Farak wiped the bloody dagger on his robe and sheathed it. Holding the small chalice high, he chanted. Salamin did not recognize the language. But the spell had not gone according to Farak’s plans. The mage’s own blood was mixed with their own.

  Satisfied, Farak set the chalice down on a woven cloth with runes. “In the Catacombs, your leader will need to make tough decisions. Life and death decisions that require the cooperation of your team. Before you enter, your leader will receive the chalice with each of your blood, and the spell of Spectoras. It will ensure your team follows your commands. Behold.”

  Farak motioned imperiously to Salamin. “Stand up, Initiate Sedwick.”

  Salamin did as instructed, though he felt no compulsion. All eyes were riveted on him.

  “Spectoras,” Farak exclaimed, extending his hand. A surge of dark energy left his fingers and pierced Salamin.

  As soon as Farak spoke the word, Salamin couldn’t speak or move.

  “You will stand still as a statue,” Farak commanded.

  Salamin felt his body turn to stone. He tried to move his fingers, and they were frozen into place.

  Farak leaned in close. “For Saban and Stefan,” he whispered.

  The mage addressed the other initiates. “The spell puts your followers under your command. Whoever is chosen as team leader, will need to know the strengths and limitations of this.”

  Elian raised his hand. “Sir, I don’t know why we’d need this. Is this for the first gate?”

  Farak inclined his head. “The leader will be given all knowledge and power needed for the first gate. For now, a demonstration will keep the followers in line.”

  “Initiate Sedwick, stand before me.”

  Salamin felt his muscles contract in uncomfortable cramping, only relieved by standing.

  “Face me,” Farak commanded.

  The spell wove its way into his feet, and pain shot through them, until he stepped forward in front of Farak.

  “Now you know the power, initiate. You will not dishonor your superiors. Bow your head in acknowledgement.”

  The muscles in Salamin’s neck and throat contracted, a dull ache that intensified with each breath, and released when he bowed his head.

  Farak smiled triumphantly. “An introduction to the shadow aspects of the void. This is what you will soon have at your command if you can survive the Catacombs.”

  Salamin squinted, trying to get a read on this mage and his powers.

  [Voidpath Tier 11]

  Farak had gained more than the other mages at the Keep. He would soon be able to gain access to the Inner Circle and the Order’s Fortress. While his Devold heritage had advantages in magic, it also held disadvantages. A Devold feared the darkness of the New Moon, when the goddess was further away, and the evil slips in.

  “Spectoras,” Salamin whispered. He felt the same wave of power tingle at his fingertips and outward, binding with Farak. He was now in unfamiliar territory. Some sect of darkness that seemed to enfold the Order and drive it mad.

  Farak’s eyes widened with surprise, and he gazed at Salamin, then down to his own hands. Had it worked?

  “Sir,” Salamin said slowly and quietly so the others could not hear. “Take me to the spelled chambers.”

  This was the point where Salamin would find out. His own moonpath powers were weak, but how would they match with a higher level voidpath in this area?

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  Farak stood up stiffly, his eyes wide, as he looked to the initiates and then to Salamin. His muscles flexed and jerked, then one foot moved forward and then another. He was walking to the corridor under Salamin’s command.

  Salamin inclined his head to the other initiates and followed. The Grand Hall was quiet as all eyes fell on Farak and his hasty departure.

  Soon, they arrived at a small chamber, the spelled place that served as a punishment to new initiates. Salamin opened the door, only the light from the hall windows illuminating the small stone prison. “Enter,” he spoke.

  Farak’s jaw clenched and his eyes flamed with burning anger as he regarded Salamin. The mage’s body jerked, then entered the chamber.

  “Sit,” Salamin commanded. Memories of the bruises on Lane’s arms unfurled in his mind, and Salamin clenched his fist and blew out a slow exhale. I

  Farak opened his mouth to protest, but his body slumped down to the floor.

  Salamin blew out another slow breath as impulses percolated through his mind. It would be used at another time. The chamber would have to be punishment enough. “You will remain here, without making a sound, for two days, then you will forget.”

  Farak shook his head wildly and opened his mouth to speak or scream. No words came out.

  In the chamber’s darkness, Salamin saw a flash of warning in his inner vision, and a painful grating sound within his ears.

  [Forbidden path. Connection to the Goddess Lost. The Power Lessens.]

  Pain wracked through Salamin, as he covered his ears. The sound was internal. Deep sorrow hit him like a boulder. The loss was profound, like losing the very air he breathed, primal and deep was gone. Salamin fell back against the stone wall, aware that Farak was watching him, his dark blue eyes unblinking in the narrow light coming from the hall.

  The sensation left, and Salamin shook himself and blinked. “Stay here,” he said, his voice raspy. He took one last look at Farak before shutting the chamber door, and leaving him in the dark silence.

  Now in the hall, he gazed at his powers and winced.

  Sedwick Draken ? Moonpath Tier 4 ? Class Paladin

  Health 30/100 ? Intelligence 20/100 ? Power 3100 ? Stamina 30/100

  Abilities: Lunapassus (Minor Healing Spell) Obivio (Confusion) Getore (Shield)

  [Touch Lost]

  He’d lost one of his abilities. It was like another punch to the gut. There are other paths that will make you more powerful, the voice chimed in his head. There were ways he’d never explored such as Spectoras, which he suspected came from a dark god. No doubt that dark god was smiling on him right now.

  Clenching his fist into a tight ball, Salamin let the moment pass. He would not become like Haldar.

  He calmed his mind and centered. Salamin would need all his strength to explain Farak’s disappearance, and to gain entrance into the Catacombs. “I will follow the moonpath,” he said out loud to the uncaring walls.

  [My Paladin]

  The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. She had heard and somehow blessed him, even in his failure.

  “I’m here,” he whispered back.

  Salamin glanced back at the closed door. The dark spell was holding, and he suspected it would as long as their blood combined.

  The initiates all looked up as Salamin entered. “Mage Farak had to attend to matters on the services. He told us to continue our training.”

  Elian smirked. “And how are we supposed to do that?”

  “In two days, we’re going to face the Catacombs,” Salamin said. “They’ve been preparing us for it, but we can’t stop training. Our lives depend on it.”

  Caden nodded, and he looked to Parric and Staya.

  “One of us is going to die,” Staya said. “I don’t like this at all.”

  Salamin raised his hand. “I don’t think it's true. I think we can all stay alive, but we’ll need to trust each other. We have to refuse to do the blood spell. Can we all agree to that?” He looked at all the faces. They did not look convinced.

  “We can talk about that later,” Salamin continued. “Let's work on our weapons training.”

  The others nodded and murmured among themselves. Lane came up to him. “What really happened to Farak?” she asked and raised a brow. “I don’t believe he just left. The guy feeds off lording it over people.”

  “Let’s just say he won’t be bothering any of us for a few days.” Hopefully until we’re in the catacombs, he thought.

  The other initiates were speaking among themselves and were not paying attention to him anymore. Salamin approached the chalice on the small altar. It contained both his and Farak’s blood. As long as that stayed in place, he didn’t think Farak would be able to break out.

  “Lane, block the others line of sight.” Carefully, he took the chalice and cloth and found a dark crevice behind the altar. He glanced over his shoulder, and Lane faced the initiates, arms crossed, blocking their vision of the altar.

  Salamin allowed himself a smile. He’d have to thank the goddess someday for crossing paths with Lane.

  “Would you like to spar?” he asked Lane. The others were still milling about, now engaged in an argument between Elian and Staya on the best way to train.

  Lane grinned and unsheathed her sword. Virtas glimmered in the torchlight. “Prepare to lose,” she said, still smiling.

  Salamin grabbed a sword from the wall and turned to face her. He smiled back at her, taking in her intense, determined eyes. She lunged in for the attack, and he parried, feeling her strength against his weakened right hand. At that moment, Salamin was very glad he wasn’t her enemy.