Page 21 of Trial By Fire

The crowd let out a deafening roar, their voices blending together in a terrifying symphony. Aric’s heart pounded in his chest as he scanned the plaza, the firelight casting long shadows across the broken stonework. He caught sight of human prisoners being dragged forward, their hands bound, and tried to look away, but it was no use.

“Every step we take brings us closer to our goal,” Malekith said. “But we must remain vigilant. The humans are a cunning and tenacious foe, and they will not give up without a fight. So let us show them fully why their defenses are futile. Let us march onward. To Brenville and beyond. To the heart of Astaria!”

More cheering, and Aric felt like he was drowning in it. He couldn’t let himself forget why he was here, why he had made this terrible bargain. He was here to protect the human realm, by any means necessary. Even if it meant playing this deadly game.

But as the feast stretched on, the stench of roasting meat thick in the air, Aric found he could not bring himself to take a single bite. He was losing track of the time, the days melting together in a hazy, sleep-deprived fog. A hand closed around Aric’s wrist, and he flinched, his heart lurching. But it was only Malekith, his face carefully neutral.

Malekith leaned in close, his breath hot against Aric’s ear. “There are human prisoners below,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the raucous celebration. “In cells beneath the square.”

As Malekith spoke, Aric felt a subtle shift in the air around him. The sigils on his wrist bracers, which had been cold and unyielding for so long, seemed to warm ever so slightly. A faint tingle of magic, like a whisper of wind on his skin, brushed against his senses.

Aric’s eyes widened as understanding dawned. Malekith had loosened the magical restrictions, just enough to allow a trickle of power through. The meaning was clear: if Aric could find a way, he was to free those prisoners.

He met Malekith’s gaze, searching for confirmation. Malekith’s face remained impassive, but there was a flicker of something in his dark eyes—a challenge, perhaps, or a test. Aric gave an almost imperceptible nod, his mind already racing with possibilities. Malekith nodded towards the edge of the plaza, and Aric understood.

Aric rose from his seat, and he swayed on unsteady feet as the blood rushed back to his head. Malekith’s fingers tightened around his wrist, steadying him, and for a fleeting instant, Aric allowed himself to imagine a different world. But the moment passed, and Aric forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

Aric headed to the outskirts of the plaza and down a level from the central fountain, where a group of shadow demons stood watch. They nodded to Aric, their eyes glazed as if with some kind of ensorcellment, and Aric slipped into the night, the sounds of the feast fading behind him.

The streets of the town were cloaked in darkness, the only light the sickly green flames that danced in the sconces. Aric tried to move quickly, his senses on high alert. He passed through the town’s outer defenses, and soon he was in the heart of the demon camp, the shadowy forms of the army stretched out around him.

Aric’s skin itched with the urge to cast a spell, but he forced himself to hold back. Finally, he reached a heavily guardedbuilding, and the demons on watch nodded before letting him pass.

Aric’s heart raced as he approached the guarded building. The trickle of magic Malekith had allowed him burned like liquid fire in his veins, unfamiliar and intoxicating. He took a deep breath, steadying himself.

With a subtle flick of his wrist, Aric wove a thread of demonic energy into the air. It coalesced into a faint, shimmering mirage—the ghostly outline of a human figure darting between shadows at the edge of the guards’ vision.

The effect was immediate. The demons’ heads snapped up, nostrils flaring as they caught the scent of illusory prey. Without a word, they abandoned their posts, loping off into the darkness with predatory grace.

Aric’s chest tightened as he watched them go. The spell had worked perfectly, but the ease with which he’d manipulated demonic magic left him cold. For a fleeting moment, he entertained the wild notion of using this newfound power to escape.

But reality crashed down upon him like a physical weight. His gaze drifted upward, where bat-winged sentries circled overhead, their keen eyes scanning the ground below. Even if he could muster enough magic to slip away unseen, his absence would be noted, and they would hunt him down without mercy—and without any trouble, given the signatures woven into his bracelets.

With a pang of bitter resignation, Aric turned back to the now-unguarded entrance. He had a job to do, and lives to save. Everything else would have to wait.

The prisoners were huddled in the corner, their hands bound and mouths gagged, but their eyes widened with hope as Aric approached. Aric stepped forward, his hands moving in a quick, precise pattern to melt the locks on the makeshift cells. Aricworked clumsily, allowing a thin tendril of shadow magic to flow through him, but after so long without his powers, it was like a wobbling foal trying to take its first steps.

Yet he’d missed this magic so. It was a heady rush, like being plunged into icy water, and Aric had to fight to keep himself from being overwhelmed by it. Aric focused on that as he wove his way through unlatching the prisoners from their bonds.

Aric’s heart was in his throat as he worked, scanning all around him for any sign of danger. He moved from one ward to the next, each one more complex than the last, but with Aric’s knowledge of human spellcraft, he was able to dismantle them with relative ease.

Finally, the last ward fell away, and the bindings on the prisoners’ hands dissipated. Aric placed a finger to his lips, and the prisoners nodded, their eyes shining with tears. They knew what was at stake, and they were willing to risk it all for a chance at freedom.

As silently as they could, the prisoners slipped out of their bonds and made for the door. But one of them, a young woman with a shock of white hair, paused before Aric. Her eyes were brimming with tears, and she reached out a trembling hand to touch his arm.

“Thank you,” she mouthed, her voice barely a breath. And then she was gone, melting into the darkness with the others.

Aric repeated the process two more times, until all of the prisoners had been freed, and the town’s defenses were in tatters. Aric looked around, a weary smile on his face.

“Anything to help my people,” Aric said, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice.

Seven

The jarring grip on Aric’s arm dragged him out of a dead sleep, and he instinctively tried to lash out with a surge of magic. Only the familiar twinge behind his eyes and dulled thud as he hit the barrier answered him, though, and he blinked hard into the darkness until the two figures before him resolved into faces.

Neither of them were Malekith.

“Wait.” The darkness shrouding their faces gave way to moonlight glinting off Vizra’s onyx skin and Karthax’s curling horns as they loomed over him. “Stay your magic, human,” Vizra purred, her grip like iron on his bicep. “We have a few questions for you, and it would be a shame to singe off your eyebrows before we’ve had answers.”

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