The Grey Witch

by Ryo Mizuno

  “This is Roid? It’s smaller than I expected,” Deedlit remarked rudely, not caring that Elm was in earshot. Parn gave her a glance and a sneaky nod.

  “It is small compared to the great city of Allan. But I can promise you that these are the most loyal citizens you’ll find anywhere.” Elm stopped and greeted the crowd of people in front of them, who bowed their heads and made way.

  After a long ride, the group finally reached the castle gates and crossed the drawbridge into the courtyard. They dismounted there—it was custom to walk the rest of the way to the castle.

  The carriage carrying Princess Fianna stopped as well, and the princess slowly descended, daintily holding the hem of her dress. The castle guards who caught sight of her called her name and waved, delighted at her safe return. Fianna waved back with a bashful smile.

  Elm led the princess and a small group of knights into the castle; one of the knights led Parn’s group to a luxuriously decorated parlor to wait. It was furnished with plush sofas and a large table imported from the continent. A glass-doored cupboard was stocked with expensive-looking liquors, and a variety of goblets were arranged conveniently within reach. One entire wall was taken up by a massive painting depicting a battle with a demon, and the high window on the south wall was fitted with stained glass depicting the supreme god Pharis, which cast bright shapes throughout the room.

  That single room was about the size of Slayn’s entire house.

  “I guess we shouldn’t help ourselves to the booze,” Parn said to Deedlit with a question in his voice and shining eyes. Deedlit flatly refused to answer and settled on the sofa as Parn gazed longingly at the bottles.

  The expensive liquors didn’t interest Ghim; he just fiddled with a dwarf-made craftwork and paced the room.

  “It’s rather nerve-racking,” Slayn remarked, though he still spoke in his usual gentle manner. The furnishings didn’t interest him, and he was considering taking a book out of his bag.

  “A fancy room like this isn’t meant for a guy like me,” Woodchuck complained as he perched uncomfortably on the sofa. “I feel like I’m locked up in a gilded prison… I don’t feel much like drinking, either. I hope they don’t take long.”

  Just then, there was a knock on the door and two soldiers entered. Woodchuck nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound—the group couldn’t contain a laugh at his frazzled reaction.

  “His Majesty the King is ready for you. Please follow me.” The soldiers bowed and motioned for them to follow.

  The courteous reception from such fine royal soldiers made Parn suddenly self-conscious. The hand on his sword shook, and he couldn’t help but notice every bit of grime on his armor. He tried to wipe down the dirtiest parts with a cloth, but it was too late to do much.

  As they made their way toward the throne room, Parn was impressed at the sheer size of the castle, and he glanced around restlessly, trying to take everything in. At one point, they passed a group wearing different armor from the Valis knights. The two groups saluted each other in silence and exchanged watchful glances.

  “Did you see those knights?” Slayn whispered to Etoh.

  “I did. What about them?”

  “They must be from Flaim, the desert kingdom. They had the hawk crest on their right shoulders.”

  “The Flaim Order of Knights! Are they going to war with Marmo, too?”

  “It would be good news if they were,” Slayn replied. The Knights of Flaim were renowned for their bravery throughout Lodoss.

  Flaim had begun as a desert tribe known as the Tribe of Storm. It had been mired in a years-long war with another desert group, the Tribe of Fire—otherwise known simply as “the savages.” A few years earlier, though, the Tribe of Storm finally achieved a decisive victory, crowned a king, and established the nation of Flaim. King Kashue, also known as the Mercenary King, was rumored to have sword skills unparalleled in all of Lodoss.

  Flaim would certainly be a reassuring ally in the war against Marmo.

  The group finally reached the end of the winding hallways and reached the throne room. They waited outside the door for a few moments and then were ushered into a large hall.

  The throne room was huge and open, imposing and stately. A crimson carpet ran across the stone floor and up the steps to the throne—the back wall held a giant portrait of the king, with the silver cross, the Valis coat of arms, and the holy symbol of Pharis next to it. Valis knights, courtiers, and women in beautiful dresses lined the edges of the path. Parn felt almost dizzy at the sight.

  I am the son of a Holy Knight, he told himself and did his best to stride down the carpet with confidence.

  King Fahn sat before them on his throne. He wore a loosely tailored gown and had a beard that could rival that of a dwarf. He was at least sixty—the wrinkles etched into his face were a monument to his countless accomplishments. When he looked down at the six adventurers, his gaze was like the ocean, intense, kind, and overwhelming. Feeling those eyes on him, Parn felt almost suffocated. He dropped to one knee, and his companions followed suit.

  Several others stood near the legendary king. First was Elm, the court wizard, who had changed into a magnificent white robe. Beside him was an old man in a gown embroidered with the symbol of Pharis—Genart, the high priest of the Pharis temple. Etoh was dazzled to be in such a holy presence.

  Another man in a crown sat in a temporary throne beside King Fahn. Slayn noted the hawk emblem embroidered on his attire.

  That must be the Mercenary King Kashue…

  The Mercenary King had a black beard and sharp eyes like a bird of prey. His seat beside the King of Valis indicated that they were in an equal alliance, so Flaim must be planning to join them in the war against Marmo.

  The king’s voice resounded throughout the hall, gentle but dignified. “You must be the adventurers who rescued my daughter. As King—and as a father—I thank you from the bottom of my heart. My daughter should be here to thank you in person—forgive me for her absence, but she is offering prayers of penitence at Pharis Temple to atone for her sins. She is a handful, but her mistakes in no way diminish what you’ve done. Please accept this token of my gratitude.”

  At his words, one of the courtiers stepped toward Parn with a heavy sack. He kneeled and presented it with a few respectful words.

  Parn decided it would be rude to refuse, so he accepted it with a bow. “Thank you for this.” The bag was heavy in his hands—there had to be a ton of gold coins inside.

  This’ll make Wood happy, he thought, handing it back to the thief.

  “Be at ease. I may be a king, but I am also a father welcoming those who saved his daughter’s life. I should be the one to kneel to you.” He turned to the crowd. “I want everyone here to know that I shall punish my daughter, not as her father, but as king. For sneaking out of the castle without permission and causing this trouble, she will spend the next two months confined to her room, forbidden from going out in public…”

  There were a few gasps from the crowd, but most of the gathered people nodded in acceptance. Two months’ probation was a heavy punishment, and being trapped in her room would certainly feel like being in prison for a young woman.

  “As for the woman who kidnapped her, she appears to be a wizard serving Marmo. I have received a report from Elm and compared it with what my daughter told me. I would like your perspective, as well—you are the only ones to survive a confrontation with her, after all.”

  Parn shot Slayn a look. Slayn nodded and stood, scanned the room, then bowed deeply.

  “My name is Slayn. Like Lord Elm, I studied under the great Professor Larcus at the Wizard Academy in Alania. The witch Karla’s magic was like nothing I’d ever seen. She used magic in the ancient language and Earth Goddess Marfa’s holy magic, and she cast extremely high-level spells with ease. The power of her spells might even surpass that of the late Professor Larcus. I apologize for this comparison, but not even Lord Elm has the power to strike down five Holy Knights with one fire spell.
”

  “I certainly do not,” said Elm. “Fire magic is powerful, but I cannot imagine our knights being defeated in one strike.”

  “But that’s exactly what she did,” Slayn emphasized. Murmurs cut through the crowd. It was hard to believe that Marmo had a wizard like that as an ally, but if it were true…

  “Silence.” Fahn raised his right hand and the noise stopped. “You’re saying that this witch is more skilled at magic than my trusted Elm?”

  “I’m afraid so,” answered Slayn, and kneeled once again to indicate he had no more to add.

  “More powerful than Elm, considered Larcus’s best pupil? She is a fearsome witch indeed. Do you know who she is, Elm? Her name was Karla, correct?”

  “I found Slayn’s story hard to believe as well, so I searched my memories to see if anything came to mind—and I recalled a legend.”

  “Of course you did. What was it?”

  “Long ago, when an ancient kingdom ruled this land, magic was much more powerful than it is now. Wizards of that time were far more fluent in the ancient language we use for our spells today—we would likely sound like babbling infants to the wizards of long ago. When the kingdom fell, all its wizards shared its fate…except, they say, a single sorceress who managed to escape harm. Her name was Karla. Since then, a sorceress named Karla has appeared periodically throughout Lodoss’s history.”

  Fahn shook his head. He raised his left hand from the throne’s armrest and pointed at Elm. “Are you saying that this legendary sorceress is the same witch who kidnapped my daughter? It would be a simple thing for a witch to change her appearance…but if your theory is true, she would be more than five hundred years old.”

  “I don’t have proof—only a hunch,” Elm replied. “But now that Professor Larcus is gone, the person most likely to know the truth is the Great Magus Wort.”

  Fahn laughed. “That eccentric old man?”

  “He may be eccentric, but he is extremely knowledgeable. And I don’t know any other way to ascertain the truth of her identity.”

  “I suppose you’re right. But who will go all the way up into the Moss mountains to ask him? The war with Marmo will only get worse—we cannot afford to lose a single soldier.”

  Elm looked at the king, his expression serious. “If Karla is truly a survivor of the ancient kingdom, we will be up against magic far beyond what any of us can handle. I heard that Kanon’s Shining Hill fell when a giant meteor dropped from the sky, destroying its walls—even Wagnard, Marmo’s court wizard, doesn’t have that sort of power. We need to know what we are up against.”

  “You truly feel strongly about this…” Fahn shot Elm a wry smile, then nodded. “We can’t send just anyone on this mission. The old man never leaves his mountain tower, and he hates visitors. To get there, whoever we send will have to pass through the dwarven ruins to the south—the Tunnel of Evil. It’s infested with ogres and dragons.” He turned to a man with a decorated helmet. “Leonis, I need you to select someone suitable from among the order—”

  “I can do it,” Parn chimed in. He hadn’t been sure whether he should volunteer, but once he spoke up, he found himself sure it was the right choice. “If you choose one of your Holy Knights, they will leave a hole in your defense that can’t easily be filled. I could stay here as a mercenary, but that would be much less use to Valis.”

  Fahn looked down at the youth kneeling before him and felt young again. “Is that Tessius’s son?” he whispered to Elm.

  “It is,” Elm murmured in reply.

  Parn did resemble the Holy Knight Tessius in both face and voice—and probably in action as well, as he had just chosen to fulfill a thankless but vital role over honorable service in battle. Fahn had all but assumed that the young man would ask to join the Valis knighthood. Elm had mentioned that Parn was more than willing, and had recommended him as an upstanding young man suitable for the position—though there was much he would need to learn.

  His bravery in rescuing Fianna made him worthy of the title, and he was Tessius’s son. But if he were given a knighthood for only those reasons, the young knights who had never heard of Tessius would be upset. They had spent years training as squires, after all, and were only awarded the honor of knighthood once they were recognized for their skills and character. But if Parn fulfilled this ordeal, those young knights would have to accept him. Not everyone knew Tessius, after all, but everyone knew of the southern dwarven ruins. That tunnel was one of the most treacherous parts of Lodoss, rivaling even the Forest of No Return.

  “Parn,” the king began, “I am sorry about Tessius. We couldn’t give him a burial with honors, and the stress drove your mother away from Valis. I would like you, at least, to fight with me as an honorable knight. However, you need to pass a test to join our Order. I will send you with a letter for Wort. Show me that you can accomplish this task and I will ask you to serve under me as my vassal.”

  “Upon my life,” Parn said, heart practically bursting with joy.

  “The journey to Wort’s mansion will be difficult—as I said, you will have to pass through ruins swarming with deadly creatures, and the witch may come after you again. You would still go?”

  “Of course,” Parn replied. He felt like a hero—a modest hero, maybe, but that seemed more fitting, anyway.

  “Wonderful! I haven’t felt such hope in so long…” The Hero King laughed, stood, and clapped his hands. “This is a great day. First we welcomed a justice-loving desert king and now a brave son of Tessius. There is no doubt in my mind that we will be victorious in this war. Everyone, prepare to feast! We will enjoy ourselves tonight!”

  The crowd let out a cheer. The double doors swung open, and servants swooped from the throne room to begin the preparations. When the time came, music rang out and the banquet began.

  Kashue, King of Flaim and the guest of honor, was not even thirty years old. He had been known since his youth for his brave deeds, and had defeated the enemy Tribe of Fire and established the Kingdom of Flaim when he was in his early twenties. He was crowned the “Mercenary King” as a nod to his beginnings as a mercenary, but his skills at both swordsmanship and statecraft were incredible. Though his country was less than a decade old, the hearts of his people were one with King Kashue.

  The desert savages, worshippers of the Dark God Phalaris, had been constantly at war with both the Tribe of Storm and the Kingdom of Valis. Immediately after the foundation of the new country, the new king had sent a messenger seeking an alliance with Valis, and Kashue himself had come to celebrate King Fahn’s sixtieth birthday in person. Fahn said that his friendship with Kashue was one that transcended age.

  The Mercenary King commanded the attention of the entire party—young knights gathered around to hear of his heroic exploits, and noblewomen tried to catch the bachelor king’s attention.

  The knights also clustered around Parn, treating Tessius’s son like a long-lost friend, praising his bravery for risking his life to save their princess, and praying for his safety on his journey to the tower.

  Crowds had formed around Deedlit and Ghim as well, since elves and dwarves were rarely seen in the Valis court. Questions rained down on Deedlit with barely a pause in between, and she couldn’t conceal her confusion. She answered perfunctorily and wondered how human noblewomen could bear wearing such cumbersome dresses.

  Ghim had no patience for the curious stares, but he could distract with his skills as a craftsman. He appraised the ladies’ jewelry and even improved some pieces with a quick tweak to enhance their presentation. It was like a one-dwarf workshop had sprung up around him as the ladies of Valis brought him their jewelry, one after another.

  Young ladies also swirled around Etoh, who was now wearing his priestly robes. In Valis, Pharis priests were respected even more highly than knights. He was greeted personally by High Priest Genart and offered a position at the Great Pharis Temple in Roid.

  Genart explained that he was in the process of reforming the order of Pharis with Ki
ng Fahn’s support, but it was not progressing as planned. The order of Pharis stood for discipline and law; as a side effect of that, the organization tended to prioritize seniority and time served over ability—stodgy habits that the high priest was attempting to shake. He asked Etoh to assist, and the young priest gladly accepted. After all, if Parn became a Valis knight and Etoh joined the Pharis order, the friends could keep working together.

  Slayn, clad in a brand new Sage’s robe, was deeply involved in a serious discussion with Elm about the witch’s identity, the war with Marmo, and the governing of Valis. Besides teaching magic, the Wizard Academy taught a variety of academic disciplines, all considered necessary to the proper ruling of a country. As the only Academy-educated wizard in Valis, Elm rarely had a chance to discuss such things with a peer.

  Elm had hoped to organize a council of wizards at court, but Valis had been wary of magic for an extremely long time. Few young people aspired to be wizards, certainly not enough to form a proper school. Elm was a passionate devotee of Pharis and loyal to Valis, making him an even rarer case. Though he hadn’t originally intended to, Slayn found himself offering advice.

  The banquet grew more cheerful and rowdy as the night progressed. But while most of the companions basked in words of gratitude and endless offers of wine, there was one who stood alone.

  Woodchuck could feel the stares of contempt and disgust. He could almost hear the whispered discussion of his occupation and wondered, How were my actions any different from Parn’s? as dark embers of resentment flickered in his mind.

  2

  The banquet continued late into the night, eventually breaking into courtly dancing. Parn and his companions couldn’t keep up with the intricacies of court manners, so they eventually found sanctuary together in a corner of the hall, drinking and talking among themselves as if in their own private refuge.