The sun had moved behind the hills as shadows fell around the surrounding cliffs. Before them, the mysterious gate loomed above them all.

  A low, resonate chant pierced the silence as the Magistrate began his spell. The other mages joined in, and one by one, the runes surrounding the gate lit up with a golden light.

  Silence fell when the last rune lit. The Magistrate turned to face the initiates. “Each of you must prove yourself worthy in the eyes of Argor. The ancient magic will test your mettle, your courage and your strength.” He paused as he eyed each of them. “Some will not make it back.”

  An uneasy silence hung over them all.

  “This is your last chance. There is no dishonor in turning back.”

  No one spoke, and at last the Magistrate nodded. “Let it be so.” He nodded to the other mages. “Have you chosen your leader?”

  Staya broke the silence and glanced at Elian. “We have, sir. Elian Crest is our leader.”

  The Magistrate brows rose when he heard Lane’s voice. “No, we choose Sedwick Draken.”

  Holding his staff in the air, the Magistrate narrowed his eyes. “This should have been decided. It is a mar on all of you. Take a vote. Now.”

  Staya glared at Lane. “All for Elian,” she said, quickly. “Raise your hands.” She raised her own hand, and Parric followed. Caden glanced apologetically at Lane and raised his hand as well.

  “Very well, it is decided,” the Magistrate said. “Elian Crest, stand before me. Do you understand the gravity of your position?”

  “I do, sir.” Elian said, bowing his head.

  “You will have each of their lives in your hands. There will be a time for sacrifice, and it will be on you to decide. Do you understand?”

  “I do,” Elian replied.

  Solemnly, the Magistrate produced a steel dagger with runes carved into the handle.

  Salamin caught Lane’s frantic glance. They were going to be made to give a blood oath to Elian. The dark magic that had infected the Order.

  The Magistrate produced a chalice. “Come and give your oath to your leader.”

  There was no turning back now. And under the Magistrate’s watchful eyes, Salamin didn’t think he could capture some of Elian’s blood to blunt the spell.

  It was Salamin’s turn, and as he stepped up, Elian whispered in his ear. “You should have pledged when you had the chance.” The dagger sliced through Salamin’s right palm.

  His right, charred hand. Salamin watched as his blood trickled down into the chalice. Farak had used the blood from Salamin’s left hand. Hope sprang up inside him.

  Elian’s lips turned up in a satisfied smile as Salamin clutched his right palm, stopping the flow of blood.

  Lane whispered in his ear, as she also held her palm. “He’s going to pay for this.”

  Caden was last, and when Elian finished collecting his blood, he handed the chalice to the Magistrate.

  “Let it be so,” the mage said, as he raised the chalice to the gate. As he stood with arms outstretched, a red glow emanated from the top of the arched doorway. The rune grew brighter, and a chill went down Salamin’s spine. It was the rune of death.

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  The deep red glow intensified glow burning into Salamin’s eyes, and he squeezed them shut. He bit his tongue as dark magic swirled through him.

  “Aprere,” the Magistrate whispered reverently, both arms raised in salute.

  A low grinding rumbled beneath their feet, and the grate of metal on metal pierced the night.

  The center of the gate moved, propelled by ancient magic, and cracked open with a final boom.

  Murmurs rose from the initiates then fell into silence. It was happening at last.

  “Form a line,” Elian called, voice quavering.

  Fear struck Salamin to the core as he gazed into the darkness beyond. It was not real, he told himself. It’s meant to weed us out.

  The Magistrate, held up his staff to Elian, the glow illuminating the young man’s face. “By your brave call to leadership, the god has called upon you, Elian Crest to lead these souls into the dark. Their lives are now in your hands.” The mage placed a hand on Elian’s shoulders and closed his eyes. “You are blessed. Go forth, and be victorious.”

  Salamin caught Lane’s eye and nodded. Her face was pale, forehead marked by sweat. Once they entered, there was no going back.

  Elian stood before the opening for a long moment, then stepped inside, disappearing into the darkness.

  The others followed. Lane glanced back at Salamin, hesitated, then stepped inside.

  Salamin was the last to enter, and he felt a chill down his spine. He glanced back at the Magistrate and caught his eye. His breath caught. He saw in those eyes the same deadly power he’d seen in Haldar all those years ago.

  Breaking the mage’s gaze, Salamin drew in a breath and stepped into the Catacombs.

  The air was damp, and Salamin could not see his hand in front of his face. Something crunched under his foot, and he heard movement around him. He wanted to cast a light spell, but waited, holding still.

  The floor rumbled beneath him, and the gate closed with another resounding boom. Salamin flinched. There was no way out, and the air felt stale.

  Elian’s voice carried through the darkness. “They’ve given me a wand. Hold on.” He chanted, and a faint white light lit the end of a small wooden stick.

  The others gathered around the light.

  “I don’t like this,” Caden whispered.

  “We’ve got this,” Elian replied. “We’ve been trained for this moment. Remember that.”

  Salamin heard another sharp crunch as he took a step forward. A white, smooth bone lay broken under his boot. It was human. Nausea crept up his throat, and he swallowed hard.

  Elian brought his wand up, turning in a circle to take in the chamber. Countless skeletons, with tattered cloth and a flash of reflective metal, lay on the dirt floor. Salamin recoiled in horror.

  “These were not good people,” Elian said, his voice echoing off the walls. “Robbers who entered without the permission of the gods. It shows the power of our god, and why we were right to choose our path. Argor will protect us.”

  Salamin knelt by the bone he had broken. He saw the brittle hand bones splayed into the dirt. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. The empty eyes of a skull stared back at him. Reaching his hand down, he gently touched a bone.

  Light flashed, and an image formed in his mind. A young man stood tall on a hill, silver sword in hand, facing into the wind. The circular mark of the Devold on his cheek. Slowly, he turned, his eyes boring into Salamin, and he nodded.

  The image faded, and Salamin looked down at the bones. A hint of silver glowed in the faint light.

  Hope filled him as he dug his fingers into the dirt. A hilt became visible with an image inscribed on it. He rubbed his finger on it, and he saw the image of a crescent moon. Electricity pulsed through his fingertips.

  [My Paladin]

  [You have gained power]

  [You have received a Sacred Sword, Ibera]

  [Touch regained]

  Salamin drew the weapon up from the dirt and hid it under his tunic. He could hear Elian talking, and he smiled. Now, both he and Lane would have weapons.

  “We have to reach the first gate,” Elian continued. “Follow me closely. I sense something is brewing.” He glanced over his shoulder and moved his wand towards the shadows. “Over this way,” he said.

  Stones marked a clear path deeper into the chamber, and Salamin followed behind. A steady drip of water became louder as they walked.

  A large stone well lay ahead, and Salamin glanced back at Lane. He knew this structure: It was the Well of Souls. If the magic was used for nefarious purposes, the next few moments would be vital.

  “How do we get through the gate?” Caden asked, eyeing the murky water.

  Elian raised his wand, illuminating Caden’s pale face, his eyes wide.

  “Caden, the next piece rests on you. We need your cooperation.” Elian nodded and, Staya and Parric unsheathed their swords.

  Elian stepped forward. “Parric, Staya and I will go on. We are the only ones here with noble blood. If the sacrifice is willing, our power will increase.” His eyes rested on Salamin. “And the rest of the way will be easier.”

  “What?” Caden asked, stumbling back. “You need me, Elian. I can help you. We only need one sacrifice.”

  “The First Gate is finally within reach,” Elian said, now unsheathing his own sword.

  Caden backed up against a stone wall. There was nowhere to go. “Sedwick said there might be a way without sacrifice.”

  “No, Caden,” Elian said, his face hard and resolute, “sacrifice is the only way.”