"Allow me to introduce myself," proclaimed the woman with a regal air. "I am Lady Charlotta, a noble wanderer whose forefathers' legacy remains etched in my mind, and I've come to this place to relive the memories of the past." She presented her hand as if expecting a more intimate greeting.
Brad, who found such customs distasteful, politely but hesitantly shook her hand.
"When you say forefathers, what do you mean?" inquired Brad.
"My great-great-grandfather was the wizard who erected the towers on this peak and the one to the west, and founded the academy below," Lady Charlotta expounded. "I believe I am the seventh generation of his descendants."
"My knowledge of history is rather limited, Lady Charlotta, but was the wizard's name Charlatan?" Brad asked.
"Indeed, Sir Silverhilt. Let me correct you. My forebear's true name was Attan from the Charl lineage. Even my name is Alotta, but I prefer Charlotta."
"Understood, my lady. Nevertheless, let me clarify that I'm not officially a knight. I'm still a candidate for knighthood."
"Notwithstanding, I persist in addressing you as Sir Silverhilt," interjected Lady Charlotta with a mischievous grin.
Upon receiving this compliment, Brad swelled with pride and merely nodded his head. His countenance had turned crimson once more.
"Whilst you grace our presence, Sir Silverhilt, mayhaps you could render me some aid," the red-haired woman persisted, sensing the unease reflected in their eyes, interrupting her zealous soliloquy.
"Lady Charlotta, I am eager to oblige, yet one of my men is presently in a precarious predicament. He suffered a fall in the passageway on our way here. To be candid, if perchance you possess a sturdy climbing rope, could you assist me?" Brad inquired, his hesitation palpable.
The red-haired woman pondered for a moment, her purple-tinged nails absently grazing her chin. She seemed agitated and restless.
"I believe I know of a way to be of aid. Pray, tarry here for but a moment, whilst I acquire some necessary equipment from above."
Brad wordlessly assented.
Gathering a satchel fashioned from supple brown leather, the red-haired woman descended once more, stating, "Guide me, Sir Knight. I trust you'll find ample means to express your gratitude for my beneficence."
"A knight's pledge," Brad responded, his confidence tinged with a hint of amusement.
Together, they hastened to where Middleton lay fallen.
Brad called out to the pathfinder repeatedly, but no answer came back. He prayed that the wounded soldier had simply blacked out, for it appeared there was no way down the precipice without a rope.
"This is no place for a descent without a rope," Charlotta stated firmly. With that, she produced a jar from her bag containing a tiny spider.
Brad stared at Charlotta incredulously, his eyes wide with surprise. Charlotta's lips curled into a mocking grin.
"I hope you are not one of those stubborn old knights who would rather die than seek the help of a wizard, Sir Silverhilt," she said.
Although Brad doubted Charlotta's claim of being a wizard, he was slightly peeved that she had concealed her true identity before revealing it in such a manner. He suspected that the red-haired woman was hiding more than she let on.
"I will trust you. I assume that you will grant me the climbing prowess of a spider," he said.
"For a brief duration. About half an hour," replied the woman.
"Please, use your magic, my lady. I permit it. I do not wish to squander any more time," Brad declared.
The red-haired enchantress uttered a series of arcane words from a crinkled parchment scroll, and in an instant, the tiny spider held within her left hand's palm vanished from sight. A pallid light shivered the hairs on Brad's arm where the sorceress had touched him, and he felt a subtle shift in the very essence of his being. Though no other sensation stirred within him, it seemed that the tips of his fingers had taken on a newfound strength and adhesive quality.
With the hope that the sorcery would take effect, Brad initiated his descent. He nimbly surmounted the difficult drop from the precipitous crags where scant outcroppings were few and far between. The knight candidate cautiously neared Middleton, who had lapsed into unconsciousness, his breathing labored. After securing the pathfinder's wounded knee with a girdle and staff, Brad hoisted the man onto his back and started to ascend. Despite the cumbersome burden, the enchantment was working its magic. His fingers clung tenaciously to even the minutest of juts, and the powerful man hauled himself to the next vantage while the propitious support held up marvelously. Finally, they reached the summit, utterly spent and with Brad's sinews screaming in agony.
Gasping for air, Brad beseeched the woman jokingly, "Pray, have you any incantation that could aid me in carrying the injured soldier?"
"Alas, I have no such spell. I came across the other one on a parchment I acquired, and it set me back a pretty penny."
Brad, entirely ignorant of the extravagant expenses involved in magical transcription, such as specially crafted parchments, quills, and enchanted ink, nodded in feigned comprehension.
"Lady Charlotta, I am deeply in your debt. I shall do all in my power to repay you. However, I must first attend to the matter of my soldier's condition."
After carefully assessing Middleton's injuries, Charlotta discerned that his right knee had not only cracked but also split, while his left ankle had severely sprained and was turning an unhealthy shade.
"Your soldier cannot walk. His legs are in agony, and it's impossible to return in this condition. I suggest carrying him to the tower," Charlotta suggested, her voice laced with urgency.
As dusk began to descend, Brad concurred with Charlotta's proposal. Once he had regained his strength, he hoisted Middleton onto his back and made his way to the tower. Charlotta, in the meantime, ascended the stairs to fetch sheets and pillows, intent on making a comfortable bed for the injured man. Before Brad could follow her lead, he noticed Charlotta murmur an incantation, and he surmised that there was an invisible shield guarding the entrance.
The red-haired woman proceeded to ignite a fire in the decrepit hearth and brewed an aromatic, herb-infused tea. She sought Brad's permission to administer the brew to Middleton.
"It's a family secret recipe - Charmint tea. I'm hoping it'll help lower his fever and soothe his wounds," she explained to Brad, who thanked her in earnest.
"I beg your pardon for being so inquisitive, Lady, but might you have any precious artifacts stowed away upstairs, or are you guarding us against a malevolent beast?" Brad couldn't help but inquire, his curiosity piqued.
The woman let out a resounding laugh. "There's no monster here, young knight. But, if you're curious, why don't you come with me, and I'll show you what lies upstairs?" she offered, mischief glinting in her eyes.
Brad eagerly followed the red-haired woman. As they reached the stairwell, she uttered the same enchanting word again, and he noticed a faint glow emanating from her fingertips. She ascended a few steps and signaled for Brad to follow. As he drew closer, he saw a door on his right that hadn't been there before. The scent emanating from it was so strong, he could almost taste it on his tongue. He looked at Charlotta in amazement.
"I'm using magic to keep that door locked," she said. "Or rather, to ensure that it stays locked."
"Why?" Brad asked. "What's behind the door?"
"I'm not entirely sure," Charlotta admitted, her voice hushed. "I just..."
"Please, continue, my lady," Brad interjected, sensing that she was holding back. "The night is young, and I'm eager to hear your story."
"Very well, Knight Silverhilt," Charlotta said, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Come upstairs and see for yourself. In fact, I had planned to tell you more before showing you what lies beyond that door, but you're not like the other knights I've met. I believe you'll quickly grasp the magic and mysticism of this unusual tale."
Brad was well-versed in the tales of war from the seasoned knights and priests, who spoke at length about wizards and their formidable powers. Though he had never encountered a wizard before, Charlotta's mysterious demeanor had certainly aroused his curiosity. Nevertheless, he kept in mind the age-old tales of caution. For if he faltered, a malevolent wizard could end him with a single spell.
He recollected the wise words of a seasoned knight, who had once said, "Never let your guard down with a wizard. Keep your sword within reach, and the potential enemy wizard even closer."
"After you, Lady Charlotta," said Brad, as they began their ascent up the spiraling stairs.