by Ryo Mizuno
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 ca
refully 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.