The Wizard known as Alfred sat back in his chair in the appointed council room. His fellow council members all sat around the circular room, a seven-pointed sun on the ground pointing at each of the members. At the head of the council, one of the more important men here was the king’s advisor. Alistair Cromble, the man representing King Gareth, sat back in his chair. His dark purple eyes were focused on the report the Wizard and his men had prepared for the council.
Everyone in this room already knew what it described since Alistair had just finished reading the report aloud. Everyone had been silent during and after the reading, their faces grim as they looked upon the painted sun on the ground, which should’ve been lit by the lively daylight. Now, the clouds above Lumen City snuffed Delphine’s holy light in the sky, threatening to pour rain upon the holy building and its skylight. It was fitting, in a way. The report itself was the farthest thing away from good news.
“Delphine’s mercy,” an elven woman muttered from her side of the chamber, her gaze downcast. With the silence broken, another spoke up, an elderly priest devoted to Delphine’s church.
“Quite,” he agreed. “This is… problematic at best.”
“And downright apocalyptic at worst!” A man in armor shouted out, his gauntlets slamming on the table ring that circled the chamber. “Two Lumen Knights dead and a ley line fracture the size of a continent?! This calls for a war against those Valenfrost savages!” The armored man’s shouts gained a couple of voiced agreements whilst also receiving a few verbal backlashes.
“Are you stupid?” Alfred called out. “Starting another war is the farthest thing we need right now! It’s already enough that we’re facing a barbaric insurrection in the Southlands. Not to mention the abominable creatures that Lumen Knight Gryff had described in his report. War will only worsen things!”
“Then do you have a better idea?! Or do you suggest sitting on our asses while those animals continue to–!”
“Silence!” a loud but strangely calm voice called out. Everyone turned to Alistair, who sighed as he folded the parchment. “We are not here to discuss rules of engagement. We have already done that a month ago when Wizard Alfred came to me with this report.” Alfred perked up at his name before focusing on the piece of burnt parchment in Alistair’s hand.
“Even though the two knights lost weren’t considerably strong, their deaths are more than worrying.” The advisor shifted in his seat, leaning back as he cupped his chin. “Reading the reports, there is no doubt in my mind that we are dealing with a dangerous threat, one that’s possibly more menacing than the Red Death himself.” Everyone murmured their agreement as they had read the detailed report on this ‘Frost Disease’ as Gryff Brenwick had named it.
“There will be no war. No show of force. We won’t even alert the inquisitors,” Alistair continued. “Not yet, anyway. What we will do is send in someone with experience on those islands. Someone that came recommended to me by Alfred.”
“Ah yes, her. The elf,” the armored man grumbled. “She abandoned Delphine’s light decades ago, did she not? Why are we bringing her into this?”
“Judging from what Alfred has told me, she has decades of knowledge about Azurvale and Valenfrost because of the travels she embarked on after she departed from House Kord,” Alistair explained.
“Do we not have any people who know those islands? Can’t we hire a tracker or something? A bounty hunter, perhaps?” the elf woman from before asked.
“Bounty hunters are being considered,” a portly man chimed in. “But I doubt they are to be trusted with information like this. It is hard to rely on men who care only for gold. However, the elf Alfred had vouched for has a solid history of keeping her word and a fierce loyalty to those she works for.”
“What was her name? Gwendolyn Starling?”
“It’s Gwenyth Sterling,” Alistair corrected. “We’ll be sending her into the islands undercover with a false story and identity. She will have a few specialists and hired swords accompanying her on her mission.
The armored man seemed to frown at that, his doubtful eyes staring at the advisor. “Hired sword? I thought we were refraining from sending in bounty hunters?”
“One hunter we chose has a good history with us, as he has done many missions for Delphine’s church,” Alistair explained. “The other one, however, is no ordinary hunter,” he revealed. “He is the hunter. Eilif Norak.”
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
The spoken name of the infamous hunter was enough to cause murmurs in the chambers, with the armored man speaking up first.
“Eilif? The immortal? Him?” He visibly shifted in his seat.
“I’m not even sure he’s fully human,” Alfred added. He had heard stories about the bounty collector, how he was presumably centuries old, just like those silver-haired elves of myth. Except he didn’t have silver hair, nor was he an elf. Eilif Norak was a mystery, an enigma hidden behind brass goggles and a black mask.
“Are you sure about him?” Alfred asked.
“I’m sure,” Alistair answered calmly, waving away the Wizard’s question.
With the murmurs dying down, the armored man from before spoke up once more.
“What is this mission, anyway? All we know from the report is this fracture’s source and the perpetrator’s description. Even then, Gryff Brenwick had omitted the names of the ones who had caused all of this.” That was painfully true since all Alfred and his fellow Wizards knew was that Yorktown was the start of all this and that the unnamed perpetrators responsible for his death were most likely the ones who caused the fracture.
“The mission,” Alistair started with a sigh. His unsettling purple orbs stared at the armored man with frustration, an obvious sign that the advisor’s patience was running thin. “Is to confirm the location of the source and the perpetrators. Once that’s done, we will have Gwenyth and her allies summon a squad of knights and spellcasters to seal it properly. The details still need to be ironed out, but that is what she will do.” His explanation left a lot to be desired, an entire plethora of details being left out, but Alfred knew the advisor had his reasons to do so.
“I see,” the other man muttered, seemingly satisfied with the answer. There was a dead silence in the room of men and women, their eyes averted to the seven-pointed sun on the ground. Then, there was a loud knock at the huge double doors, the deafening sound echoing throughout the chamber.
“A thousand apologies, sirs and madams, but this is a matter that is most dire!” a muffled shout came from behind the door.
Alistair sighed, his brow raising slightly. “Come in,” he called out.
Everyone turned to the big double doors across from Alistair’s spot in the chamber, watching as they slowly opened. A man stepped in, his armor and red wax stamp signifying him as a Lumen Knight. Alfred watched as the door closed behind the knight, a box engraved with runes in his hold. He set it down in the center before he stood up straight. He saluted the council.
“Sirs and Madams! We’ve got an update on the Samson Gilder situation!”
Alfred could see how the knight’s eyes wavered a bit at the box.
“What is in the box, knight?” Alistair asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. “Better yet, where is Samson Gilder? We haven’t heard from him since his mission to Yorn’s old fort.”
“Sir, I think it is best to look at the box. The Marauders of the North sent it in. The runes are specifically enchanted in such a way that only a high-level Wizard could open it.”
“So you brought it here?!” the armored man from before shouted. “What if those bastards rigged a Fireball rune in it?!”
“The diviners had already scried the box. They said that there wasn’t any offensive magic enchanted inside. There aren’t even spells or contraptions. They only said that there was a piece of parchment attached to something in there,” the knight explained.
“Parchment?” Alistair asked, beckoning the knight to come closer. The knight quickly picked up the box, heading over to Alistair’s section. “Alfred. Come here and open it.”
The Wizard nodded and quickly headed his way to the strange box. He looked over the runes, which were impressively done.
‘What kind of magic is this?’
Despite the Wizard not recognizing some of the glyphs, he was more than certain that he could Dispel them. He raised both of his wrinkled hands over the box, murmuring a bit before he chanted out,
“Dispel: Advanced.”
Runes appeared above the box before quickly dissipating. The glyphs on the package died out, some of them fizzling from the effects of the Dispel. Alfred cautiously opened the box, hoping to Delphine that those diviners had done their scrying accurately and that a rigged crossbow hadn’t avoided their sights.
Thankfully, the box opened without a problem. Unfortunately, the Wizard was hit with a powerful smell, one that threatened to empty the contents of his stomach.
“Ugh!” He recoiled, covering his nose and mouth with the hem of his robes. He quickly glimpsed the box’s contents, the sight of which made the elderly spellcaster stop dead in his tracks. He stared at the box, Alistair right beside him.
The advisor had a much more subdued reaction, his eyes focusing on the contents of the box.
“Well, I am certain to say that our negotiations with the marauders of the north were unsuccessful,” he muttered.
Alfred took another look, this time focusing on the bloody piece of parchment that was nailed to Samson Gilder’s severed and mangled head. It simply read, in perfect calligraphy:
image [https://i.imgur.com/Yn1Z0ky.png]