by Ryo Mizuno
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 t
he 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.”