Page 66 of The Dragonrider and the Void
“The wards detected us,” Venrick said.
Hardin didn’t reply. He just continued hauling Venrick along. He glanced off the edge of the bridge spanning the moat around the Keep. He spotted two crimson cloaks floating in the water below as a dozen azgron crocs splashed in a feeding frenzy.
They cleared to the other side, but Sasja was nowhere to be seen. Judging by the sounds of chaos father down the outer wall, she’d been spotted and led pursuers away from them.
“Hardin, you need to run,” Venrick urged, though he could barely stand. “They’ll send Paragons.”
Hardin ignored him, continuing to half-carry Venrick down the alley toward the maze of streets beyond. “Quinthara is beyond the city wards,” he said. “But we’ll never make it that far with you in this state. We need to get to Elk’s Lodge.”
Cheyanne’s Inn, the base of their operations here, was on the other side of the city. Normally, it was a journey that would have taken twenty minutes. At their current rate, it seemed an impossible distance.
By the time they were several blocks away from the Keep, Venrick spotted several dragons and their riders launching fromthe aerie, flying out to circle the city. Even here, this close to the Keep’s walls that were ringing with warning bells, the festivalgoers still celebrated, oblivious or careless of any danger.
Venrick and Hardin were well into the heart of the city when they heard the sounds of commands being shouted, the pounding of boots as troops moved on the crowds, and the distinctive ring of magic crackling in the air as Paragons probed the crowded streets.
“We’re not going to make it,” Venrick said when they paused in a shadowed doorway to catch their breath. “Take the pages and go. I’ll create a diversion.”
“No more sacrifices tonight,” Hardin replied firmly. “We’re getting out of this together.”
He peered around the corner, then cursed softly. A team of guards was moving up the street toward them, torches illuminating their path.
“This way,” Hardin urged, pulling Venrick toward a narrow gap between buildings. It was barely wide enough for them to squeeze through, the rough stone walls scraping against their shoulders as they inched sideways.
They cleared the passage and were on the cusp of entering the neighborhood near the Elk’s Lodge, when Venrick’s legs finally gave out completely. He collapsed to the cobblestones, dragging Hardin down with him.
“I can’t walk,” he gasped as the corruption crept across his chest toward his heart. Each breath was more difficult than the last; each heartbeat sent fresh waves of agony through his system. “Get the pages to safety.”
Hardin looked around frantically, then his expression shifted. “Wait here.”
“Like I could go anywhere,” Venrick managed with grim humor.
Hardin darted across the courtyard to a small shed. He returned moments later pushing a handcart, the kind used to transport goods to market.
“Not the most dignified transportation,” he said, helping Venrick into the cart, “but it’ll have to do.”
With Venrick loaded, Hardin resumed their journey. Despite the pain, Venrick’s thoughts remained clear. The decision to help Edgar, to ensure that at least part of the ritual reached safety, had somehow granted him resistance against the spell’s mental effects. The whispers of surrender remained silent, the visions of capitulation absent.
The corruption seeks division. Unity is its bane.The words from the metal page made more sense now. By choosing connection, helping the boy, trusting Hardin, he had found strength against the corruption’s influence.
“There,” Hardin’s voice cut through Venrick’s thoughts. “Elk’s Lodge.”
Venrick could just make out the familiar weathered sign depicting the majestic elk. Light spilled from the windows, and the two guards who had been positioned at the door earlier still stood watch.
“Cheyanne will know what to do,” Hardin said, more to himself than to Venrick as he pushed the cart toward the lodge.
The guards straightened at their approach. In unison, their hands moved to their weapons until they recognized Hardin. Their expressions shifted to alarm when they saw Venrick in the cart, his skin marred by the corruption.
“We need Cheyanne,” Hardin ordered.
One of the guards disappeared inside while the other helped Hardin lift Venrick from the cart. With effort, they carried him through the door and up the stairs to the room where they had planned their infiltration just hours earlier. Their companions had already returned.
Cheyanne stood near the hearth, her expression tight with concern. Yarla was beside her. Her face paled at the sight of Venrick, but she held her composure. Venrick saw Hardin relax ever so slightly as he met Sasja’s worry-stricken expression.
“He’s been hit him with some kind of corruption spell,” Hardin explained as they laid Venrick on the bed. “It’s spreading fast.”
Yarla and Cheyanne moved forward immediately, Cheyanne’s slender hands hovered over Venrick’s chest where the black lines converged. “This looks like it was done by a powerful rimeshade.”
“This wasn’t done by a shade. This is the Void Drinker’s magic,” Yarla said quietly.
