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> The Forgotten Curse > Chapter 3: A risky plan

Chapter 3: A risky plan

The Forgotten Curse by jruiz68

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The author of the letter ended up showing up in my chambers.

His benevolence, seeking to save me from those evil men, reached my heart.

I knew then my kingdom was my own enemy.

Tell me, God, why do you torture me like this?

I'm not the one to blame. I am the victim. They want my power.

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The nights in Aldramar were exceptionally quiet. When the sun set and the mist threatened to appear, the city remained silent, interrupted occasionally by the occasional whistling of the wind. However, the silence of that night was broken by several screams coming from that room in the Beber Inn. Miriel was screaming, clearly suffering from a horrible nightmare in her visions. Thilsa and Drynn were awake, taking care of her as best as they could.

When she was asleep and having nightmares, there was no way to wake her. Not even throwing cold water on her, as Drynn had tried years ago. The only thing her caretakers could do was place a cloth soaked in cold water on her forehead, as this had sometimes yielded good results. However, whatever Miriel was experiencing in her visions was something extremely out of the ordinary. She had never screamed so much or been so restless, tossing and turning in bed.

“It must be hard,” Drynn said softly. “I don’t know what she’s seeing, but it must be dreadful.”

“Without a doubt,” replied Thilsa. “And the worst part is that it will happen somewhere in Mariandel. The suffering she’s feeling will be felt by others.”

“If her visions made sense or followed a specific order, we could try to predict the future. But if they happen in places we don’t know or in very distant futures, there’s little we can do.”

“Nothing, really,” Thilsa added. “We must be responsible only for what concerns us, Drynn. We play an important role for Orinthal: caring for a promising young woman, heir to one of the most influential families in the kingdom. We can’t take responsibility now for what Miss Miriel sees in her dreams. That’s not our duty.”

“But she does have a responsibility for what she sees. What’s the point of having those powers if she doesn’t use them?”

“She didn’t choose this life,” Thilsa said sharply. “She didn’t choose these powers. Nor did she choose for her parents not to be present in her life.”

“No one chooses their destiny, Thilsa,” Drynn replied kindly. “Each of us is born in a random place, with a certain family, and in a particular way. Some people are luckier, others less so. I don’t think Miriel has had bad luck. But I do think she should use her powers for the good of Orinthal.”

“Do you really think that, seeing her like this?” Thilsa asked angrily, observing her charge’s current state.

“Thilsa, I’ve been a guard for over twenty years. I’ve traveled all over Orinthal, even reaching the border with Altharion. I know what it’s like to have an unfortunate life, and believe me, hers is not one of them.”

“I don’t know what you’ve seen, but I do know what Miriel suffers every day. Bearing the expectations of a family, a power that’s actually more like a curse… It’s a lot for a young woman.”

“Obviously, it’s something that would affect anyone. But think about it: she has us, and if she wanted, she could hire more guards to help her. In any case, if you want to understand what a life of misfortune is like, take a walk through Derecha, if you can.”

“What’s going on in Derecha?” Thilsa asked, intrigued, as she stroked Miriel’s hair.

“They’re hulgores,” Drynn quickly replied. “They have fewer rights than we do, even though they’re capable of incredible things.”

“Well, after all, they’re Orinthal’s labor force. They know their role.”

“And do you think they had any choice in their lives?”

“They have different trades,” Thilsa replied, visibly hesitant. “Surely there are some jobs that let them live well.”

“Face it, Thilsa. They don’t live well. We humans look down on them. They earn low wages and live crammed together in houses because they suffer from overpopulation.”

“And you’re saying they live worse than Miriel?” Thilsa asked, trying to get Drynn to admit he was wrong.

“Obviously, they live worse. They have no prosperous future, no purchasing power. They can’t afford to travel or have political aspirations. Miriel will never lack food because she’ll have money to spare. It’s true that she might end up being just another tool of the kingdom, but if she’s clever, she could live comfortably.”

Thilsa was about to reply, but both fell silent when they saw that Miriel had stopped screaming. She had also stopped moving and was gradually calming down.

“In any case, it’s our job to ensure this girl succeeds in life,” Drynn concluded as the two prepared to sleep.

“Let’s do our best, Drynn. For Letia.”

“For Letia.”

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A snapping sound came from the forest, outside the camp. Zedric got up and moved a piece of cloth that isolated his shelter from nature. He looked into the dark forest, unable to see anything in particular. He had no choice but to grab his sword, lying next to his sleeping bag, and channel a small amount of his stored energy, which sharpened his senses. Through the leaves, he discerned the figure of a small fox, likely drawn by the smell of food from the camp. Relieved, Zedric returned to the shelter and sat on his sleeping bag, near the fire.

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The camp was relatively large, as it housed several people. It had a bonfire in the center, necessary because the forest was especially cold at night. Around the fire were the sleeping bags of each person. Farther from the fire, several pieces of cloth isolated the camp from the outside and, at the same time, helped retain the heat.

“It was a fox,” Zedric said to his curious companions. “Nothing important.”

“Better that way,” said an older man with a long white beard, the same color as his eyebrows.

“That spares us an unfortunate encounter.”

“Technically, we’re not doing anything wrong,” said a young man, no older than twenty-five. He was tall, blond, and visibly fit.

“Auren, I highly doubt that if guards show up here, it will be to join our nightly chat. From now on, we must be more cautious. Let’s see if tomorrow night we can avoid lighting the fire and stay more inconspicuous.”

“The Bald Old Man is already starting to take away our comforts,” Auren replied, laughing. Several members of the group burst into laughter, trying to stifle it when they saw the irritated expression on Zoryan’s face, who hated being called that.

Although it was true that the entire group teased Zoryan for his appearance, in reality, they all respected him greatly. Over his long life, he had faced all sorts of threats and always emerged victorious. For decades, he dedicated himself to studying magic, its history, and monsters. Additionally, he was a powerful human in combat, having defeated countless monsters. He was, therefore, a source of wisdom for everyone and a role model.

“That wasn’t funny, Auren,” Zedric commented ironically. “It’s wrong to mock those who are already very old.”

“Don’t continue with that nonsense, Zedric,” said Zoryan. “We’d better thoroughly review our objective.”

Everyone nodded. When it came to their mission, the atmosphere grew much more serious and tense. They were well aware of the risks of their plan and the terrible consequences their actions could unleash if they failed.

“Sylwen, start,” Zoryan continued, assuming his role as the group’s leader.

Sylwen was a young woman who appeared even younger than Auren. She was incredibly skilled as a spy, capable of infiltrating any enemy base undetected.

“Our first objective is to cross the Aldramar border without raising suspicion. To do so, we have two options. The first is to infiltrate through the sewer system, and the second is simply to enter at night.” Sylwen paused to look at the group.

“If we go through the sewers, we’ll face several problems,” the young woman continued. “We don’t have a map of the tunnels, so we risk getting lost or surfacing in a heavily guarded area. There’s also the possibility of encountering monsters or smugglers. We need to consider that.”

“On the other hand, if we choose to go at night, we face the obvious problem of the fog. We don’t know how it works, but you’ve all heard the rumors: those who enter, die. Zoryan says it’s not a risk for us, but the reality is that we don’t know for sure. However, if we go at night, we wouldn’t face resistance from the authorities or any witnesses.”

“That’s a strong point in its favor,” commented Karadras, a middle-aged man who had remained silent until then. “But I’m very concerned about the fog. What do we know about it?”

“Very little,” Sylwen replied. “Perhaps Zoryan knows more than I do.”

“That fog is undoubtedly an unnatural phenomenon,” Zoryan said. “That is, some being, whether human or monster, has intervened to create it for a specific purpose.”

“That’s obvious,” Zedric said. “Isn’t He the one who created it? Isn’t that why we’re here?”

“I’m afraid the reality is more complex,” Zoryan replied. “While our objective is clear, the mission’s motive is not.”

“You don’t know?” Auren asked.

“I have an idea, but I’m not certain. Until I’m sure, I won’t speculate on our leader’s motives.”

“But you wouldn’t have accepted this job if you didn’t agree with the motive,” Auren insisted. “You must know something.”

“Experience tells me our leader has serious reasons for sending us on such a dangerous mission. In my opinion, something very important must be happening. It’s possible the future of Mariandel is at stake.”

“The future of the entire continent?” Sylwen asked, surprised.

“Exactly,” Zoryan replied. “This fog is far from trivial. It’s the very image of a hidden threat with malicious intentions that is beginning to move.”

“But it emerged out of nowhere several years ago,” Auren said. “It’s not like the entire continent is in danger. I think we’re exaggerating.”

“Imagine the fog spreading out of the city and across the continent,” Zedric commented. “Wouldn’t that be the end of humanity?”

“It would, without a doubt,” Sylwen added.

“That’s something that could have happened but hasn’t,” Auren said again. “Without a doubt, we need to resolve the issue, but we must be careful not to exaggerate the threat. We shouldn’t overestimate the enemy.”

“If we’ve been sent to deal with Him, it’s because the threat is greater than just some nightly fog,” Zoryan said, putting an end to the conversation. “In any case, the important thing now is to choose our plan. Do you want to infiltrate through the sewers, risking detection, or enter at night, risking death by the mist?”

“Isn’t there a normal option, like entering with fake documentation?”

“We’ve discussed that before,” Zoryan replied again. “Aldramar has been in a tense situation for several years. If we were caught lying, it would undoubtedly mean the end of our mission—not to mention the consequences for us and Altharion.”

“But the risk doesn’t seem equivalent,” Karadras commented. “Using the mist, we’re risking death, while with false identification, we could escape if things went south.”

At this comment, Zoryan grew angry, raising his voice.

“There’s no escaping! If we’re caught, it’s over. The mission, our lives… Who knows if even Mariandel itself.”

“I apologize for my misunderstanding,” Karadras quickly said.

“Then we already have the answer we need,” Zedric concluded. “If we can’t escape, the best option is to use the mist.”

His companions’ expressions showed they disagreed with the idea. Sylwen preferred infiltration, as that was her strength. Karadras valued his life too much to risk venturing into the mist, especially with other options available. And Auren, though known for his bravery, had a deep respect for magic, bordering on fear.

“What did you say?” Sylwen asked incredulously.

“Use the mist,” Zedric repeated. “It’s simple. If we can’t escape until the objective is complete, using the fog would be the most sensible choice. If we fail, Aldramar’s guards wouldn’t notice, as we’d vanish without a trace.”

“So, we’d die, and no one would know we tried to infiltrate the city.”

“Exactly,” Zedric said.

“And how do we know we won’t die?” Auren asked, uneasy about the direction of the conversation.

“Because my study of magic dictates it,” Zoryan replied honestly. “This mission was assigned to me two or three months ago, during which I dedicated myself to studying the possible origins of the mist. I concluded it shouldn’t affect us.”

“But we’re the same as the people of Aldramar,” Sylwen commented. “Nothing sets us apart. By that logic, it shouldn’t affect them either.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Zoryan replied. “We are not the same. When the time is right, you’ll understand what I mean.”

The group remained silent for half a minute, processing the conversation and likely searching for alternatives that didn’t involve venturing into the mist. After all, no matter how wise Zoryan was, everyone could make mistakes, even him.

“It’s decided, then,” Zoryan said. “In two nights, we’ll enter Aldramar and put an end to Him. Whether we succeed will depend solely on us. Now, let’s rest as best we can, and remember that the future of Mariandel depends on this mission.”

Filled with doubts and uncertainty, the group got into their sleeping bags and, under the bright moonlight, prepared to sleep.