"This way—we'll leave Halaima through the sewers," Father Alastair whispered.
The sewers of all places?! Konrad thought he'd finally get rid of that awful stench, but this was even worse. And with so much metane in the air—
"I won't be able to use my flames," he gritted his teeth.
If only he had learned more elements—but all he had was light and fire. Well, when he's been through a lifetime's worth of adventure in the month since he discovered magic—
"N-no more flames, please," Sister Stella mumbled, still catatonic. "I'll behave."
She'd stumble along, but whether from the bracelet's toll or her fear—
At least she didn't try to strangle Konrad to death.
And the other captives? They had spread out in the endless labyrinth that was under Halaima.
"Who the hell builds a system like this anyway?" the boy complained, conjuring floating lights.
He regretted it when he finally spotted the sewers.
"It's a fortress city," the priest explained, pushing forward. "If anything poured across the Halaima pass, the local lords would have stopped it here. In case of a siege, the catacombs—"
"Hold that thought," Konrad spun around to face two guards who caught up to them.
Their armor's clanking was hard to miss, but they still ran faster than the exhausted escapees.
Especially when the executioner was either traumatized or straight-up hostile.
The boy blinded the guards with floating lights. He drove his sword through armor gaps—needing only one parry.
"Will the others be all right, though?" he mumbled, wiping the blade on his ragged trousers.
Father Alastair was holding his breath.
"They're minor nobles. More useful alive," he wheezed. "The Church'll recapture them, but—"
"You're a corrupt priest and a wannabe lord," Stella cackled, hysterical. "The Inquisitor would—"
"What? Burn us?" Konrad's light turned into a fake flame, and the girl shrieked. "Thought as much." If he knew she was this easy to deal with, though, he did feel bad about it.
But given how much she mocked and tortured him—and who knew how many others?
She kept flipping back and forth between scared little girl and venomous fanatic.
How much had she been through?
"By the way, you said something about Erwin Halstadt's war against the Church," he remembered. The priest disappeared after a sharp turn, and he almost ran into him.
"Curses, it collapsed," Alastair panted in front of the rubble.
The stench clung thicker here, a physical weight, unseen things squelched underfoot. Filth festered under the collapsed stone.
If Konrad had anything to eat in the last few days, he might've thrown it all up right about now.
"Any other way out?" he muffled it through his hands, but shielding his face didn't help.
"P-plenty, but not outside of town," the priest nodded. "And we'll have to backtrack."
Great, that meant they'd no longer run away from the chasing guards, but towards them. In a place he couldn't use his fire magic. With a chipped sword, swaying on his feet—
Sister Stella heaved and retched and threw up onto his shoes.
Right, the only one who had real meals among them. Splendid.
The distraction was almost enough to miss the clanking sound approaching. He spun around in the last second, facing four guards this time, running with their swords drawn.
"This keeps getting better," he groaned, sending his lights to confuse them.
It didn't work.
The first soldier dashed with his blade pointed at his heart, and the rest followed close by.
At least the corridor was too narrow for them to form up—unless they wanted to step into the pool of filth below. The first strike's momentum knocked him backward despite his block.
The second almost cut his head off, but he kicked the soldier into the sewage.
That felt like a worse fate than death, but the attackers didn't slow down.
If only Welf were with him—they'd make short work of those bastards. But all he had was a catatonic hostage and a corrupt priest. The latter failing even as a guide.
The first strike that reached him slid off his arm, but left a nasty cut waiting for infection.
Sparks flew in every direction when he blocked the next one.
If the methane caught fire—
He summoned a blinding light, forcing the guards to pause, and took out one with a swing. The odds were still against him—his strength leaving him faster than he expected.
Konrad fell to his knees to avoid a strike—and couldn't rise.
A blur of fiery red hair surged past him.
Steel flashed in the gloom—a sickening crunch as one guard's face met the sewer wall.
The second lunged, but the silhouette pivoted, disarming him in one motion. He drove the man's blade through his gut, and the fight ended before the boy's next heartbeat.
"Lily?" he panted, but the silhouette was way too tall to be his favorite ginger.
The palm slamming his back—and almost snapping his spine—was too familiar, though.
"Sorry to disappoint, kid," Welf threw his hood back, wiping his borrowed sword clean. "But it sure feels like she led me here. Your friends?"
He pointed at the trembling executioner and the paling priest.
Right. There was no time for shock. Konrad pushed himself off the ground.
"More or less," he wheezed. "This is the Inquisitor's aide I'm taking hostage. And that is Father Alastair—he got on the bad side of the Church, too."
The blacksmith's eyes narrowed.
"Shouldn't he be in Haiten?" he asked, eyeing the two with distrust. "And a hostage—"
"T-they imprisoned me a few weeks ago," the priest in question mumbled.
Welf pinched his nose. "I hope Eyna's all right—but we'll have to get out of here first."
"Agreed," the boy took a deep breath, and as the stench of filth filled his lungs, he regretted it right away. Coughing and retching, he stumbled after his friend, hostage and guide in tow.
"You brought tribal filth into the city," Stella seethed, wiping her mouth and glaring.
He reminded her of his fire magic.
"I guess you weren't exactly negotiating with the Inquisition," Welf shot back. "The Council will eat their words soon. Though we might've missed their deadline by now—"
"Council?" For all this time, Konrad still didn't have the time to ask about that. "What deadline?!"
"Ah, right, you wouldn't know," the redhead said, waiting for them to catch up. "The talks with the tribes didn't go as planned. They accused you of working with the Church—"
The boy found the assumption ridiculous, even without his last few days in their cell.
"Oh, and did you know you had a twin?!" Welf stopped to face him, and they almost collided. "I thought you got there before us. The resemblance was uncanny."
"What?!" So the priest didn't make that part up—and his twin was very much alive.
"Yeah, and he gave us an ultimatum to get the tribes food, or they'd attack Halaima."
He was desperate to put the pieces together, but he'd been slower than usual.
His twin? In the tribal council? And Eyna—
"When will they attack if we have failed?!" the boy asked, as the real light almost blinded him.
They reached the surface—but were still inside Halaima.
Smoke filled the air, not much better than the stale smell underground.
Shouting and clanking noises everywhere—Welf pinched his nose again.
"If I had to guess—" An arrow thudded into the wall beside them. "Right about now."