“How will I know if you... if something happened?” Valerie asked as she looked at the dark elf.

“You will feel it. If the lord of a territory dies, his hold of the Land will cease as well.”

“Oh, right.” The infernal woman nodded.

“Durnan,” he turned to the dwarf arbelist. “Are you a shardwaker?”

“No, milord,” the man shook his head. “My wife inherited a mark from her family but I’m… not.”

The dwarf almost choked on his words as Regis handed over a crystal plate formed from one of the shardwaker marks he plundered.

“You are now. By the way, that was a fine shot yesterday. Remind me later to take a look at your crossbow. I’m sure it could do with a few enchantments and whatnot.”

“Yes, milord,” Durnan muttered as he held the shardwaker crystal in his shaking hand. “Thank you!”

“You deserve it.” He patted the dwarf’s shoulder before heading over to the inn.

The rest of the group had already gone on their separate ways to change into their disguise and he did the same. When he returned downstairs, wearing the armour of the dead spearman, Mary couldn’t help but speak up.

“The armour might fit, but you’ll really have to cover up your face. That helmet doesn’t cover everything.”

“That’s what I have this for,” The spell weaver noted as he held up a roll of rough bandage. “I scorched the helmet and the chest piece a bit with fire magic to make it look like I took a blast in the face.”

“I guess most of us will have to use that excuse.” Fabien remarked while Mary helped cover up the dark elf’s face with the bandage.

“Are you guys ready to go?” Amanda asked from the doorway of the inn with Sophie standing behind her.

“Almost. Just give us a minute.”

Exactly two minutes later the group was finally properly disguised and ready to go. They brought along Regis’ staff as a supposed trophy, the team walking up to the gateway with Zola following them.

“Once we’re in Escroft, it might be better if you do the talking.” Quentin spoke to the young woman.

“Me?” She look at him puzzled.

“Just try to act natural and somewhat commanding. If someone tries to give you trouble we’ll try to intervene, but it’s best if we say as little as possible unless we want to blow our cover.”

“Alright.” Zola nodded as the runes of the gateway lit up, pulling them across space and spitting them out in Escroft.

“Where to now?” Fabien asked.

“The stables are that way.” Zola led them toward their goal.

“Halt,” someone called out to them. “Who goes... oh. My apologies. We didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“We’re here for some horses.” The young woman stated, earning a frown from the soldier in front of the stables.

“What happened to the horses you took away previously?”

“They were left at the outpost beside the river with the others.” Quentin said with a muffled voice.

“But...”

“Are you going to explain to his lordship why we arrived late with the important information he requested,” Fabien joined in the conversation. “Or are you going to get us those horses?”

“At once.” The low-ranked guard nodded before hurrying inside the stables.

A few minutes later five horses were led outside by the soldier and a stable-boy.

“You ride with me. Quentin stated as he helped Zola up on the first horse, sitting behind her.

The rest of the group got on their horses as well and they rode away, only stopping for a moment while the guards opened the gate. After they cross the bridge, Amanda finally let out a deep breath before speaking up.

“I was half expecting them to stop and bombard us with a bunch of questions.”

“You give them too much credit,” Regis sighed. “We’re high-ranking soldiers. They’re not. You don’t ask questions above your station when in the army or a lord’s service.”

“How far are we from Mistfield?” Sophie asked while trying to get used to the pace and the saddle.

“It should take us a five or so hours long horse ride to get there,” Zola claimed. “Less if we hurry up.”

“Five hours on this thing and my ass will turn into leather.” Fabien remarked with a wince after his horse stepped into a deep pothole on the road.

“At least you will be able to simulate being injured a lot better.” Amanda laughed as she urged her horse to go just a bit faster.

“It’s been a while since the last time I got to ride a horse.” Regis said while trying to keep pace with the others.

“Don’t your family own any? My family had nearly two dozen on the territory of the main family.” Fabien said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Not every spellcaster family is rich.” Regis answered ruefully. ‘Posh prick.’

“Well, now that Lord Vidal was nice enough to sponsor us with a few, you can ride about to your leisure.”

“As if I’d have time for that with all the stuff to do around Thornfell.”

“True enough,” the infernal agreed. “Workaholic.”

The following near five hours went by with similar chatter and the occasional silent moments. They stopped twice along the way to let the horses rest a little, but soon enough the sight of the near seven meters tall outer wall of Mistfield came to view.

“Is everyone already”? Regis asked as they neared the gates that were open, but well guarded.

“Out of the way!” Quentin yelled in a deep tone. “We bring an urgent message for his lordship.”

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

The guards patrolling at the gate stepped aside to let through their fellow soldiers upon recognising their armour and Zola sitting in front of Quentin. They rode through with haste, only slowing when they were inside the gates.

“Forward until the market square and then to the right?” The paladin asked the young woman, earning a nod.

As they rode through the town of Mistfield, Regis couldn’t help but shudder from what he saw. It wasn’t as crowded as Hunor, but just as poverty-stricken. The people walked around wearing rags, their faces covered with dirt and a veil of hopelessness. Zola did mention along the way that Lord Vidal taxed and overworked his people to oblivion, but seeing the skin and bone children walking by was still heart-rending.

Riding by the main square where the local church and Landwaker tree were, they noticed several guards patrolling around the tree, guarding its few fruits from the hungry gazes of the people. As they got near the manor, the number of guards increased significantly, but none of them stopped the group as they rode by. When the group reached the entrance, they had to get off their horses and hand them over to the nearby guards.

“Took you long enough,” one of the gate guards noted. “His lordship has been walking around the premises, waiting for you since morning, asking us about any sign of you returning. What’s with all the bandages?

“Fire magic.” Regis answered in a muffled tone as he pointed at his damaged armour.

“Come on mate it can not be that bad.” Another guard chuckled as he stepped closer, trying to pull off the bandage from his face where the gap on the helmet would allow it.

Regis’ eyes lit up as his arcane intimidation blasted forth, powered by his twenty-eight point of willpower.

“Bloody...” The soldier tried to curse as his eyes rolled back into his skull and he collapsed on the ground unconscious.

“Weakling,” the dark elf said in a muffled tone as he fixed his bandage. “Can’t stomach the sight of burnt flesh? Get him out of my sight.”

“Oh, right away sir.” The other guard stuttered as he dragged away his fellow with the help of another soldier.

“Let’s go.” Quentin urged them on, not wanting to stretch their luck.

“This way.” Zola said, leading them toward the building.

The guards at the front door simply gave them a nod as they opened the doors to let through the hurrying group. Once inside, Sophie couldn’t stop herself from speaking her mind.

“This is all too easy. Do you think it’s a trap?”

“I don’t think so,” Amanda replied. “It looks like Vidal was expecting us to return sooner. He must have told the guards to let us through as soon as we get here.”

The winding corridors of the manor were lavishly decorated with gold-framed paintings and various trophies as well as long lush carpets that might have cost more than what the entire village of Thornfell was currently worth. As they reached the door of the study where Vidal was supposed to be, they noticed a pair of guards standing in front of the door.

“Was he waiting for long?” Quentin asked from afar, earning a nod from the guards. “Shit.”

“They have arrived.” One of the guards said after slightly opening the door and pushing his head inside.

Not much later the soldier pulled his head back out before opening the door for the team.

“What took you so long?” Were the first words that greeted them as they entered the room and the door closed behind them.

They found themselves facing three men. One wore a somewhat matted plate armour, another a set of gold-trimmed mage robes and the last one donned lavish noble clothes. Lord Vidal was an impressive person. Impressive in his way of perfectly portraying the stereotypical looks of a greedy nobleman one would expect from a novel. The man was fat, his silk shirt and gold trimmed doublet tightly fitting around his large guts and his double chin shook with every move he made. He sported a greasy pornstache and was somewhat balding on the top. The man held a glass of wine in his hand, something he shared with the other two in the room.

“Have completed your task?”

“Yes.” Quentin answered curtly.

“Good. Did you manage to make the bastards suffer? Did you retrieve any of my arcanite? Speak, dammit! Did you carve them to pieces? Raped their women as I ordered?”

“It was a hard fight milord,” Regis said in his muffled tone, something snapping deep inside him as he listened to the nobleman’s rantings. “But we brought you a precious trophy.”

Saying that, he slowly walked closer while unwrapping his sunstone staff. He held it up horizontally with his right hand, his left hand doing its best to covertly hold the runes that formed a spell while he was talking.

“A magic staff?” The lavishly robed mage advisor asked with greed glowing in his eyes.

A moment later however the greed was replaced by dread as Regis stabbed forward with his staff, the familiar blade forming on its tip in a mere second, piercing through Egil’s throat. At the same time, Regis raised his left hand towards the plate armour wearing knight, firing a ‘runic lightning bolt’ at his face at near point-blank range while simultaneously landing a spartan kick on Lord Vidal’s guts just below the ribs.

There was something strangely elegant in the cat-like dextrous movements of the dark elf that was only offset by the brutality of his actions. The mage was pretty much dead and the knight collapsed on the ground, twitching from the powerful shock just long enough for the others to react.

“Shit!” Quentin cussed as he turned towards the door along with Fabien.

“So much for diplomacy.” Amanda sighed as she drew out the large two-hander she carried and swung it down at the still-twitching knight.

Two crooks down, one remaining. Vidal, of course, screamed bloody murder throughout the sudden turn of events like a pig being dragged towards the slaughterhouse as he rolled back from the powerful kick. In the meantime, both Sophie and Zola froze in place after witnessing the sudden turn of events.

“You bastard,” he yelped as he tried his best to stand back up. “How dare you raise your weapon at your lord? I’ll have you head for that!” He said the words that were far too cliche and all too expected.

Regis looked at the dead knight and mage advisor before turning towards the fuming nobleman. He pulled off his helmet and undid the bandages that hid his face, earning a surprised wince from Vidal.

“I’d love to say it’s nice to meet you, but that went down the drain about the same time you uttered those words about carving us into pieces and raping the women in our village.”

“You… my men.”

“They’re dead,” the dark elf stated as the door opened up behind him, the guards found themselves face to face with a pair of swords that stopped a hair’s width from their necks.

“I suggest you don’t do anything stupid,” Quentin said as he looked at the surprised guard. “Regis, what now?”

“Now,” the spell weaver pointed his bladestaff at the nobleman, prompting him to stand back up properly. “Now I must explain something to Lord Vidal.”

“You cur… aargh!” The man tried to curse at him before the bladestaff’s tip stabbed forward, nicking the man’s left shoulder, cutting apart the doublet just below the shoulder, drawing blood.

“Originally, we had no enmity between us,” Regis sighed. “It wasn’t my choice to destroy that obelisk, you know. We were simply trying to reach Thorn Vale to settle down, creating a peaceful home and that outpost was along the way we travelled. You see, I’m a loremaster and that thing dragged me along like a puppet as soon as we stopped at the outpost to trade for some extra food supplies. Then when I came to, I was in its soul space. That is, if that thing had one.”

“I can hear more guards coming!” Fabien said as Sophie checked the nearby window.

“After I got out of that place,” the dark elf continued, “The obelisk crumbled and we left. You knew what you did could get you executed if the royals found out, yet instead of trying to lay low, you sent people after us again and again.”

“You mongrel,” Vidal cursed with bloodshot eyes. “Do you have any idea how much that slab of arcanite was worth? The amount of gold the different spellcasters’ guilds would have paid for its pieces? You couldn’t pay me back even a hundredth of it even if you sold your entire village, its peasants and your whores into slavery. That amount of gold could have… ugh.”

The nobleman couldn’t finish his rant as the bladestaff drew an arc in the air, the edge of the blade glowing with an ethereal bluish-teal light as it cut through his neck. Vidal’s eyes widened in shock as his head fell off his neck and rolled away, not a single drop of blood showing from the magically seared wound on the stump.