Kevlin found himself in a large room crowded with tables and benches, dimly lit by the dying embers in a huge fireplace. A stairway to his left led toward the second floor where the shadeleeches had probably gone.

Kevlin slipped off his boots to avoid leaving muddy footprints, then padded across the room, wincing at each step. Hopefully the blisters would be the most painful thing he’d have to endure.

Someone with a light started descending the stair, so Kevlin slipped under one of the tables. It wasn’t much cover, but they’d be focused on the racket outside.

He drew the heavy dagger from his belt, along with one of his stilettos. If they found him, it would be better to die fighting than to be captured.

That always sounded better when it was someone else making that choice.

The footsteps reached the bottom of the stair and proceeded across the room. Kevlin could see only the man’s shoes and the hem of his crimson robes, but that was enough.

More shoes clattered on the stairs as someone else hurried down. The exterior door was thrown open and a rush of cold air set the candle guttering.

“What’s going on?” the shadeleech demanded.

A makrasha entered and spoke in a gravelly voice. “Intruder.”

The creature chopped the word short and clicked its teeth together at every other syllable.

“Find this intruder,” the shadeleech ordered. As a second shadeleech entered the room from the stairs, the first said, “Merab, rouse Tanathos. Then join the search.”

Tanathos must be the name of the leader. So the shadeleech wasn't Rhea's mysterious master.

“You’re not my senior, Haraz,” said the newcomer.

“Do as I say or challenge me now. Don’t waste my time.”

Kevlin didn’t dare breathe in the same room with two squabbling shadeleeches. As much as he’d love for them to destroy each other, in this confined space they’d probably kill him too.

He was getting tired of holding his breath so much.

“Later,” Merab said.

“Go,” Haraz said in a smug voice. “I will check the prisoner.”

Merab left and the makrasha lumbered back through the door. Haraz crossed the room, passing less than six feet from where Kevlin crouched under the table and exited the far side.

Kevlin clenched his eyes, the only gesture he could think to relieve a little tension without making any noise.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

Still, this was the last place they’d look for him. They would’ve caught him in seconds if he’d stayed outside. Besides, the only prisoner he knew of was Antigonus. Maybe they hadn't started the torture killing yet.

Kevlin slipped from under the table and shoved his boots through the straps of his burglar pack to keep his hands free. If he could wake Antigonus, maybe the powerful old man could free them both.

Maybe.

Kevlin peeked around the edge of the door the shadeleech Haraz had passed through. It opened into an empty hallway where Haraz’s light was already fading.

Kevlin ghosted along the hall and mouthed a silent prayer to Asherah. She was goddess of the sea and patron of Meinarr. He wasn’t very religious, but tonight he'd take any help he could get.

Around the corner, the next hallway was empty, but a heavy oak door, banded with iron, hung open twenty paces away. Candlelight shone dimly from within. Kevlin slipped down the hall. Crouching, he risked a peek around the doorframe.

Another hallway. It stretched about thirty feet to a room with a small table holding a couple of burning candles. Haraz stood profile to Kevlin, looking at something beyond Kevlin’s view.

Antigonus. It had to be.

Kevlin pulled back from the door and glanced around. Two other heavy wooden doors stood closed. He stepped to the nearest one and pressed his ear to it, but heard nothing. The door was secured by a simple lock.

Footsteps. Haraz was coming back.

Kevlin wasn’t crazy enough to try ambushing a shadeleech, so he peeled back the top layer of his wristguard to reveal a set of lock picks. Old Tog, the sergeant responsible for his earliest military training, had been the most corrupt individual he’d ever met. He’d taught him more than just how to defend himself on the battlefield.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Ye nev'r know when the 'unsavory' skills is what's will save yer life, Tog had said.

Few words had proven truer.

Slipping the picks into the lock, Kevlin explored its simple mechanism. The footsteps drew nearer and it took all of his will to keep his fingers from shaking. With careful, precise movements, he prodded the tumbler back until it clicked.

With Haraz but seconds away, Kevlin yanked the door open, leaped inside, and pulled it closed.

It creaked. Just a little.

He pressed his ear to the wood and listened, barely breathing. The crash of a heavy, ironbound door closing thundered through the stillness and he jumped. A lock clicked, then footsteps approached. His muscles tensed so tight it was amazing his blood could flow.

The footsteps continued past, not slowing, till they faded around the corner leading back to the main room. Kevlin sank to the floor and wiped sweat out of his eyes. He was drenched with it.

Let’s not do that again.

His body ached as if he’d just spent half an hour fighting Dhanjal. After a deep breath, he slipped back into the hallway.

Kevlin picked the simple lock on the ironbound door that had stood open earlier, which Haraz had closed and locked on his return. He slipped down the darkened hall beyond. In the small room where he'd seen Haraz in profile earlier, he felt his way to the table and lit the candles with his flint and steel.

The warm glow didn't help the desolate room look better. It was round, with two wooden chairs facing each other across the rough tabletop. Five reinforced doors were set in the circular wall, each locked and secured with a heavy deadbolt. High in each door was a small, hinged panel.

Kevlin opened the panel in the first door and peered through a little barred window. Inside the bare, wooden room lay Antigonus on a crude bunk.

He looked dead.

Unbelievably emaciated, with loose skin sagging from his frame, as if all of the muscle and tissue had melted away, leaving him little more than a skeleton. Limp strands of hair hung around his head and only scraggly remnants of his beard clung to his chin. A wide bloodstain marred the front of his filthy robe.

Kevlin’s fingers trembled so bad it took several seconds to unlock and open the door. He entered, placed the candle on the floor, then reached out and touched Antigonus’ forehead. It burned with fever.

The old man’s eyes fluttered open and Kevlin breathed a sigh of relief. Antigonus stared at him for a moment, his cobalt eyes dim and clouded.

“It’s me, Kevlin.”

After what seemed an eternity, Antigonus blinked and smiled. His eyes cleared and he whispered, “How?”

“Long story. I’ll tell you once we're away.”

Antigonus shook his head, just a twitch.

“We have to go,” Kevlin repeated, not sure if the old man understood.

“No, I cannot.”

“Of course you can.”

If Antigonus was too weak to wield his powers, they’d never get out.

Kevlin lifted the old man to a sitting position and barely suppressed a shudder at how weightless the sentinel felt. A web of fine cracks etched across Antigonus' exposed skin and as he turned his head, the skin cracked wide and began oozing a pale yellow puss.

A stomach-turning odor clung to him, reminding Kevlin of half-rotted corpses he’d helped bury after his first battle. It was the stench of death.

“No,” Antigonus repeated, his voice a little stronger. “I am going nowhere.” He leaned against the stone wall.

“Why didn’t they just kill you?”

“For now, I serve their purpose better alive.”

“What can I do for you?”

It was clear Kevlin could not bring the old man with him when he tried to escape. After everything he’d done to help, he did not want to kill Antigonus but that might be the most merciful gift he could give.

“Are you a stalwart?”

That was not what Kevlin expected. “No.” He recalled the song of Savas ringing through his soul and the terror of losing control to that soft, compelling voice.

“Beware,” Antigonus said. “Gods do nothing without a reason. Guard against favors given too easily. There is always a price.”

“You saw?”

“Yes.”

“What does it mean?”

“I cannot say for sure, but know that Savas’ favor is no blessing.”

Tell me about it.

“Know that I was wrong.” Antigonus frowned and repeated softly. “I was wrong about everything.”

That would've been good to know before embarking on a suicidal mission.

“Your arrival offers hope,” Antigonus continued. “We can still prevent disaster.”

Here it comes.

Although Kevlin had longed for an excuse to kill a sentinel for much of his life, he shrank from the need to do it now. Instead of asking for the mercy of a swift death however, Antigonus pulled a heavy gold ring from one finger and held it out.

“Put it on.”

Kevlin took the ring. A dark stone was set in its face and silver runes traced six-pointed stars along the band. Perhaps it was a family crest, or some heirloom the old man wanted returned to his kin.

Kevlin slid it onto the third finger of his right hand, expecting it to get stuck at the first knuckle. It slid home as if crafted for him.

Strange, since his fingers were thicker than Antigonus’. A creeping feeling of unease set the hairs of his arms standing on end.

Antigonus reached a shaking hand up to his throat and pulled the rune-covered pouch from inside his robe. Kevlin stared in disbelief. If that was what he thought it was, surely the shadeleeches would have taken it.

The sentinel pulled the silver chain over his head and held the pouch out to Kevlin. It dangled before him like a forbidden fruit.

“Take it.”

Over the past couple of days, Kevlin had been immersed in so much magic that his nerves might never recover. He shrank from the pouch.

“Take it,” Antigonus repeated stronger.

The old man's hand began to shake, so Kevlin grabbed the pouch before he could drop it. He shuddered and cursed himself for a fool.

I’m kneeling in a dungeon in the center of a fortress filled with shadeleeches and makrasha. I can handle one rune-covered bag.

“Open it.” Antigonus said. “Into your hand.” His cobalt eyes glistened with emotion. Whatever was going on, it meant a lot to him.

As Kevlin untied the leather thong, the import of what he was doing brought him up short. He was about to set eyes upon Tia Khoa, the great talisman.

Only the most powerful sentinels were chosen as its bearers and their exploits were legendary. Despite all the legend, power, and prestige surrounding Tia Khoa, he had no idea what it looked like. It was only ever spoken of in general terms.

He was about to see it, touch it.

Glancing up at Antigonus, he asked, “Is this really. . .?”

“Yes.”

Kevlin's hand shook as he upended the pouch. Images flashed through his mind of what he might be about to see: a priceless jewel, a beautiful figurine, even the mummified heart of a great sentinel from times of old. It had to be something incredible.

It spilled into his hand, a solid weight surprisingly warm to the touch. Struggling to appear calm, he tilted his hand toward the candlelight. The guttering glow washed over it and he stared, dumbfounded.

It was a rock.