Page 46 of The Night Prince 3
Luckily, he had spent too much time studying the old maps of Illithor in his youth. He could have walked these streets blindfolded. And now he was going to get his chance to see just how accurate that information and his memory were.
He was in a broad avenue of dark green stone. It reminded him of the color of fall grass. That deep green before winter came and covered it all with a thick covering of snow. He rather loved snow. He’d never experienced it in the Under Dark. But snow was glorious. He shook himself. What was he doing thinking of snow at a moment like this? He realized that instead of feeling afraid, he felt giddy. That wasn’t good. The city was fueling his magic. Or rather he was stealing a bit of it as was his wont, but unconsciously. He was getting drunk with power. He forced himself to stop siphoning and to really look around him.
That was when he saw it.
A stag carved out of ebony stone. It stood atop a high plinth. One of its forelegs lifted as if to take a step. Its head with that magnificent crown of antlers was held quite high as well. Behind it up a set of large, wide steps was a temple.
The Forever Hunt, he thought. Is that the stag from the song? Maybe Helgrom was right about the real meaning of those lyrics. Do I recall any temple to a stag? Oh, yes, of course! Southwest quadrant! I know exactly where I am. Sort of.
But knowing where he was didn’t help him really. He needed to find the others. Finley’s face once more flashed before his mind’s eye. He could locate the young man first.
But he’s with my uncle. So no, Finley, my dear one, you have to wait. Aquilan first. Then Finley.
Still, he debated. Vex could have left Finley somewhere to fend for himself. Maybe he had tied the young man to an altar and was waiting with a dagger in hand for them to show up. He shook himself. Vex didn’t worship any gods. He allowed countless different religions to build temples in the city, but he belonged to none of them. So he wouldn’t be sacrificing Finley. Besides, most Kindreth wouldn’t value a single mortal life anyways.
And if he is Declan’s father, will he really kill his son’s best friend? Well, maybe. But not quite yet. Not until he has what he wants. But what does he want?
More questions than answers. He had to focus!
He steepled his fingers together as he began to cast the location spell. He didn’t need anything of Aquilan’s to make it work. They were so close that he could–
Who was that?
His eyes, which had naturally been falling closed, shot open as he saw movement at the top of the steps to the stag’s temple. There was a familiar figure with antlers who had suddenly hove into view. He quickly crouched down behind a large planter, one of several that framed the avenue, to hide and peered out.
Vex?
But no. It wasn’t Vex. And those weren’t the same antlers. They were a crown of antlers though.
A Blood Crown. I didn’t know those were real until now.
And then the person turned their head and he could see their face.
Haera?!
His sister looked out at the city with a sense of satisfaction. Her usual satisfaction. Then she went back inside of the temple. And Rhalyf found himself going after her.
Death’s Embrace
The whispers began just as soon as Finley crossed over the mosaic of a human skull. At first, he thought he was imagining them. Maybe some kind of effect of the wind in the interior. He could pick out no words, but there were emotions. Anguish. Fear. Hope. Regret. Love. Rage.
Like a person’s last words before they die.
Nowhere else would such a mix of emotions make sense. People on their deathbeds though would experience any one of these or multiples of them.
Finley had experienced the death of someone he loved before the Leviathan invaded. He had an elderly neighbor, Dr. Johnson, who he had adored as a child. Dr. Johnson had been a professor of history at the local, but world-renowned university, but had long retired before Finley met him. Yet he still would talk to Finley for hours about the past, making it come alive as he acted out the parts of kings and courtiers, peasants and warriors, and poets and philosophers. It was from Dr. Johnson that he had learned how to make his D&D games shine when incorporating the histories of high fantasy beings.
Every Saturday morning, when most kids were watching Saturday morning cartoons, playing video games or being shuttled to one sport or another, Finley would slip out of his house to Dr. Johnson’s. One summer Saturday morning when he was twelve, Dr. Johnson had promised to begin a tale of Genghis Khan. Finley had eagerly run out into the morning heat, noting how moist it was, and headed between the gap in the hedges that would lead into Dr. Johnson’s backyard.
His friend’s back door was always open. Most people in Lightwell didn’t bother with locks. It was safe. Or it had the illusion of safety. Besides not having to open the back door for him meant that Dr. Johnson could finish making them his famous egg bagel sandwiches with the crispy hash browns without the risk of them burning.
But when Finley made it up the cracked three steps to the door that day he didn’t smell frying bacon or the buttery scent of cooking eggs. Instead, there was an unpleasant, sweetish odor. It reminded him of some roadkill that he and Declan had stumbled upon by one of the forest preserve roads the week before. His nose wrinkled in disgust. Had Dr. Johnson forgotten to take the garbage out? He was getting a little wobbly in his older age. Maybe he needed Finley’s help with that. He would have to remember to take it out for him today. Maybe he should stop over more than once a week too just in case the professor needed some more help. That’s what he would do! Besides, he would rather spend time with Dr. Johnson than his parents any day. Sometimes, he thought that his parents might prefer that too.
“Professor?” Finley called as he pulled open the screen door.
There was a screech as the unoiled hinges protested being moved. The door’s spring though was tight despite its age so Finley only had the chance to slip inside before it banged shut behind him. He winced at the loud thump.
“Sorry!” he called preemptively, anticipating the professor’s gentle chastisement that had come often enough.
