CHAPTER 55: THE CITY ON ALERT

Smoke curled from the doorframe as Apollo raced down the inn’s back stairs, the acrid scent burning his nostrils with each ragged breath. Behind him, floorboards creaked under the weight of his companions, their shadows dancing wildly against the wall as flames consumed what remained of their room.

"Move faster," Lyra hissed from somewhere above, her voice barely audible over the growing cacophony outside, shouts from the city guard, dogs barking with predatory eagerness, and the relentless tolling of alarm bells that seemed to vibrate through the very walls.

Apollo’s legs trembled with each step, divine power still ebbing from his veins like a retreating tide, leaving exhaustion in its wake. The gold beneath his skin had cooled to a dull ache, a reminder of what he’d revealed and could no longer hide.

"Did you see what he did up there?" Nik whispered too loudly, stumbling on the narrow stairs. "The way the light just poured out of his—"

"Not now," Lyra snapped, the words slicing through the air like her knife.

Apollo winced, not from her tone but from the unmistakable fear beneath it. Fear of him. The relic chose that moment to make its presence known, its voice sliding into his mind with practiced malice.

"Look at you all," it snickered, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Scurrying like common thieves. And here I thought I was traveling with heroes."

No one responded. They reached the bottom of the stairs and paused at the back door, listening to the chaos that awaited them. Cale pressed his ear against the wood, then held up three fingers, guards, close.

’This is my fault,’ Apollo thought as sweat cooled against his skin. ’If I’d been stronger, if I’d controlled the power better...’

Thorin shouldered past him, axe gripped in white-knuckled hands. "Standing here won’t improve our odds," he muttered, the singed edges of his beard giving his scowl an even fiercer cast.

Cale nodded once, then eased the door open just enough to scan the alley behind the inn. He slipped through the gap with surprising grace for his size, and the others followed – first Renna with her spear held ready, then Nik practically on her heels, then Lyra, her movements fluid and silent.

Thorin gave Apollo a hard look before stepping through. "After you, mageling" he said, the newly minted title carrying more accusation than reverence.

The alley hit Apollo like a wall of sound and sensation, torchlight reflecting off wet cobblestones, the distant roar of a mobilizing city, and the unmistakable tingle of magic hanging in the air like static before a storm. He stumbled slightly, caught himself against the rough stone wall, and forced his legs to move.

Cale led them through a maze of narrow passages, each turn taking them deeper into the shadowed heart of the city. Apollo could feel the others watching him, measuring him with every step, not as a companion now, but as an unknown quantity, a danger they couldn’t calculate.

They emerged onto a wider street and froze. The main thoroughfare ahead blazed with torchlight, guards in polished armor marching in tight formation, their weapons gleaming. Above them, residents had emerged onto balconies, some holding lanterns that swung like captive stars, others pointing and shouting directions to the guards below.

Worst of all were the wards, shimmering barriers of crimson energy that hung across major intersections like spider webs, detection magic that would flare at their passing.

Apollo recognized the crude but effective spellwork, designed to sense strangers, outsiders, those who didn’t belong.

"We can’t cross that," Lyra breathed, pulling back into the shadows.

Cale shook his head. "Don’t need to." He gestured toward a narrow gap between buildings that Apollo would have missed entirely. "This way. Cuts behind the tanner’s district. Fewer patrols, more stink."

They slipped into the passage, forced to move single file through the constricted space. Apollo found himself in the middle of their line, Lyra and Cale ahead, Thorin, Nik, and Renna behind, positioned, he realized, where they could watch him from both directions. The thought sent a fresh wave of isolation through him, colder than the night air against his skin.

Cale navigated the backstreets with the confidence of a native, each turn seeming random but gradually building a pattern that Apollo recognized was taking them north, toward the city wall. The tanner’s district lived up to its reputation, the stench of curing leather and chemical baths making his eyes water. At least it would mask their scent from the dogs.

They had nearly reached the northern quarter when disaster struck. A side street Apollo had thought empty suddenly filled with light as a procession of robed figures rounded the corner, each holding a lantern that glowed with unnatural blue flame.

"Priests," Renna whispered, pulling back against the wall. "The ones from the temple."

Apollo felt it immediately, the blue flames weren’t ordinary fire but detection magic, specifically attuned to divine energy. Even with his powers diminished, the residual gold in his veins would light up like a beacon if those lanterns came any closer.

’They’re hunting me,’

he realized, pressing deeper into the shadows. The gold stirred beneath his skin, responding to the threat with a warm pulse that would betray him instantly.

"They’ll see me," he whispered, the admission burning his throat. "The lanterns, they’re designed to find...me."

Lyra’s eyes widened fractionally, the only indication she’d heard him. The priests advanced, their lanterns swinging in methodical arcs that swept the street ahead of them.

Apollo closed his eyes, concentrating on forcing the gold deeper, away from his skin where it would react to the detection spell.

Pain lanced through him as the divine energy retreated, not meant to be compressed or hidden but to shine, to radiate. He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, using the sharp mortal pain to focus.

The priests were less than twenty paces away now, their lanterns beginning to flicker and pulse as they sensed something just at the edge of their range.

Thorin moved suddenly, shoving past Apollo to the mouth of their hiding place. With one powerful kick, he sent a barrel tumbling into the street. It crashed onto its side, contents spilling across the cobblestones, pickled something, judging by the sharp vinegar smell that cut through even the tannery stench.

The priests turned toward the noise, lanterns swinging in unison. Thorin was already back in the shadows, one hand clamped over Nik’s mouth to stifle his nervous breathing.

"Cats," one of the priests declared after a moment, the disappointment evident in his voice. "Always in the refuse."

They continued their sweep, but their attention had shifted, the pattern of their search disrupted by Thorin’s distraction. Apollo felt the gold settle deeper within him, painful but hidden, as the blue light passed over their hiding place and continued down the street.

"Quick," Cale murmured once the priests had turned the corner. "North gate’s too watched. We need the drainage tunnel."

They moved faster now, no longer trying to appear casual but simply to remain unseen. Apollo’s entire body ached, the gold in his veins compressed unnaturally, like a spring coiled too tight. Each step sent fresh pain shooting through his legs.

The drainage tunnel, when they reached it, proved less inviting than its name suggested. A narrow opening in the base of the north wall, partially collapsed and oozing with foul-smelling water that reflected the moonlight in oily patterns.

"You can’t be serious," Renna said, staring at the dark passage with undisguised revulsion. "That’s barely wide enough for a child."

"Wide enough," Cale replied simply. "Used it before. Tight for shoulders, but passable."

"What about guards?" Lyra asked, already scanning the top of the wall above them.

"Patrols every ten minutes. We have three before the next one."

Nik peered into the tunnel entrance, then jerked back. "Are those, are those rat droppings? Gods, there are rats in there. Probably massive ones. Probably hungry ones."

"Not now, Nik," Lyra said for the second time that night. She turned to Apollo, her expression hardening. "You first."

The order was clear, they wanted him where they could see him, not at their backs. Apollo nodded once, then dropped to his hands and knees. The tunnel mouth gaped before him, a throat of stone and earth that smelled of mildew and decay. He crawled forward, feeling cold water immediately soak through his trousers.

The tunnel closed around him like a fist, the ceiling so low he had to press his cheek against the slimy floor to make progress. Behind him, he heard splashing as the others followed, Renna’s colorful curses echoing in the confined space.

"Seven hells and all their demons," she spat as something skittered across her hand. "When we get out of here, I’m burning these clothes."

"At least you fit," Thorin grunted, his broader frame scraping against the stone walls with each movement. "If I get stuck, just leave me. I’ll take as many with me as I can before the end."

Apollo kept moving, ignoring the cold seeping into his bones and the persistent ache of the gold compressed within his veins. Water deepened as they progressed, rising from ankle to mid-calf, its chill numbing his legs.

"I think something just swam past my face," Nik whispered, his voice tight with barely controlled panic. "Something with teeth. I felt teeth."

"It was a leaf," Lyra hissed from behind him. "Keep moving."

They had crawled perhaps fifty yards when boots thudded on the wall above them, accompanied by the jingle of armor and weapons. Apollo froze, and the line behind him accordioned to a halt.

A beam of light cut through the grate directly above them, illuminating the tunnel in harsh white radiance. Apollo pressed himself against the floor, water covering half his face as he held perfectly still. The others did the same, a line of statues in the fetid stream.

The guard above paused, his shadow falling across the grate as he peered down into the drainage tunnel. Apollo held his breath, feeling the gold in his veins stir traitorously at the proximity of another human. If it flared now, they were finished.

A hand closed around his ankle, Lyra, he realized, pulling him deeper into shadow, away from the direct line of the guard’s vision. He let himself be moved, grateful for her quick thinking even as he registered the irony: she still didn’t trust him, but she would save him to save them all.

"Thought I saw something," the guard muttered above them.

"Probably rats," another voice replied, bored and distant. "This whole section’s infested. Come on, we’re supposed to check the east wall next."

The light withdrew, and boots moved away, growing fainter until only the drip of water broke the silence. Apollo released his breath slowly, feeling the gold uncoil slightly within him, no longer compressed by fear.

"Go," Lyra whispered, releasing his ankle.

They crawled faster now, aware that their escape had been noticed, that the city was fully mobilizing.