streets of Aradeyn, leaning on his long staff like some ancient old man. The city was rapidly sinking into darkness. The sun was inexorably disappearing beyond the horizon, and magical streetlamps were lighting up everywhere.

Suddenly, the necromancer heard the beating of wings. Without wasting a moment, he slipped into the nearest alley and melted into its darkness as though he were part of it.

A black raven with a long, elegant beak was already waiting for him on one of the wooden crates. A moment later, the bird turned into Velet.

“The rogue found the fugitive mage,” the dark mage said bitterly.

“Hmm. Just as we planned,” the necromancer replied calmly, adjusting the bandages wrapped around his index fingers.

“Though I doubt he’ll agree to hand him over willingly,” Velet immediately added.

“I never doubted that,” Lacilius said condescendingly. “That is precisely why I came to this part of the city.” The necromancer pointed behind Velet.

He turned around and saw a narrow church spire in the gathering twilight.

“What? You came all the way out here to pray or something?” the dark mage cursed, summoning his chicken-claw staff into his hand.

“No,” Lacilius replied calmly, then moved through the darkness of the alley toward the church. “This is no ordinary church,” he said as he stepped out onto the street.

They emerged onto a small square, where the houses stood tightly packed in several rings, with a church crowned by a narrow spire rising within one of them.

Black windows. Red facade.

“There.” Lacilius pointed at the church. “We may find allies inside. Yan really won’t hand Zolotoros over to us just like that, even—”

Lacilius raised a calming hand when he saw that Velet was about to object again. “Even considering the fact that the Intersection of the Abyss makes us considerably stronger here. Yan is a very unusual man, and he’ll resist to the bitter end even when the odds are against him. That is why, my dear friend Velet”—the necromancer turned toward the mage—“we’ll try to throw him off balance a little before we enter into open conflict. And when the time actually comes, we’ll make our move while his attention is elsewhere. Come.”

The necromancer slowly headed toward the church. Velet hobbled after him. In the twilight, they looked like two ghosts drifting across the stone paving of the square without ever touching the ground.

And then they were already standing before the tall double doors.

Lacilius cleared his throat and raised a hand to knock. But then he abruptly changed his mind. He pulled the handle toward himself and entered the main prayer hall. A couple of columns, an altar where a priest in red robes was still chanting, and a few parishioners.

When they entered, however, the singing stopped immediately. Everyone stared at the two dark mages in surprise. The door slammed shut.

“Greetings, Your Reverence,” Lacilius said, heading toward the altar. Velet followed close behind.

The parishioners continued watching them without looking away.

“W-what can I do for you, good sorcerers?” the priest asked somewhat nervously.

Fat, bald, with a book clutched against his chest.

“We came on business,” Lacilius said, slipping a hand inside his robes, and the parishioners sitting on the benches immediately rushed him, drawing short daggers.

Before they could reach him, however, Velet’s magic slammed them to the ground. The dark mage had been on guard the entire time.

“Calm yourselves, gentlemen. We didn’t come here looking for a fight,” the necromancer said, finally pulling a wanted poster from inside his robes. On it was the image of…

The priest stared at the portrait and immediately grimaced.

“Grim Gar Fitzgerald, huh? Though we know him by another name as well…” The churchman spat and raised his eyes to the necromancer. “We know he’s in the city.”

“Well then, how about a small alliance? We, as sorcerers of Mraskanzas, will help you capture him. Or kill him.” Lacilius shrugged. “And in return, you’ll help us take something from him. Do you think Archbishop Kont Dyu would agree to a deal like that?”

The priest gave the necromancer a skeptical look.

“Hmm. Well, actually, the Jesters work on their own. That’s how we’re known. And it’s tradition. Still…” He thought for a moment. “Mraskanzas wouldn’t make a bad ally. Deal.”

“Magnificent,” Lacilius replied. A faint blush briefly colored his bone-pale face, and the necromancer shifted into a serpentine whisper. “A-all f-for l-love.”