The air in the hidden chamber was cold. However, while the air was cold, the water that came up to their ankles was warm. His sense of foreboding grew with each step he took inside, and while his instincts screamed at him to leave, to put this eerie village behind him and never look back, he found himself being drawn deeper into the chamber.

Then there were the lights that were focused on the sword. The very walls seemed to glow, but he could not discern how. Perhaps it was magic. He glanced over at Orla, whose gaze was locked onto the platform. Something whispered in his ear, and a chill ran down Vendel’s spine. Instinctively, his eyes went to the sword. As soon as he laid eyes on it, he tasted bile and was filled with a sense of revulsion. However, he was unable to avert his gaze.

“Did anyone else hear that?” he croaked, suddenly feeling very weak.

“Yes,” Arlen gasped from up ahead. “Though I do not know what it was.”

He then turned to Carla, who was half a pace in front of him. “Is this normal?”

The girl turned around slowly and was as white as a sheet. “No, we normally recite a prayer before entering. I thought it was just…”

Without waiting for Carla to finish her sentence, Orla hastily recited a chant. The air around each of them shimmered briefly, and Vendel suddenly felt as though a veil was lifted and realized he could breathe easily again. However, the call of the sword remained, and though the allure of the sword had lessened, he still found it difficult to tear his eyes off it.

“We should leave,” Orla’s voice trembled. Vendel glanced over at the woman and saw that she was terrified. “Tell the king we’ve found it. We can come back here in force with a dozen conjurers and get this done properly.”

“His Majesty was explicit about what he expects from this expedition,” Arlen replied.

“It’s just a sword,” Vendel scoffed as he pushed past Arlen and Carla, towards the raised platform. “It’s right in front of us and I’m not going to return empty handed.”

As he drew closer to the sword, his head grew foggier. Every scrap of his consciousness was focused on it. He was faintly aware that the others were speaking to him, but the concern in their voices barely registered. He walked around the platform to walk up the stairs he knew were on the far side. How did he know that? He shrugged it off. All he knew was that he wanted the sword. He needed it. Besides, he had dropped his own in the water outside and was now unarmed. Perhaps that was fate, but it didn’t matter. This sword was going to be his, and he would let no one get in the way of that.

But he was sent to retrieve it, a voice in his head said. Then he’d bring the sword back to him. It would be a triumphant return, and it would increase his favour considerably. What if his father wanted to take possession of the sword? Then he would cut him down.

“No!” Vendel gasped out loud.

His head churned, and he developed a pounding headache. He then decided he could worry about that when the time came, but he would not murder his father.

“My Prince!”

Vendel felt a hand clamp on his shoulder. He felt a sudden fear and whirled, preparing to pummel this person who would snatch the sword out from in front of him when he saw Arlen, looking at him with a concerned look on his face.

“Are you alright, My Prince?” his voice sounded distant, and though he heard the words, Vendel struggled to comprehend them.

He then felt something else touch him. He whirled around to see Orla with her hand on his arm. Her eyes were closed, and she was chanting a spell. The fog lifted, and Vendel realized his hand was poised to grab the sword.

“Why don’t you pull your hand away?” Arlen suggested. “Let this old man worry about the sword.”

Vendel nodded meekly. He attempted to move his hand away, but at the last moment, his fingers, as though acting on their own closed around the hilt of the sword. As soon as his fingers touched the ice cold leather around the hilt, Vendel felt the energy rush out of his body. He staggered, having to lean against the raised dais the sword was on for support.

“My prince!” Arlen gasped, and Vendel felt strong hands supporting him. He looked down at his own hand and saw that it still clutched the sword tight.

“You must let go!” Arlen cried.

With great effort, Vendel loosened his grip while Arlen yanked the sword out of his hands. As soon as it left his grasp, the prince’s world went black.

“You are to be my wielder?” a voice in his ear sighed. Vendel tried to move but felt nothing and saw nothing. The voice sighed and clicked his tongue. “It seems I was a little hasty… Being starved for three centuries will do that, I suppose. You will have to do.”

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Vendel’s ears turned red at the disappointment that was clear in the disembodied voice. “I’m a prince of the realm, I’ll have you know!”

“Your only saving grace,” Vendel heard a smirk in the voice. “No, that isn’t quite right. You are able to speak despite me feeding so deeply… I suppose you deserve some credit for that.”

“What’s happened to me?” Vendel demanded.

“More importantly, we must make a deal, quickly,” the voice said. “Or you will die.”

“What sort of deal?” Vendel asked suspiciously.

“You agree to be my master, so that I may lend you my power,” the voice replied simply. “Hurry now, we don’t have much time. Your body will soon perish.”

Vendel scoffed. “And what’s in it for you?”

“If you die, your minions are almost certain to leave me behind, and I’ll rot away in this cave for who knows how much longer,” the voice sniffed.

“Why were you locked away?” Vendel asked.

“I can grant great power,” the voice replied. “However, your kind acts strangely when wielding it, and so your people have come to blame me for their actions. Quickly now, you haven’t much time.”

Vendel gasped as he felt pain surge through his body. It only lasted for two seconds, at most before his body went numb again, but it felt to him like an eternity.

“That is a taste of what your body is experiencing. If you don’t decide quickly, you will die,” the voice warned, sounding urgent. “If you agree to become my master, I will serve you, and feed off the energy of your foes.”

“What does that mean?”

“Use me to take the lives of living beings so that I can absorb their life source. It could be your enemies or even animals,” the voice replied impatiently. “Alternatively, I can feed off your life force, which will weaken you. However, without my power, your body will perish soon.”

Despite his instincts screaming at him not to, the memory of the pain and how he never wanted to experience anything like it again caused him to blurt, “Fine, I agree.”

“We have a covenant,” the voice boomed. “We are now bonded. Now, while I am close to you, I can grant you my power.”

“That doesn’t explain why I blacked out,” Vendel snapped hotly.

“As I said, I have not fed for three centuries,” the voice sighed. “I absorbed a little too much of your power, and your body is now too weak to sustain itself without my power.”

“But you were pulled away from me,” Vendel recalled worriedly.

“Fear not,” the voice reassured him. “Your minions aren’t as stupid as they look and have already discovered that placing me in your hands will permit me to keep you alive.”

Vendel grunted, not liking the sound of that. “How long will I need your power to live?”

“In the short term, about half a day,” the voice replied. “However in the longer term…”

“What do you mean?” the prince demanded as the voice trailed off.

“I took the liberty of peering into your memories,” the voice said after a brief pause. “Your father needs power to defeat his enemies. That is why you were sent here.”

A shudder went down Vendel’s spine as questions raced through his mind. How much had this thing seen? Could it read his thoughts?

“What are you called?” Vendel asked, deciding he would have to treat this thing, at least for the time being, as an equal. “And what are you?”

“The eternal ones called me Arnash Darmacal,” the voice answered. “I have taken quite a liking to this name. As for what I am, I am merely a tool to grant power.”

“Then I will call you that,” Vendel said carefully. “Will we be able to talk when I am conscious?”

“Yes,” the voice replied. “Though I thought it useful for us to have a private chat while your body recuperates.”

“Is it safe to wake me up now?” Vendel ventured. “My minions will be worried.”

The voice paused. “It would be best to keep you unconscious for a few more minutes, but I suppose most of the danger has passed.”

Before Vendel could ask to be woken up, he found he could feel again. The cold floor he was lying on, and the agony that coursed through his body. A pounding headache soon overtook all other sensations, and then, Vendel found that he needed air. He inhaled deeply, letting out a loud gasp as he abruptly sat upright. Then, the agony began to fade into a dull ache. He opened his eyes, and the world was blurry, but he saw a blurry figure standing over him.

“Thank the Lord, he’s alive!” the heavyset man gasped. “How do you feel?”

“Weak,” Vendel managed to croak as the headache subsided.

The prince was lying on a stone slab that was freezing to the touch. He tried to sit up but winced from the pain before lying back down.

“You must not move yet, My Prince,” Arlen said and cast a worried glance at Vendel’s midsection.

It was then that the prince noticed that something heavy was pushing down on his chest. He looked down to see the sword resting on it. He then noticed that his hands were clutching it tight. They were seemingly the only part of his body that had any strength. However, he was relieved to feel the pain subsiding.

“Are you there?” Vendel called out. His mouth was parched, and he was racked by a coughing fit as soon as he spoke.

“We’re both here, My Prince,” Arlen replied, sounding confused. “Orla is by the door. She thinks she heard something from the windmill above.”

“No…” Vendel began.

“We can communicate in your mind,” the voice whispered into his ear, sounding sardonic. “It won’t do if everyone thinks you’ve gone mad.”

“You can read my thoughts?”

“I have seen all,” the voice said, sounding amused. “Don’t worry, I won’t judge you… Too much.”

Vendel scowled and decided to make another attempt to sit upright. He willed his body up, gritting his teeth against the pain. Arlen hurried to support the prince, and soon, he was sitting up, panting from the effort. He took a moment to gather his strength before looking around.

“Have the lights dimmed?”

“It happened when you grabbed the sword,” Arlen replied.

The prince glanced at Carla, who was eyeing the entrance to the chamber with concern. Dripping with sweat, Vendel decided to wait a little longer before getting to his feet and wondered how he was going to make it up the stairs. He then noticed a figure hurrying into the room. She side-eyed Vendel before stalking up to Arlen.

“We have company,” she whispered. “They’re coming down the stairs.”

Carla let off a low moan, and Vendel saw that the girl had turned pale.

“He’s in no condition to move,” Arlen warned.

Orla set her mouth into a thin line. “So, what do we do?”

Arlen’s eyes turned flinty. “We fight them. In the outer chamber. We don’t know if they can seal us in.”