CHAPTER 57

Later, I stare out the window as, between the branches of the old tree in the courtyard, the last rays of light make one last, feeble attempt to draw the shadows out of the forest. The purple gloaming sky is tinted orange and inside the house settles in between spurs of activity out in the corridor.

The plan shaping out in my head is so far very simple, with one clear objective: to get Katha back. That means out of the house, down the road, and to Olvion. The first part seems easy enough. Some sleepy night I’ll grab a horse from the stables and gallop down the road. Instead of making my way to the city directly, however, I’ll find a port, and there take a ship to Olvion. Beckra mentioned travelling between it and Red Harbor, so I imagine commerce to the city is frequent. No one will notice me in a crowd of sailors.

Three problems reared their heads while I concocted all this together. One, I still need to find out where I am. Teryon visited the mansion twice in two days and made his way back to Red Harbor in between, which would seem to suggest we are nearby. However, I remember how Godtouched travelled to Reach in flashes of green light, how Lysander brought me here in much the same way. They could be flashing to a nearby village and then getting horses there.

Two, the Untouched, as Gedden called them, Amelia and Mossgreen. After a bit of thought over Gedden’s moaning about being Godtouched, how they in fact never go past level three, I was forced me to think of those two as the most powerful forces in the vicinity. That shook me more than I thought it would, the fact that people, people like me, can not only stand up to them but actually beat them. Amelia’s power gives her control over nightmares, as she called them, which, according to her, sometimes patrol the corridors. I think about the thing I heard outside my door the night Godtouched came to “discuss things” with Lysander. But, I’ve also heard her complain about using her powers in daylight, which leads me to think she is stronger during the night. So maybe an alteration is due there; leaving some sleepy afternoon after training would be better than in the night. That makes it harder to leave on horse. Which brings us to Mossgreen.

The troll’s domain over the forest is unquestionable, and his alliance with Lysander shaky and crumbling. If I can make friends with him, take advantage of his curiosity, perhaps I could persuade him to help me escape. A path through the woods that no one else could follow would all but guarantee success.

The third problem surfaced and was pushed down immediately. Arbiter warned me about focusing on Katha.

She gave me no other instructions than to ‘prepare’ for a war. I can do that anywhere, Lysander or no Lysander. I’d rather do it next to Katha.

The only issues are really Mossgreen and Amelia.

How did they get so powerful? I think idly, my mind grateful for the chance to focus on something else. Is that a life of getting used to their powers?

Somehow, I don’t think so. Beckra said that Olobo had been into several Dungeons, and I think the same is true here. Both Amelia and Mossgreen took the Challenge several times and came out alive again and again. And while their powers corroborate that theory, their demeanor does not. Amelia, a mistress of shades and horrible things and also a plain housekeeper and capable of a mean stew, and Mossgreen, apparently older than even he himself knows, reduced to a game warden.

It all led back to Lysander’s strange powers, where all these threads joined and turned into a confusing mess of knots. Powerful guildsman and rival to a guild leader. Challenge organizer and Challenge critic. Godtouched yet surrounded with powerful Untouched.

Hate that word.

What was the elf’s angle, and why was he doing all this? Why was he training me and protecting me from Valkas’ wrath?

These questions consume me and paint the elf in mysterious colors. From up close or from a distance, I can’t make sense of him.

I summon the misty pages again to find the Archetype word glowing orange. I focus on it to find Secrets likewise aglow. With a shiver of anticipation, I see The Right Way lists new information.

The Right Way

Who is Kord? What interest does Lysander have in him? Why did he buy Katha of Reach?

What is Lysander’s connection to the Dungeons of old?

Though the conspiracy is aimed at Kord, Lysander now figures more prominently in it. The new question reflects my thoughts: Gedden suggested Lysander’s ultimate plan contemplated the Dungeons, though when I tried to prod he demurred, maybe realizing he’d said too much already. Vaguely, I wonder how and when the information in the misty pages is altered. Was it because I started asking myself these questions or did I start asking them because the information was slotted in by Arbiter or some other unknown power?

Following their meandering path, my thoughts then turn to the blindfolded woman in the ruined temple. She had given me levels and an Archetype, and had severed my hand cleanly at the wrist. As a payment, or to save me? I’d thought of our conversation often these past few days, and though it was cryptic I could detect enough undertones. Arbiter wasn’t fond of Godtouched and their trio of Archetypes. Would she be for Lysander’s actions, whatever plan he might have in mind, or would she be against them? Who was this war against?

There is a knock at the door. I turn, realizing I let daylight waste away and the room is now sunk in shadows. Before I can answer, the door opens, and framed in the light is a young woman in a light gray dress. Half-blind, I can’t make out her face, and two images war in my mind to complete it. One shows a dark red blindfold covering her eyes and draping down onto her shoulders. The other shines green as Katha’s deep forest eyes pierce through me, nailing me to the spot. Two visions fight for dominance, merge together, and a third emerges. Gray turns to bright colors. A familiar face materializes.

“You coming, then?” asks Beckra.

“I… Hum. Sorry. Coming where?”

“The spymaster left just now and the elf has called for a meeting.”

“Study?”

“Kitchen.”

I shake my head and follow Beckra down the corridor. Reality materializes around me and I reaffirm it by brushing my hand against different objects, calming my galloping heart by degrees. Little magic fires burn inside glass globules and beat back the shadows with an even light. More curious than afraid I search the nooks and corners for Amelia’s nightmares, though I can’t find any. Do I even know what to look for, beyond shadows?

“Did Madame Keys ride off alone?”

Beckra turns, smiling wickedly, and draws a thumb over her throat. I furrow my brow.

“You mean Lysander had her—”

“No. You know how they reform when they die? The nice Madame did it herself to get home quicker.”

I blink.

“You’re not serious.”

“Serious as a storm at sea. She asked Lysander to pack her furs and bring them over when he visited Red Harbor next. Are these people crazy or what?”

In the kitchen, we find Lysander standing and staring at the ceiling while everyone else listens to Gedden’s animated retelling of our visit to Mossgreen.

“—asked me to tell you that his patience is wearing thin,” Ged finishes. “I think he meant it, Lys.”

The elf nods.

“I’m sure he did. We cannot afford to lose Mossgreen, not at this juncture. I suppose the Princess didn’t run into any trolls recently, Beckra?”

“No, sir. We’re not the likeliest to find them, though. You know how the cap’n feels about time spent ashore.”

“I admit I’ve been remiss in my promises to Mossgreen,” Lysander mutters, half to himself. “We’ll put a pin on it. Hopefully he’ll hold a little while longer. I’m sure you’re all curious about the latest developments. Please sit and I’ll start.”

A murmur courses around the table. Delos is the only one who stays silent, looking at his own massive hands with a curiously distant expression.

“The first issue on the agenda concerns Malco.”

Dutifully, all eyes turn to me. I strive to keep mine focused on Lysander’s.

“Valkas has agreed not to feed him to a pack of angry wolves, as he put it. In return for that generous concession, all he requests is that Malco stands trial for infiltrating the Challenge. I have agreed to his terms.”

Another murmur. Amelia’s voice rings out, clearer than the rest.

“You think he’s got good chances, m’lord?”

“I do. As is too-widely known, the Black Sword guild takes anyone for its Challenge as long as they’re young enough. Quality from quantity. When other guilds get infiltrates, it’s usually someone they rejected. When we get infiltrates, it’s either a crazy person or an older one. Malco is none of those things.”

“What about the potion?” Delos asks. “You said that might be an issue.”

“But I never used it,” I protest.

Lysander raises an eyebrow at my untimely intervention.

“No, you didn’t,” he says, pulling bright red potion from a pocket. “But Valkas will say it’s still an unfair advantage that you luckily never needed to use.”

“Come on,” Gedden interrupts, earning himself a lash of the eyebrow. He nods apologetically, pointing to me. “Malco wouldn’t do that. He probably forgot he even had it in his pocket. Right?”

In the incoming, full-room glare, all I can do is fight not to blush.

“The thought crossed my mind,” I admit, to a groan from Ged.

“Something that you will never admit in court, of course,” Lysander says. “But let me assure you, if Valkas brings up the subject he will only embarrass himself.”

Our four faces must be asking the same question. Lysander permits himself a modest smile before continuing.

“I asked an alchemist friend to inspect the potion. What do you think was in it?”

“Healing?” Delos asks with a shrug.

“All I’ve healing potions I’ve seen were pinkish,” Beckra says. “Strength? They’re red like that.”

Lysander smiles and shakes his head, letting our question go unanswered a moment longer. A showman in action.

“Refresh.”

“What!” Gedden leans on the table, eyes darting from the potion to me and back. “Can’t be!”

“Where in all hells did you plunder something like that?” Beckra, amazed as well.

“What’s a refresh potion?” I ask, but the chorus of laughter and disbelief drowns me out.

Lysander raises his hand for silence, smiling all the time.

“So that means…” Amelia begins, and the elf nods.

“It means that even if he had imbibed it, it would have been completely useless,” Lysander says, pleased. His eyes dart in my direction. “What this does is let you re-take your perks and spells. Useful if you painted yourself into a corner or want to go another direction. To you, it would have done nothing, and there was nothing with levels you could have fed it to. It means that if you had filled this same vial with water you would at least have had the advantage of hydration. As it is, Valkas doesn’t have a foot to stand on.”

A stunned silence fills the air as every face turns to me again, expressions ranging from Ged’s wide smile to Delos’ unfazed demeanor.

“So the question we must ask ourselves seems to be,” Lysander says. “Why did you bother carrying it in the first place?”

I open my mouth and hesitate. In the end, I can only answer one thing.

“Forgot I had it in my pocket, I guess.”

“Good boy,” the elf smiles. “The trial will be in seven days. We’ll be ready. For the second part of this presentation, I’ll let Beckra take the floor. If you would.”

Beckra nods to Lysander and stands. She leans on the table, staring each of us down in turn before she slaps the wood with a satisfied smile.

“We’ve done it. Cap’n’s done it. As you would expect, o’ course.”

Her victorious words hang in the air.

“They’ll need a little more context than that,” Lysander says. “ I’m afraid I’ve been playing my cards a little too close to the chest.”

“Aw. You lot really don’t know anything, do you?” Beckra turns a sideways glance to Ged, who sits bemused. “Well, it’s big. Bigger even ‘n Malco’s thing, relieving I’m sure it was for him to hear, but this, well, this is…”

“Beckra,” Lysander says, a single note pronounced with precision and warning.

“We found a Dungeon,” the pirate says, beaming. “We actually done it.”

The silence that follows her revelation is heavier, more eager, than any so far. The words take a while to click in my mind, but as soon as they do their weight stuns me just the same.

“You…?” Delos asks. Something finally managed to break through his impassivity.

“Yeah,” Beckra nods. “A whole Dungeon, untampered with. Just like the gods made’em.”

Reactions range from amazement to worry to eagerness. But during the whole thing, Lysander remains silent, staring up at the ceiling. And no face in the room bears as much hunger as his.