I staggered out of the Enclave and into the midday sun. I intended to reach the mansion, but Delvorra’s cry rang so loudly in my mind that I found it hard to walk in a straight line.

“It’s just a game,” I reminded myself. “She’s not real. She’s a character generated by a program written by a maniac.”

My fellow pedestrians gave me strange looks, but I only barely noticed. I couldn’t get Delvorra’s voice out of my mind. And I’d left her there, beneath the Enclave.

“She’s a necromancer,” I whispered. “She must have done something terrible. Remember Zuvil? She’s probably worse than he was.”

“On the other hand,” I argued, “she’s an expert on Norburne and Dhok’kor’s temple, so she can help me steal the Key of Darnok. And she wants to hurt Zenithir, so maybe she's not all bad. And she loves me... The bards will sing of Dylan and Delvorra..."

I continued wrestling with myself as I made my way south. Despite the Local Map, I got lost twice. But by the early afternoon, I entered the mansion and was relieved to see the four Surgeons lying in their armchairs. They looked exhausted, and Dannik and Hubril had bruises on their faces.

Bolan looked up at me, eyebrows raised. “What’s just a game?”

“Nothing,” I projected. “What happened to you? You look awful.”

“We followed the assassin into the slums,” Wystane projected, “and he never saw or heard us. But as we entered farther, something shouted. An invisible creature attacked us, and then the assassin turned invisible and joined the fight.”

I closed my eyes and pictured the Surgeons fighting invisible rakshasas. If I’d been there, I could have cast See Invisible.

“Wasn’t much of a fight,” Bolan projected. “Our armor protected us from their daggers, but they hit hard all the same.”

“Still, you survived,” I projected, “so you must have found a way to beat them.”

Wystane shook her head. “These monsters have many talents, but climbing isn’t among them, so we climbed to the rooftops and fled.”

“But when I left this morning, none of you were here. What happened?”

“We couldn’t risk bringing our pursuers back to the mansion, so we all stayed at different taverns.”

I sighed. “I’m sorry everything turned out badly.”

“Not your fault. You were wounded, and they would have recognized you. Besides, we have a good idea of where in the slums the assassin was headed.”

“What have you been doing?” Hubril projected.

I sat in my armchair. “After you left, I collected the assassin’s blood in a flask and showed it to the Enclave scholars. They said the assassin and his friends are called rakshasas. They’re shapeshifters who can turn invisible once a day. Also, they’re afraid of fire.”

The four Surgeons looked at me with expressions of amazement.

“That’s not all,” I continued. “Their leader’s name is Akasur, and after they commit a murder, they sell the victim’s belongings at their shop in the slums.”

Wystane shook her head slowly. “The scholars learned all that from a flask of blood?”

I considered my response. I’d given Obin my word that I wouldn’t mention Delvorra, and I really didn’t want to think about our conversation.

“I’ve performed several missions for the Enclave, and I’m one of their best customers. That information cost me a lot, but it should be reliable.”

“Either way,” Dannik projected, “that’s amazing. Well done.”

Wystane studied me with narrowed eyes. She knew I wasn’t being entirely honest, but instead of confronting me, she got to her feet.

“Then we need to get back to the slums,” Wystane projected. “As soon as Freth gets back, we’ll take a coach.”

While we waited, I focused on the glowing cross in the upper right. I’d reached Level 7 after learning about Akasur, and I was glad to be back to the same level I’d reached before Venabel drained me. Once again, I chose Called Shot—my favorite ability in the game.

The front door opened and Freth bustled in, carrying four large bottles of a greenish liquid.

“As you requested,” he said, “I purchased the most powerful potions of See Invisibility I could find. Each produces an effect that lasts for two days.”

“Good work,” Wystane said. “Now we need a coach to take us to the outskirts of the Slums. There can’t be many shops in the area that sell used goods.”

⚔

Wystane was right. There was only one prominent second-hand store in the slums, and its name was Oddities and Curios. Several customers were inside, making their way through the long shelves of highly-discounted paintings and sculptures. Bolan, Hubril, and Dannik browsed the aisles while Wystane and I approached the merchant. The elderly human smiled benevolently from behind the counter, flanked by two grim-looking half-orc guards.

“I am Sariel,” the merchant smiled. “Welcome to Oddities and Curios. How can I help you?”

Sariel addressed me, but I kept silent, maintaining a look of calm dignity. Wystane cleared her throat.

“Our employer has an item he’s eager to sell,” she said. “What can you give me for this?”

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Wystane placed a cloth bundle on the counter and unwrapped it, revealing a black dagger with a splayed-back hilt.

The guards didn’t seem interested, but for two heartbeats, the old man’s smile vanished, replaced with a look of surprise and then white-hot rage. Moments later, the smile returned.

“Store policy forbids buying weapons, but for this, I believe we can make an exception. Alas, I can’t appraise it myself. Would you mind showing it to the proprietor? It won’t take but a minute.”

“That will be fine,” Wystane said.

“Please follow me.”

One of the guards opened a wooden door in the back of the room, and the other beckoned Wystane and me to walk through. Before we left, Wystane projected, “The old man is one of them, but the guards aren’t. Count to twenty, incapacitate the guards, and then follow us.”

⚔

Wystane and I followed Sariel down a long corridor. On either side, boxes and locked chests were stacked to the ceiling.

"You must be dedicated,” Sariel said, “to come all the way here just to sell a dagger. This isn’t the safest part of Encelas.”

“Our employer occupies a position of respect, but he’s short on funds,” Wystane said. “Therefore, we need to conduct our business with discretion.”

Sariel laughed. “If discretion is what you desire, discretion you shall have.”

As we proceeded, we walked past a portrait of an intense-looking man with dark skin. His dark hair, streaked with gray, reached the middle of his neck, and his deep-set black eyes smoldered with intelligence and will.

“That’s quite a painting,” I said. “Is it for sale?”

“Oh no,” Sariel laughed. “That’s my eldest brother, Akasur. He's rather vain, and he’d never allow me to sell his portrait.”

I caught my breath at the sound of the name, but I was certain the merchant didn’t notice. Now I was certain that we were on the right trail.

“That’s a shame,” I said. “Is Akasur in the office today?”

“He’s been called away,” Sariel said. “Urgent business far to the north.”

The three of us stopped near the end of the hallway, but there was no door. The man knelt and pressed his right hand flat against the floor. A square region beneath his hand glowed red and then vanished, revealing a stairway.

“This way.” Sariel started downward.

“I’m impressed by how many goods you sell,” Wystane said as we descended. “Have you been in business long?”

“Just over six months. My brothers and I came to Encelas from far away, without so much as a copper coin. Despite that, we’ve done well.”

“How many brothers do you have?” I asked.

“Six altogether.”

“And how far away did you travel from?” Wystane asked. “Elinia? Vindon?”

Sariel smiled. “Farther away than that. Much, much farther.”

“The guards are tied up, and we’re at the top of the stairs,” Bolan projected. “What should we do?”

“Follow us down,” Wystane projected. “Then wait for my signal.”

At the bottom of the stairway, Sariel opened a door labeled PROPRIETOR’S OFFICE and beckoned us inside. The room was as large as the chamberlain’s office, and most of the walls were covered with maps and diagrams. Against the far wall, two short men examined a map, one with white hair and one with dark hair. A black stone altar occupied the rear of the office, and above it stood a statue of a robed, smiling skeleton. Dhok'kor.

“We’re here,” Wystane projected. “After so much searching, we’ve found our murderers.”

I unstrapped my crossbow and loaded a bolt of fire.

“Brothers,” Sariel said, “these two are servants of a noble who found one of our daggers. By some miracle, the noble knew exactly where to sell it.”

The two men turned and studied us. The one on the left had a long white moustache and beard, and the one on the right was covered with scars. I recognized the second man as the assassin from the Prince’s Arms, and he glared at me with shock and fury.

“Sariel, you fool!” My assassin pointed to me. “He’s the target Palomir hired us to kill. And that woman was part of last night’s assault.”

Sariel coughed. “B-but that’s impossible. I mean—"

Wystane drew her dagger. “I’m glad you remember me.”

The three rakshasas shouted and threw back their heads. Their bodies started expanding.

“Now!” Wystane projected.

⚔

The three creatures grew until they stood seven feet tall, their heads nearly striking the ceiling. Sariel was closest, so I aimed my crossbow until the green dot showed in the center of his robe.

“Chest.”

The bolt of fire struck the rakshasa just below his sternum and exploded, throwing him against the wall. He collapsed to the floor, screaming and trying to bat away the flames. His health bar fell faster than I’d expected, but the bolt didn’t kill him.

The other rakshasas ran at us just as Bolan, Dannik, and Hubril entered. With Sariel on the ground, it was five against two, so I stepped into the corner and loaded another bolt of fire.

“Give me a target,” I projected.

Wystane and Hubril struck at the white-haired rakshasa with their daggers while Bolan and Dannik fought the dark-haired one. The Surgeons appeared to be winning, but then the white-haired rakshasa landed a solid punch into Hubril’s face.

“White hair,” Wystane projected.

I moved silently, keeping close to the wall until I had a clear shot at the white-haired rakshasa. Then I whispered, “Head.”

The bolt struck the creature just above his left ear, and the explosion threw him onto his side. Then I reloaded, ran forward, and fired at his upper chest. His health bar fell to zero in moments. +1,200 XP!

The only rakshasa still standing was the assassin sent to kill me. He shouted and slashed, but he was surrounded by Surgeons on all four sides. Wystane drove her dagger into his lower back, and Bolan followed suit. It took one more backstab before the monster dropped to the ground.

The five of us surrounded Sariel, who sat against the wall and struggled to put out his flames. When the fire finally died down, his health bar was nearly zero. He raised his hands and looked up at us in dismay.

“Do anything you like, but please—no more fire. I beg you.”

“I propose a bargain,” Wystane said. “Answer my questions and you’ll die by my blade. Refuse, and my friend will burn you very slowly.”

Sariel looked at the bolt of fire in my crossbow, and then closed his eyes. “I accept.”

“Good,” Wystane said. “Why are there only three of you here? Where are the others?”

“Akasur and my elder brothers are gone. They left in a coach before you arrived.”

“Did they know we were coming?”

“No,” Sariel said. “Palomir asked for assistance on a mission. Akasur decided that the three eldest should join him and the three youngest should remain.”

I clenched my teeth at the mention of the fallen elf’s name. I had a debt of vengeance to repay.

“What is Palomir’s mission?” Wystane asked.

“I don’t know, but I believe he’s headed far to the north. He said the city’s mages would be there, undefended.”

“I know what he’s talking about,” I projected. “The Enclave is interested in a temple in a northern village named Zhulla. Many of the senior mages are traveling there.”

Bolan responded, “If they’re senior mages, they won’t have any trouble fighting rakshasas, will they?”

“Rakshasas are immune to spells,” I projected, “so the mages won’t stand a chance.”

“When did your brothers leave?” Wystane asked.

“Over an hour ago.”

Without wasting a moment, Wystane drew her dagger and slit the merchant’s throat, dropping his health bar to zero. +600 XP!

“We need to alert the chamberlain,” she projected.