by Ryo Mizuno
He would never forget the sincerity in his friend’s eyes. And here, right in front of him, was a youth with the same gaze, setting off on a journey to face off against who-knows-what evils.
“Dangerous, isn’t it…?” Slayn murmured.
“What was that?” Parn asked with a questioning look.
“I’m being forced to make the same decision twice.” Slayn wondered if this was the work of Rahda, the god of knowledge. He knew that even if he persuaded Parn to stay, it wouldn’t change anything—his youth, his sense of justice, and his inability to see when retreat was the best option would eventually get him killed.
But Slayn was different now. He was smarter and more knowledgeable, and he had much greater magic than he’d had when he lived in Allan. He might be able to protect this young man.
He closed his eyes and let stony silence fall over the room, then muttered hoarsely, “All right. I’ll go with you.” Slayn opened his eyes and glanced over at Ghim. “And Ghim is itching for an adventure for some reason.”
“Hm…” Ghim grumbled and looked away.
“But nothing dangerous, please. I’m a timid man.” Slayn turned to Parn, deadly serious. Ghim, however, let out a loud guffaw.
Etoh and Parn exchanged a look. They’d gotten what they’d hoped for—though they seemed completely bewildered by that fact.
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 Fore
st, 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.
