by Ryo Mizuno
“So now Parn’s dragging us all deep into the Moss mountains, huh?” Deedlit needled him, but deep inside she was secretly pleased that her journey with these people would continue. If Parn became a knight of Valis, there would be nothing to keep the two of them together.
“Look, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to force you into this—I want you all to come with me, but I know you have your own goals. We’ve just gotten this huge reward, I understand that you might not want to risk your lives again—and I’m prepared to go alone.” Parn’s reply was quiet but determined, and his eyes never left Deedlit’s face.
Deedlit was taken aback. She had expected Parn to be stunned or at least surprised at her reaction, and then she could graciously volunteer to come along, demanding his gratitude. But Parn’s intense determination put a stop to that; she wrapped her lithe arm around him and gave him a light kiss on the cheek.
“You’ve grown into a fine warrior,” she told him. “You win, for now. I’ll follow you.”
“I’m coming too,” Ghim slurred excitedly. “Now, don’t thank me—this is my problem, too.”
“I’ll gladly join you this time,” Slayn said. “I can’t pass up a chance to meet Wort.”
“Do I even need to say anything, buddy?” Etoh said with a sunny smile.
They all turned to Woodchuck.
“I know, I know, in for a penny, in for a pound. I’ll go with you—I know you’ll end up needing me, anyway,” he said cheerfully, hiding his darker thoughts.
Even if we make it back somehow, you lot will be the ones they thank.
Woodchuck turned toward the center of the hall so no one would notice his dejection. The others followed his gaze.
At the center of the great hall, King Kashue was dancing gracefully with one of the noblewomen. He had only been king for a short time, but he had perfectly mastered the etiquette and decorum of the court. The nosiest of the noblewomen were gossiping about where he might have gotten lessons. Some speculated that he might be Kanon’s third prince, who had run away more than seven years ago, or a royal who had drifted in from the continent. Kashue himself never discussed his origins. When asked about his past, he replied that his present was everything.
King Fahn stayed at the banquet for only a short time, retiring early. Without the king’s attention presiding, the ceremony and formality of the party loosened as the night grew later.
Woodchuck, Ghim, and Slayn crept away and withdrew to their guest rooms, but Parn lagged behind, not wanting the night to end. The crowd around him had thinned until the only one left at his side was an unexpectedly cheerful Deedlit. She hadn’t eaten or drunk much and wasn’t speaking to anyone—she’d refused all requests for a dance from the knights, saying that elves had no such custom. Yet she seemed unexpectedly happy just to sit beside him.
Etoh had tried to return to his room several times, but each time he was stalled by one of the young ladies, asking for Pharis teachings or stories of his adventures.
“He’s so popular,” Parn pouted, watching his friend.
“Of course. He’s attractive enough—and considering the devout Pharis following here, it’s no wonder a young priest is drawing attention,” Deedlit chuckled, leaning against the wall beside Parn.
“May I join you?”
The sudden greeting interrupted their peaceful bubble, which annoyed Deedlit. She turned to the newcomer harshly.
“What do you want?” she huffed.
“What a stubborn elf,” he laughed loudly.
Parn was struck silent—the man talking to them was the King of Flaim himself. “F-forgive me,” Parn quickly apologized with a bow.
“At ease,” the king replied. “No need for decorum—I was once a swordsman for hire, just like you.”
“I-is there something I can do for you, sir?” Parn couldn’t help but be nervous, but Kashue’s frank manner was helping to relax him.
Deedlit, on the other hand, wasn’t bothering to hide her displeasure—she pursed her lips, vowing not to speak to him at all.
“Nothing in particular,” the king replied. “I was just in the mood to talk to a young warrior about his adventures.”
“O-of course…” Parn said. He began to tell the story of their rescue of the princess. While he talked, he watched the King of Flaim, hoping to observe how he was different from Parn himself, thinking that he might become a better man if he could just bridge the gap between them.
Kashue seemed to enjoy Parn’s story, even giving advice during the battle scenes based on his own experiences. He had a wealth of knowledge about battle tactics for one-on-one combat and had survived countless chaotic melees. He even offered to give Parn a sparring lesson the next day.
As Parn’s story wrapped up, the clear voice of a troubadour rang out. The man picked out harmonies on a lute as he sang a song of heroic deeds—an epic poem about the war against the demon gods.
Brought to this world through our most dire mistake,
the fearsome Demon King whose tale I tell,
left death and dire destruction in its wake.
With kingdoms destroyed, the world to darkness fell.
But light then gathered there to fight its war,
the humans rose, armed with shield and sword,
the elves with bows arose from forests far,
and dwarves joined in with axes freshly forged.
Forces of light, a shining sun of hope,
banished the awful darkness from this land.
A shout of triumph rang from shore to shore,
from forest, mountain, ocean, sky, and sand.
Abysmal labyrinth hid the kingly demon,
its final stronghold, the city of the damned.
From hidden portal by its horrid throne,
the fiend’s hand reached and cursed the land.
A hundred chosen heroes ventured there,
challenged the fell labyrinth—and died.
Corpses grew cold, but their inner light flared,
a radiance that left evil no place to hide.
Seven heroes fought the Demon King,
six survived and thus the world was saved,
the knight, the royal hero with sword a-shining,
Fahn of Valis, chivalrous and brave.
The warrior, Beld, who smote the demon lord,
and lost his soul when he struck the killing blow,
the priestess, Neese, Marfa’s child, dearly adored,
and the wizard, Wort, who knew all there was to know.
The dwarf there was, too—Flebe, the last one of his line,
a lost country of stone, and he the king—
and last, the nameless warrior-mage long gone.
Together, all put to right the evil of which I sing.
The song ended, and the room fell silent. Then someone clapped and raucous applause broke out—the Valis knights cheered their Hero King and called for the overthrow of the Dark Emperor Beld.
Parn knew that the events of the song had really happened—the epic battle against demons had occurred only a few decades before—and now, another war was about to break out on Lodoss between two of the heroes of that last war.
What an ironic fate, Parn couldn’t help but think. Why had Beld abandoned his heroic nature and become Emperor of the dark island? Why had he destroyed Kanon? Parn just couldn’t wrap his head around it.
The dancing resumed with no end in sight. Kashue ignored the ladies vying for a dancing partner, seemingly content to keep talking to Parn, who couldn’t imagine a better opportunity. He had the personal attention of a legendary king who had started out as a mercenary just like him. Parn remained rapt, absorbing every single thing the king said.
Deedlit listened to their conversation with her back to them. She watched the dancing, which was reminiscent of the time she had met Parn, during the festival in Allan. However, it also roused nostalgic thoughts of her home in the forest.
She had expected to be bored and unimpressed with humans, but it seemed
that there were leaves of truth and insight scattered through their short lives. It would take some time to sift through what she’d discovered. Deedlit glanced back at Parn, who was still talking to Kashue with a serious look on his face, and found herself thinking that she wouldn’t mind taking the time to watch over this young man’s life.
3
A hideous, hunched goblin soldier marched back and forth before the castle gate.
Emperor Beld of Marmo looked on, wondering which was more normal—the goblin’s wretched nature or his own twisted heart. The demonic sword at his left hip rattled as if mocking his thoughts. Beld gripped the handle forcefully, like he was strangling a hated enemy.
“What’s wrong?” a voice came from behind. “Odd to find you so thoughtful in the middle of the day.”
It was Wagnard, the court wizard and Beld’s most trusted advisor.
“I was considering the hideousness of that goblin gatekeeper. Shining Hill was once called the finest castle in Lodoss—now look what it’s become under its new master.” Beld’s jet-black cloak billowed around his blood red armor. The demonic sword let out another unearthly cackle.
“I heard that Karla’s plans in Valis have failed.”
“Yes. But no matter. I will defeat Fahn without having to resort to cheap tricks.”
Beld took a moment to look at his advisor. Wagnard wore black robes. It was rumored that he’d dyed his Academy robes with the blood of a dark elf.
Like the dark elves, Wagnard used the black magic of
Phalaris. Physically, he was also much stronger than the traditional wizard and was an expert swordsman. To most sword-hating wizards, that alone was enough to brand him a heretic. Despite his great power, however, Wagnard only used magic under the most extreme circumstances. In truth, he was unable to use it most of the time. His master, Larcus, had cast a forbidden spell on him—whenever he cast a spell now, no matter how simple, his body was wracked with unbearable pain. Most people would immediately lose consciousness when experiencing pain that intense, but Wagnard had endured. He even learned how to conduct complex, hours-long rituals without his concentration slipping.
It was that sinister strength of will that gave Beld complete confidence in the wizard—and that had earned him the title “The Black Mage.”
“The witch failed in Alania, as well. It seems she has less talent for scheming than she does for magic.”
“You think so? She has always been shrewd, and she has plots within her plots. She still says that all but Valis will self-destruct.”
“That’ll save us a lot of trouble, if it’s true.”
“Did you bring a report, Wagnard? I thought I saw a messenger arrive on horseback.”
Wagnard laughed dryly. “You see everything, Your Majesty. I did receive a report from the spy I left in Valis. King Kashue of Flaim recently arrived there with a hundred knights. It seems that King Fahn will soon bring the battle to us.”
“So the day has come.” Beld smiled thinly and looked up at the sky. “Hide the sun during the battle. Goblins don’t like sunlight.”
“Understood. Where is the witch now?”
“She should be in Moss. She said she had a scheme to finish up there, after which she wanted to see an old friend.”
“She sounds busy,” Wagnard said. “Why is she even working with us? What is she after?”
“Why indeed?” Beld remarked mysteriously. “It’s more interesting when you don’t know.” With that, the Emperor turned with a flip of his cloak and went inside, footsteps ringing on the stone floor. Wagnard followed his lord as silent as a shadow.
Deep in the mountains of Moss, Parn and his companions struggled up the steep mountain path. Two weeks had passed since the group left Roid. They had made it through the ruins of the dwarven stone kingdom, battling evil creatures on the way, and were now getting close to Wort’s tower. Due to the dangerously steep path, however, they had to pause every few steps to avoid losing their footing. They were all sweating hard from the effort.
“What a terrible place to live,” Deedlit sighed, leaning heavily on the dead branch she’d picked up to use as a walking stick.
“Agreed. Isn’t this Wort an old man? How can he live out here?” Woodchuck asked.
They scrambled along the ridge of a craggy mountain where only sparse grass grew. Earlier, Slayn had been buffeted by a strong gust of wind and slid down a slope—Woodchuck had had to pull him back up with a rope. Etoh healed his wounds afterwards, but the experience had left the wizard both wary and grumpy. Since the incident, he’d been so focused on his footing that he barely said a word.
“Is that it?” Woodchuck asked from his place in the lead. He straightened up and used a hand to shadow his eyes, staring into the distance.
Deedlit could just make out what might have been the tip of a tower—though it also might have been a mountain peak. Slayn began murmuring. They all recognized his farsight spell and so waited for his verdict.
“No mistake—it’s a stone tower,” Slayn said cheerfully. He quickly cast a floating spell just to confirm, floating up until his feet were about level with Woodchuck’s head. “We can get there in a quarter day,” Slayn continued, but no one seemed particularly relieved—at that point, even a few more hours of hiking seemed way too long.
“Let’s rest a little while longer, then push through,” Parn said, and he plunked himself down on a nearby rock. He pulled out a hand towel and mopped his damp brow—there was no way to escape the summer heat, especially for a man in heavy armor.
Little did Parn and his companions know, but they were being watched at that very moment. Not far from their resting spot, at the top of the tower they’d just spotted, two wizards gazed at an image inside a crystal ball.
“These are the ones who managed to outwit you?” an old man said with a derisive snort. He wore a grey robe and his hair—once raven-black in his youth but long since faded to white—grew long down his back. He was clean-shaven, so there was nothing to hide the deep wrinkles of his aged face, but he still had a curious twinkle in his eyes.
“Say what you want, Wort. Even I am powerless against fate,” the second wizard replied. She wore a purple dress and her white teeth peeked from between voluptuous red lips. The jewels on the thin circlet on her forehead sparkled like a pair of eyes. She appeared more thoughtful than angry as she watched the people in the image.
She was the witch, Karla.
The dimly lit, circular tower room held only a table and four chairs near the room’s center. There were two doors. One simply led downstairs, while the other was a glass door that led out to a balcony with a view of all of Moss—all the way to the faraway Lake Above the Clouds.
The crystal ball in the center of the table could allow the wizards to see even further than that. Manipulated correctly, it could show any place in Lodoss.
“What’s your plan? Will you go out and crush them?” Wort asked, mouth pursed like he’d bitten into something bitter.
Karla let out a bewitching laugh. She’d used her magic mirror of truth to find out Parn’s group’s next destination. After finishing her business in Moss, she’d made her way to the tower a full two days before their arrival to wait for them and now, at last, they were finally here.
“You make that sound easy,” she said, “but they’re surprisingly shrewd—especially that wizard. He may be young, but he’s quite capable. I might have been careless, but they’ve still outwitted me twice now.”
“With five hundred years’ experience at your beck and call, that makes them quite an impressive band of adventurers. I hope you won’t kill them before I’ve made their acquaintance.”
“Does that mean I can kill them after?”
“Somewhere out of my sight,” Wort replied, his piercing gaze locked on Karla’s face.
“Is there anywhere on Lodoss you can’t see?” Karla asked with a laugh. “As long as you have this crystal ball, that won’t be possible.” With a hint of laughter still on her lips, she
turned her cold eyes to meet the old man’s. “All right, Wort. I won’t kill them out of a personal grudge. That just isn’t my style. At any rate, my work in Moss is done—so as long as they leave me alone, I won’t make the first move. But…” Karla paused, letting her gaze fall back to the crystal ball. “Will they forgive me? And if not—if these travelers want a fight—I will be allowed to defend myself, won’t I?”
“I wouldn’t be able to stop you.”
“Don’t worry—I’m not seeking a fight. I like them; I’d much rather they joined me. Still, I’m sure they’ll try to defeat me again. That young warrior hates me from the bottom of his heart.”
“What are you thinking?” Wort asked with a stern expression.
“Hmm, what indeed?” she said. “What do you see when you look at them? He’s just like you or Fahn back in the day—guided by destiny, overcoming deadly obstacles, rushing headlong toward his goal. One day, I’m sure they’ll face me as deadly foes.”
“Huh…”
“I’m sure they’ll ask you where I am. You can tell them. You know where I live, don’t you?”
“Of course,” Wort answered glumly. “I’ll keep my promise. I won’t assist Fahn—and in exchange, you’ll sever ties with Beld. If we got involved in this battle, it would just mean far more casualties on both sides. But our agreement doesn’t include them.”
“Are you going to attack me for the sake of complete strangers? That goes against everything you believe in, Great Magus Wort. You’re the only one who knows just how futile it is to fight me.”
“I do…” He had thought that he was unbeatable in a magic battle. But he could not vanquish the witch, because doing so would mean his own destruction—and not even Wort knew how to neutralize her without killing her.
“It’s a shame,” Karla said, rising from her chair and giving the adventurers in the crystal ball one last look. She then stroked the crystal ball’s surface lovingly, and the image faded into darkness, leaving the ball a black glass sphere once again. “Now then, I should get ready. I’ll prepare some drinks and a light meal—they’re my guests too, so there should be nothing odd about me cooking for them. Let me know if there’s anything you’d like to eat, Wort—my culinary skills are quite impressive.”