Page 33 of The Night Prince 3
And then he thought of Rhalyf’s reaction too. The elf would be worried about him. Horrified by what happened with the Leviathan. So he, too, would never allow Finley to accompany him anywhere outside of Tyrael. After all, even as heavily spelled as Finley had been, that had not been enough to protect him. He’d cowered like a rabbit. Rhalyf might not even show Finley any more magic for fear it would encourage him to take more risks.
Magic he believes I cannot wield. Can never wield. But Vex thinks otherwise.
And that was when Finley knew that he would rather face any danger than remain here until the others came to rescue him. Besides, if there was magic in that temple, think of what he could do with it! Bringing magic to humanity was a worthy goal. It was a hero’s journey.
Or a Mage’s journey. And I will take it.
“Will you still be here when I return?” Finley asked.
“We will see each other again,” Vex answered with a smile.
Finley nodded. He hesitated a moment, but then bowed to Vex. “Thank you for saving me and for showing me the way, King Vex. It has been an honor and a pleasure to meet you.”
Vex chuckled softly. “I would hold off on the thanks for the second part until later.”
There was a cost to magic, Finley knew. Maybe for a human to wield it the cost would be quite high. Vex was warning him of that. And yet that did not dissuade him in even the slightest. There could be no gain without cost. And the price of magic–no matter how high to himself–would be worth it.
For a moment, his mother’s face flashed before his mind’s eye. That look of disdain–or was it something else–after one of his failed experiments. But he pushed the memory of her aside, rose from the bow and immediately started down the path that would lead him to the Temple of the Necrilem.
He forced himself not to look back to see if Vex still lingered by the dual gravesites. He wanted to think of the Night King watching over him as he strode confidently ahead, making sure that nothing would sneak up on him. But that was a weakness.
Alone. A Mage goes alone.
Finley set his shoulders and hustled up the broad, black steps, going up and up and up the switchbacks as they led towards the Temple of the Necrilem. His eyes darted to the right and left. He stopped every so often and listened intently. The Leviathan made a hissing sound as they slithered towards their prey. It was a dry, papery rustle. But he heard nothing except his own labored breathing. He’d gone up nearly six sets of stairs!
The Temple of the Necrilem was seemingly cradled by other far larger, taller buildings on all but the front of it, but it reminded him of a black spot–a cancer–in comparison to the tall towers that surrounded it. A strange growth.
When he reached the top of the last set of steps before the temple, there was black gravel smoothly raked going up to the entrance. There were simple glass stones that formed a path. He stared at them and the gravel.
Is this a trap? If I walk on the stones will I be safe? Or if I take the indicated path will I show I cannot think for myself? After all, how does one approach death? With great care.
Finley crouched down on his haunches and lightly brushed the gravel. It reminded him of pumice, volcanic rock, on Earth. Half an inch down, there was a black, oily substance. He jerked his hand back.
Walking on the gravel is a no-go. There’s something underneath it.
He stared at the simple six-inch glass stones that were placed for easy stepping. These were a solution to not touch this oily substance. Or were they? He reached into his pocket and found a coin pressed with Aquilan’s image. He stood up and flipped the coin onto the first glass step. It landed with a jangling sound. At first, nothing happened, but Finley continued to wait. The glass stone suddenly depressed and the oily substance covered it completely. There was a sucking, gulping sound as the glass stone was completely consumed.
And while it took a moment for the trap to trigger, I bet with my weight upon it, that would happen immediately. And who knows what that material will do if it touches skin?
He wondered if worshipers here used magic to levitate into the temple. Perhaps some did, but there must be another way that he could use as Vex had sent him here, knowing he had no magical ability that he could access yet in any case. He looked about him and saw that at the left side of the gravel there was a thin lip of raised stone all around the edge that if one were excruciatingly careful, one could inch along to get to the entrance.
That is the way in.
Finley went over to the ledge and slid one foot out onto it. He flattened his back against the wall of the building beside the temple and slowly began to slide his way towards the entrance of the temple. He was breathing rapidly through his nose. He rather sounded like a winded horse. But he feared even opening his mouth and drawing in too much air that might push him further from the wall at his back and face first into the gravel. That oily material on his skin would be horrific.
Not many people could get in here quickly or easily! I doubt they had Sunday services for a crowd!
Sweat broke out across his forehead and upper lip. It soaked a line along his spine. His hands were slick with it and he guessed he left smears against the wall of the building he inched along. Finally, he was making a nearly ninety-degree turn so that his back would be to the temple wall. It was round and bulged outwards. It would be harder to cling to. He put his foot sideways on the ledge and stepped over so that his back would be against the temple. It was then that he looked up, back towards Ailduin’s tomb.
Vex was not there.
His heart lurched in his chest.
He’s left me!
It was a childish thing to think. And it caused him to lean forward, almost as if to reach for where Vex had been. He started to fall forwards. Finley slammed himself against the temple wall, scrabbling at the stone to gain some kind of purchase. His fingers slipped against the slick stone. Terror bloomed in his guts.
Move! Move! Move!
