Year 939,
When the crystalway train stopped at Corlona, the doors swung open, and an uncivilized crowd began hustling to get out. Although this was the last stop of the line, Lyndabel was surprised by the huge number of visitors who were coming to this port city on the edge of the Kingdom.
Why were all those peasants in such a hurry? She let them swarm out before she rose from her comfortable first-class seat, and by the time she emerged into the sultry heat of the month of Arsicus, the dust raised by the arrival of the train was already settling.
Lyndabel stretched her legs on the platform, her ash-blond hair flowing softly. She straightened her uniform and set off towards the portico beyond which she could glimpse the sea. She was pleased to see that even in such a remote place, in one of the poorest provinces of Ferlonia, the carriages arrived on time and the station was well kept. The windows of the gallery sparkled immaculately, and there was no trace of paper or cigarette butts on the floor.
Outside the station she couldn’t help but look at the swimmers in the sea, swimming and splashing in the murky waters. She thought sadly about the fact that this was the first summer she wouldn’t have a single day at the beach with her little sister. But there was no time for such trifles. She was here for work, not for play. Her beloved province of origin, King’s Plain, had been blessed with wild, pristine coves, and all that filth — well, she was getting distracted again.
Lyndabel shook her head and headed toward the tree-lined avenue that connected the station to the historic center of Corlona. It was obvious that she needed a few weeks off. She was still in her first year as a novice knight, and the bigwigs at Leapolis headquarters hadn't given her a moment's respite. The latest news? They'd assigned her a mission where she was to act as a nanny to a wayward Sanchirian knight. She was to pick him up from his filthy apartment and take him hunting Fekoro with her. He was said to be an alcoholic and a layabout. Like her, he had studied at the Academy of the Spheres of Lazul and graduated while she was still in her junior years, but she couldn't remember his face at all. Now that was a bad sign: if she had no idea who he was, he must have been an ugly guy. She had a good eye for cute boys.
Maybe Calgara remembered him. She was overcome by a sudden wave of envy for her old friend. They were going easy on her, those at headquarters. She was ashamed for having thought like that. That was low.
After walking the first stretch of the avenue, she reached the monumental bridge that connected the northern part of Corlona with the southern part, crossing the Lona River. She took a map from her belt and unrolled it. She had written on it the address that the undisciplined knight had given to the headquarters so that he could be reached. On the other side of the bridge, she would have to turn left at the third parallel of the avenue, and then zigzag through the alleys until she reached a building that almost overlooked the sea.
It was scorching hot, and her summer uniform and Exoplion didn't help make it any more bearable. She had plenty of cooling potions, but she didn't want to waste them for such a mundane reason. She would look a little sloppy for all the sweating, but she didn't really care. She wasn't going on a blind date.
Lyndabel continued over the bridge, and when it was time to enter the suburban alleys she found a slight relief in the shade of the apartment buildings. The smell of ragù reached her nostrils, and her stomach growled. It was almost lunchtime, and the housewives of Corlona were hard at work in their kitchens.
Finding the knight's apartment was more difficult than she had expected, but Lyndabel did not give up. After wandering through the maze of alleys for a good half hour and consulting the map several times, she found it. The building that loomed before her was characterized by a blackish wooden facade encrusted with salt.
Without hesitation Lyndabel entered the hall, reached the stairwell, and climbed to the seventh floor. It was a real slog, and the air was stuffy and stale. Couldn't the idiot have rented a more easily accessible apartment?
There was only one door on the top landing, so there was no room for error. The knight lived there. Now that she was facing her destination, Lyndabel found herself feeling a certain anxiety. An irrational emotion. Ignoring it, she knocked. There was no response. After half a minute, Lyndabel knocked a second time. This time someone must have heard, because there was a creaking sound from inside the apartment. Yet after another minute, no one had answered. Lyndabel knocked again, impatiently.
“I’m coming!” a muffled, annoyed voice exclaimed.
Then there were footsteps and the door, which was secured by a safety bolt, swung open slightly. A bespectacled man with wavy hair peered through the crack. His entire face couldn't be seen, but he looked quite agitated. Lyndabel could tell by the smell that wafted down the landing that the man had been smoking weed.
“I seek the knight Viryl of the White Gale,” Lyndabel stated succinctly, completely uninterested in investigating what the hell was going on in there.
“He’s not here,” the man replied with uneasiness.
"Well well, the knight is not at the address of availability he gave. So, where can I find him?" Lyndabel asked, annoyed.
“At this hour? He's probably downing a couple of beers at the bar. What should I know about how he wastes his days anyway?”
‘A couple of beers at the bar, at this hour ,’ Lyndabel thought in scandal. As annoying as the situation was, she had no choice but to continue her search. But Viryl could be sure of one thing: once she found him, he would have to take responsibility for his carelessness.
“Well, where would this bar be?” Lyndabel asked again.
*****
The stoner directed Lyndabel to a kiosk on the southern waterfront of Corlona, about a ten-minute walk from the apartment. The establishment looked shady, to say the least. Drunkards in tank tops and canvas pants were slumped on the sand outside, shaded by a canopy of reeds. Lyndabel stepped over them and pulled aside the palm-leaf curtains that hung over the door to keep out the flies.
Lyndabel immediately identified a balding, well-muscled man in the dim room, wearing a silver Exoplion on his chest. He was slumped over the bar, clutching a mug of cold ale, beaded with condensation.
Lyndabel walked up behind him as the eyes of all the patrons followed her, put her hands on her hips, and stated inquisitively, “Viryl of the White Gale, I presume.”
Viryl raised his head, looked at the woman for a few moments, and then buried his face in the crook of his elbow again, yelling, “Oh no! The cops are here!”
The bartender replied to Viryl, while pouring a mug of lager for another customer: “Look, you’re a cop too, Viryl.”
“Oh, right,” Viryl sighed reassured.
Lyndabel looked around, shocked. What kind of troublemaker were they forcing her to work with? Trying to maintain her composure, once his identity was established, she explained, “You have been assigned by Headquarters for an urgent hunting mission in the Sanctuary of the Rodobrante Valley, in Morchigia. We will work together, in a team of two.”
"Who the hell are you, you little blondie? Didn't they teach you how to introduce yourself at the academy?" Viryl asked annoyed.
"I am Lyndabel of the Radiant Spark, from Port Emperia. Now that you know my name, get up from there and follow me," Lyndabel commanded.
"Are you stupid? This is the hottest hour of the day," Viryl complained.
"Get up right now, you clown. I get to your apartment and you're not there, and then I find you drunk. Now you want to postpone our expedition. That’s enough to get you reported: if you don't want to get in trouble, do as I say!" Lyndabel replied in a threatening tone, starting to get heated.
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Viryl stood up and glared at her. He snapped back, “Climb down, madamoiselle! I’m not under house arrest, for fuck’s sake.”
“I’m not your nanny! And being on-call means that if a job comes along you’re ready to go!” Lyndabel shouted.
"I'm not drunk at all! And then you seem to have found me without any problems and now you're here busting my balls! Nanny my ass!" Viryl yelled.
The drunkards at the kiosk watched the altercation with rapt attention. With dreamy eyes they longed for a good brawl, not realizing that if the two knights came to blows, the whole place would probably blow up.
After a few moments of Viryl and Lyndabel glaring at each other, Viryl decided it was best to tone it down and deal with the nuisance elsewhere: “Let’s get out of here. Let’s talk about this on the beach, alone.”
Lyndabel complied with the request, and together they left the place accompanied by a chorus of “boos!”: those idiots wanted to see blood flow and couldn’t help but show their displeasure. Viryl led her to the shoreline towards a secluded area and, reaching the water’s edge, looking at the horizon, asked: “So? What do they want from me this time?”
"A Voltzreoth has nested in the Malabelza Gorge, at the northwestern edge of Rodobrante Valley. This prevents the Sanctuary's keepers from reaching the plain beyond the gorge, and this is a problem because that clearing grows a variety of medicinal plants needed for the distillation of alchemical preparations. The request for its elimination is particularly urgent for the Order, because the ingredients from that gathering point are used to make potions that are exported to all the northern branches of the Order," Lyndabel explained.
"All this trouble for a Voltzreoth? Ridiculous. I wonder why, with all the knights they have at their disposal, they insist on using common soldiers to act as sentries at the Sanctuaries," Viryl said polemically.
Lyndabel took a moment to study the man’s scowling face. He certainly put on airs. She answered him firmly, to maintain her authority, “It’s none of your business how the Sanctuaries are guarded. But if you really want an answer, the knights have more important matters to attend to, and sitting around waiting for a Fekoro to appear would be a waste of their time. I imagine you’d rather spend your days doing nothing, but you’re the exception.”
"Blondie, watch your mouth. You act like you know me, but you don't know shit," Viryl snapped.
"What I've seen is enough for me to judge you. Shall we go?" Lyndabel replied caustically.
Viryl gave a bitter laugh of surrender, and replied, “Not right away. I have to get some equipment before we leave. Give me four hours.”
"You have two."
"I explained it to you not even ten minutes ago. This is the hottest time of day. And it takes at least five hours to reach the Rodobrante Valley. It's better to leave at dusk: it's cooler. And as for the timing, it doesn't change anything, since we won't be able to hunt the Fekoro before dawn tomorrow anyway," Viryl tried to convince her.
"I told you you have two hours. Don't make excuses. We will travel by light, arrive at the refuge of the Rodobrante Valley at dusk, dine, sleep and tomorrow we will carry out our mission." Lyndabel reiterated adamantly.
*****
It was a few minutes to three, and Viryl and Lyndabel had just passed through the western gate of Corlona. The Lona River Plain countryside stretched out before them. Lyndabel looked out over the mountain ranges that loomed on the horizon, beyond which they would find their destination. “We need horses. Where’s the stable where you keep yours?”
“I don’t ride horses,” Viryl replied dryly.
Lyndabel stared at him, her eyes wide. What was this nonsense? This man had the uncanny ability to make her angrier with every single sentence he uttered. Lyndabel said, barely holding her nerves, “The whole point of being a knight is riding horses . Will you please explain to me what you mean when you say that you don’t ride horses?”
"What I just said. I don't ride horses and therefore I don't have one. And what you're saying, my dear, is bullshit. Maybe before the discovery of magic, owning a horse could make the difference between a knight and a foot soldier. But today what makes the difference between a knight and a soldier is whether you’re grafted or not. Take it slow, you fucking know-it-all from the Academy of the Spheres of Lazul," Viryl replied with reasoning that in his opinion was irrefutable.
“Oh yeah? So how do you want to get to Morchigia, you fucking know-it-all from the Academy of the Spheres of Lazul?” Lyndabel asked rhetorically.
“Flying.” was Viryl’s absurd reply.
Lyndabel initially thought he was joking, but then she read an unmistakable seriousness in his eyes: "Flying?"
"Yes. There's a levitation spell on my Exoplion. Find yourself a horse and come join me if you really need to. I'll meet you there," Viryl concluded.
Lyndabel was ready to reply, but Viryl didn’t give her time to do so. He summoned his ethereal armor and shot into the hazy sky with the speed of an arrow from a bow.
“Oh, no, don’t even think about it!” Lyndabel shouted to the firmament, and in turn summoned her own ethereal armor. She gathered all the strength granted by the enhancement spell registered in her Exoplion into her lower limbs, and leaped with such force that the ground beneath her feet cracked. The knight achieved a speed and elevation far superior to Viryl’s, and demonstrated exceptional control of her trajectory.
In ten seconds Lyndabel found herself at the apex of her arc, hovering directly over Viryl’s back, and then came down with a mighty heel strike between his shoulder blades. Viryl was knocked toward the ground and, unable to regain control, fell. He barely had time to cast his hardening spell on his body before he crashed face first into the ground. Gracefully, Lyndabel landed ten yards in front of him, on her feet.
“You’re a fucking criminal! You could have killed me!” Viryl snarled, lifting his muzzle from the dirt.
“And you are an unspeakable moron!” Lyndabel retorted. “You wear out your Exoplion’s Fuligine Stone plating so recklessly! What if it were to run out during battle? You’d be a burden!”
“What bullshit!” Viryl exclaimed angrily. “I’ve traveled like this in seven years as a knight, and I’ve never used up my Fuligine Stone during a mission!”
"Well, yes, it happens that today you work with me, and I do not tolerate this waste!"
"I get it, blondie. There's no way I'm going to win you over. Let's finish this assignment quickly, and then we can go our separate ways," Viryl concluded sullenly, as he stood up and looked around.
They had landed in a field about three miles from where they had taken off. It was now best to walk to the next village and look for some stables there. Lyndabel agreed.
They were not so lucky, however, as the small stable in the country village they came to on their way had only one draft horse available to hire. Lyndabel insisted on taking it, along with a tiny carriage, and took to the wheel.
Crammed into the bench of that cart, the two knights resumed their journey toward the mountains. The horse was not that slow, but not a lightning-fast steed either, and a good two hours of delay accumulated on their timetable.
By the time they reached the hinterland, the heat wave of that scorching Arsico day, no longer tempered by the influence of the sea, was more powerful than ever. Lyndabel tried stubbornly to resist the discomfort, but maintaining her concentration on the road was becoming increasingly difficult for her. Her head had become light and beaded with sweat.
Viryl had noticed the girl's paleness, but he didn't want to point it out to her. Proud as she was, she would surely have taken his intrusion as an affront.
Lyndabel stubbornly continued to spur the horse, even as she felt her consciousness fading. Breathing was becoming a burdensome task for her, as if her diaphragm were moving volumes of water instead of air, and a black veil fell before her eyes. Before she could stop the horse, she fainted, her head bowed, and the reins slipped from her hands.
Viryl barely had time to grab the reins and pull the horse’s bit before the carriage went straight off the road. When they were safely stopped, she shook Lyndabel’s shoulders to wake her. “I told you it’s not a good idea to be traveling at this fucking hour!” Viryl scolded.
“I’m fine… I just… had a moment of sleepiness. I can continue,” Lyndabel justified herself through gritted teeth.
“Drink a cooling potion, stupid,” Viryl ordered, handing her a vial containing black liquid like licorice.
"You think I don't have some too? But I don't want to waste them needlessly. They could be useful for the mission," Lyndabel stubbornly refused.
"In the mountains? Against a Voltzreoth? And in any case it's mine, can you explain to me what's the problem?" Viryl was starting to sense a childish side in his companion, and that was nasty. In order to win every single argument she was ready to take completely irrational and indefensible positions.
“I told you I don’t want it!” Lyndabel snarled.
“Do whatever the fuck you want, but if you don’t take it, you don’t drive,” Viryl replied. Lyndabel, still pale, sulked. But Viryl didn’t give in. This time he was really ready to come to blows, and given the pitiful state of his opponent he felt more than confident of his victory.
After a brief standoff, Lyndabel capitulated, accepting the potion from Viryl. She immediately felt better, and the rest of the journey went smoothly.
At dusk they reached the first hills of the Vele mountain range, and then, late at night, they arrived near the sealed wall of the Rodobrante Valley.
*****
Thirty-four years later, second day of Neviticus, 10:13 PM, citadel of Zelfiria,
"Sir, are you not hungry tonight?" the maid asked with a hint of concern in her voice, just looking into her master's study. It was a rare occurrence that Sir Radios did not show up for dinner and there was an unusual racket in the room.
She found him comfortably seated in his armchair, intent on looking at the impalpable image that he was able to generate above the palm of his hand and listening to sounds similar to those reproduced by a Speculum. She had often seen him use that magic, he called it "Holographic Eye".
Shaken by the maid's interruption, Radios turned to her and answered absently: "You do not need to cook for me, Alarinda. I’m leaving soon and I’m afraid I’ll have to stay away from Zelfiria for a few days,”
“You could have told me earlier, sir, it’s ready now,”
“Why, what time is it?”
“It’s almost a quarter past ten… and in any case, do you think it’s appropriate to leave at this hour?”
Radios glared reproachfully, but he immediately regretted it. The maid was much older than he was, and far too attentive to him. Sometimes she couldn’t understand what it meant to be in the service of a knight of the High Table of the Order of Ferlonia.
Radios sighed with a hint of regret, “I’m afraid this matter can’t wait, Alarinda,” then he closed his hand, making the hologram vanish, stood up, picked up a black cape from the coat rack next to his desk and wrapped it around his shoulders.
“Don’t worry about me…”