The Charlatan Mountains rose majestically with twin peaks that resembled fierce horns reaching a staggering height of over four thousand meters, an awe-inspiring sight to even the most seasoned mountaineers. The rocky hills surrounding the imposing summits formed a formidable fortress, making ascent a true test of one's grit and perseverance. Yet, amidst the jagged terrain lay a hidden treasure - the flat plateau of the third mountain, towering over the curving rocky hills at a breathtaking height of almost three thousand meters. Only the bravest adventurers would dare to venture through the winding paths, and seek to conquer this perilous climb to lay their eyes upon this coveted prize.
"Indeed, from afar the landscape looks like the a charlatan's hat," chuckled Ismeth.
The party, which had set out at dawn, had heeded the advice of scout Borvil Jarlhead and stabled their horses at a small farm located at the mountain's base, where they had been traveling on foot for roughly three hours. Jarlhead, a local who knew the terrain well, and Ervin Conrad Middleton, hailing from Harven, who had lived in the mountains his entire life, led the way.
"How did a Harven-born like you end up here?" Ismeth inquired during a brief rest.
The dark-skinned man, like Ismeth, cast a cautious but fierce gaze at the inexperienced commander. "I was apprehended for rebellion after the war. The Supreme Commander granted me a pardon," he replied.
"Rebellion, eh?" Ismeth snickered.
"Were you taken in for joining the hunger uprisings?" Brad asked gravely.
Scout Middleton gazed at Brad incredulously and affirmed his suspicions.
"What exactly happened? What's the true story? I'm curious," Ismeth inquired.
"During the dying days of the Empire, a great upheaval surged through the province of Harven, once a seignory under the Harghes' Lord, ignited by the crushing burden of unbearable taxes, famine, and abject poverty. The tide of rebellion, however, was swiftly quelled by the might of Harven's armed forces, whose gleaming swords and resolute determination crushed the sparks of insurrection. Following his ascension as the new ruler, Illuen, mindful of his fraternal bond to Harven, his birthplace, declared a sweeping amnesty for all those who had taken up arms against the Empire."
Brad's words were concise, but they left a bitter taste in each listener's mouth. He went on to reveal that, unbeknownst to Illuen, the Sanctuary Knights of Harghes had acted as a covert cabal of elite warriors, accountable to no one but themselves. In their zealous pursuit of order, they had taken it upon themselves to quash any signs of rebellion, throwing countless dissidents into squalid, fetid cells, dooming them to a fate worse than death. Meanwhile, Illuen, as the Supreme Commander, was away fighting a protracted campaign for the Empire on the Arethian continent and remained ignorant of their nefarious deeds.
Brad paused, glancing around the group with solemn eyes before continuing, his voice rising with conviction.
"But upon Illuen's return to the capital, his authority as the Founder of the United Kingdom was well-established, and he was shocked to learn of the atrocities committed in his name. Overcome with remorse, he prostrated himself before the people of Harghes and promised atonement. He not only issued a sweeping amnesty for the prisoned rebels, but he also promised to bring the offending Sanctuary Knights to justice, delivering on that promise by exacting the kind of retribution that the oppressed had long yearned for. It was then that he used the surname D'Harven more proudly as a symbol of respect for the province that had witnessed his redemption."
Brad spoke with newfound confidence, his eyes flashing with anger as he recounted the final events that had led to Illuen's transformation into a just and compassionate ruler.
Scoute Middleton gave a stony glare at the dark-skinned knight, and Brad matched his intensity. Ervin, who had suffered under the oppressive rule of the Noble Knighthood, felt compelled to speak up.
"May I speak freely, sir?" he asked Brad respectfully.
"You have no need to ask for permission, Ervin. We are all equals here, regardless of our station or background," Brad said, his voice infused with a sense of camaraderie.
Ervin Conrad Middleton took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts. "We suffered greatly during those dark days. My family, my friends, and I, we all bore the scars of that time. Although the King took steps to right the wrongs committed against us, we could never forget the anguish and torment we endured. Then, with the establishment of the Knights of Illuen, a new order arose, one that was fairer, more just than the corrupt and brutal Noble Knighthood that came before it. And to see a commoner like you, Sir Brad, striving to become a Knight Candidate, it gives me hope, it helps to heal the wounds that have festered for far too long. Thank you, Sir."
Brad and Ismeth acknowledged their understanding with a reverential nod, the silent gesture speaking volumes.
The group halted for lunch, gathering their belongings and continuing along the path. As they progressed, the narrow, densely wooded trail grew steeper, heralding the anticipated ascent. Each of them struggled forward, bearing the weight of at least fifteen kilos on their backs.
Excitement coursed through Jarlhead's voice as he exclaimed, "I found their tracks. They must have made their way to the settlement."
"Settlement?" Brad, third in line, queried.
"We're almost there. There used to be a school of wizardry here, abandoned for centuries. About three hundred years ago, the Athan Towers were raised on the summits of two separate peaks. The school buildings were located atop the middle peak," Jarlhead replied.
Ismeth interjected with a sardonic tone, "Did this revelation just dawn on you, Jarl?"
After a grueling two-hour ascent, they finally reached the plateau. Despite the sun intermittently breaking through the clouds, the wind had grown more intense on the open plain. As Jarlehead and Middleton went out to scout the area, the squad took a brief respite surrounded by a forest of birch and oak trees.
Suddenly, Jarlhead's voice echoed through the woods, "Hurry, Middleton found them." His face was pallid, and his voice trembled with urgency.
Brad had initially intended to inquire for more information, but he abandoned the idea. They all followed the tracks in unison. Running for five minutes along a serpentine path and scaling a few small hills, they eventually arrived at a broad clearing. In front of them lay a diminutive crater lake and stone structures festooned with wooden awnings and frames. The deserted settlement resembled a quaint hamlet. Brad had already detected the aroma. WWithout seeking clarification from Jarlhead, he entered one of the structures, which sat beside an old, dilapidated windmill. Inside the capacious hall, five men lay motionless on the floor, and Middleton was scrutinizing their fatal injuries.
"Orcs and goblins," Brad surmised, pre-empting any further explanations from the pathfinder.
"How did you know, sir?" inquired Middleton.
"From their scent," Brad answered confidently.
Middleton sniffed the air a few times. Except for the corpses that had barely begun to decompose, there was no other discernible scent. He didn't offer any remarks.
"How long have these men been deceased?" Brad queried.
"I reckon they were attacked last night," Middleton deduced.
"The bodies have yet to bloat. Yes, I concur," Brad confirmed.
Upon entering the saloon, Jarlhead disclosed that he recognized some of the bandits as familiar faces. Brad requested the two pathfinders to scout the vicinity, ensuring they don't wander too far. Ismeth took charge of burying the dead bodies with the help of a few men. Afterward, they scoured each building one by one. Brad surmised that the buildings had been deserted for decades, if not centuries. Dilapidated and nearly decomposed beds, furniture, and parchments were stark signs of time's ruination.
"What's next, Brad? Have we completed our task?" Ismeth inquired.
"We'll track down the culprits, Ismeth."
"Are we pursuing orcs and goblins? What's the point? The bandits are already dead. Our job was to locate them, and we did. The rest is not worth it."
Brad glared at Ismeth with fury. The latter recoiled like a frightened cat.
"If you're scared, Ismeth, you can stay here," Brad suggested.
"Fine by me. Suit yourself and journey towards peril," replied the ebony-skinned knight aspirant, snickering.
Brad distanced himself from Ismeth and contemplated alone while gazing at the lake. Powerful gusts from the east carried acrid and strange odors continuously.
"Am I the only one smelling this?" Brad inquired of Ismeth.
"What scent?" his comrade inquired in response.
"Damn it," Brad muttered, but he was confident; there was an overpowering and unfamiliar scent in the air that seared his throat. He had perceived it before, but he couldn't recall where. He decided to find the source of the odor in the hope that it would spark a recollection in his mind.
"An expedition awaits, Ismeth. You shall remain here," Brad declared with conviction.
"Nonsense, Brad. I shall accompany you," Ismeth objected.
"No, you are to remain at camp."
"Then take a companion with you," Ismeth suggested.
"Very well. Middleton, you shall join me," Brad ordered, summoning the pathfinder from atop the hill.
"Whereto?" inquired Ismeth.
"Eastward. We shall pursue a gut feeling of mine. Stay alert," Brad warned.
"Keep your wits about you as well," Ismeth urged, visibly on edge. After Brad departed, Ismeth retrieved a bottle of spirits from his knapsack and drank until it was gone, secluding himself in a hidden corner behind the old windmill, away from the soldiers.
Brad and his companion, Middleton the pathfinder, embarked on their ascent to the summit of the east wing. The duo had heeded Brad's advice to pack light for their expedition, hoping to make a speedy ascent and return before sundown.
The first hour of the climb proved relatively effortless. Brad, with his innate sense of direction, seemed to navigate the rocky terrain with ease. Middleton marveled at his companion's dexterity, almost convinced that he was a seasoned mountaineer or logger who had dedicated his life to such pursuits. At each obstacle that stumped the pathfinder, the brawny warrior found a solution with little to no difficulty, forging ahead and pulling Middleton up with him.
As they reached the midpoint of the second hour, they encountered a perilous cliff edge that dropped down at least ten meters. Though there were ledges on the mountain surface that offered some purchase, the path ahead seemed treacherous and unforgiving. Middleton's pride was wounded, and he insisted on taking the lead. Unperturbed, Brad produced a sturdy rope from his pack, securing one end to a robust boulder and the other to Middleton's waist.
"As you look towards the northeast flank, can you spot the ridge bristling with thorny camelbacks, Middleton?" Brad asked the patfinder who was making final preparations for their climb.
"Affirmative, sir," replied the pathfinder.
"That's most likely where the pass we're seeking opens up."
"How can you be so certain, Sir Brad?" asked the pathfinder, unable to resist his curiosity.
"I can scent the mountain goat droppings," Brad replied with a smile.
As the pathfinder caught a glimpse of the serious expression on the knight's face, he could not dismiss the answer as a joke. Nonetheless, he gazed at the brawny warrior incredulously and then focused on his ascent, leveraging each protrusion to pull himself up. He had made a few meters of progress when Brad suddenly bellowed, "Stop, wait!"
The man, taken aback by the unexpected command, inadvertently touched the protrusion above his head, which was his next target. As the loose rock dislodged, it threw off his entire balance. Dazed and disoriented by the impact of the heavy boulder that crashed onto him, Middleton began to plummet downwards.
Brad, who was waiting, clung onto the safety rope even tighter, gritting his teeth as he strained to slow down Middleton's plummet. Without the protection of his leather gloves, his fingers would have surely blistered from the friction. Middleton barely avoided slamming into the jagged rocks below, but the rope's swing sent him careening into the mountain face at a breakneck pace. A pained groan escaped him. The worn-out rope couldn't handle the weight, snapping with a sickening crack. Another groan emanated from the pathfinder as he fell a few meters. Brad cursed himself for not inspecting the climbing rope he'd grabbed from the depot before starting the climb.
"How fare you, Middleton?" Brad hollered down from the precipice.
The pathfinder remained hidden amidst the tangle of thick underbrush and prickly shrubs.
"I'm immobile. I think my ankle... it might be shattered," Middleton replied, his words strained through gritted teeth and agonizing groans.
Brad scouted for an easier way to descend, but came up empty-handed.
"I'll cross to the other side first. The descent will be smoother from there," Brad declared, starting to climb towards the pass.
The muscular warrior had effortlessly traversed the treacherous terrain in a matter of minutes, his climbing skills surpassing even the fallen man's, almost arrogantly so.
Brad surveyed the dense thicket of shrubs enveloping him, acutely aware of how close he was to the summit. There, in the distance, stood a ruined tower atop a rocky hill, a few hundred meters away. Its crumbling walls and decaying stones hinted at a long-forgotten grandeur. The faint aroma that had lingered in the air since he had ascended from the plateau settlement seemed to emanate from the tower. As he fixated on the spot where the tower once stood tall, Brad caught a glimpse of a cloaked figure slipping into the shadows within. "Did I just imagine that?" he silently questioned himself.
"Stay put, Middleton. I'll be back shortly," Brad said, though he knew the injured pathfinder was in no condition to move.
Middleton grumbled incomprehensible words, but Brad paid him no mind. He set off at a sprint towards the tower, wary of any traps that might have been set. The passage he had crossed earlier had seemed too easy, too convenient. There was no telling what dangers lay ahead.
With each step, Brad scanned his surroundings, keeping a watchful eye out for any signs of danger. The path towards the top of the hill was overgrown with dense bushes and tangled branches that leaned towards the road. As he neared the tower, he spotted a few crude traps that had been laid out, more suited for catching small prey than an armored knight.
Despite the dangers that lay ahead, Brad pressed on, his focus sharpening with each passing moment. He was determined to uncover the secrets hidden within the tower's walls, no matter the cost.
* * *
As Brad approached the door of the ruined tower, he unsheathed his sword. The outbuildings around the tower had crumbled into rubble, but the tower's first few levels, constructed from sturdy dark-gray bricks, stood tall and steadfast. With each step toward the door, the acrid stench grew stronger, suffocating his senses. As he examined the lion-shaped door knocker on the wooden portal, Brad envisioned powerful enchanters having once inhabited this place, imbuing the door with magical snares. Slowly, he opened the door, praying that even if these traps had once existed, they had long since ceased to function. The aged door creaked as it gave way. The aspiring knight proceeded cautiously, taking stock of his surroundings.
A decrepit fireplace, abandoned and untouched for ages, loomed before him. Faded, melted paintings, their surfaces etched with claw and cut marks, hung on the walls, like ancient relics recounting a bygone battle.
The Great War of Giants and Humans. A brave human army standing against a vicious horde of rock-throwing giants, but they were not the only ones on the battlefield. Reckless dwarves charged at the giants' ankles, while sharp-eyed elves rained arrows on them from a distant hill.
Each painting depicted the same sentence: "Unity begets strength." Brad hummed the words to himself, pondering their meaning.
"Our ancestors learned through experience, yet we still struggle to comprehend what the gods desire, do we not?" The voice of a woman, with an alluring tone, echoed from the spiral staircase in the southern wing of the tower. The scent grew stronger near the entrance to the stairs, indicating that the woman was likely on the upper floor.
The aspiring knight found himself torn between racing up the stairs to find her or engaging in the conversation initiated by the mysterious woman.
"History tends to repeat itself, my lady," Brad replied.
"I like that. It seems as though I'm speaking with a wise knight, a rarity these days. Have you come in response to my call for aid?"
"Milady, I am Brad Silverhilt from the Knighthood of Illuen. I must admit I have no knowledge of any distress calls from this region," Brad introduced himself with a formal tone. "We are here to investigate a notorious group of bandits that have been causing trouble in the area. Perhaps, if it pleases you, you could provide us with some information regarding their whereabouts. And if it's not too much to ask, I would be honored to meet you in person."
"That is a reasonable request," the woman responded, her disciplined steps echoing down the wooden stairs.
As she descended, Brad gazed at her with a gentle and respectful demeanor. She had luscious shoulder-length locks of crimson curls and deep, mesmerizing emerald green eyes that shone like jewels. She was draped in a flowing cloak, uncinched in a luxurious shade of purple, with strips of mauve cascading down from the collar. The outer part of her stiff collar was adorned with intricate and powerful dark matte grey metal runes that exuded a sense of authority. Underneath her cloak, she wore a pristine white shirt, bedecked with ornate and exquisite lace, and adorned with sparkling gemstones that glinted in the light.
Her form-fitting, light brown leather pants accentuated her slender figure, and she was clad in thick-heeled, knee-high, dark brown leather boots, embroidered with intricate silver designs that shimmered in the sunlight, and clicked with every step she took.
Brad couldn't help but feel a flush of attraction and admiration for the woman in her mid-twenties. Her crooked smile revealed deep dimples on her rosy, freckled cheeks, and she radiated a confident and alluring charm that was impossible to resist.
"Allow me to introduce myself," proclaimed the woman with a regal air. "I am Lady Charlotta, a noble wanderer whose forefathers' legacy remains etched in my mind, and I've come to this place to relive the memories of the past." She presented her hand as if expecting a more intimate greeting.
Brad, who found such customs distasteful, politely but hesitantly shook her hand.
"When you say forefathers, what do you mean?" inquired Brad.
"My great-great-grandfather was the wizard who erected the towers on this peak and the one to the west, and founded the academy below," Lady Charlotta expounded. "I believe I am the seventh generation of his descendants."
"My knowledge of history is rather limited, Lady Charlotta, but was the wizard's name Charlatan?" Brad asked.
"Indeed, Sir Silverhilt. Let me correct you. My forebear's true name was Attan from the Charl lineage. Even my name is Alotta, but I prefer Charlotta."
"Understood, my lady. Nevertheless, let me clarify that I'm not officially a knight. I'm still a candidate for knighthood."
"Notwithstanding, I persist in addressing you as Sir Silverhilt," interjected Lady Charlotta with a mischievous grin.
Upon receiving this compliment, Brad swelled with pride and merely nodded his head. His countenance had turned crimson once more.
"Whilst you grace our presence, Sir Silverhilt, mayhaps you could render me some aid," the red-haired woman persisted, sensing the unease reflected in their eyes, interrupting her zealous soliloquy.
"Lady Charlotta, I am eager to oblige, yet one of my men is presently in a precarious predicament. He suffered a fall in the passageway on our way here. To be candid, if perchance you possess a sturdy climbing rope, could you assist me?" Brad inquired, his hesitation palpable.
The red-haired woman pondered for a moment, her purple-tinged nails absently grazing her chin. She seemed agitated and restless.
"I believe I know of a way to be of aid. Pray, tarry here for but a moment, whilst I acquire some necessary equipment from above."
Brad wordlessly assented.
Gathering a satchel fashioned from supple brown leather, the red-haired woman descended once more, stating, "Guide me, Sir Knight. I trust you'll find ample means to express your gratitude for my beneficence."
"A knight's pledge," Brad responded, his confidence tinged with a hint of amusement.
Together, they hastened to where Middleton lay fallen.
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Brad called out to the pathfinder repeatedly, but no answer came back. He prayed that the wounded soldier had simply blacked out, for it appeared there was no way down the precipice without a rope.
"This is no place for a descent without a rope," Charlotta stated firmly. With that, she produced a jar from her bag containing a tiny spider.
Brad stared at Charlotta incredulously, his eyes wide with surprise. Charlotta's lips curled into a mocking grin.
"I hope you are not one of those stubborn old knights who would rather die than seek the help of a wizard, Sir Silverhilt," she said.
Although Brad doubted Charlotta's claim of being a wizard, he was slightly peeved that she had concealed her true identity before revealing it in such a manner. He suspected that the red-haired woman was hiding more than she let on.
"I will trust you. I assume that you will grant me the climbing prowess of a spider," he said.
"For a brief duration. About half an hour," replied the woman.
"Please, use your magic, my lady. I permit it. I do not wish to squander any more time," Brad declared.
The red-haired enchantress uttered a series of arcane words from a crinkled parchment scroll, and in an instant, the tiny spider held within her left hand's palm vanished from sight. A pallid light shivered the hairs on Brad's arm where the sorceress had touched him, and he felt a subtle shift in the very essence of his being. Though no other sensation stirred within him, it seemed that the tips of his fingers had taken on a newfound strength and adhesive quality.
With the hope that the sorcery would take effect, Brad initiated his descent. He nimbly surmounted the difficult drop from the precipitous crags where scant outcroppings were few and far between. The knight candidate cautiously neared Middleton, who had lapsed into unconsciousness, his breathing labored. After securing the pathfinder's wounded knee with a girdle and staff, Brad hoisted the man onto his back and started to ascend. Despite the cumbersome burden, the enchantment was working its magic. His fingers clung tenaciously to even the minutest of juts, and the powerful man hauled himself to the next vantage while the propitious support held up marvelously. Finally, they reached the summit, utterly spent and with Brad's sinews screaming in agony.
Gasping for air, Brad beseeched the woman jokingly, "Pray, have you any incantation that could aid me in carrying the injured soldier?"
"Alas, I have no such spell. I came across the other one on a parchment I acquired, and it set me back a pretty penny."
Brad, entirely ignorant of the extravagant expenses involved in magical transcription, such as specially crafted parchments, quills, and enchanted ink, nodded in feigned comprehension.
"Lady Charlotta, I am deeply in your debt. I shall do all in my power to repay you. However, I must first attend to the matter of my soldier's condition."
After carefully assessing Middleton's injuries, Charlotta discerned that his right knee had not only cracked but also split, while his left ankle had severely sprained and was turning an unhealthy shade.
"Your soldier cannot walk. His legs are in agony, and it's impossible to return in this condition. I suggest carrying him to the tower," Charlotta suggested, her voice laced with urgency.
As dusk began to descend, Brad concurred with Charlotta's proposal. Once he had regained his strength, he hoisted Middleton onto his back and made his way to the tower. Charlotta, in the meantime, ascended the stairs to fetch sheets and pillows, intent on making a comfortable bed for the injured man. Before Brad could follow her lead, he noticed Charlotta murmur an incantation, and he surmised that there was an invisible shield guarding the entrance.
The red-haired woman proceeded to ignite a fire in the decrepit hearth and brewed an aromatic, herb-infused tea. She sought Brad's permission to administer the brew to Middleton.
"It's a family secret recipe - Charmint tea. I'm hoping it'll help lower his fever and soothe his wounds," she explained to Brad, who thanked her in earnest.
"I beg your pardon for being so inquisitive, Lady, but might you have any precious artifacts stowed away upstairs, or are you guarding us against a malevolent beast?" Brad couldn't help but inquire, his curiosity piqued.
The woman let out a resounding laugh. "There's no monster here, young knight. But, if you're curious, why don't you come with me, and I'll show you what lies upstairs?" she offered, mischief glinting in her eyes.
Brad eagerly followed the red-haired woman. As they reached the stairwell, she uttered the same enchanting word again, and he noticed a faint glow emanating from her fingertips. She ascended a few steps and signaled for Brad to follow. As he drew closer, he saw a door on his right that hadn't been there before. The scent emanating from it was so strong, he could almost taste it on his tongue. He looked at Charlotta in amazement.
"I'm using magic to keep that door locked," she said. "Or rather, to ensure that it stays locked."
"Why?" Brad asked. "What's behind the door?"
"I'm not entirely sure," Charlotta admitted, her voice hushed. "I just..."
"Please, continue, my lady," Brad interjected, sensing that she was holding back. "The night is young, and I'm eager to hear your story."
"Very well, Knight Silverhilt," Charlotta said, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Come upstairs and see for yourself. In fact, I had planned to tell you more before showing you what lies beyond that door, but you're not like the other knights I've met. I believe you'll quickly grasp the magic and mysticism of this unusual tale."
Brad was well-versed in the tales of war from the seasoned knights and priests, who spoke at length about wizards and their formidable powers. Though he had never encountered a wizard before, Charlotta's mysterious demeanor had certainly aroused his curiosity. Nevertheless, he kept in mind the age-old tales of caution. For if he faltered, a malevolent wizard could end him with a single spell.
He recollected the wise words of a seasoned knight, who had once said, "Never let your guard down with a wizard. Keep your sword within reach, and the potential enemy wizard even closer."
"After you, Lady Charlotta," said Brad, as they began their ascent up the spiraling stairs.
The sorceress unlocked the door to the upper chamber and crossed the threshold, with Brad following suit. The space was a single, all-seeing eye, ringed by shelves loaded with tattered and frayed parchment heaps that suggested it was once a wizard's atelier and study. The freshly-sketched diagrams adorning the unshielded north wall were striking, and Brad began poring over them one by one.
"Is this a dwarf citadel?" inquired Brad.
"Aye, tales have it that the Horned Dwarves once inhabited these twin peaks long ere Ancestor Charlathan arrived," chuckled the woman in response.
"I doubt they were truly horned," muttered Brad.
The sorceress sauntered over to an illustration beside Brad.
"Do you observe the passage linking the two crags?"
Brad nodded.
"Methinks the portal you just glimpsed opens to that tunnel, Knight Silverhilt. Presumably, it leads to the vale betwixt the two hills where your comrades abide."
"Then we must hurry. I must fetch Middleton down with all dispatch," retorted Brad.
"Be at ease, noble knight," spoke the woman in a soothing voice. "Do not rush to a decision without giving it the weight of your mind. First, lend an ear to my tale."
"Very well. But keep it brief," replied Brad, his tone laced with impatience.
"To put it concisely, three centuries ago, my forebear Charlathan was the grand wizard of Phal Lazzar Kingdom, which is now known as Pagancity. He was stripped of his position after one of his apprentices betrayed him. And Charlathan was banished from the kingdom. In exile, he sought refuge in these mountains, known then as Twin Horns, and founded a wizarding school. He divulged to his select students the treacherous deeds of the one who betrayed him and the devastating consequences that could follow. One of his new apprentices, the brilliant Souburn, went undercover as a spy and fed Charlathan with vital intelligence from within the kingdom. My great-grandfather held numerous meetings with priests and wizards, which resulted in the Wrath War. The city of Lazzar, which was defeated in the war, was forever cursed, and the new Pagancity rose in its place."
Brad let out a sigh, "So your ancestor played a part in the stone curse that plagued those who defended Pagancity, and the cursed city being forever engulfed by a massive sphere of fire. What does that have to do with me?"
"You are a learned knight," the woman nodded. "You know Souburn Guildmaster is regarded as the greatest hero of the Wrath War. Ballads, songs, and epics are dedicated to him, and even wizard towers are erected in his name."
Brad nodded again. "Indeed. Souburn is a legendary figure, known to any who have read a history book. So what?"
"But no one speaks of the Great Charlathan, who masterminded the plan and executed it with precision. His name is forgotten in history, and my ancestor's legacy is reduced to that of a fool. I cannot let that happen," the woman spoke with conviction. "I seek to redeem Charlathan's reputation and restore his honor. That is why I am here, gathering evidence. My first plea to you is to aid me in researching the towers atop this mountain and the other. And second, guide me to King Illuen so I can deliver the proof of my ancestor's worth."
"Before we proceed, we must first bring Middleton to ground level. I, as a knight, give you my word that I will render my services to the best of my ability, with all my noble intentions," Brad vowed.
Charlotta hesitated before speaking. "However, there is another predicament," she said in a timid tone.
"What seems to be the trouble now?" Brad asked, his patience wearing thin.
"My brother Charlman was at the tower on the adjacent mountain. Unfortunately, he may be lost."
"I don't quite comprehend, Lady Charlotta. Can you elaborate, please?"
"Charlman arrived here before me, several months ago. He wrote me a letter stating that he had uncovered something momentous and suspected an assassin had been sent to end his life. He expressed that he was in grave danger. Upon receiving the news, I hastened to his aid, but he was nowhere to be found. Someone must journey to the tower to ascertain whether there are any clues to my brother's whereabouts."
"I find it difficult to grasp your meaning, Lady Charlotta. Have you investigated the tower yourself?"
"I have not."
"Why not?"
"That tower is the abode of Therion, the Dark God. It is prohibited to enter. As a mage who follows the path of Orion, I am forbidden from entering any structure constructed in the name of the Dark God."
"I believe this is fortuitous. You have chosen the correct path," Brad deduced.
"Examine the drawings with care, Knight Silverhilt. Do you perceive the gods' symbols?" Charlotta gestured toward the sketches on the wall.
"Indeed, the tower to the east signifies the break of dawn," Brad pronounced.
"So it represents Orion," Charlotta added.
"The one to the west signifies the sunset and therefore symbolizes Therion," Brad expounded.
"Correct, and when the sun stands directly in the middle, it epitomizes balance, which is Demian, the settlement on the plateau in the midst of the mountains," Charlotta concluded.
"Was there a tower there as well?" Brad inquired.
"It still stands there. However, that tower submerges underground. Did you glimpse the windmill while you were there?"
"I did," Brad affirmed.
"That is the entrance to the Tower of Demian Way Wizards."
"One moment, Lady Charlotta. Did I apprehend correctly? Was your brother a wizard who followed the path of the Dark God Therion?"
"No, he was a wizard of the God of Balance, Demian's path. Therefore, he could enter both towers. There are not many restrictions for the balance wizards."
"Very well then, I will journey to that tower and locate your brother. I give you my word."
"You can achieve this since you are not a wizard. At least, that's what I believe."
"I hope your belief is correct, as it's not a very reassuring response. Nevertheless, let's depart."
"We have yet to conclude our discussion, Brad," Lady Charlotta declared.
"What is your request this time, milady?" the knight inquired.
Without delay, Charlotta gathered her belongings and signaled for Brad to wait. She hurriedly descended the stairs and arrived at the hidden door.
"This is what I sensed," Brad exclaimed as the pungent odor of sulfur wafted through the air.
"Do you detect it?" Charlotta inquired.
"Only faintly," Brad lied.
"Beyond this door lie underground sources, in addition to the sulfur mines. The dwarves abandoned this place when they unearthed poisonous gases resulting from their excavation."
"So?" Brad inquired.
"Breathing inside can be a challenge. Your companion already struggles to breathe. I will devise a breathing apparatus. We have a sack, which is yours. Your friend's sack remains in the pit he fell into."
"Go on," Brad said.
"I will attach a mask to the sack's mouthpiece, providing him with a way to breathe. Your friend can use it, but you must endure without it. Or, you could leave him here..."
"No, I understand. I will endure it. It is no trouble," Brad stated firmly.
Charlotta nodded her approval and produced a mask fashioned from rabbit skin from her bag. She affixed the mask to the empty sack that Brad had discarded. Brad only took his sword and hoisted Middleton onto his back, gesturing for Charlotta to open the door.
"You will carry him all the way too?" Charlotta asked.
"I have no other choice," Brad admitted.
The sorceress respected Brad's decision. With a few magical words, she opened the door. Then, she whispered a spell of illumination. "It shall be pitch black," she warned.
Brad contemplated lighting a torch, but Charlotta advised against it, citing the possibility of igniting the gas. The knight wasn't entirely comfortable with relying on the woman to carry the only source of light, but he knew that he had no other recourse but to place his faith in the sorceress on this journey. With a heavy sigh, he conceded and followed her into the darkness.
Descending down a dozens of half-turned staircase of more than a hundred steps, they delved deep underground. Brad estimated they had descended to a depth of at least five hundred meters, with no railing to cling onto while the chilling wind whistled from below. Even with a cloth piece tied over his face, the odor grew stronger, and smoke crept in through a crack between the stairs and the natural cave wall, irritating his eyes.
"Here we go," Charlotta warned. "Within an hour, you'll be struck with severe dizziness and nausea. Let's hope we reach the gateway under the plateau before that happens."
As they reached the end of the stairs, the smell had become overwhelmingly powerful. Progressing forward, they entered a cramped, low-ceilinged passageway, where Brad had to stoop to move on.
"I hope we don't have to crawl," he grumbled.
"Dwarves never build low ceilings unless it's necessary," Charlotta said. "They detest rabbit holes."
Just as she finished her words, the ceiling began to lower even more, and the stench grew more intense. Brad muttered curses under his breath as they heard the sound of a heavy water flow just above them, making their progress through the narrow passage even more challenging.
Brad was now wracked with coughing fits, and waves of nausea were crashing over him. He first checked on Middleton, making sure the wounded man was able to breathe properly through his mask. With a fever raging, the injured man's breathing was labored and wheezy. Brad then pulled up the makeshift mask he had fashioned from his own shirt all the way up to his eyes. With his trusty knife, he deftly cut two holes around his eye sockets, creating a full face mask.
"Have you traversed this path before?" Brad inquired.
The woman shook her head in the negative. After a brief crawl, they finally arrived at a spacious clearing where they could stand upright. In the center of the cavernous hall was a small body of water, from which a gushing waterfall was tumbling down, emitting steam and mist.
"This is a natural hot spring," Charlotta remarked. Her voice was barely discernible through the mask.
Brad took a small sip of the hot water, which had a scorching and biting flavor, yet the rich minerals it contained stirred up various sensations in his taste buds. He removed his mask, closed his eyes, and washed his face with the steaming water, which made him feel slightly more invigorated. He emptied his nearly depleted water bottle and refilled it with the hot spring water, savoring its warm, earthy flavor.
At that moment, Charlotte was fervently seeking a route to escape their predicament. From beneath her mask, the woman muttered something, yet Brad struggled to decipher her words. In response, the sorceress yanked her mask off in frustration.
"I've failed to find a way out. Can you spot anything?"
Brad surveyed their surroundings with caution. The cavern's ceiling towered above them in the shape of a cone. Colossal rocks loomed precariously overhead, threatening to plummet. He plunged his head into the water, causing his eyes to scorch with intensity.
"This is a chimney," Brad announced. "Most likely, there were portals fitted with bars on the lower levels. When the water burst through, it probably surged up to this point. They must have tightly sealed the portals during that time. The water level must have ascended even further, inundated by rainfall seeping from above."
"So what's our next move? Dive into the water?" queried the woman.
"The water isn't excessively hot, but I doubt that will aid us. If there's a crevice that we can pass through, the water would have exploited it as well."
"Then did we come here for naught?" asked the woman, crestfallen.
Brad raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Perhaps there's still hope. Do you perceive the rocks piled above us?"
The woman nodded her head in affirmation.
"The dwarves could have positioned them there, or even dislodged them from the summit. If we can disintegrate them, we can obstruct the chimney. And with a stroke of fortune, one of the covers on the lower floor could also shatter from the impact. So if we're fortunate, a path will open up for us."
"You're a remarkable knight, sir. Poison seems to have done you well. Your mind is operating at full tilt," complimented the woman.
"I'm only striving to survive and keep my companion alive, my lady," Brad modestly responded.
"I can shatter the stones into pieces. I believe," declared the wizard woman.
"With what means?" Brad asked with doubt in his voice.
"Let me handle that. Just indicate the feeblest rock. The outcome is guaranteed."
Brad scrutinized the cave ceiling for a moment. To ensure Middleton's safety, they left him behind at a secure location at the entrance of the cave they had entered. He and the woman stood at the cave's opening.
"The central stone supports all of them, but it's too colossal. Therefore, I suggest hitting the flat rock on the left, near the crevice."
"The ingredients required for this illustrious incantation are either bat droppings or sulfur. Fortunately, there is an abundance of sulfur in this area. Oh, and one more thing, Brad."
"Yes?"
"That gas you've been inhaling excessively."
"Yes?"
"It's highly combustible. So, it's better for you to take cover," the woman chuckled. Then she recited the magical words in a crisp and fluid tone.
"Aımma pheorea phall de phyrentum."
As Brad witnessed the fireball that emerged from the woman's hand, he instinctively held onto her and leaped backward. Even before the fireball hit the rock, it had expanded, merging with the trapped gas inside. They heard a horrendous and ear-splitting explosion sound, followed by the rumbling of the shattered rocks that trembled the earth.
The flames, brought to life by the explosion, advanced towards the cave where they were situated. Fortunately, it was brief. Since the opening at the top of the cave was a much more appealing route for the ferocious flames produced by the trapped gas to escape.
Brad's clothes burst into flames as a searing wave of fire consumed him. Without hesitation, he hurled himself over the wizard woman, shielding her with every ounce of strength he had left. Charlotta and the young knight stood nose to nose, so close they could have tasted each other's breath. In that fleeting moment, Brad swore the heat intensified, scorching his skin.
The woman locked eyes with him, unflinching, and Brad mirrored her gaze. They remained motionless, silent, and spellbound.
"You can release me now," Charlotta said, puncturing the peculiar and tense silence. A mischievous grin played on her lips.
Brad obeyed, heading towards the cave entrance. Turning back to the woman, his face lit up with joy.
"Milady, it worked. The water's gushing westward from the new fissure in the lower level," the knight announced, proclaiming their victory.
* * *
As they made their way down the newly formed crevice, a result of the rocks that had cascaded from above, Brad and Charlotta followed the meandering path of the stream, descending to a lower level. The oppressive stench of sulfur began to subside slightly as they opened the air vent in the ceiling, yet an unsettling atmosphere persisted.
The subsequent journey proved to be an arduous ordeal. For hours on end, they navigated treacherous slopes, slick with moisture and perilously slippery. Eventually, they reached a grand hall, its expanse adorned with a multitude of cave entrances.
Even with his unyielding determination, Brad, burdened by the weight of stout Middleton, found himself pushed to the brink of his physical limits. Vertigo tormented him, his vision blurred, and an unrelenting wave of nausea assailed him without respite. The toxic fumes permeating the air possessed a potent potency, capable of incapacitating a lesser man. Yet, Charlotta couldn't help but be filled with awe at the extraordinary resilience displayed by Brad Silverhilt.
The cave walls were coated in a fine layer of pale yellow dust that glowed with a fluorescent light in the darkness. "What is this?" Brad asked.
"Here we are," the woman whispered.
"Where is here?" Brad asked, catching her words.
The sorceress appeared flabbergasted that Brad had picked up on her low muttering. "Nowhere," she replied.
"Where have we arrived?" Brad persisted, his tone forceful and imperative.
"This area was once a storage facility for the wizards. Or so the legend goes. Each of these cave openings represents an ancient storeroom. History lies within. Perhaps what I seek lies in one of these chambers."
"We should focus solely on finding the way out. I'm not feeling well, and I'm exhausted," Brad asserted. "So focus and answer me Charloıtta.What are these glowing dusts on the walls?"
"Ok , I suspect it's a type of phosphor. It could be magical," replied Charlotta. With a flick of her wrist, she wove a spell that illuminated the wall behind Brad. Her eyes widened in surprise as she caught sight of a peculiar luminescence emanating from his chest. "What manner of sorcery is this?" she murmured, her gaze flickering to his chest. "There's a powerful enchantment upon you, I can feel it. Pray, tell me, Brad, is that a magical medallion?"
As Brad looked down, he noticed the glowing medallion concealed beneath his leather armor. It was a gift from Lady Illaine, the revered High Priestess of the Orion Temple. "It was bestowed upon me by a venerable elder," he explained.
Charlotta examined the medallion closely. "Indeed, it is magical. Let me ascertain its properties," she said.
"How will you do that?" Brad asked, eyeing her suspiciously.
"With a simple Detect Magic spell. I can tell you all about its properties," Charlotta explained.
"Alright, I suppose," Brad replied, and Charlotta cast the spell.
"Well, I can tell you that this medallion has some remarkable properties. It can create light and has an aura that repels evil. Furthermore, there is one other potent spell that I cannot identify. This is a highly powerful magical item. Who gave this to you?" Charlotta inquired.
"It was a trusted priestess from the Orion Temple who bestowed it upon me. So, I can create light with it? How?" Brad asked.
"It is divine magic, most likely. You may be able to produce light by invoking the name of Orion. However, its use may be limited per day. Therefore, use it sparingly and only when you require it. Later, I suggest you visit your friend and learn more about its properties to make better use of it in the future."
"Okay, I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, wizard," Brad said.
As they heard footsteps and growling in the distance, Brad swiftly lifted Middleton onto his back and rushed ahead. Taking a deep breath, he wrinkled his nose in disgust as if he had just tasted spoiled food.
"Orcs," the knight hissed, scanning their surroundings for signs of danger.
"Are you certain?" inquired the wizard woman, doubt lingering in her voice.
Brad didn't respond. With multiple cavern entrances leading out from the wide hall, he had to rely on his instincts to lead them to safety. He chose a path that seemed to lead west and disappeared down another corridor.
"How can you be so certain that's the right way?" asked Charlotta, her voice laced with uncertainty.
"I trust my instincts. Follow me if you want to leave this place with haste," Brad commanded, fixing her with a fierce gaze. He then bolted into one of the cave entrances, hoping it would lead them west. Charlotta followed closely behind, her senses heightened as she detected rough murmurs emanating from within.
"You were right," the wizard woman admitted, struggling to keep up with Brad's pace.
The cave corridors coiled like a serpentine creature, prompting them to break into a run. The faint luminescence emanating from the walls provided them with low-light vision, enabling them to discern their surroundings a few meters ahead. The wizard woman grumbled with increasing unease as they hurtled forward, the twists and turns of the passage making it difficult for her to maintain her balance.
"Perhaps we should hide, or even stop and fight. You cannot carry that man forever. You must conserve your energy in case of a battle. Besides, how do you know we are on the right path? What if it's a dead end?" she complained, her voice echoing in the cavern.
"Why don't you keep quiet and avoid giving away our position?" Brad snapped, gasping for breath.
The woman fell silent and followed the knight, who was leading the way. The sounds of their pursuers grew louder as they ran. Suddenly, the path split in two.
"Which way?" Charlotta whispered, uncertainty etched on her face.
Brad paused, his breaths short and labored. He closed his eyes, attempting to gather his bearings and focus his mind. Within his mind's eye, he conjured an image of the path they had traversed, envisioning its position and destination on the earth's surface. The natural world erupted in his consciousness, each image flowing into the next with a vibrant intensity. The texture of the soil underfoot, the sinuous twists of the rocks he grasped, the prickling scent of a thorny shrub, the whistling of the wind, the melodious songs of birds, the warren of rabbit holes, and the intricate architecture of ant colonies all flooded his senses. Each sensation competed for his attention, leaving him dizzy and disoriented. Yet, somewhere within this maelstrom of stimuli lay the answer he sought. Each bore its own unique imprint, adding to the cacophony of nature's symphony. Despite the seeming disorder, everything fit together in perfect unison, like the many facets of a single gem.
If only he could hear the music of this harmonious whole...If only he could see its vibrant hues...If only he could feel its rhythmic pulse...If only he could absorb its beauty and wisdom...
It was but a moment, no longer than a snap of his fingers...
He focused on the wondrous symphony of nature; the dance of animals, plants, rocks, and soil, each playing their part in a complex balance born of chaos...
His instincts guided him to the left, and he followed their lead. At last, they emerged into a clearing, the ground flat and unremarkable. Despite some faint signs of human influence, Brad's exhaustion rendered him indifferent. His eyes fixated on the hatch in the ceiling, and he stumbled forward, his journey far from over.
"There, the exit lies before us," exclaimed Brad. He gently lowered Middleton to the ground and propped him against the wall near the exit hatch. Scanning the room, he searched for a means to ascend the high ceiling, which towered above them at over three meters.
Charlotta, however, was consumed with a different matter. With a wave of her hand, she cast a spell of Light and fixed her gaze on an old chest near Middleton, paying no heed to Brad's words. The chest glimmered with jewel-like marks, which made Brad uneasy. He recoiled as he realized that the chest was emanating a dark aura, absorbing the light from Charlotta's spell.
"What sorcery have you got, wizard?" Brad implored. "We've made it to the exit. Come, aid me. Surely there's a spell you can conjure for this?"
The wizard woman merely flicked her hand without turning her gaze when three orcs with short swords and axes stepped out from the mouth of the cave. They stood at a distance of fifteen to twenty meters from their group, with an ogre wielding a massive, spiked club emerging behind them.
"While I unlock the chest, distract them," Charlotte declared calmly, seemingly oblivious to their foes' presence.
"You're mad, woman! Not only are there orcs, but a colossal ogre as well," Brad shouted, jolting Charlotta by her shoulders.
Trembling, Charlotta blinked her eyes as if snapping out of a trance. She glimpsed the orcs charging towards them and the towering ogre approaching in the background. Brad dashed towards the orcs, bracing for the impending combat.
Charlotta murmured an enchantment, and suddenly, the earth beneath Brad's feet and the orcs preparing for battle became slick as if drenched in oil. The orcs tumbled down one by one by the effect of the Grease spell, as did Brad, who was caught off guard. The ogre, closing in from behind, and the two orcs who followed him entered the enchanted zone with caution and managed to keep their balance. The ogre delivered its first strike before Brad could even rise from the ground, but the valiant knight narrowly deflected the blow with his sword.
As the towering ogre raised its club for another strike, Charlotta's voice dripped with mystic power as she whispered yet another spell. In a swirl of rose petals, two orcs slumbered instantly, falling into a deep slumber. Though Brad was also affected by the Sleep spell's drowsy effects, he managed to rise to his feet. The ogre, too, was slowed by the spell's influence, but it still moved more quickly than the groggy warriors. It dealt a brutal blow to Brad, sending his sword spinning out of his grasp. As the ogre swung its club in a backhand strike, Brad had to shield his face and endure the crushing impact with his wrists, lest the club pulverize his skull.
Dizzy and wracked with pain, Brad spun in circles, struggling to regain his bearings. The ogre, its grin widening with sadistic pleasure, prepared to deliver the killing blow. It was then that Brad involuntarily turned his back to the ogre and caught a blurring glimpse of Charlotta, who held a glass wand and whispered, "Bend down," while wearing a bewitching smile.
"Damn, she's so lovely," Brad mused and felt enchanted. These were his last coherent thoughts before witnessing the inception of the lightning bolt that the woman was about to unleash from a magical wand, and losing consciousness.