As Head Commander IIluen D'Harven departed the chamber, Lady Illaine presented brand new knights Brad and Ismeth with two intricately designed leather satchels, and gave Brad two bamboo paper scrolls. She began to speak urgently;
"Congratulations, you are both now knights. Your belt buckles and coats of arms are enclosed within these pouches. Time is of the essence. By nightfall, all preparations must be completed, and the unit must be poised to embark. The first scroll declares you as a knight who has been entrusted with a crucial mission under my command. This grants you unrestricted access to all of Illuthar's resources. Use them prudently."
"What of Captain Stonecold?" inquired Ismeth. The novice knight was still at a loss, his trembling hands struggling to fasten the lion-figured belt buckle surrounded by a girdle of swords. Brad only affixed the embroidered emblem onto his linen shirt.
"Come nightfall, a replica of the order shall be delivered to his possession. You are now on a mission of high distinction, noble knights. Swift decision-making is paramount in the unit you are serving," Lady Illaine announced and pressed on,
"The second parchment is to be delivered to the venerable Loremaster David Cantorean, owner of the Celestia Magic Shop by the Square of Nine, where you shall soon arrive. He shall lend an ear to your plea, and you must implore him to extend every possible aid."
"How shall we go about that?" Brad inquired.
"The method is yours to choose. Find a way to cajole the irascible old man to allocate resources for our cause," replied the high priestess, casting a particular gaze towards Brad. "Upon completion, return hither without delay. We have no moment to squander. The unit must be assembled ere nightfall."
"And the unit? How shall we assemble it?" Brad pressed.
"One of my trusted guardians, Shaeala, shall handle that aspect. We shall deliberate the specifics in due time," Lady Illaine answered, escorting them towards the exit.
Ismeth covertly winked at Shaaela, who appeared equally puzzled as him, and the duo respectfully bade farewell to the abbess before departing.
The duo descended rapidly in silence. Once they reached the entrance of the settlement, they collected their horses from the waiting attendant and set off towards Celestia. As they rode farther away, Ismeth's exuberant cries could be heard from a distance of one hundred meters.
"Stay composed, Ismeth. You're a knight now. You must be vigilant of your conduct," Brad cautioned him, but his own composure faltered, and he began to chuckle.
Ismeth was practically prancing on his horse. "Are you out of your mind, Brad? This might be an unprecedented event. What knight aspirant has been knighted in three months? Especially one like us, who come from humble backgrounds," he exclaimed. Then he stopped abruptly and turned to Brad. "Tell me the truth. You're not related to that abbess, are you? You're not concealing the fact that you're the kingdom's heir or something, are you?"
Brad just laughed.
"I'm not kidding, man. There's a rumor circulating. When Smyrnia was besieged by Empire, she supposedly had a child. I've heard bizarre tales about whether it perished or was abducted."
"Ismeth, I'm just an orphaned bastard. I didn't grow up with any advantages. I only know Lady Illaine from my training as a temple knight. Trust me, we have no close relationship. We're here solely because of this predicament."
"No, man, I'm still struggling to fully comprehend the situation. Sure, a magical artifact was stolen. We got that much... But what's our stake in all of this?"
Brad paused to reflect before responding. "If the rumors are true - and Lady Illaine seems to be taking this matter very seriously - we're dealing with something like a mystical tome that can grant the ability to peer into the future, Ismeth."
"Alright, that could be dangerous. But how are we connected to this?"
"Who would be the sole individual able to identify the perpetrator?" Brad inquired.
"That would be you."
"That could be the answer to our situation."
"But don't these blokes have mighty wizards at their disposal?" Ismeth pondered.
"Yes, and what of it?"
"Couldn't they just extract your memories and depict the woman's likeness without involving us? It seems like there may be more to this than meets the eye, Brad. It irks me that we were thrown into the mix like this."
Brad couldn't refute his comrade's deduction and kept silent. He didn't have a definitive response. "I have faith in Lady Illaine," he murmured sotto voce.
Celestia Magic Shop was situated near the Cahan River's northern bank, close to Nine Square - the grandest of all city squares. The region was renowned for its well-ordered and secure streets, where gray granite buildings, embellished with bay windows, decorative motifs, and gracefully arched roofs towered to three stories. Amid this architectural opulence, one structure stood apart with its austere facade, fashioned of scarlet bricks, and sporting a flat roof. The writing on its window bore a clear message:
"Welcome to Celestia Magic Shop if you are into arcane arts. Read the writing inscribed on the door and enter with magic. If you are not a wielder of magic and lack a compelling reason, I'd advise you to refrain from touching the door handle."
As Ismeth gazed at the door, a massive piece of ebony carved into intricate patterns, he grumbled, "I see no inscriptions or a knocker, Brad."
Only a faintly discernible embossed triangular shape was visible within the circle on the door. Brad touched the triangular symbol and the corresponding part of the door moved slightly inward. He felt a peculiar tingling sensation in his fingertips and instinctively withdrew his hand. The tips of his fingers were slightly singed, and both of their ears started to ring. Just then, the door creaked open, revealing a young red-headed dwarf with a beard, dressed in dark green robes, emerging from within.
"Who is it?" the dwarf asked, his voice rough and gravelly.
Due to his ringing ears, Brad grimaced, retrieved the parchment, and handed it over to the dwarf. The dwarf in green robes accepted the parchment, saying, "Wait," and shut the door.
Impatiently, the two men eyed each other. But their wait was brief. The dwarf flung open the door once again and declared, "You alone," pointing at Brad.
Brad intended to voice an objection, but his partner stopped him. "Go on, Brad. These mystical places don't excite me much. I glimpsed an inn named the Blue Mare down the lane. I'll hang out there for a spell," Ismeth said, bidding farewell and merrily whistling as he sauntered off.
Reluctantly, Brad acquiesced to the situation and trailed after the dwarf. The entrance corridor was shrouded in shadows, and the dwarf vanished suddenly from sight. Though a faint glimmer of light was visible a few meters ahead, the nerve-jangling ringing in Brad's ear persisted and grew more intense. He glanced down at his numb fingers, sensing as if the very ground beneath his feet had begun to stir and shift. A dark red carpet lay beneath him, and the floor suddenly softened, as if covered with a sticky, viscous slime. The scarlet walls, too, appeared to loom closer, and for a fleeting moment, Brad feared that he might be trapped in this place forever. His heart raced, and his chest tightened.
Without thinking, Brad's hand darted towards his medallion, and he clutched it tightly. Touching the magical object afforded him an inexplicable sense of relief. The ambient lighting - wall sconces on towering walls - materialized as if they had been present all along, and his vision improved immediately. Brad spied a spiral staircase descending a few meters away, the walls adorned with tribal motifs that, though unintelligible, seemed oddly familiar. He also detected a heavy incense scent that reminded him of burnt manure. The ringing in his ear took on meaning, and he heard the twang of plucked strings, played with a tremolo flourish.
Anticipating another shock, the young knight descended the staircase cautiously, clutching the wolf-headed railings. He entered a dimly lit, capacious chamber that felt like a haven of sorts. Each of the four walls was punctuated by a door, and the towering bookcases lining the walls added to the coziness of the space. The ceiling towered over five meters high, and in certain spots, it was twice that.
The entrance of the spiral staircase opened up to a grandiose sight: a colossal work desk, embellished with elaborate woodwork and adorned with ancient runes. A seasoned wizard sat behind it, studying Brad intently with a penetrating gaze that made the young knight's skin crawl. Thick fumes of a potent incense stick billowed around the wizard's workspace, adding to the enigma of the room. The melodious echoes that reverberated off the chamber's walls grew louder, emanating from the staircase's southern end.
"Is that the sound of an elf lavta playing?" Brad inquired, blinking rapidly to adjust to the thick smoke surrounding them. "It's an ancient melody from the Inner Sea."
"Not bad for a knight. It seems you have some taste in music," the old wizard replied. "It's a mournful elegy for the Battle of Sardonna."
"Those who ignited the flames that consumed Sardonna's children were swallowed by the depths of the water on a moonless night," Brad recounted.
The old man nodded solemnly. "Yesterday's self-proclaimed kings were devoured by the sharks today."
As a resonant lyre echoed throughout the southern wing, a third voice began to sing the song with a commanding timbre. Meanwhile, the gray-robed wizard motioned for Brad to take a seat on the intricately carved chair in front of the colossal desk. Without a word, Brad sat down and listened to the song with rapt respect. The voice that filled the room was undoubtedly that of an elf, imbued with a pure and mournful timbre.
"The Battle of Sardonna
Those who set aflame the torches that burned
And consumed the innocence of Sardonna, their fate is earned
Engulfed by the unspeakable abyssal depths of pain and despair
On a night without a moon or stars, the darkness did ensnare.
Yesterday's self-proclaimed, selfish monarchs and queens
Devoured by the ravening maws of the sharks for their greediness
This very night, thrown to the sea, they were bound in knots
We rather perish than yield to such butchers' wicked plots.
With one fell stroke, they snuffed out all our hopes,
And condemned us to a fate that chokes.
Our tears have turned into a waterfall that will never cease to flow
A veritable river of blood that stains the once-pristine sea below.
The very waters have turned into a deadly void
And the clouds above are as black as pitch, all colors devoid
Of any light or hope, just darkness and despair
As if the world itself no longer cares and left us to bear.
Sardonna's heart is pierced with a wound that cannot heal
And my own heart blackened like coal, it's a seal
So be it; On my fate and the fate of my kin
It was once a requiem for the souls of the fallen, but now it's a sin.
Our very breath extinguished, choked by the smoke
Of war and destruction, we can no longer feel remorse
Revealed in history, our hate is forever bound
Our destiny was sealed and never to be unbound.
It used to be a requiem for the lost souls,
But now, no longer may we sing our sorrow."
The sound of the instrument gradually dwindled to a halt, leaving behind a momentary stillness that Brad waited out with utmost reverence.
"Do you know, Brad Silverhilt, why historians generally harbor animosity towards knights?" the old wizard inquired.
Brad shook his head, signaling his ignorance on the matter.
"Because knights typically engrave their names in history with the crimson ink of bloodshed. They mostly fight for vainglory, much like in the Battle of Sardonna," David answered with an apathetic tone, stroking his lengthy beard.
"Since the formation of the United Illuthar Kingdom, the institution of knighthood has evolved. We have declared peace with anyone who respects our borders. The era of those who sought wealth under the guise of divine command has ended with the collapse of the empire. We no longer fight alongside those who wage war on elves or other races. Rather, we fight to safeguard them," Brad protested.
"Is this how you plan on redeeming your king's sins?" David asked with a smirk.
"No, the head commander relinquished his title to pay for his atonement. And he is working tirelessly to rectify his errors. His achievements over the past four years attest to this," Brad retorted.
"So, young knight, do you believe that this is enough?"
"To be candid, given the recent history, no atonement could ever be sufficient for the injustices inflicted upon the Alvarian elves. However, initiating reforms and turning over a new and clean page could be a step towards reparation," Brad answered with conviction.
"Perhaps a new chapter has been initiated in the lands of Illuthar, yet regrettably, it falls short for some. A burgeoning movement, akin to an unstoppable avalanche, born out of the anguish from the three-kingdom era in the central north, has already taken root," spoke the aged wizard, as he appraised Brad with a piercing gaze.
The young knight gulped, prompting the man to continue with inquiring eyes.
"Are you not familiar with the Misanthrop Society?"
Brad shook his head, signaling a negative.
"Seems you are quite detached from current events. So, why did Lady Illaine dispatch you here?" questioned David with a firm tone.
"I assure you, Sir David, that I am not here for the sake of honor and renown," replied Brad.
"Is that so? Then why are you here, knight? Get to the point," demanded David.
"I was instructed to brief you and implore your assistance regarding a magical artifact that is likely to have been summoned by a sorceress named Charlotta, who claims to be a descendant of the Charl lineage," explained Brad.
David's salt-and-pepper eyebrows furrowed, lending an air of wisdom to his weathered countenance, despite his apparent age of sixty or more. His physique, however, belied his years, radiating a vigor that spoke of disciplined fitness. "Though my knowledge of the Charl lineage is not without merit, the enigmatic figure of Charlotta eludes my awareness," he acknowledged, his voice tinged with a blend of genuine curiosity and eager fascination. "Nevertheless, I find myself captivated by the allure of this mystical artifact that has captured your attention," he added, his tone brimming with intrigue.
As Brad sought to give voice to his thoughts, his words wavered, faltering in their attempt to convey his conviction. "I hold the belief that this enigmatic tome possesses the extraordinary power to unveil glimpses of the yet-to-unfold future," he stammered, his uncertainty palpable.
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"When you employ the phrase 'I believe,' pray elucidate your meaning," David probed, furrowing his brows once again. "Pray, expound upon the intricacies of your tale."
Brad proceeded to recount the harrowing events that had unfolded in recent days, divulging the pivotal details of his extraordinary journey. The seasoned sorcerer, David, listened in profound silence, his ancient wisdom discernible in every furrow of his brow.
"'So, the old goat Meracles suspects that the mist elf may possess psychic abilities," David chuckled. "But how can you be certain that the mist elf was not lying, Sir Knight?" he asked.
"While I was in the company of Charlotta, when my eyes fell upon it, I sensed something in that magical chest," Brad replied, his voice tinged with a hint of unease.
"What did you perceive?" David inquired, his curiosity piqued.
"A malevolent force, suffused with demonic power, unlike anything I have ever encountered," Brad responded, his words carrying a weight of solemnity.
"Did you possess the pendant at the time of those events?" David inquired, his penetrating gaze fixed upon the knight's chest, searching for clues and answers.
"Yes," Brad affirmed, his thoughts swirling with wonder at how the elderly wizard could possess knowledge about the concealed pendant nestled beneath his garments. "But how do you come to know of its existence?" he questioned, a mixture of curiosity and intrigue coloring his words.
At that very moment, David uttered a single word, and a spell was cast. Instantly, the medallion adorning Brad's person ignited with a radiant luminosity, illuminating the surrounding space.
"This, dear knight, is the Eye of Orion, an artifact of immeasurable worth," David stated with a tone of recognition. "Ah, now certain pieces fall into place," he mused. "Yet, it still does not provide an explanation for the veracity of the mist elf's assertions regarding the mystical tome," he added, his voice tinged with a hint of puzzlement.
"I already told you," Brad retorted. "The mist elf confessed to being under the influence of his own magic. He cannot be lying."
"True, this medallion can shield you from mental assaults but does not reflect them back to their originator. So, we cannot accept everything the mist elf has said as true. Such an infernal entity may still be toying with you. And considering that the Orion wizards who went to confirm your tale found nothing, the mysterious mist elf may still be involved in this event," David explained with authority.
"Could Charlotta be the intended target?" Brad inquired.
"Highly probable as she possesses the magical item. In truth, the elusive mist elf is likely the only one who knows for certain the fate of that enchanted object and how it operates," David surmised.
"In that event, the other sorcerer may also be imperiled." Brad murmured. "The mist elf asserted that the enchanter who had imprisoned him was known as Allendra Cahosse. Does that name ring a bell?" he probed.
"I am unfamiliar with both Charlotta and Allendra. Regrettably, my recollection of other wizards' appellations is far from infallible. Nonetheless, I can surmise the nature of the magical item. Yet, I am eager to hear the conjecture of my inquisitive protégé," the old wizard stated, fixing his gaze on a spot to his left and conversing. "Reveal yourself, Caleb. I heard you traversing past the mirror. You were unusually hushed this time. My compliments."
At that moment, a jaunty young man with curly, sun-kissed locks, wearing a green fabric waistcoat and brown trousers, emerged just beyond the full-length mirror that was adorning the west wall of the wizard's desk. The man possessed a snub nose and stood at a diminutive stature.
"Nice catch, Master David," Caleb greeted with a cheerful expression and a sly grin. "I was merely practicing the art of invisibility, you see."
"As for the enchanted artifact," Caleb continued, his voice growing serious, "although it may be a slim chance - in the realm of magic, anything is possible - I believe it could be a torn fragment from the Book of the Damned. The original book towers at least three men tall and is rumored to still reside in Pagancity."
"Ah, a halfling," Brad remarked.
"Half-halfling, to be exact. From my mother's side," Caleb corrected with a bow, revealing his proud heritage.
"This is Brad Silverhilt, a noble knight who serves Lady Illaine," David introduced. "And this is my dear apprentice, Caleb Cantorean, a former street urchin who is now learning the ways of wizardry."
Caleb frowned slightly at the description but chose to let it slide.
"Indeed, Caleb, you are correct," David said, his voice grave. "The object in question may very well be a piece from the Book of the Damned, an item that could bring untold peril in the wrong hands."
"In that case, it would be wise to locate and dispose of it at once, would it not, Master?" Caleb asked.
"Quite so," David agreed.
"Never heard of the Book of the Damned," Brad said, his voice laced with skepticism.
Caleb took a step forward, stretching his spindly arms above his head until his joints popped. "Well, that's because the true story of Pagancity has been kept hidden from all but the most cunning seekers. Three centuries ago, all the records of Lazzar City were shrouded in secrecy. Now, all that remains is a hazy myth of a colossal, smoldering metropolis, and its inhabitants, frozen in stone, still writhing in agony under the gods' wrath."
He leaned in towards the knight, squinting his eyes in a way that was both playful and sinister. "But if you're brave enough to approach the city, they say you can feel the heat of the flames and hear the anguished screams of the petrified people."
Brad shrugged nonchalantly. "So, how can we find this enchanted object, Master David?" he asked, turning to the elderly wizard.
David turned to his apprentice, Caleb. "Do you have any ideas, Caleb?"
Caleb ran his fingers through his unruly mop of curly hair, tugging at the knotted bun at the nape of his neck. "Well, magical objects that emanate potent dark magic can't hide from sharp-eyed observers. Some, like the Dark Tower of Romdaht, are quite conspicuous, rising from the heart of the Dark Desert, wreathed in thick black smoke. The Dark Magic Tower is always active, a beacon for all to see."
He paused, considering the question. "Of course, the strength of the magic used will affect the nature of the signs. For example, you might observe unexpected eclipses of the sun beyond the reckoning of the Star Calendar, or sudden changes in lunar cycles. During a time when the Red Moon should be blazing in the sky, it might suddenly go dark, leaving animals dying in droves and once-fertile lands barren for miles around. Lakes and rivers dry up, and other calamities befall the earth. Such events are often viewed as harbingers of doom, but even they may not be enough for less experienced observers. Only a master of foresight magic, such as Master David, can discern the subtle nuances of these powerful enchantments."
Brad inquired, "Might we locate the enchanted parchment by paying heed to peculiar happenings?"
"Literally speaking, it is feasible. However, in actuality, the matter is somewhat more intricate than what is assumed," Caleb responded, his countenance crumpling.
"Get to the point, Caleb, and do not mince words. The knight should also be apprised of the most recent developments," David interjected sternly.
The young wizard cleared his throat loudly in a boisterous and jittery manner. "We received word from you two days ago, and you were swift to inform Lady Illaine and thus she informed us, the experts in the field. We applaud you," Caleb took a deep breath. "But unfortunately, it was not speedy enough. Yesterday, our operatives on the street informed us that a crimson-haired woman had been making inquiries at the port about ships bound for Lathvaryl. She offered exorbitant amounts of money for discretion and provided a handsome advance payment. Nonetheless, there is always someone who can offer more," he smiled.
"Did you pursue the ship?" Brad asked with enthusiasm.
"Yes, we immediately raided the ship. However, the woman or the enchanted object was not present. It seems we were ensnared," Caleb revealed.
"Is Lady Charlotta still in our vicinity?" Brad inquired.
"It's possible, but it's equally possible that she's already gone. We're up against a shrewd, cautious and resourceful sorceress. We're unsure about the extent of her resources. Although she might have already vanished via a teleportation spell, why bother with the elaborate ruse at the port? We're on the right trail. She is hidden close by, somewhere," Caleb responded, scrunching his face.
"If her real intent is to make haste towards Lathvaryl, then she might have ventured off to Malory or Lernachia," Brad speculated.
"Smyrnia comes to mind," Caleb suggested. "For the ports in the cities you've mentioned are small and she must know that it would be easier to apprehend her there."
"You have a point. Smyrnia is much larger, and it would be easier for her to vanish there," David agreed.
"Couldn't she attempt to travel by land?" Brad queried. "The distance would be long, but it's an unexpected and duplicitous choice."
"That's also an option," Caleb acquiesced. "But, in my opinion, the female wizard will make her way to Tyran. I'd place my bet on it."
"How can you be so sure, Sir Caleb?" Brad asked.
"Because the thirteen wizards who govern Tyran are still in the employ of the Dark Wizard Laneth Alhazaurus," Caleb replied confidently.
"I fail to see its relevance to the matter at hand," Brad objected, his voice edged with skepticism. "According to the reports we've received, the Dark King has been missing for four years."
Caleb, however, was quick to refute Brad's doubts. "The Dark King's absence does not necessarily mean that Romdaht has abandoned its schemes," he said, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice. "Rumors suggest that he was banished to Araphia by a powerful wizard, and his loyal servants are tirelessly searching for a way to rescue him. Surely, one of the pages of the Book of the Damned can reveal the path to his liberation."
David, the old wizard, furrowed his brow, deep in thought, while Brad watched Caleb's face turn a deep shade of red, as if trying to conceal something.
The knight remained silent, seemingly hesitant to weigh in on the debate. Caleb, however, was not one to be dissuaded. "If the female wizard is truly dark, she would make a beeline for Romdaht," he insisted.
But Brad was quick to interject. "That woman cannot be in cahoots with Romdaht," he stated firmly.
Caleb raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "How can you be so certain, knight?"
"Evil is evil, regardless of whether it hides its face or tries to mask its intentions," Brad replied, his voice resolute. "I can sense it. Charlotta may be unpredictable and capricious, but she is not a zealot serving the Dark God. I am sure of that," he added, his gaze fixed intently on the old wizard and his young apprentice. "I cannot say for certain whether she has ulterior motives or is seeking fame and glory, but my instincts tell me that she is after something else entirely."
"Ridiculous," scoffed a voice in the distance, echoing through the hall. "Shall we entrust the fate of this mission to a knight's mere instincts?" It was the same elf who had been singing earlier, his arrogance ringing clear in his tone. From the southern wing, they heard the approach of footsteps.
Brad studied the elf as he neared. His reddish-yellow beard, patchy and unkempt, along with his sparse, curled mustache, indicated that he was a half-elf. A deep scar marred his face, stretching from his forehead to beneath his left eye, which was replaced with a shimmering honey-colored stone. His brown hair, interwoven with red stripes, revealed his origins as a middle northern elf. Despite his lean build, he stood nearly six feet tall and had broad shoulders that spoke of strength.
"Allow me to introduce Asvelas Freethorn, a reliable member of our team and a bard," David announced, the two men locking eyes in a tense exchange. "And Brad Silverhilt," he continued, "if you have doubts, let it be known that the knight carries a magical artifact that grants him the ability to sense evil entities, gentlemen," the aged wizard revealed.
Brad reluctantly brushed his fingers over the medal, concealed beneath his shirt, and David gave him a knowing wink.
"What truly matters is that I was present when events transpired. You were not," Brad stated firmly. "The tale that Charlotta recounted, concerning her ancestor Charl, was both convincing and realistic. Of that, I am certain. Therefore, I believe that everything will unfold in relation to this story. That woman is on a quest to uncover something, but what that may be, I cannot say," Brad attempted to convey his complex thoughts.
Caleb snickered with a sneering tone, "Pursuing tales of Charlathan won't hurt us. What significance does three hundred years hold?"
Brad questioned, "Perhaps the enchantress has already deciphered the mystic tome and unearthed her sought-after truth?"
"It's not so simple. The ritualistic ingredients required to peruse the tome are scarce and distinct," Caleb answered. Noticing Brad's inquisitive glance, he offered a vague response, "The list is extensive. I'll elucidate later." Caleb exuded a proud air as he added, "İt is very hard to find such components. But the wizards of Tyranny possess such knowledge. Another reason to validate my theory."
Brad countered, "No, Charlotta is no sorceress of the dark arts on the path of Therion. She wouldn't seek the aid of such individuals."
"Then, we're back to square one. The enchantress is playing games with us. We must presume that she harbors a hidden agenda and act accordingly. We've taken a small stride toward empathy," Caleb stated, semi-mockingly.
"Humans are innately covetous. The sorceress is no exception. The most rational action is the correct one. We must assume that she stole the tome for money, and now, with a valuable and perilous magical artifact in her possession, she'll dread divination spells cast by potent wizards who could locate her. Ergo, she'll strive to dispose of it as swiftly as possible. Caleb, your time would be better spent researching potential buyers," Asvelas declared, his tone harsh.
Caleb nodded, "It's not an implausible conjecture."
Brad leveled a sharp gaze at the half-elf before him and spoke with a biting tone, "Let me hazard a guess. You hail from Lathvaryl, the land of nefarious elves, and harbor an aversion to humans."
The half-elf returned Brad's piercing look with icy glares and responded, "No one bestowed freedom upon me. I fled the infernal depths of Lathvaryl on my own accord. The lords of noble knighthood may turn a blind eye to it, but if you're a human-elf hybrid in the Middle North, you are damned from birth," he said, gesturing toward the vicious scar marking his face.
Asvelas continued, covering his fake left eye. "Lathvaryl elves are notorious for their magical experimentation on their enslaved subjects. And the Middle North is rife with wealthy slavers who would pay a king's ransom for such a demonic artifact."
"Your words ring true, Asvelas," Caleb chimed in. "Elf lords of Varyl Territory are known for their insatiable lust for magical items, be they cursed or benign. They're quite the collectors. And rest assured, they would spare no expense for such a valuable item."
Brad nodded, considering Caleb's words. "Perhaps we can strike off the Selvaryl elves from our list. They have a cordial relationship with the dwarves and run an honest business."
"Only lesser evils than the other two," Asvelas sneered, cutting in with a sharp retort.
Caleb shot Asvelas a stern look and spoke with conviction, "Nonetheless, they have honored their deal with King Illuen. The knight is in the right."
With a gaze that brimmed with fury, Asvelas turned to the wizard and knight and spat, "And what of King Illuen and his knights who turn a blind eye to the abhorrent practice of slavery, despite having the power to raze Lathvaryl and Nathvaryl to the ground in a single night?"
Brad rose from his seat, his countenance taut with tension, poised to deliver a scathing rebuke in response to the censure levied against the Head Commander. But before he could utter a word, the old wizard's piercing gaze caught his own, and he managed to rein in his temper just in time. "Gentlemen," David interposed, "we are not assembled here to expatiate upon the bygone epoch of the Three Kings. Let us stay the course. Our mandate is to locate an elusive individual who wishes not to be found. Let us keep our focus on that."
"Master David, if I may interject," Brad ventured, rising to his feet. "To chart a course and set out in search of Charlotte, I am in dire need of your counsel in order to establish a sturdy foundation upon which to commence." He made no bones about it; he had no wish to be cooped up in the same space with the half-elf.
David ran his gnarled fingers through his hoary hair. "Knight Silverhilt, you are the sole individual to have crossed paths with the sorceress and the mist elf and gleaned a modicum of their intentions. Herein lies a promising point of departure. Tread along this axis and the way ahead shall begin to unfurl before you. But be forewarned, you shall require the constant aid of divergent viewpoints," David cautioned wisely. He then turned his attention to the other duo. "As a cohesive unit, you shall need to operate under his leadership, gentlemen. It behooves you to cultivate respect for one another and foster a culture of knowledge-sharing with alacrity," the aged wizard admonished. His glance was particularly severe this time, especially towards his adopted son. Caleb and Asvelas bowed low respectfully before the venerable man.
Brad inquired, "I am grateful for your assistance, Master David, but when you say 'as a unit', what exactly do you mean?"
"Has Lady Illaine not disclosed anything to you, my dear boy? Asvelas and Caleb have volunteered to join your investigative squad," David responded in a composed manner.
"Now I understand. To be frank, the High Priestess had conveyed her low expectations regarding your aid, but she neglected to mention that the blueprint was already set in motion," Brad replied.
"There is no blueprint, no predetermined path. Life is an improvisation. However, there are certain situations, my knight, where you either act swiftly or meet your demise. This, indeed, is one of those moments. Therefore, make your decision promptly, and choose your direction," David uttered in a stern voice, rising from his desk.
"May I ask where you are heading, Master?" Caleb inquired.
"At Lady Illaine's behest, I brought you all together. That is the extent of my contribution here. Anything further would be beyond my temperament. You are now a company. As any successful company, I suggest that you collaborate, respect one another, and be forthright in your communications. May your journey be prosperous, gentlemen," David stated, gazing into each of their eyes.
After a simple salutation, the old wizard departed towards the southern gate and vanished from sight.
Caleb addressed the others, "So where were we? I advise that we commence the operation?"
"And what do you propose, Master Wizard Caleb?" Brad inquired.
"Simply Caleb is sufficient. If we can procure further knowledge regarding the Charl lineage, we may gain a better understanding of the woman's intentions. If that's the knight's thinking, that's the route we'll take," Caleb elaborated.
"Well?" Brad pressed.
"The usual procedures. Inquire around, pay a visit to the city library, and, if need be, consult with Ilberius," Caleb replied.
"I'll never visit Ilberius again," Asvelas declared, grimacing and taking a step backward.
"Who is Ilberius?" Brad inquired.
"You'll know upon sight," Caleb said, grinning cunningly. "Shall we depart?" he inquired.
"After you," Brad responded.
The three men exited Celestia's emporium in unison.
* * *
The three hurried to the Flying Mare Inn to rendezvous with Ismeth. The ebon-skinned knight sat unobtrusively by the hearth, quietly sipping his ale. Once Brad had introduced the members of the newly founded unit, they deliberated on their next course of action.
"In that case, Caleb and I will proceed to the Great Library. Ismeth, you and Asvelas are to scrutinize all the lodgings that are unremarkable enough to harbor a lone female traveler without arousing suspicion," Brad delineated the task distribution.
"Well, that certainly curtails our alternatives," Ismeth observed. "We'll manage. However, Brad, cast your gaze to that corner over yonder," he directed and gestured toward one of the balconies on the upper floor.
Brad gave Ismeth a knowing nod and both of them rose to their feet. "Hey, where are you two off to?" Caleb objected.
"We have a trifling issue to settle. We'll be back in a trice," Brad informed Caleb.
"See to it that you don't become indebted to anyone," Caleb rejoined with a smirk.
Brad and Ismeth ascended the stairs to the balcony with a deliberate and unhurried pace, savouring every step as if it were a momentous occasion.
Ismeth, determined to make the most of the experience, strode ahead and approached the table, where a fair-haired man was intimately seated with two comely women in a private section reserved only for the most affluent clientele.
He addressed the man in a severe tone, "Pray tell, are you not an aspirant of knighthood, fair-haired fellow? Whatever brings you to this place at such an hour?"
Derek Derylson turned around and upon seeing Ismeth in place of his superior, he relaxed somewhat but was also visibly flustered. "Elphered has gone out for some fresh air. May I inquire as to what brings you, gentlemen, to this establishment?" he asked, casting a quick glance at Ismeth and Brad with a puzzled countenance.
"Gentlemen? Did they not teach you in your training to rise when addressing your superiors, rookie?" Ismeth raised his voice, and the uneasy looks of the other patrons became even more pronounced. Brad nudged him gently to restore calm.
Derek gazed at them, completely perplexed. Ismeth stiffened, indicating the coat-of-arms on his jacket and belt, and gave a suggestive wink to Derek. When Derek caught sight of the emblem, his face turned scarlet and he couldn't believe what he was seeing. "How on earth?" he uttered incredulously.
"Have you grasped who's superior to whom now, Deryl seed?" Ismeth whispered, leaning forward to murmur in Derek's ear and then giving a hard squeeze to the aspiring knight's shoulder.
Derek grimaced in pain, while his face flushed an even deeper red. "How could you?" he asked, astonished and trying to resist the pain.
Ismeth went on teasing Derek and squeezing his shoulder, taking it too far until Brad urged him to stop. Once he was sure Derek's shoulder was bruised, Ismeth reluctantly halted the joke and straightened up.
"Anyway, rookie, I pardon you for this once. Get out of here quickly. Look, he's still seated there. Didn't we remind you to return to your duty, knight aspirant? Or should we settle this matter with your superior?" Ismeth kept taunting him, assuming a stern expression.
Derek, silently apologizing to the women beside him, promptly got up and left the inn without glancing back. Ismeth and Brad returned to their table and burst into laughter.
"I'm genuinely curious. What went down, gentlemen?" Caleb inquired, looking intrigued.
"We just settled an old score," Brad responded. "Come on, let's go," he added.
The four men departed from the inn at noon and set off in pairs, heading towards their destination.