By the time we reach the guard house to begin planning the next stage of operations—such as figuring out how Dimitri’s son, Nikolai, factors into everything—Devrim’s strike team is firmly on our side. Between Avelina’s impressive pyroclastic attack, Mikko’s display of brawn knocking heads when Nikolai’s [Mercenaries] first fought back, and Uchenna and Nala’s stories of how we cleared the Old Keep, we’ve earned their respect. The guards no longer look at us with either open hostility or poorly-veiled skepticism.
Still, “grudging respect” and “enthusiastic support” are a long ways apart. We still need to convince them to help us with rescuing Lionel first, instead of focusing on [Lord] Dimitri’s upstart son. From their perspective, I get it: their city comes first. Their rationale makes sense, but it doesn’t make me any happier about the situation. They want to link up with the guards loyal to the [Magistrate] and comb through the city, ensuring that they’ve rooted out the remaining mercs and secured the districts.
Rakesh is waiting for us in the front room of the guard house. He’s fidgeting in his seat, writing frantic notes, his eyes wide with fright. When we file in, our favorite [Researcher] lurches up from his seat, knocking over the flimsy wooden stool on which he was seated, and rushes over with a loud groan of relief. A rapid-fire string of words pour out of him.
“You’re alive! When you didn’t come back that first day, and I read more about what was facing Mahkaiaraon, not to mention some of the investigative work I did on my own—you’ll all be rather surprised and impressed when you hear that daring tale, if I do say so myself—the more I feared that you’d met an untimely end. This sort of life is not for the faint of heart. If I could travel back in time, I’d give my younger self a stern lecture about the stupidity of putting myself in such grave danger. What’s wrong with the tranquil drudgery and sedate dignity of a [Researcher] at the academy, anyway? Life on the road is most certainly not all it’s cracked up to be!”
“Whoa, slow down, boss!” I tease, holding up a hand and giving Rakesh a lopsided grin. “Sounds like you’ve been busy. You and Mel have a lot of catching up to do.”
His head bobs up and down like a chicken. Then he freezes, and his eyes flit across the group again. “Where’s Lionel? Something’s happened, hasn’t it? Please tell me it’s not as bad as I suspect.”
“Worse,” Avelina says cheerfully.
I frown. She’s smiling at Rakesh and pulling him into a hug, but it feels false and forced. She still looks like she’s a half step from throwing up, and I don’t blame her, despite my show of bravado earlier. Taking out a high-ranking enemy [Battle Mage] in a preemptive strike is one thing, but sending another fourteen [Mercenaries] to an early grave is quite another.
It was her choice in the end, I remind myself, although the lump in my throat doesn’t go away. I keep telling myself that I don’t need to carry her guilt for her, but it’s not working; I’m the one who put us in this spot, and I’m the one who should bear the burden of responsibility. Still, at least we didn’t kill Dimitri’s guards; they may be misguided, but if they’re anything like the duo I eavesdropped on in the Rift, then they might not have deserved such a fiery fate.
“Let’s eat,” Devrim suggests, catching my eye and giving me a meaningful stare. He’s probably used to this type of inner conflict. My struggle hasn’t gone unnoticed. “No one’s had a lick of food since breakfast, and it’s well past midday. Need to keep up your strength if you want to help your friend. We’ll strategize after.”
No one protests, so we soon find ourselves around a table, tearing into slightly-stale bread, meager fish filets, and limp, overcooked steamed vegetables. It’s not the most appetizing food I’ve ever had, but after a hard day of fighting, it’s perfect. Once I’ve finished stuffing my face, I get down to business.
“All right, I’ll talk while you eat,” I say, wiping off my face with a napkin. “Team meeting. I’ll keep this short, since we still need to go break Lionel out of prison.”
“He actually got arrested?” Rakesh yelps.
I nod in confirmation at our [Researcher], who seems to be processing the news better than I anticipated, at least after his initial shock. He seems more resilient than I remember him, which makes me wonder what he’s been up to while we were fighting for our lives in the Rift. I quirk a half-hearted smile. “Unfortunately, he did get arrested, but it wasn’t his fault.”
“For once,” Mikko snickers.
I glare at my brother and make a subtle chopping motion with my hand, signaling him to cut it out. It’s not the time for jokes right now. While everyone else finishes their meals, I launch into a recap of our strange encounters in the forest, our suspicions about the portal, the monster fights in the Rift, our infiltration into the Old Keep, the disturbing information about the [Lord]’s illicit activities, and our discoveries about the enchantment that borrowed principles of imbuing.
The rest of the team ignores the story, eating in silence, but Rakesh gets up and paces around the mess hall. He’s gesturing and muttering to himself all the while, writing notes and shaking his head at all the revelations. He’s going to have a field day discussing it with Melina and deciphering the enchantments. I hope his research paper wins a prize some day.
More fired up than I’ve ever seen him before, Rakesh has his own story to tell. His tale of spying on [Lord] Dimitri and digging up his past captivates the team, and I’m impressed by his quick thinking and bravery at the bakery. Maybe I’ve misjudged his backbone. I keep thinking of him as a delicate scholar, but he insisted on joining us on this expedition, and it looks like he’s determined to pull his own weight.
“I wonder how Dimitri’s son fits into all of this,” I ask, drumming my fingertips on the table as I turn over the puzzle in my mind.
“Ah, he’s the only heir—or, he was, until the surreptitious wedding I uncovered,” Rakesh says. “Now he’s been pushed out. That’s why I think he finally made his move. No one wants to lose such an illustrious inheritance uncontested.”
“Wait, you know about his son?” Melina asks, frowning. “We only just found out about his odd attempt at a takeover today.”
Rakesh coughs politely into his fist. “Er, well, it’s recent knowledge on my part, as well. I went back to the library after my fateful bakery expedition . As you can imagine, I was rather on edge. Nonetheless, I surreptitiously looked into [Lord] Dimitri’s family hierarchy to see if I could sort out what was happening. Inheritance is always a tricky subject when there are multiple claims in play, but in this case it’s somewhat straightforward: Only a single living son; Dimitri’s second child died in a border skirmish thirty years ago.”
“Let’s see . . . “ he pauses, tapping his notebook and squinting. He mutters to himself in a quiet voice as he looks for his spot. “Diversions in the syntax confirmed. Historical dynamic desynchronized from observable behavior. . . . Plausible hypothesis?”
It sounds less like a coherent report, and more like he simply scribbled down his ideas when they came to him, even if it meant stopping mid-word as an entirely new set of possibilities occurred to him. With a thoughtful hum, he trails off and writes down a new sentence, spinning his gold-and-black pen in his hand. It’s embossed with the city emblem, and looks new. I wonder idly where he got it from.
“I’ll be right back! Let me get my papers. I don’t speak well extemporaneously,” Rakesh says in a rush. He strides out of the mess hall, hiking up his scholarly robes so that he can jog faster. At that moment, he looks so much like Ezio that I can’t help but chuckle fondly. They’re an odd pair, but I owe them more than I’ll ever be able to repay.
Moments later, he’s back, arranging the fruit of his labors on the cleared-off dinner table. Six sheaves of crisp, white papers sit in stacks in front of him, neatly aligned to the geometry of the room. Each one represents a different theory, he says, although he may have to revise his categorization to account for our new information.
“I sorted through the salient records in the library the first day you left, then hit the streets to do some investigative work, as I intimated earlier.” Rakesh rolls his shoulders back and straightens his robes, looking pleased with himself. “I had to rely on my instincts as much as my Skills. Trying to make sense of the monster attacks, the schism between the [Magistrate] and the local [Lord], the rushed and hidden marriage ceremony, and the unusual details surrounding Mahkaiaraon’s rise to prominence left me with a powerful need for the truth.”
“Well, let’s see what you’ve got,” I say, rolling my wrist to hurry him along. “We still need to get Lionel.”
“Ah. Right.” Rakesh clears his throat. “Well, as our dear friend Ezio often says: ‘Leave no stone unturned; you never know under which rock the nugget of truth hides.’ My mentor’s words proved to come in handy, since I’ve been working with incomplete information. If I’d accepted an inaccurate theory, that would only set us down the wrong path. That serves no one.”
Rakesh licks his right thumb, lifts the edge of the top paper on the first pile, and flips the sheet over so we can see it. He rereads his current notes. “I’m not sure whether the information I’ve collated will hold up to the rigorous standards of a Silaraon City Academy trained [Scholar], but it’s a start. Shall we?”
“Please,” Melina says.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Somehow, she manages to sound simultaneously more urgent and more polite than I do, which seems to get the point across to Rakesh. He hurriedly spins around the documents and reads off his summary statements.
“First theory: the [Magistrate] and [Lord] Dimitri are at odds. After the fight today, I think we can say with relative confidence that this guess is correct.”
“Only relative?” Avelina asks.
“Well, consider the next theory,” Rakesh hedges, nodding at the paper he’s prepared. “It is always a possibility that it’s a ruse. So, my second theory is that: the [Magistrate] and [Lord] Dimitri are working together, but failed to communicate adequately.”
“That makes no sense,” Avelina states flatly. “Let’s just go with theory one.”
Rakesh pulls out his chair and sits down. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, and locks eyes with Avelina. “Third theory: the [Magistrate] and [Lord] Dimitri are allied, but Nikolai opposes his father.”
“Oh, good grief!” Avelina groans.
“Shut it, Ava,” I warn.
“Please hurry,” Melina says sweetly.
Rakesh rolls up his sleeves, unperturbed by Avelina’s doubt. If anything, he seems to relish the chance to tell us all what he’s learned. Despite the urgency of our situation, he’s not going to allow us to bully him into rushing.
“Fourth theory: the [Magistrate] and [Lord] Dimitri are allied, but the son opposes the [Magistrate]. Fifth theory: the [Magistrate] and [Lord] Dimitri are opposed, while Nikolai only supports the [Magistrate].”
He stands back up and starts to pace, but a stern look from Melina makes him rethink the idea. He slides back into his seat and pats his hand on top of the final stack of papers on the dinner table, then coughs. “Based on the siege at the city hall, we can discard this idea. Sixth theory: the [Magistrate] and [Lord] Dimitri’s relationship is entirely incidental; Nikolai has been lying in wait in the wings, lurking for an opportunity to take over.”
“Does it matter?” Mikko asks once Rakesh is finished. My brother’s face is a mask of confusion, and his eyes are glazing over. “I mean, either way, we gotta get Lionel. Who cares what the politics look like?”
“Of course it matters if we want to approach a potential ally to discuss leverage,” Rakesh says. “Do you plan to break him out like a lone hero? Ha! That only works in fairy tales—oh, wait.” His smile falters. “I should have known. You do plan on breaking him out by yourselves.”
Mikko scratches the back of his head, looking abashed. “Well, yeah. And the longer we sit around here talking about theoretical alliances, the worse off he might be. What if they’re torturing him right now?”
“I see,” Rakesh says quietly. He straightens his papers. “I hadn’t decided which option was most likely yet, since I’m keenly aware of my biases at play. Preconceptions can ruin even the best of minds, if indulged. Still, there has to be something we can do.”
A thought occurs to me, and I drum my fingers on the table in excitement. “Can you reach out to him with [Echo of the Songbird]? Melina lost the connection with you when we entered the Rift, but maybe you can reestablish the link with Lionel.”
Rakesh shakes his head. “Wherever he is, it’s too far away for my Skill. We need to be in person first. I wish I could contact him, but if what you’re saying is true, then we can bypass any errors by simply taking action.”
“Exactly,” Devrim growls, announcing his presence. He chuckles when Rakesh spins around with a yelp. “Impressive sleuthing, but we’ve got work to do. The [Magistrate] sent word that the situation is in hand. I talked with the guards, and they agreed that we can spare a strike team. You’ve put us ahead of schedule, so we’ll help.”
Cheers meet Devrim’s announcement. He holds up his hands and raises his eyebrows. “Don’t get too carried away. It’s only a handful of [Guards] to help you storm a fortress. Take an old man’s advice: stop talking and get moving. Hit them as fast and hard as you can. No sense bringing in any unknown parties. Overcomplicating things is a good way for plans to fall apart.”
“We still need to figure out what to do,” Rakesh protests. “There’s a difference between overreliance on a plan, and not planning at all.”
“True. Plans tend to go awry at first contact,” Devrim says. He grins wolfishly. “That’s why I’m coming with you.”
=+=
The streets are still empty when we leave the guard house. The stillness is eerie after the frantic fight at the city hall, but it’s nice to catch a breather. Some part of me had expected people to ignore the warning bells and to get on with their daily lives, but apparently they took the warning far more seriously than I did.
Without any traffic to fight against, we make good time, keeping up a steady pace that’s just shy of a jog. Not for the first time, I curse my lack of endurance—but in the end, I guess that I’m some sort of hybrid [Mage] in training, not a [Warrior] or [Runner].
Something foul tickles my nose. I gag, recoiling from the scent, and glance at the others in surprise when they don’t react. The details click into place: this is the same warped sense of wrongness that I smelled earlier. My team simply lacks sensitivity to runic and imbued effects. In this situation, I envy them for their ignorance. The stench grates across my soul as much as my nose, for lack of a better term.
The closer we got to [Lord] Dimitri’s palatial stronghold, the more I sense the twisted effects of enchantments in the Rift. Even though the strange, flayed-open corpse powering the enchantments is gone, there’s still an acrid aftertaste of wrongness that grows stronger in the vicinity of the [Lord]’s Castle. After breaking the ethereal channels carrying the power to the enchantment, I haven't noticed the warping effects of the concept of violence on the world as heavily, although I’m still struggling with not letting it affect my mind.
Here, however, it’s all pervasive. Pungent and cloying like old rum, or fruit left out in the sun until it starts to rot, the sensation sets my teeth on edge. I swallow hard and force down the urge to vomit. It’s not as strong as it was previously, but this issue definitely originated from Dimitri’'s throne.
Rakesh is still back at the guard house, where I hope they'll remain safe from the showdown that’s coming. I tap into his communication Skill, [Echo of the Songbird], and ask him to look into things further, describing the strange sensation and my growing certainty that it’s all connected to Dimitri’s illicit activities. I’m burning with curiosity to find out what my friend Rakesh will discover about the corpse in the basement of the old keep.
I can’t help but think that they're related. I'm sure that uncovering the mystery of the enchantments is sure to lead us back to Dimitri, or perhaps his ancestors. The corpse seemed ancient, likely predating the corrupt ruler of Mahkaiaraon.
“Rakesh? If the way is clear to the library, could you check the records for when [Lord] Dimitri’s family first took over the city? Let me know if there’s anything strange surrounding their rise to power.”
“On it, Nuri,” Rakesh assures me.
I sink back into my thoughts, scowling at the temptation to seize hold of every last wisp of mana in the air around me and fling it at [Lord] Dimitri. I’ll show him what it means to target my friends. I’ll tear down his little domain around his head, brick by brick, and burn it all—
“Steady, Nuri,” Avelina says, pulling flames away from the group. “You’re leaking heat worse than an old furnace that's cracked down the middle and needs replacing.”
Her words shocked me back to reality. Blushing, I put a tight rein on my mana and stop venting anger in the form of my [Greater Heat Manipulation]. I roll my shoulders and crack a slight, pinched smile. “You saying that you’re trying to replace me?”
“Just reminding you to be careful.”
I take a long, slow breath and shake out the rest of my tense muscles. “Thanks. I know we’re all dealing with a lot of stress, so I don't have an excuse for losing control.”
Avelina shrugs. “It’s all right.”
“Let’s go get our friend,” Mikko rumbles. He’s swinging his glass hammer around in slow circles, limbering up for yet another fight, and gestures with the oversized hammer head toward our destination.
[Lord] Dimitri’s family manor is more properly a palace. The gleaming white marble walls are ringed about by a tall, dark outer wall. Crenellations of iron and granite forming an imposing defensive position. The soaring spires and minarets lend it a fanciful look, but the still-growing sense of wrongness ruins the illusion.
“I’ll do the talking,” Devrim growls.
“We’re at your command,” I reply, more for my team’s benefit than for his. Devrim’s grim voice brooks no room for argument, and for once I’m happy to pass the burden of leadership to someone else. We don’t truly know what we’re doing, preparing to break into a stronghold. I’ve only ever broken out of prisons before, not into one, I think wryly.
We draw up to an abrupt halt outside of the gates to the castle. Instead of a bristling squad of heavily-armed [Soldiers], a single woman stands before us, her face obscured by a lacy black veil. She clasps her hands together in front of her and inclines her head.
“If you’ve come seeking my husband, then I must regretfully inform you that you’re too late.”
Devrim spits to the side. “Who’re you? Go tell [Lord] Dimitri that his reckoning has come. He can come out to us—or we can break in your gates and drag him out.”
“I’m afraid that’s no longer possible. Today is a dark day for our city. When my husband heard the shocking news that his beloved Nikolai attempted a coup, his heart failed him. After a long and illustrious reign, he has finally succumbed to the ravages of time.”
Right on cue, the tolling of bells starts up once more, this time from the manor behind her. They’re playing in a new pattern, taking on a mournful tone: no longer are they sounding an alarm, but instead they’re ringing in lament.
“[Lord] Dimitri died?” I repeat stupidly.
“Indeed. You may make your entreaty to me, [Lady] Saphora, instead. As his wife and heir, I am now the rightful ruler of Mahkaiaraon.”
Right. This [Lady] Saphora must be the infamous wife Rakesh told us about. Guess she’s not on Nikolai’s side.
Suddenly, the players have changed. There are still three factions, but we know next to nothing about this mysterious [Lady]. The change catches me off guard. I came here formulating a speech for [Lord] Dimitri, and just like that, he’s gone. Far from simplifying things, his sudden death only muddies the waters. His wife, [Lady] Saphora, seems utterly unconcerned despite the difference in numbers and weaponry between us, which makes me wonder if she has a trick up her sleeve. And I still see no sign of Lionel, which sets off further alarms in my mind.
We glance at each other in suspicion. Dimitri may have been old, but the [Lord] was reportedly full of vim and vigor—the very picture of good health. It’s possible he may have been brought low by natural causes, but after hearing Rakesh’s story about the secretive wedding, foul play seems far more likely.
I grit my teeth. It seems petty to be annoyed at the inconvenience caused by death, but [Lord] Dimitri’s passing makes me angry. Now I’ll never get the answers I seek.