Chapter 92 A Golden Shield
Gavriel moved through the town like a shadow, every step deliberate. The closer he drew to the square, the louder the panic grew—shouts, crying, the metallic ring of shutters being slammed shut.
People ran past him, faces pale, eyes wild. Mothers clutched children to their chests; shopkeepers shoved crates and barrels into doorways and bolted them. Horses reared as riders forced them onward; a dog yelped and fled into an alley.
The sight that met them at the market was worse than the reports had suggested. A cart lay overturned, its fruit scattered as if a storm had passed through it.
Two men hunched near a well, their hands stained dark. One of them reached for a passerby, and the crowd recoiled as his fingers scraped across skin—where he touched, the flesh puckered and blackened as though a disease had touched it and taken hold. People screamed and scattered.
“Alpha!” a guard shouted, breathless, stumbling to his knees before Gavriel. “It started at the infirmary, but now it’s everywhere. The healers tried to help—many were bitten. Those bitten… they change in minutes. They attack anyone nearby.”
Gavriel’s jaw flexed. He listened to more frantic reports: a baker who’d closed his shutters only to find his apprentice at the window, feverish and foaming at the mouth; a child who had fallen asleep and never woken; a patrol that had come back with two bitten and bleeding.
The pattern was the same—contact with the afflicted spread the corruption quickly. He did not pause for pity. He made decisions the way his wolves hunted: swift and absolute.
“Seal the town,” he ordered. “No one out. No one in. Lock every gate, every side path. Break the bridges if you must. Post guards at every house. Anyone trying to leave is a threat—stop them.”
The commander nearest him barked back orders and riders scattered like flung stones, arrows of movement across the burning night. Men ran to latched gates and slammed bars into place.
Town criers were sent to ring alarm bells and order people indoors, while others called for stretchers and quick barricades around the worst-hit blocks.
Gustav approached, face ashen. “We need wards and purification. The spells I know can hold it back for a while, but I need supplies and time.”
“Then buy time,” Gavriel said. “Do it now.” He looked once at the square, at the mothers trying to drag their children into shuttered shops, at the men trying to fight through their fear and stay useful.
“Get me healers. Set up triage points outside the main gates. Anyone touched goes into quarantine. Anyone who resists quarantine is a danger and must be restrained.”
He turned to Simon and instructed, “Send for Uriel and every available mage. Tell them the breach uses dark ritual—call it the Abyssal corruption. Bring more healers, anything that can cut the contagion. Tell no one to delay.”
As Gavriel turned, he caught sight of a child pressed against a shuttered stall, eyes huge and brimming with tears. He stepped close, voice softer for a heartbeat. “Stay inside. Lock the door. We will hold this.” The child nodded, trembling.
Around him, the town closed itself up like a wounded animal. Flames from torches painted faces in orange and gold. Screams carried, but orders were clearer now—organized, ruthless.
Guard patrols moved through alleys and along walls. Healers set up tarps and crude wards at the edges of the containment lines.
Meanwhile, Althea stood by the window of the inn, and from where she stood, she could see the flickering torches, hear the screams that carried through the night, and smell the faint, bitter scent of smoke and blood. People were running, some clutching loved ones, others alone, their cries sharp with terror.
Her chest tightened. She could no longer just watch.
“I must do something,” she whispered to herself. Her heart pounded in her ears, but her steps were steady as she turned away from the window.
Rudy, who had been pacing by the door, caught her movement. “My Lady, where are you going?”
Althea didn’t answer. Instead, she stepped out of the inn. The chaos was clearer now, the panic almost overwhelming, but she forced herself to focus. Raising her hands, she began to weave her energy. A soft golden glow formed between her palms, spreading like ripples in water.
She spoke words her mother had once taught her—old words meant to protect, to shield, to preserve life. The light flared and stretched until it wrapped around the inn in a dome of gold. It shimmered faintly but strong, pulsing with quiet power.
“This will hold,” she murmured. Her voice trembled slightly, but she steadied herself. “Those cursed won’t be able to enter here.”
Melva gasped from behind her, clutching her chest. “My Lady… what did you—”
“There’s no time,” Althea said firmly. She turned to Rudy and the others who had followed her out. “Tell everyone you see outside to come here. Anyone who is untainted—bring them in. The cursed will not be able to cross this barrier.”
Rudy nodded quickly, eyes wide with a mix of awe and fear. “Yes, My Lady!” He and Ben rushed into the street, calling out to fleeing villagers, shouting that the inn was safe.
But Althea was already moving, Melva and Trudis followed behind her. She couldn’t stop at the inn alone. She ran toward the nearest cluster of houses, ignoring the shouts calling after her.
Raising her hand again, she cast another spell. A golden shield burst forth, covering the small home like a warm blanket of light. Inside, she could hear children crying, and their sobs quieted as the glow took hold.
“Stay inside!” she called through the door. “You are safe within the light!”
House by house, she moved, each spell taking a toll on her but giving the people hope. Her breaths grew heavier, sweat forming on her forehead, yet she didn’t stop. The fear in the people’s eyes when they saw her was quickly replaced with relief as the protective glow spread over their roofs and walls.
Behind her, Trudis cursed under her breath but still followed, blade drawn to fend off any who got too close. “She’s reckless,” she muttered, but she still kept her pace.