6
The dark elf knew he’d been tricked. He could hear unfamiliar armor clanking in the distance, though the lack of battle sounds made him think that the ogre had already been defeated. He knew returning to his post would be risky at this point.
“Tiny, invisible spirits, lend me your form,” he said. As he finished the spell, his figure faded and turned invisible. He ran, cautiously and silently, back to his post.
“The dark elf isn’t coming back,” Parn said, looking around restlessly. Deedlit was like a shadow behind him, having finally shaken off her fear—the ogre might have been able to attack with its heart stabbed through, but after Ghim finally lopped its head off with his battle axe, it had at last stopped moving—mostly, at any rate. It still twitched occasionally, a sign of its extreme vitality. Etoh, Woodchuck, and Slayn all assembled near Parn, who began to direct them. “Ghim and Deedlit, head inside quickly—whoever’s inside might’ve heard us. I’ll take care of the dark elf.”
“Don’t be foolish—you can’t handle a dark elf’s magic,” Deedlit replied. “You head inside—leave this to me and the wizard.” She stepped forward, shoved Parn toward the door, and pulled open the strings of her water bag.
“Pure and noble water spirit…your eyes can see the dark elf. Where is he? He must be hiding.” Undine, the tiny blue spirit, slipped out of the bag. She spread out wide like a piece of cloth and fluttered through the air.
There, Slayn thought and aimed his staff toward where the water spirit was drifting. He uttered a deactivation spell—a spell that counteracted any magic—toward the spirit and gestured with his staff. Bright white light flashed from the end, right past Undine.
The dark elf reappeared with a grunt. He cursed his luck, having to fight an elf and a wizard, both with powerful magic—but he still had his spear. The elf was a diminutive girl, and the wizard seemed thin and weak. He still had a chance if it came to a melee.
That thought collapsed the next instant as he screamed in agony. Three searing bolts of pain bloomed in his back—he spun and saw a black-clad thief holding a dagger in a reverse grip. He must have snuck up behind him.
“Heh, I haven’t lost it yet,” Woodchuck grinned. His three throwing knives were still sticking out of the dark elf’s back—three deep wounds, though not fatal.
Deedlit charged like lightning. The dark elf saw her coming and turned to meet her attack with his spear, but Deedlit sidestepped to the left, stretching her upper body toward him to stab her rapier into his side. The dark elf might have managed to dodge if he’d been uninjured, but the knives in his back slowed him down. He collapsed in a heap, his dying scream echoing through the forest.
Parn, Ghim, and Etoh slipped into the mansion, but they’d barely made it inside before they ran into four enemies. The men were clearly taken by surprise—they weren’t wearing armor, but they were all armed with weapons and shields, and were skilled enough fighters that Parn and Ghim were struggling.
“Holy light!” Etoh cried and raised his left hand in prayer. It flashed brilliant white for a moment, blinding all four of their opponents without harming Parn or Ghim, who’d been looking away. Taking advantage of the distraction, Parn and Ghim each quickly finished one opponent, and the other two enemies stepped back, disoriented.
That moment, Deedlit, Woodchuck, and Slayn burst in, and the last two were finished quickly.
The mansion was empty. They checked the corpses for possessions, then cautiously began to search. The first floor was divided into four rooms, but they found nothing besides some food and a few bottles of wine.
“This is a treasure in itself!” Ghim chuckled as he filled his backpack with all the food it could hold.
“I’ll check upstairs,” Parn called as he headed to the second floor. The mansion seemed clean and well cared for, with new furniture. It seemed that the new residents had transformed the abandoned building into a comfortable home.
Deedlit followed Parn upstairs at a trot.
“Well?”
“I haven’t seen anything yet. Be careful.”
“You, too.” Deedlit peered down the hallway. The afternoon sun shone through the window, showing two doors—the closer of which was open.
“Going in?”
“Of course.” They stood in the doorway and looked inside.
The room still smelled of the men who’d been there earlier. It was a large room, with a rectangular table in the center surrounded by eight chairs. Some of the chairs had been knocked back messily as though they’d left in a hurry.
“What’s that?” Deedlit asked, noticing the documents on the table. She ran over and picked up the four sheets of parchment.
“What’s it say?” Parn moved closer and looked over her shoulder—but he was distracted by the smooth skin on the slender nape of her neck. He shook his head to clear it.
“What’s the matter?” Deedlit asked.
“N-nothing,” Parn said, forcing his attention to the parchment.
The papers were about Kadomos VII, King of Alania.
First, the documents listed well-known facts: the king was an avid hunter, and the woods around the mansion were one of his favorite hunting grounds. He generally brought only a few attendants with him on the hunt.
It seemed that these enemies had bribed one of his guards—his name and a detailed description appeared lower on the page.
“What is this?” Parn asked, hand shaking.
“I think…it’s an assassination plot,” Deedlit replied.
“It must be. This is awful.”
Deedlit nodded her agreement. She could tell that this plan would have likely succeeded if they’d tried it.
She folded the parchment, tucking it away. Parn was too worked up over this, so she took the lead. “Let’s check the next room.”
Based on the layout of the mansion, the next room had to be much smaller than the first. Parn carefully put his hand on the door handle and pushed. It didn’t budge. Next, he pulled more forcefully—still nothing.
“It won’t open,” Parn said to Deedlit, then ran back to the stairs. “Slayn! Woodchuck! Come here—the door is locked!” Parn ran back without waiting, and Deedlit tried to open it a few times, but to no avail.
“Good idea to call both the thief and the wizard,” Deedlit said, peering through the keyhole under the handle. Parn grinned sheepishly.
“Don’t put your face up to a keyhole,” Woodchuck said dryly as he, Slayn, and Ghim approached. “A poisoned arrow could shoot out.”
Deedlit jumped backwards.
“Is Etoh all right by himself?” Parn asked, worried.
“There’s nobody left. He’s fine,” Ghim said as he carefully checked around the door.
“Doesn’t look like it’s booby-trapped.” Woodchuck inspected the keyhole, then inserted a wire, moving it in every direction. He knocked around the handle carefully, listening to the sound.
Slayn stood behind him, cast a spell, and grumbled.
“Something wrong?” Ghim asked.
Slayn nodded and murmured, “The door is enchanted.”
“Seems like,” Woodchuck said, moving out of the wizard’s way. “The door’s not locked, and there’s no trap I can find. That makes this your job.”
With a slow gesture, Slayn cast an unlocking spell and knocked on the door with his staff. The door shook for a moment, then opened inward—and light suddenly flared up inside. Parn reached for his sword, but Slayn held out a hand.
“Don’t worry, it’s just a rudimentary magical mechanism. A light set to turn on when someone enters.” He stepped forward into the room and looked around.
There was no one inside, just an old, ornate desk near the back and bookshelves to either side.
“Books from the Academy?” Slayn moved closer, opening a cupboard that turned out to be full of glass vials and scrolls tightly wrapped in oiled paper. Slayn’s hopes turned into disappointment. “No…”
It was frustrating, but not unexpected. If he’d been in Wagnard’s place, he would’ve had the stolen magical objects brought to him at once.
“Ooh, a treasure chest!” Woodchuck exclaimed, springing over to the wooden box by the desk. “I was looking for this!”
Slayn began carefully opening the desk’s drawers. In one, he found a beautifully adorned dagger and a letter. He unfolded it to see only a few short sentences.
Everything is going smoothly here. How is it on your end? Keep in touch via the usual method.
—Karla
“Not much to go on,” Slayn mumbled to himself, then tucked the letter away. He glanced up to notice Ghim looking toward him—not at him, but above his head. He followed the dwarf’s gaze to the back wall.
There hung a large portrait of a beautiful woman. She wore a low-cut purple dress and a circlet on her forehead. She was seated before bright red curtains, and a window showed a detailed scene outside.
The woman’s skin was as pale as Deedlit’s, but her hair was the color of midnight. She seemed to look right at Slayn.
Is that Karla…? he wondered. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it.
He looked back at Ghim, who was still staring at the portrait, totally rapt.
“It…it looks like her.”