Chapter 11: The Milky-Eyed Offer

  Selriph could feel the gaze of something beyond the irises of the gaunt man. The presence, whether it was a figment of his imagination or otherwise, sent a shiver down his entire back.

  This wasn’t just some lost soul in the caverns below Caer Eldralis, as Selriph felt the faint traces of magic that emanated from the eyes. This magic, however, felt entirely wrong.

  Selriph swallowed hard, pondering what to say to the person before him. His jaw opened slightly as he processed the words he was about to say, which came out as a slurred, low mutter. “You… your eyes, what is this…?” Words failed him, unable to describe aptly what he saw.

  “Aye, sharp one aren’t cha? Didn’t think you’d notice,” the ragged man said, the deadpan tone nebulously between nonchalant sarcasm and a genuine remark. “These eyes are a curse to some, but believe me, they are a gift. They let me see the world differently, the life force that flows through everything. From the rats, crawlers to the unfortunate downtrodden in this gods-forsaken cave,” he pointed his two good fingers, tracing invisible lines in the air, as though marking the paths of unseen lifeforms moving above and around them beyond the walls.

  His gaze lingered, the milky depths glinting with a knowing gleam. “And the power that courses through your veins, boy.”

  By Vireon’s light… Selriph cursed internally.

  Even with the pendant and the blanket of suppressed aura, this madman can see through it effortlessly? He felt the penetrating gaze of the scrying powers of the milky eyes.

  He knew it was no use pretending. His magical signature, however dulled, was clear as rays of the sun to the man before him.

  “What’s it to you?” Selriph replied, his voice steady, although with the faintest sign of uncertainty.

  The beggar chuckled darkly, a sound like gravel caught in a pipe. “What’s it to me, you ask?” His milky eyes met Selriph’s piercing blue. “I think you’ve a gift—more than. I also know you probably have no love for the world up top, probably why you’re down here.”

  “You won’t survive down here, not with what you have at your call now. But you could; I know someone would be very interested in providing.”

  Help? Is he here with another person…? A group? But no large group could survive here…

  He didn’t like this. Not only did the man smell like the foulest of rotting trash, reminding him of another unpleasant memory in the Templar Compound. There was something else beyond the gaze, a subtle yet very weighted presence that bore down on him.

  The milky-eyed man did not wait for a response. As the silence grew, he pressed on.

  “You see, boy, I know what you want. You want out of here. The only reason you are here is because you are running from something–I know these tunnels like the back of my arse, I can tell you how to escape, but I—we want something in return.”

  We?

  Selriph’s eyes narrowed, which reflected the suspicion in his mind. “And what exactly is it that you want from me?” he asked, tone guarded.

  The beggar’s grin widened, revealing more of his blackened, rotting teeth. “I’m not asking for anything vile. I’m merely offering what was offered to me. But for someone like you? The offer is far more... generous.”

  “An offer...?” Selriph’s mind flicked to the man’s grotesque eyes. Was he talking about those things? Magical, sure, but who, or what, could put something like that inside a person?

  “You see,” the man continued, “a certain someone took interest in you the moment you wandered near this chamber. He sees through my eyes and, let’s just say… a patron has an interest in maintaining your… unblemished condition.”

  “A patron? Through your eyes?” The hairs on the back of Selriph’s neck stood on end. Something was watching him. Not just the man in front of him, but another presence altogether. In that moment, it was like noticing someone in a room he hadn’t noticed before; His own nascent senses perceived something in front of the man and yet seemingly also everywhere at once.

  “Oh yes,” the man whispered, grin still in place, the pungent stink of his foul breath drifting to Selriph’s face. “He offered me a sliver of what he has. But for you... he’d give so much more. The power to overcome anything in your way, enough to walk out of these tunnels like it’s a stroll in the imperial park. Even the Templars, should they be foolish enough, would be child’s play for someone marked by his grace.”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “All you have to do,” he said, drawing closer, “is offer a drop of blood.”

  A Blood pact.

  His mind reeled back to the Caer Eldralis library. Tomes bound in leather, which bore warnings–whispers of otherworldly patrons. Beings who could bestow magical power on mortals regardless of their natural endowment. These patrons were dark, malevolent, and condemned by the Church: demons, devils and morally ambiguous deities or demigods.

  “You... you’re asking me to make a blood pact with whatever gave you those… peepers, aren’t you?” Selriph muttered.

  The man’s grin turned sly, serpentine. “Ah, done your homework, I see. But that merely scratches the surface. My patron isn’t like those pitiful excuses for deities in your precious tomes.” His voice dropped, more air than voice in his tone. “He is something else. Beyond comprehension.”

  A being more powerful than the pantheon... rooting itself in Caer Eldralis itself?

  The thought sounded impossible, laughable, under the holiest city on the continent. The claims were likely exaggerated, and yet…

  Selriph wasn’t bound to the pantheon–he had no love for the five. The offer before him now—it was tempting. He needed power; With this, he could easily survive the dangers of the tunnel, be provided a route to the surface. With this, his survival would be a certainty; The land between the city and the border would be trivial.

  But would that be worth signing a pact with a patron..? Especially one who has bestowed the twisted irises he witnessed before him?

  As if sensing the careful consideration running through Selriph’s mind, he produced a piece of parchment from his rags. Selriph did not need to touch it to feel the sheer wrongness leaking from it, throbbing with energy.

  “I see doubt in your eyes,” the man said. “You wonder if you can trust us, if it is worth the price. I was in the same position as you, too.” He limped over a few steps slowly, as if seeking permission from the boy to close the distance. “All I can do is offer this…” as he carefully took Selriph’s arm and placed the parchment into his hand.

  “Take this. It’s a… spell,” he whispered. “A real one—not the neutered, garbage in mage sanctuaries beyond the empire.” The swirling whites of his eyes seemed to pulse. “You want to… save someone, don’t you? He hears it. This spell—the power? It could do all that and more, so use it. Taste the gift. “

  Selriph looked down.

  Runic glyphs danced across the parchment in a way that defied common sense. Some of the symbols–he had never seen them. Only half of the glyphs were recognizable from the basic primer on runic language he was provided. But what he could make out was clear; It was some sort of summoning spell or something related to one. The parchment radiated a wrongness in his hand like the feeling of being covered in tiny bugs.

  But he could sense the power, a power he could use to go back and save Vick.

  And more than that—to fight back. To destroy Thorne. To exact vengeance.

  His eyes locked onto the parchment.

  “What... is this exactly?” he asked, voice thick with tension.

  “This, my boy,” the beggar intoned, “is a channeling contract. He would like to offer his direct help to someone of your talents as proof of his…sincerity.” The man’s eyes continued swirling; grey hints started to appear in the cloudy milkiness. “Only offered to one such as you who could take the strain of his direct gift.”

  “I’m jealous, really. He sees so much in you. A well of potential. Perhaps even enough to…no, not yet,” he muttered, licking his cracked lips.

  The surroundings seemed to phase out of focus as the offer reached his ears. His mind was racing. Varos, the cursed Blackguard—could he defeat them all? Get vengeance.

  The offer pulsed in his hand. So easy. So simple. He could save the first and only person he could call a mentor, someone who gave him the taste of his dream.

  But then came the image: Vick’s face. Disappointed. Betrayed. Disgusted.

  Vick had given him the chance to chase his dreams beyond Eldeitia’s borders, to find the mage’s guild. What would it mean to throw that away and twist himself in the pursuit of vengeance?

  A wave of clarity washed over him. Without hesitation, Selriph crumpled the parchment.

  “No… It’s not worth it.” He said firmly. He set the parchment ablaze with his pyromancy.

  The grin on the gaunt man disappeared in an instant. “You’re a stubborn one, aren’t you?”

  He chuckled, the sound rasping and unpleasant. “Very well, wander around like a lost pup. Chase your tail through these tunnels while the one who could be saved rots in the chains of their false justice.“

  He leaned back into the darkness, voice echoing like a curse. “Exhaust every avenue as you wander through these tunnels, but mark my words, boy, you’ll be back. Oh yes, you’ll crawl back. And the offer… will still be waiting.”