Chapter II: The Black Shadows in Alania

Chapter II:

The Black Shadows in Alania

 

1

 

The forest ended in a low hill, covered in knee-high grass that rippled in the night breeze.

At the edge of the trees, a shadowy grey figure raised both hands; a strange voice cried out, carried by the wind. A red streak seared across the sky, the light growing as it travelled until it formed into a massive fireball—headed directly for the walls of the great castle at the top of the hill.

A blinding flash turned the black sky red, and a moment later an explosion thundered. The castle wall crumbled and erupted into flames, making the shadows of Kanon’s imperial castle, Shining Hill, shimmer and dance.

Emperor Beld of the Marmo Empire watched with all the solemnity of a priest performing some divine ceremony. He sat astride a giant black stallion and wore blood-red armor and a black cape. He was an old man, over sixty, but despite his advanced age he still had the body and mind of a man in his prime—thanks to the power of the great sword at his hip.

Beld had defeated the Demon King to claim the coal-black blade, and since attaining it he’d used that long, broad sword to destroy countless lives. It seemed to tremble with pleasure whenever it met a new sacrifice.

Beld himself often saw a demon when he looked in the mirror.

A victorious cheer rang out from the hundred knights behind him as they watched the castle burn, but Beld’s expression didn’t change. He knew this was only the beginning. The wall may have crumbled, the fire might have caused chaos, but his men were outnumbered ten times over by the enemy soldiers still inside.

Beld advanced slowly out of the cover of the forest, then looked back at the elite troops waiting for his signal. He raised his right hand and swung it down swift as a flash.

The black-clad, armored knights galloped out of cover and rushed up the hill toward the castle, the thundering of their horses’ hooves competing with their angry bellows and shouts.

Beld drew his sword. The black blade absorbed and trapped all light, intimidating even in the darkness of a moonless night. The evil energy emanating from it sat heavy in the air around them. He held the blade out parallel to the ground and prepared to spur his horse forward.

“Taking the field yourself, Your Majesty?” a voice asked from beside him.

Beld deftly wheeled his horse about to face the voice. The woman at his side appeared to be in her mid-twenties, with long, thick black hair tied back and a mysterious circlet on her forehead—several golden bands bundled together with a green jewel at its center and two red, eye-like gems mounted on either side.

The woman’s name was Karla, but Beld knew nothing else about her. Nothing, except that she was a wildly powerful wizard, and she was on his side—which was all that mattered.

Wagnard, the court wizard, had warned him time and time again that her strange magical powers were dangerous.

That same dangerous magic had just shredded Shining Hill’s walls like parchment.

Beld smiled fearlessly as he displayed his sword to Karla, swinging the huge blade with one hand.

“The sword craves more blood—human is its favorite.”

“Does it?” she said. “Perhaps the same could be said of you. After all, a sword reflects its wielder—so they say.”

“Indeed,” Beld laughed, the sound barely distinguishable under the noise of battle. “You could say the same about magic—your flames show your destructive tendencies,” he said with a gesture at the blazing castle.

“Perhaps…” Karla smiled frostily. “Well then, my job here in Kanon is done. I will depart shortly for Valis. Events have been set in motion, and I must prepare for the next move.”

“You’re busy,” he replied. “I hear you’re plotting something in Alania as well.”

“Yes, I have many plans in motion. They’re all necessary if I’m to make you Overlord of Lodoss.”

“I look forward to it.” Beld pulled his steed’s head around and kicked hard at its sides. The horse galloped like lightning up the slope toward the blazing castle.

Beld never doubted his victory.

 

2

 

The city of Allan, capital of Alania, was about a ten days’ journey south of Zaxon. The castle there, Stone Web, was the home of Alania’s King Kadomos VII and his family. The city was known for its rich 400-year history and as the thriving cultural center of Lodoss. The buildings and roadways were all stone, built by the dwarves and unchanged since the days of old.

Parn and his companions had travelled to Allan at Ghim’s request. Their original plan had been to leave the city and head west, pass through Norvis and The Storm and Fire Desert, and finally arrive in Valis from Flaim. But a sandstorm raged in the desert, forcing them to change their route—the only open path to Valis was through Kanon to the south.

Allan, a city usually known for its tranquility, was in the midst of a bustling festival when they arrived. The celebrations were being held in honor of the birth of King Kadomos VII’s first child, a prince born just five days earlier. The streets were lined with food stalls, and there were crowds of people everywhere. The dazzling sun of early summer helped fuel the excitement. Strolling over the stone pavement, Parn and his companions enjoyed the sights.

“Looks like we came at the right time,” Ghim grunted through mouthfuls of the chicken leg he’d just bought.

“We really did,” agreed Parn.

“It’s so auspicious that a prince was born. The future of the Alanian royal family is now secure.” Etoh looked around with blessings bright in his eyes.

“Festivals are nice, but I’m tired from the journey. We should come back once we’ve found lodgings.” Slayn, as usual, plodded along at the back of the pack. They’d been walking since morning without rest, so he was out of breath—it was hard for the older academic to keep up with young men like Parn and Etoh, or someone as tireless as Ghim.

“You’re out of shape because you read too many books. You need to get more exercise,” Ghim lectured, giving Slayn a look. Slayn hummed something noncommittal and hustled to catch up. “Although I am pretty hungry. All kidding aside, we should get some grub at an inn, or we’ll all pass out from starvation long before the exhaustion hits us,” Ghim continued through another mouthful of chicken.

Certain that it was his third chicken leg, Etoh shook his head in astonishment at Ghim’s bottomless stomach. The dwarf only came up to Parn’s chest, but he ate three times as much as the large man. Etoh wondered if the rumors were true—that a dwarf’s round belly was entirely filled with digestive organs.

At Slayn’s suggestion, the four quickly found lodging—an inn called the Crystal Forest, discreetly tucked into an alley off the main avenue. Despite the poetic name, the building was less than impressive—but for a poorly funded group in a city filled to the brim with festival-goers, it was the best they could get.

“Off to the festival!” Parn cried, gulping down the last of his food, and called for Etoh to come along. The priest stood up with a laugh and Ghim followed.

“What about you, Slayn?” Ghim asked the wizard, who had remained in his seat.

“Don’t mind me, go see the sights. There’s somewhere I have to go, but I’ll be back by tonight.”

“Eh, I don’t have time to waste worrying over a wizard. You’re going to that Academy, aren’t you?”

Slayn nodded.

“We’re off, then. But you should really take a break once in a while—otherwise you’ll suffocate in all your books.”

Slayn had begun his studies at the Wizard Academy in Allan when he was twelve. His mother was a low-raking Alanian noble, and when planning for the future of her little bookworm, she’d used her connections to get him admitted. Slayn had lived alone in the city for most of his life—until, after the loss of his friend, he’d feared retribution from the Thieves’ Guild and fled.

It had been years since he’d last seen it, but the changeless city still felt the same. Walking up the hill to the Academy, a wave of nostalgia rushed over him. The Academy was on the outskirts of town, built on a hill overlooking the harbor—a majestic building constructed entirely out of black marble and as large as a small castle. Both it and the white steeples of Stone Web could be seen from anywhere in the city.

But the building he found himself in front of wasn’t as he remembered. The outer walls looked dingy, as though they hadn’t been cleaned in a long time—in the past, a magically summoned spirit had kept up on the whole place, from top to bottom. The front gate was different, too—tightly closed, and the usual Spartoi gatekeepers were nowhere to be seen. Slayn felt uneasy. What had happened here?

“Samalugan!” His voice shook from growing apprehension as he spoke the password to open the gate. With an unpleasant squeal of metal, the doors opened inward to allow him inside.

The inner courtyard was falling apart—weeds taller than Slayn obscured the path to the building, and the faint smell of animal feces hung in the air. Slayn’s face contorted into a grimace. The Alania Wizard Academy had been renowned throughout Lodoss. It had turned out countless great wizards for over two hundred years. It was a place of magical innovation—and a rebirth, however small, of that lost civilization of magic, the ancient city of Kastuul.

“How could this have happened…?” Slayn asked the empty courtyard, a tremor in his voice.

 

Parn, Etoh, and Ghim walked hurriedly down the main avenue. It was the fourth day of the festival already, and the city seemed to have hit peak merriment. They saw troupes of street performers from all corners of Alania and heard minstrels singing seductive love songs. Parn, a country boy through and through, found all the new sights bewitching—especially the flamboyant clothing on the women. Ghim, as usual, went out of his way to sample all the exotic foods, and Etoh watched everything so cheerfully that Parn had to ask what he found so amusing.

Etoh’s enjoyment of the festival was different from the others’—simply watching the happiness of the people around him brought joy to the priest. Total strangers slapping each other’s backs like old friends, music everywhere, friendly drinking contests. Witnessing such things made a peaceful, virtuous world feel within reach.

But then…

“Is that a fight?” Ghim asked suddenly, gesturing toward a nearby alley.

“A fight?” Parn’s gaze jerked to where Ghim pointed. There, he saw four scruffy men surrounding a slender figure with long blonde hair and grass-green clothing. “That’s a woman!” he exclaimed, and dashed into the alley without another word. With a cry of shocked disapproval, Etoh ran after him.

“A woman?” Ghim muttered, following reluctantly. “True as that may be, she’s also an elf…”

 

“You’ll never catch me like that,” Deedlit said as she danced effortlessly around the men who tried to grab her. She tripped one up, delivered a knife-hand strike at his solar plexus, and kicked him in the back when he doubled over. They kept coming, too blinded by anger to notice that they had no chance. She snickered to herself—how foolish for these slow humans to pick a fight with an elf.

“Idiots.” Deedlit jumped up to evade the man charging at her like a bull, and dropped an elbow into his back as he passed.

When she looked up from her felled attacker, she noticed two more men running over. For the first time, a flicker of uneasiness crossed her mind—were they friends of these men? She slid over to the armor-clad one and swept a low roundhouse kick at his feet.

He leapt away in a dodge, surprised. “Hey, I’m on your side!” he shouted, spreading his arms wide to show that he meant no harm.

“On my side?” Deedlit asked, eyeing him suspiciously. Naïve eyes met hers. He looked young.

He seems okay, she decided, and threw him a wink.

Just then, one of the thugs regained his feet and lunged at her from behind. Deedlit tried to sidestep but took a hit in the back—the man took advantage and wrapped his arm around her in a stranglehold. A groan escaped her lips.

“Four grown men against a woman?!” the youth shouted, and in one motion he grabbed the man’s hair, lifted his face, and punched it, hard. The man flew backwards and sprawled on the pavement, knocked out cold. The other three took one look and scurried away.

The young man stood at the ready until they rounded a corner and disappeared. Once they were gone, he turned to Deedlit—she was gasping for breath and coughing, the wind knocked out of her. Her long blonde hair covered her face.

Deedlit sensed someone reaching for her and leapt out of the way on pure instinct. From several steps away, she leaned heavily against the alley wall and observed her two “rescuers.”

The one who’d reached out was another young man, this one in a white, loosely fitted robe and what looked like a Pharis amulet. Once she got a look at him, his priestly garb and gentle expression made her fairly certain he’d been trying to help.

The priest shrugged and exchanged a look with the armored youth, who grinned back as he dusted himself off. The warrior seemed good-natured enough, but he’d managed to dodge her full-speed kick—he had to be a highly trained warrior.

“Seems like I have to thank you,” Deedlit said gently, brushing the hair out of her eyes.

“N-no need for thanks,” Parn replied, trying to swallow the crack in his voice when he finally got a look at her face.

She was so small and slight that he’d thought she was a child at first. Her almond-shaped emerald eyes were framed by thin, arched eyebrows. Her nose was small but shapely, and her red lips were slightly parted while she caught her breath, bright white teeth peeking out. And her ears…

“She’s an elf,” Etoh whispered. Her long, pointed ears twitched.

“Y-yeah…” Parn nodded. She was a forest fairy—no wonder she was small. Elves were shorter than humans, and female elves were often mistaken for children.

She was the first elf Parn had ever seen, and her beauty was beyond even what he had imagined. He couldn’t look away.

“No need for thanks…” he repeated breathlessly. “I was just doing the right thing.”

“The right thing?” Ghim snorted as he strode up. “This was none of your business.”

“Dwarf!” Deedlit cried. She shot a look at the new arrival but immediately regretted it—he was a hideous mountain dweller, after all. Deedlit’s face twisted in disgust.

“That’s right, elvish lass,” the dwarf replied, unconcerned by her reaction. He turned to the two young men. “She would’ve been fine without your help—that’s just how elves are. Shrewd and quick. Born thieves.”

“How rude!” Deedlit scowled and rounded her back like a cat ready to pounce.

“And too proud for her own good, apparently…” the dwarf continued. “I bet she started that fight.”

“That does it!” Deedlit sprung towards him, but the warrior’s hand shot out and snagged her left arm.

“That’s enough, Ghim!” the warrior cried, seeming genuinely angry as he stepped toward the dwarf.

“Hrmph…I suppose. Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you that bad.” The dwarf turned away. “You handle this—I’m going back to the inn. I don’t like dealing with elves.” He ambled off toward the main avenue.

The young man watched him go, deflated, and then let go of Deedlit’s arm with a start.

“You finally noticed,” she said, rubbing the red, hand-shaped mark he’d left on her arm and wondering how a warrior could have so little control over his strength. She opened her mouth to lecture him, but a laugh burst out instead.

Parn broke into a crooked, sheepish grin.

“My name is Deedlit,” she said. “Allow me to treat you to dinner tonight as thanks.”

Parn turned bright red as the elf gave him a mischievous look.

“Huh? Uh…”

“I can’t have you thinking that elves have no manners.” Not waiting for his stammered reply, Deedlit took Parn’s arm and started walking.

 

3

 

That evening, the pubs were crowded with celebrators. The street stalls had packed up and the throngs in the streets had thinned, but everyone who still had energy left had poured into every tavern and inn on the street. Parn wandered through them, searching for an empty table until he finally managed to stake a claim in a small tavern.

He wondered how all of this had happened. He’d left the Crystal Forest with Etoh and Ghim. Now he was out drinking with a young elvish woman—or, well, he thought of her as young, but knowing elves’ longevity he had no idea of her true age.

Encouraged by Deedlit, he gulped down pint after pint of ale and started to tell her about himself.

“You’re on a journey?” she exclaimed with exaggerated interest, nodding with wide eyes. Parn was already drunk and didn’t seem to notice her awkward act. “You, the Pharis priest, and the dwarf?”

“There’s a wizard, too. He’s an odd guy, but he’s also been a lot of help. I hate to say it, but Slayn’s magic is much more powerful than my sword.”

Slayn must be the wizard’s name, Deedlit noted to herself. She put her flattering expression back on.

“You aren’t giving yourself enough credit,” she proclaimed. It wasn’t only flattery—he’d been faster than her, after all. She snickered to herself as Parn scratched his head bashfully at the compliment.

Deedlit had gotten bored of her tiresome forest life and had recently left home—which made everything in the human realm new and fascinating. Foolish and uncivilized, to be sure, but she couldn’t expect humans to live up to elvish standards. That understanding was what made the occasional rude or difficult encounter bearable.

At any rate, Deedlit was confident that she could handle anything humans threw at her. She knew she never would have gotten into that bind with her four attackers if the young warrior hadn’t interrupted and distracted her. The fact that such a young human—not even a seasoned master—had outmaneuvered her wounded her pride.

So seeing him flounder through a simple conversation with the opposite sex did make her feel better.

Parn’s story had meandered backwards as he rambled on about some goblin battle with increasingly slurred words. “I thought we were finished. But y’know what? I felt good about it. My dad said the same thing. Huh…what wuzzit…ah, I forgot…oh yeah—’s why I’m here! Dad and I’ve got the same purpose…I’m gonna go to Valis to make sure. King Fahn’s there—he’s a great hero. And lots of knights. Dad was one of them, y’know? That’s why I wanna be a warrior, too. I’m just a mercenary for now—but I worked for the king of Flaim, an’ he started out a mercenary like me…so I can do it just like him, yeah? I could be a King…nah, prob’ly not that, bein’ a hero’d be enough…”

As Deedlit listened to him ramble, one thing in particular jumped out at her. “What are you trying to find in Valis?” she asked quietly.

“Huh? Dunno…” he replied. “I haven’t been able to find it yet.”

“Sounds like a riddle to me.”

“Slayn’s s’posed to solve riddles, not me,” Parn said. “He’s got this weird name, Starseeker. They say it’s ’cause he’s looking for his star. I like the name my parents gave me—Parn. But I don’t mind when people give me nicknames.” Parn rubbed his eyes and gazed blankly at the beautiful creature next to him. “Wanna come with us? It’ll be fun! I got friends, too. Ghim’s a grump, but he’s okay deep down. Slayn’s a weirdo, but he’s real powerful, even more’n my sword…oh wait, I said that already. An’ Etoh’s so nice, an’ smart—he’s gonna be High Priest of Pharis someday, an’ he’ll bless me when I get to be a knight.”

As the night wore on, Deedlit figured she should bring Parn back to his lodgings while he could still walk on his own. He had mentioned he was staying at the Crystal Forest—maybe she could find a room there herself.

 

When they made it to the Crystal Forest, Slayn, Etoh, and Ghim were seated around a table at the pub on the first floor. Drunk patrons were singing the national anthem and toasting the King.

Slayn watched Parn stagger in, clearly drunk and accompanied by a female elf. He rose from his chair in surprise—Etoh had warned him, but seeing her for himself was something else. Ghim snorted his displeasure, and Etoh just smiled wryly.

Slayn shook himself and looked over the impishly grinning elf. She seemed young, but her eyes had an uncanny glint. He reached quietly for his staff.

The motion didn’t escape Deedlit’s notice. She assumed this was the famous Slayn who Parn had mentioned—she slid her left hand to her hip and touched the drawstring water bag that hung at her belt. Inside, she kept the water elemental Undine—not particularly powerful, but she’d be able to stop the wizard from casting a spell. A long, tense moment drew out between them.

Slayn disarmed the moment. He’d been on edge since learning about the demise of the Academy—but once he had a moment to think, he realized there was no reason for this elf to harm them. Their group had no money, power, or status. And though he thought for a moment that she might be from the Thieves’ Guild, he knew an elf would never join up with thieves.

“Nice to make your acquaintance,” Slayn said in his usual slow, gentle tones. “We were just talking about you, to tell the truth. Thanks for bringing Parn back.” Slayn propped his staff back against the table where he’d had it before.

“I’m fine!” Parn signaled unsteadily to Slayn.

“How is this fine? You should get to bed. Etoh, could you…?” Etoh nodded and got up, pushing under Parn’s arm to support him.

“Drunk on ale? Pathetic,” Ghim muttered. “Or maybe it was exposure to the elf,” he continued, loud enough for Deedlit to hear.

“Comparing a human’s constitution to a dwarf’s isn’t fair. Humans might be lightweights, but at least they aren’t poisonous—like dwarves.” Deedlit smiled and gracefully saluted Ghim.

At that, Ghim actually grinned. “You’ve got a fiery streak! I like you. Let me apologize for what I said earlier—it’s not our fault that our kinds don’t get along.” The dwarf laughed and raised his mug to Deedlit. “A toast to an old adversary. We vowed to accept each other after the Demon Wars, after all.”

“True…” Deedlit half-heartedly agreed, watching as Etoh lugged Parn upstairs.

“Come—sit with us,” Slayn pulled up a chair and gestured to Deedlit. She hesitated, but after a moment shrugged and sat down. “We should talk and clear up some misunderstandings,” the wizard said, looking into her emerald eyes.

“Y-yes,” she replied, averting her eyes from his gaze. “My name is Deedlit,” she began, and started to tell her story as if under a wizard’s spell.

 

4

 

The morning after a festival always felt empty, and the streets of Allan that morning were much quieter than usual. Woodchuck wandered the city, avoiding the main avenue—after all, staying to dark, quiet places was habit for a thief.

He wore a dark brown shirt and pants, black matte leather armor, and black leather boots with fur-lined soles for maximum stealth. His only worldly possessions were the clothes on his back, the dagger and three knives at his hip, and a few coins in his pocket.

“So much for the mercy of the Guild,” he grumbled, watching the streets of Allan for the first time in years. He hadn’t been away, though—he’d spent the last twenty-odd years within the city walls.

Those years, however, had been spent entirely in the dungeons of Stone Web. His only view for all that time had been the cell across from him, the tired old man within, and the grumpy prison guard who delivered his meals twice a day.

Woodchuck took a deep breath of fresh morning air and wondered how he’d managed to not suffocate in that stifling dungeon. He’d been pardoned after the birth of the prince, allowed to walk right out of prison—but he’d lost twenty-two years of his life, and his youth.

It was just breaking and entering, he thought, fury rising up. He’d broken into a mansion twenty-two years previous, but had messed up and gotten caught. He’d been put on trial by the young Kadomos VII, who took one glance at him and handed down a thirty year sentence without even giving Woodchuck a chance to explain.

With just a few words, Kadomos had doomed him to live the best years of his life behind bars.

Despite the recent pardon, he still held a grudge. During the festival, he’d been tempted to spit on the celebrating people—he quieted the urge by stealing their wallets instead. He didn’t make any mistakes but quickly learned that his pickpocket skills weren’t what they used to be. He’d been able to exercise his body during his years in the dark, but there’d been no way to practice his thieving skills. His advancing age was slowing him down, too.

The only other option he’d been able to come up with was going to the Thieves’ Guild to ask for a seat on their board. But the Guild’s leadership had changed in the last twenty-two years—and the new, unfamiliar leader had brushed him off, saying he’d need to pay 10,000 gold for the privilege. If he hadn’t wasted those years locked up, Woodchuck could’ve been a top executive in the Guild by now, rather than having to beg for a place on the board.

Woodchuck was angry, but he knew he couldn’t afford to burn his last bridge. He’d swept aside the slight with a smirk. The Guild leader had taken pity on Woodchuck, giving him a lead on a good money-making job.

Problem was, the job was much too difficult for one thief to pull off alone.

“I need companions,” he muttered to himself, “and a skilled warrior, too. But first, I need some grub,” he said, glancing up at the sign of the Crystal Forest.

 

Parn groaned and drank more water, hoping he could keep down the bite of bread he’d managed to eat. Etoh meditated beside him, absorbed in morning prayers that could easily stretch into the afternoon if they weren’t interrupted. Ghim, meanwhile, was still working on breakfast—he was on his second slice of cornbread and his third glass of ale. Deedlit was sipping sweet wine and nibbling on fruit while trying to avoid looking at Ghim. She ended up staring blankly in Parn’s direction. Slayn sipped a cup of milk and reflected on his conversation with Deedlit the night before.

The elvish girl was endlessly exasperated at the elves for doing nothing to stop their race’s slow decline, which had spurred her to leave home. Slayn was impressed at Deedlit’s mindset—that kind of impulsiveness was rare for an elf, but Slayn respected it.

After her momentary outburst at all elves everywhere, she’d lowered her eyes bashfully, arranged a room for herself, and hurriedly retired upstairs.

The door to the bar opened. Slayn looked up at the sound and bristled. The man who had entered was clearly a bandit, and of course must belong to the Guild. Slayn watched him carefully until he settled into a seat at the counter.

“Something light, please,” he said to the barkeep.

The tension subsided. Slayn went back to reading his ancient tome. Parn rubbed at his head to relieve his nasty hangover headache.

“Pathetic,” Deedlit laughed.

“Oh yeah, Slayn,” Ghim said, piling up his empty plates. “I meant to ask—how was the Wizard Academy? Was it worth skipping the festival for?”

“It was terrible,” Slayn replied sadly. Closing his book, he leaned on the table and told them what he’d found.

He had quickly discovered that all the Academy’s normal activity had stopped. In despair, he searched the empty buildings to investigate. After a short search, he managed to find Juggle, the old Sage, looking after the collapsed Academy all by himself.

Juggle told him that the troubles had begun several years previous. One of the school’s most accomplished students at the time was a wizard named Wagnard—his reputation was so great that even Slayn had heard of him, and he’d earned the title of wizard extremely quickly. But after a while, he desired an ultimate mastery of his magic, leading him to dabble in dark magic powered by evil gods. This went against the cardinal rule of the Academy—that magic should only be used for good, and dark magic was strictly forbidden.

The schoolmaster at the time had been Larcus, one of the great wizards of modern times. As soon as he discovered what Wagnard had done, Larcus confronted him. The schoolmaster cast a powerful forbidden spell on Wagnard that would cause him unbearable pain whenever he tried to use magic. Then, he expelled him and sent him away.

But Wagnard endured. He learned how to focus through the pain and cast his spells, fueled by his desire for vengeance against Larcus and the Academy.

He used magic to acquire enormous wealth in Kanon, traveled to Marmo bearing gifts, and made himself court wizard for Beld, the Dark Emperor who had conquered the island.

Three years ago, Larcus died—and after his death, Wagnard’s revenge finally came to fruition. His dark machinations steadily undermined the Academy like a disease. Young students and wizards were murdered on the streets of Allan, and none of the Academy’s attempts to fight back worked. One of the masters was killed. The library and treasury were raided; priceless books and ancient artifacts were stolen. Everything that remained was reduced to ashes in a fire.

And with that, the venerable Wizard Academy was totally destroyed. The surviving masters and wizards scattered all over Lodoss. Only Juggle, the eldest of them all, stayed behind.

“How terrible,” Etoh said, clenching his fists in anger.

“It truly is,” Slayn said, laying his hands on his knees. “In a way, it was fortunate that I’d already left Allan and was never a target for Wagnard.”

“Didn’t the kingdom do anything?” Etoh asked.

“What could it do against ancient, powerful forces? Even if they’d posted hundreds of guards, it wouldn’t have changed their fate. That’s how dangerous Wagnard is.”

“You’re not in danger anymore?” Deedlit asked in a small voice.

“Probably not.” Slayn answered simply. “The Academy is destroyed, Wagnard’s revenge is complete—though he may have new evil plots in the works. He is working for the Dark Emperor, after all.”

“I can’t forgive this Wagnard,” Parn suddenly shouted. The others turned to him in surprise as he jumped violently to his feet, shoving a fist into the air. “But if the wizards all knew he did it, why didn’t they stand against him? They have magic! Are they really that cowardly?!”

“They’re not like you,” Slayn said, placating him. “Magic isn’t like a sword. It can be used to kill, true, but wizards don’t study magic to win battles.”

“But what about Wort? He was a Sage and one of the Six who defeated the Demon King!” Slayn didn’t reply—Parn had the same look on his face that he always did when he mentioned the legendary heroes.

“I just don’t understand why they didn’t band together,” Parn said, quieter. “I would’ve—”

“ ‘I would’ve beat the stuffing out of that Wagnard,’ is that it?” a voice cut in from behind them.

Parn flinched and looked around, hand on his sword hilt. “Who’s there?!”

A man stood behind them. “Oops, sorry for startling you,” he said, hopping back and waving his arms—signaling that he was harmless. The thief who’d been sitting at the counter had managed to slip around them and sneak up behind Parn without any of them noticing.

Woodchuck had been eavesdropping on Parn—a useful habit for a thief. He constantly listened to other people’s conversations, hoping for leads on rich-sounding targets or to overhear people planning out lucrative-sounding schemes to weasel into. Even a totally neutral conversation could be plundered for useful information.

Of course, this time he didn’t even have to try to listen in—Parn’s enthusiasm and volume made it easy.

“Listening to you talk, I thought, this young man could very well be the hero who’ll defeat Wagnard! And I know the perfect place for you to start—and work off some of that anger.” Woodchuck peered into Parn’s face with his best salesman’s smile—the surprise had melted off Parn’s face and was replaced with obvious interest.

“Listening to a thief is dangerous,” Slayn warned, surprisingly sharp.

“I should think you’d want to hear about this too, Mister Academy Wizard.” Woodchuck turned to the wizard with a thin smile, aware that this was his moment. “There’s a rumor that the treasure stolen from your Academy is hidden at a particular place. If that’s true, maybe it’s possible to rebuild your school. You’d be lauded as a hero.”

Despite his misgivings, Slayn had to admit he was tempted. He knew he’d never be able to totally rebuild, but recovering the books and treasures would be an important start. And it’d bring a smile to Old Juggle’s face.

If only it were true…

“Ears to discern truth,” he said, whispering a spell. He felt magic course through his body, then concentrate in his ears. The spell was cast—if the thief lied, Slayn’s ears would hear through it immediately.

“I’d like to hear more of what you have to say,” Slayn said to Woodchuck. He gestured the thief to an empty chair.

Finally! Woodchuck smiled to himself as he sat. My luck hasn’t failed me yet.

“I’ll tell you, but I expect payment in return,” he began, then beamed at them. “You’ve got an elf and a dwarf? That’s a fearsome fighting combination.”

“Give us your story already,” Parn said haughtily. “I only draw my sword for justice.”

“Of course, young warrior. I guarantee that this won’t harm your good name,” laughed Woodchuck.

“That wasn’t a lie…” Slayn muttered to himself. “Except the flattery about his ‘good name.’”

The more Woodchuck talked to Parn, the more he thought the younger man would be perfect for his purposes—and so decided to tell them everything. “You’re adventurers, right? I’ve always admired your sort.”

As he spoke he had to remind himself—Play nice, these people are your meal ticket, and you’re out of options.

 

5

 

The thief went by Woodchuck—not his real name, of course, but a nickname used between fellow thieves. Parn and company moved upstairs to their room to talk privately. They brought food and drinks, which Ghim started in on right away. The room was fairly large, but six people was a tight squeeze.

“There’s an old mansion in the forest about three days east of here,” Woodchuck began, sipping his wine. “The lord of the manor kicked the bucket twenty-five years ago, so it’s been abandoned. But some suspicious people started squatting there a few years ago…right around the time the Academy’s treasures were stolen.”

“They’re not bandits—or at least, if they are they’re some fly-by-night crew and not right with the Guild. So one of my colleagues went to check it out and found something interesting—a dark elf and an ogre standing guard outside. After he watched for a while, a man in a fancy suit of armor came out—with the emblem of Marmo on his chest.”

A shudder ran through the room. Marmo was infamous—and known as the home to dark elves, ogres, and trolls, so that checked out.

“The Dark Island?” Etoh groaned. “Why are they in Alania? Are they plotting something?”

“I don’t know,” Slayn said with a shrug. “But if Emperor Beld is as bad as the rumors say, it could be anything.”

“I heard that he’s trying to conquer Kanon. Is he after Alania, too?” Parn gulped.

“We can only speculate at this point.”

At Slayn’s words, Parn crossed his arms in thought. It was a reasonable assumption that these soldiers could be the advance guard of an invasion force. Maybe Wagnard destroyed the Academy not just because of a personal grudge, but because it would be a threat to Marmo’s attack.

“I think we should check this out,” Parn concluded, crossing his arms.

“Why do we have to stick our noses in this business?” Ghim asked glumly. “Leave it to the Alanian soldiers.”

“No soldiers,” Woodchuck said, shaking his head. “This is valuable information! Think of the rewards we’ll get for bringing back the treasures and thwarting this conspiracy. How much do you think I had to pay the Guild for this sweet piece of intel?”

He didn’t pay anything, Slayn thought, though he didn’t bring it up to the group. “A dark elf and an ogre—sounds dangerous. Dark elves use magic.”

“They’re elves, too,” Ghim muttered.

Deedlit bristled. “Dark elves are wretched, evil creatures who sold their souls to the Devil! They’re nothing like us.”

Elves like Deedlit despised dark elves. Legend said that, as their name implied, dark elves had made a pact to serve the Dark Gods. They fought each other in the ancient battles between Light and Darkness.

For humans, those battles were the stuff of myth, but in Deedlit’s elf clan some elders who’d fought in them still lived. Those elders passed down their memories of the cruelties they’d seen—dark elves killing men and women mercilessly, offering up maidens as sacrifices to the Devil. Siding with the hideous, supernaturally strong ogres, who would eat elves like a snack.

“I’ll show you how different we are,” huffed Deedlit.

“I think…” Parn turned to Slayn, looking thoughtful. “I think we should handle this ourselves. I doubt the Alanian mercenaries will believe us without proof. And we don’t want to cause a panic by spreading rumors about dark elves and ogres.”

“R-right,” Woodchuck squeaked.

“I see we have little choice,” Slayn sighed. “We’ll go with Parn. The chance of regaining the Academy’s treasures is worth it…and we can’t let dark elves and ogres roam the countryside, either.”

“I’m in,” Ghim said simply. “I’ll lop that dark elf’s head off myself. Dwarves don’t like dark elves, either.” He flexed his thick arms at Deedlit, who seemed offended for a moment before realizing he was just teasing. She returned a tentative smile.

“That’s the spirit—you’ll all do great!” Woodchuck yelled with a grin. “And I’ll help, of course. I’m pretty handy with a dagger, after all.”

Slayn could imagine—he knew that the biggest thing to fear from a thief was a stab in the back in the dark. His old friend had been a fierce warrior, but had been killed before he could even respond.

“You can have half the reward. Does that sound fair to you?” Parn tried to sound savvy and dignified.

“Sounds great,” Woodchuck nodded in gratitude, and smiled thinly. Slayn couldn’t help but see it as a sickening leer.

He stood to get ready, and resolved to always stay at the back of the group. Better to keep an eye on things, after all.

 

With their new additions, the group settled their bill at the Crystal Forest and made it to the outskirts of Allan by the afternoon. The east road wasn’t as crowded as the one that ran north-south, since the only destination this way was the fishing village of Margus. The only other traffic was the occasional wagon that passed them by, reeking of fish.

They hiked at a comfortable pace, led by Parn and Deedlit. Ghim followed behind them, Woodchuck walked with Etoh for some reason or other, and Slayn trudged along at the back, always with an eye on the thief ahead of him.

It’s getting hot out here, he thought, pulling his hood low over his eyes to block out the blazing early-summer sun.

 

The group continued that way for two full days and reached the edge of the forest on the third.

“Here we are,” Woodchuck gestured at a trail leading into the forest. “This takes us to the mansion.”

“How long to get there?” Parn asked.

“About an hour.”

“What a weird place for a house,” Deedlit murmured, looking wistfully at the trees.

“Well, I didn’t build it,” Woodchuck replied.

“We’ll have to be careful from here on,” Slayn said, his voice muffled under his robe. The sun was at its highest, and his face was completely in shadow.

“Yeah,” Parn replied with a grimace. “Let’s get going.”

Deedlit happily agreed.

They walked single file through the forest, with Parn leading the way and stamping down the path so the rest could follow easily. The forest teemed with life, and the smell of leaves refreshed them all—well, except one. Slayn slid on the dew-damp ground, and his rope kept snagging on branches and was starting to fray—a real problem, since there was no longer any place to buy Philosopher’s Rope in Allan.

As they got closer to the mansion, they slowed down to move as quietly as possible. Even so, the metal of Parn and Etoh’s armor jangled.

Ghim had bragged earlier that the mithril armor he wore didn’t clank the way ordinary armor did. Deedlit also wore armor over her clothes, but though it appeared metal at first, it was actually tanned leather. It had been dyed purple with wild grapes and was etched with a beautiful pattern.

Finally, a huge mansion came into view. They hid in the underbrush and peered out at the entrance.

The most obvious thing before them was the huge, man-eating ogre guarding the door. The other guard, the dark elf, was half its height—but the evil glint in his eye was unmistakable. The ogre held a giant club, the dark elf, a spear.

“What should we do?” Parn murmured to his companions. The view was limited from their hiding place, but if they crept forward to learn more, they’d be discovered immediately. “Bow and sling?”

“It didn’t work when we tried it on the goblins,” Etoh replied, wincing at the memory. “There’s no way we’ll knock out foes like these.”

“Then what?” Parn snapped, unhappy to be reminded.

“Magic won’t work,” Slayn said. “Dark elves are resistant.”

“In exchange for selling their souls to the Devil,” Deedlit reminded them, words dripping with contempt. She drew her rapier from its sheath and felt for the throwing knife in her shoulder armor—coated in paralytic poison. Ghim unstrapped the battle axe from his back.

“I think…I have a way,” Slayn whispered.

“Let’s hear it,” Parn encouraged.

“A spell that acts on an individual won’t work on a dark elf. But I can use magic to direct their attention elsewhere.”

“An illusion,” Deedlit smiled.

“Yes, except only sound. If either guard leaves their post, we won’t have to deal with both at once, and we should be able to take one down without their raising the alarm.”

“What if they both leave?”

Slayn shrugged at Parn’s question. “Then we’ll sneak right in.”

“No doubt,” Ghim quietly chuckled, his beard shaking.

 

Slayn focused on the thicket opposite them. He whispered a spell, made a complicated gesture with one hand—and gave the underbrush in front of him a violent shake.

“Slayn!” Parn shouted in surprise—but Parn’s voice and the rustling didn’t sound from their hiding place. Instead, it could be heard coming from the thicket Slayn was staring at across the way. The two guards both turned to look, then the dark elf gave the ogre a brief command in a strange language. The ogre nodded and picked up its club while the dark elf grabbed his spear and glided away toward the sound.

“Wow, that’s convenient. You’ll have to teach me sometime,” Woodchuck said with a smirk. “That would be a really handy trick for breaking and entering.”

“On my signal—” Slayn started to say, but Deedlit was already on the move. She looked back at Parn, threw him a wink, then ran cat-like for the entrance. Parn stood frozen for a moment, shocked by her daring.

“Gentle forest spirits, that ogre is my friend,” Deedlit whispered as she ran—a spell in a different tongue from Slayn’s ancient language. The ogre opened its mouth to roar, but the moment the spell was complete, it froze, slack-jawed and blank.

To the creature’s mind, everything was normal—except that Deedlit was its dear friend. She seemed much more soothing than the dark elf, who constantly barked orders.

The ogre was twice Deedlit’s size, bulging with misshapen flesh, and wore only a ragged loincloth over its clay-covered skin. Its sharp fangs and disfigured nose repulsed Deedlit. “Bark,” she mumbled—“ugly” in Elvish. Then, she charged, speeding even faster toward the monster with her rapier aimed squarely at its heart.

The monster stared blankly at her as the blade sank deep into its chest. At that moment, the ogre finally recognized her as an enemy, but it was too late—Deedlit used all her body weight to yank her blade from the ogre’s body. Dark red blood gushed from the wound as it lurched forward. Deedlit jumped away to avoid being splashed and turned to follow the dark elf.

“Deed, look out!” Parn’s warning snapped her attention back, and she jumped on pure reflex. Beneath her, the dying ogre swung its thick arm, nearly hitting her. The monster thrashed and tried to regain its feet—if it had hit her it could have done serious damage. Bloody foam bubbled from its mouth whenever it opened, struggling to cry out.

Deedlit felt cold sweat run down her back, and her delicate frame shuddered like a branch in the wind. She couldn’t deal the final blow.

 

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.”

 

7

 

Three days later, they made it back to the Crystal Forest. The plans they’d found were handed over to the castle guards, and they were awarded a thousand gold coins for their efforts.

Parn was in high spirits—not because of the money, but because he’d been acknowledged for what he’d done. The bribed guard was put on trial, the plot to assassinate the King was foiled, and Parn had even been praised by Duke Persia, the Prime Minister. He took another swig of ale and moved on to the next off-key verse of the song he’d been singing.

“Hey, could I come with you guys?” Woodchuck asked Parn. “You saw how useful I was, and I think we get along. My life’ll be a whole lot more interesting if I stick with you.”

“I don’t see why not,” Parn answered simply. The thief had been a big part of their success, and he’d already shown how his skills could be valuable on their journey. “Just don’t break any laws.”

The party continued on into the night, with everyone but Deedlit and Slayn drinking quite a bit of ale.

“Six hundred coins for the jewels still seems awfully low,” Woodchuck groused yet again.

“Nah, that’s market value,” Ghim cut in. Woodchuck had wanted to barter, but Ghim had quickly settled the deal, and the thief hadn’t wanted to argue gem prices with a dwarf. Anyway, the books and scrolls had brought an unexpectedly high price from a wizard the others knew, so Woodchuck couldn’t be in too bad a mood.

Truth be told, the only one of their party who wasn’t cheerful was Ghim. He sat slightly apart from the rest, sipping his wine thoughtfully.

Just when their celebration party was at its merriest, a man burst through the front door. Everyone turned to look at him as he took a few gasping breaths and staggered into the room.

“B-big trouble…” the man choked out. “Kanon has fallen. It was Beld—Emperor Beld of Marmo.”

“What?!” Parn’s cheerful mood crashed hard into despair. He sprang up from his chair.

“So, it’s begun,” Slayn muttered solemnly. “This will mean war throughout the island.”

A cold shiver ran through the entire group, and they sobered immediately.

 

The news reached Kadomos VII at Stone Web, and the King immediately summoned his nobles to an emergency meeting. Kanon and Alania had been allies since Kanon’s founding 250 years previous, and marriages between their royal families were common—the most recent being King Kadomos VII’s mother, who had come from the Kanon royal family.

That made Marmo’s invasion a grave insult to the Alanian royal family, and several senior vassals took the hard line that they should declare war on Marmo immediately. There were also treaties to consider—King Fahn of Valis had led a Kingdom’s Conference where they pledged to rise up and fight together in the case of any invasion.

But Kadomos VII sent no troops to Kanon. He decided to blockade the southern roads, prepare for an invasion, and wait and see. He ordered the army not to recruit mercenaries or muster the militia so as not to provoke Beld. His inaction basically acknowledged Beld as the new ruler of Kanon.

The next day, reading the official proclamation, Parn gnashed his teeth in fury. “Why?!” he bellowed, forgetting he was in public.

Slayn gently put a hand on Parn’s shoulder, hoping to comfort him. “What should we do now?”

“They’re all cowards,” Parn choked out, and Slayn could actually see tears in his eyes. He rubbed at them with one hand, and when he looked back up his eyes blazed with determination. “Let’s go to Valis,” he said.

“But the roads are closed, and there’s still a sandstorm in the western desert. There’s no way through to Valis right now.”

“We’ll get there somehow. Even if we have to go through the Forest of No Return,” he said, glowering fiercely.

“Are you serious?” Etoh objected. “Parn, you know how dangerous that place is. They call it that because nobody returns!”

“Then I’ll be the first!” Parn shouted.

“They say there’s an ancient Elvish curse there,” Ghim added with a glance at Deedlit.

“Parn…” Slayn began, hoping to offer some calming words.

“Actually, I think it’s a good idea,” said Deedlit, who’d been silently watching Parn for a while. “Let’s go through the forest. That way’s the quickest, after all.”

“You can get us through?”

“Of course,” Deedlit stated proudly with a glance at Ghim. “I’m an elf. Ancient or modern, we’re all still of a kind.”

 

8

 

They left Allan three days after the news of Kanon’s downfall.

Following Deedlit’s plan, they set out on a route that would take them through the Forest of No Return. Other than Parn, none of them were happy with the plan—the sinister name was no mere legend, and no one who entered had returned in the past several hundred years. Many brave heroes took up the forest’s challenge, but their fate was always the same. The Dark Forest remained unchanged as it destroyed every life that entered it.

No one knew exactly what dangers the Dark Forest held—whether it was an Elvish curse or just some deadly flora or fauna. Nobody knew—except perhaps the victims.

By the third day, they could see the forest in the distance. But rather than entering as soon as they reached it, Deedlit kept them on the road, the forest to their right.

Two days further down the road, Deedlit stopped them with a cheerful shout.

“Here!” she proclaimed.

The others turned to her with skeptical, exhausted faces. Deedlit sighed, and wordlessly pointed toward the forest.

There, barely visible, was a narrow path, overgrown from disuse. Slayn couldn’t believe that this was a road that people actually used.

“The path I was talking about starts here. But no matter what happens, promise me: you must not rest in the forest. And try not to act too surprised—strong emotions have a bad effect on the trees.”

“That’s all we have to do?” Parn asked, unable to hide his unease.

“Yeah. Just follow me, and we’ll make it to Valis,” Deedlit said, looking straight into Parn’s eyes. “Let’s hurry.”

Despite the elf’s confidence, the rest of the team’s anxiety grew the more the forest loomed about them. They walked the path for an hour before they finally made it to an opening.

From close up, the forest looked normal—though there was an increasing tension and vague sense of evil all around them.

At the end of the path were two identical pine trees. Their height, thickness, and even the forks of their branches were exactly the same. The space between them looked almost like a gate.

“This is it. This is where we go through.” Deedlit could barely contain the joy in her voice. “Remember—keep your promises. Don’t leave my side, or the ‘Elvish curse’ will get you.”

“Fom alanis katoru!” she shouted in Elvish. The view between the trees shimmered and faded, and a golden glow took its place.

“Follow me, before the gate closes.” Deedlit said and jumped into the light. Parn steeled himself and did the same, followed by Etoh, Ghim, and Woodchuck. Slayn went last. He resigned himself to his fate, closed his eyes, and ran into the glow.

“Whoa!” He bumped into something and almost dropped his staff. His eyes snapped open to stare right into Woodchuck’s back.

“Don’t scare me like that. I almost had a heart attack,” Woodchuck complained.

“Where are we…?” Slayn asked, too fascinated to notice what his companions were saying.

It was a golden, shining forest, with low evergreens dotted throughout. The thorny shrubs and fern thickets they’d seen earlier were gone, and the ground had a layer of fallen leaves that cushioned their feet.

“This is the Forest of No Return?” Parn gulped. “It’s like a different world.”

A different world…! Slayn mused, then cried out, “This is a different world! Am I right, Deedlit?” He poked the ground with his staff and looked up at the sky. The sun wasn’t visible, but the entire firmament seemed to glow.

“What does that mean?” Parn looked back at Slayn.

The wizard glanced at Deedlit and chose his words carefully. “Not many people know this, but the world is made up of three domains. One is where we humans live. Wizards call it the material world. The second is where the spirits live—it is divided into sections, but the collective term is the spirit world. And then there is a middle world that connects the physical with the spirit world. That’s the world of fairies. That’s where we’re standing.”

“If I’d known you were familiar with the concept, I would’ve explained it to you. I just wasn’t sure if humans would understand,” Deedlit said guiltily. “But yes—like you said, this is the fairy world.”

“But Deedlit, didn’t the elves lose their home? I thought they were bound to the physical world and couldn’t return to the fairy world. How are you here?”

Before responding, Deedlit jumped up—so high that the others could barely believe it—and landed gently on the ground. “We’d better get going,” she said, and motioned for them to follow. She glided through the forest, floating on air. It was then that she answered Slayn’s question. “We never lost our home,” she said. “The fairy world is where I really live.”

“I see…” he replied, his brain feeling like it had broken down. “You’re a high elf. I had no idea—I thought they were gone.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. High elves were legends. Just as the people of the ancient kingdoms supposedly had a highly advanced culture, elves had their own superior ancient race. But to meet one, face to face…

“We’ll die out eventually,” Deedlit said. “But that’s in the future, when the souls of the gods die out and the dragons decay into the earth.”

Parn frowned, confused. He didn’t fully understand what was being said, but it seemed that Deedlit was special, even for an elf.

“We dwarves also used to live in the fairy world, or so they say,” Ghim said. “But we left long ago, because we discovered the gifts of the land. Not fool’s gold, but real gold.” He raised his battle axe—but the blade was missing. “Fairies don’t like iron,” he grumbled. “It doesn’t exist here.”

Hearing that, Parn checked himself over—but found his armor gone. Only his padded under-armor remained.

“But I can feel its weight,” he protested. He hadn’t even noticed its absence.

“It’s fine,” Deedlit reassured him. “Iron can’t exist here, but all that really means is that, if you did bring some in, you simply can’t see it—just like how you can’t see most of the spirits in the physical world.” Deedlit nodded ahead. “But we’d better hurry. I told you—we can’t rest here.” With that, the elf rushed onward.

Parn picked up speed to keep pace with her. “Why’s she in such a hurry?” Parn asked Slayn beside him.

“Simple,” the wizard said. “Time passes more slowly here than in our world. If we lose our way, hundreds of years could pass back home.”

“That’s awful!” Parn cried, the color draining from his face. “Deedlit, get us out of here!”

“Huh? I don’t want to get even older!” Woodchuck shouted, clearly misunderstanding what Slayn had said.

“I told you to hurry,” Deedlit replied. This whole situation was annoying, but she couldn’t help but laugh at Parn’s desperate expression.

 

Deedlit led them through the forest at a jog for a while longer, then stopped and chanted some words. The same identical trees appeared, and they passed through them to exit the fairy world.

It was night outside. “But it was midday when we left…” Parn said, his voice full of surprise and wonder. He gripped at his chestplate to make sure it had come back, and relief swept through him.

He sank to the ground breathing heavily, their run catching up to him. There was a sudden flash beside him, and a pallid magic light illuminated Slayn’s blue robe.

“How many days has it been?” Slayn took off his hood and looked around. In the faint light, he could see that they were surrounded by hills, the Forest of No Return rearing behind them. In the darkness, it seemed even more threatening and enchanted, as if it could reach out and snag them in its tentacles.

“At that distance, probably three days. We could’ve gotten out sooner if you hadn’t taken so long.”

“I’m just glad I got a chance to see it—frightening and strange though it was,” Slayn said. “Many humans may have entered the fairy realm, but few have managed to safely return.” He stood and brushed the dirt off his robe.

“Where are we?” Etoh asked anxiously, looking back at the forest.

“About three days east of Valis,” Deedlit said. “We can cross the southwest hills to reach the northern road between Kanon and Valis—but it’d be better to travel through the western mountains. We’re less likely to get caught up in the war with Marmo that way.” She looked up at the stars to orient herself properly.

“Let’s get going,” Woodchuck said with a nervous glance back at the forest.

“Yeah,” Parn agreed. “It’s night, but I’m not sleepy.” He shouldered his pack. “We should keep on until we’re tired. Hope you’re all ready for a mountain hike!”

No one objected, so they quickly gathered their things and started off along the gently sloping road.

“Skipping all that time will be tough on us,” Etoh said, looking reproachfully at the night sky, wondering how many morning and evening prayers he’d missed.

“Definitely,” the thief said with a chuckle. “The moon is so high, but I’m not tired at all. I am hungry, though.”

“I feel like I haven’t eaten in three days,” Ghim said, and everyone finally laughed.