When Brad woke up, he saw Ismeth's grinning face. They were in the building where they found the dead bodies of bandits. As he could see from the window, the day had already dawned. The cold wind was creaking the old door.
"I swear, Brad, because of you, I will die of a heart attack one day," Ismeth protested.
Brad sat up halfway and looked around. There were only two of them in the room. His head was pounding badly. His wrists, which had received the blow, were throbbing and had turned purple.
"Where are the others? Is Middleton okay? How did you find us?" he bombarded Ismeth with questions.
"Okay, okay, man. I'll answer all of them. First, calm down a bit," Ismeth replied to soothe his partner.
Brad struggled to get up. He was still dizzy. He staggered. Ismeth put his arm around his shoulder to support him.
"I think some fresh air would do me good," Brad said.
The two comrades made their way to the bustling square of the settlement. They settled atop a mammoth granite boulder, its surface gleaming under the morning sun.
"Speak, Ismeth," Brad said, his voice firm and clear.
"Our watchman, Jarlhead, reported hearing strange noises in the dead of night, rousing me from slumber. Then, a thunderous blast echoed from within the ancient windmill. We hastened to investigate, discovering a shattered stone slab. You and Middleton were there. And some dead bodies. As the pathfinder was gravely injured, I ordered all of them to take him back to the town to find a healer, while I remained by your side," Ismeth recounted, his brow furrowed with concern.
"Orcs and ogre?" Brad queried.
"Dead, all of them. Throats slit. And that ogre, it was smoking as if it was infused with some dark magic. The scar on its stomach was an ominous burnt mark, as though a spell had been cast upon it.," Ismeth replied, his voice trailing off in disbelief.
"Aye, it was magic. And where is the enchantress?" Brad asked, his tone even.
"What enchantress, Brad?"
"The female mage. Was she not found?"
"There was no mage, Brad. Although Jarlhead claimed to have heard an eerie voice emanating from the labyrinthine halls, I dared not pursue it as there was no need to risk anyone."
"Which direction did the voice come from? East or west?" Brad inquired.
"By the gods, I cannot recall, Brad! We were busy rescuing you two at that moment!" Ismeth exclaimed.
Brad rose to his feet, a scowl etched on his face. "Curses!" he bellowed, his fists clenched in frustration. "And what of the old chest?" he inquired.
Ismeth paused for a moment, racking his brain before replying, "Aye, there was indeed a weird chest. Its lid was open, and its contents had been looted."
"That wretched sorceress tricked me," Brad grumbled.
"Pray tell, what befell you last night? Was this enchantress a friend or a foe?" Ismeth probed.
"I cannot say for sure," Brad lamented.
"You certainly have woven a web of mystery, Brad. Even if she was a sly serpent, was she at least comely?" Ismeth quipped, hoping to ease his partner's agitation.
Brad scowled at his partner, fuming with anger. Unconsciously, he delved his hands into his pockets, where he found a rolled piece of bamboo paper. He withdrew it and unfurled it to peruse its contents.
"My dearest knight, I would dearly love to accompany you on this journey, but alas, I know only too well that other knights will not share your liberality and open-mindedness. They will seek to restrain me with their thick-skulled, brutal methods of interrogation. I have no time for such senseless displays of male posturing, and so I must depart. However, should you manage to find my brother, Charlman, and unravel the mystery of his unfortunate fate, I will wait for you at the Swords Square at midnight, precisely three months from now. I trust you will keep your word and reveal the truth. With a fervent hope that the mysteries will be uncovered, I remain your faithful, Alotta, the rebellious daughter of the Charl family."
"What does it say?" Ismeth inquired, peering over Brad's shoulder.
Brad folded the letter and stashed it away in his pocket. "None of your concern!" he snapped at his partner.
"Alright, alright. We understand that something momentous occurred last night, given how tight-lipped you're being. Did the lady at least possess considerable beauty? And what shade of hair did she possess?"
"Enough, Ismeth," Brad warned, clenching his fists in frustration.
"What shall we do now? Shall we turn back?" Ismeth asked, leaning in towards Brad.
"No, I have one more task," Brad replied, gesturing towards the mountain range in the west.
"Are you out of your mind?" Ismeth asked incredulously.
"You can turn back, Ismeth. I made a promise," Brad said firmly.
"No, this time I won't leave you alone. Even if we're heading into the heart of an orc tribe, I'm with you," Ismeth declared resolutely.
Brad chuckled. "We might be heading towards a place like that. The Black Tower," he said, pointing to the towering structure at the west summit.
"The Black Tower?" Ismeth repeated dubiously.
"The tower of the wizards on the path of Therion," Brad reiterated, pointing to the peak in the west once more.
"Damn, my luck. Look at the partner I've found. He loves climbing mountains and delving into dark towers. He's insane," Ismeth muttered with a smirk. "I swear, with this kind of thinking, we'll end up in Mistra's Black Desert fighting the mist elves. Might as well stop by Romdaht while we're at it. Can't leave the Black-robed wizards out, can we?" Ismeth continued to complain as they made their preparations for the journey.
Brad's mind was preoccupied with the question of whether they should take the underground route or stay above ground, a question he couldn't answer. His instincts had failed him this time. Fortunately, his powers of observation were keen. The gathering dark clouds indicated that a heavy rain was on the way, answering his question in a way. After collecting his belongings, he set out towards the decrepit windmill.
"Indeed, let us burrow underground like moles," Ismeth grumbled, trailing after his partner. "You are operating on another plane altogether today, Brad."
"Say, Ismeth, have you any rabbit skins?" Brad inquired.
"For what purpose?" Ismeth asked in return.
"We shall fashion masks," Brad explained.
"Jarlhead ensnared a pair yesterday. The hides should be somewhere in the vicinity," Ismeth replied.
"Retrieve them and dump your bag," Brad commanded.
"What manner of masks, my friend?" Ismeth inquired.
"Poisonous gases lurk in the caverns below. We must inhale fresh air from time to time to remain lucid," Brad elaborated.
"Hmm, not an altogether terrible notion. However, there exist alternative, less perilous methods," Ismeth mused.
"Actions speak louder than words, Ismeth," Brad retorted. "Incidentally, there's yet another problem we shall encounter below."
"Pray, what obstacle is that?" Ismeth inquired.
"In certain areas, flammable gases pervade the atmosphere. Ergo, we cannot kindle a fire within," Brad warned.
"How then shall we navigate our way?" Ismeth wondered.
"Did you happen to espy the wan yellow dust on the walls during our rescue yesterday?" Brad queried.
"Aye, the walls glimmered in that hue," Ismeth recollected.
"Those very particles shall be scraped off with a blade and deposited into glass spheres, thereby fashioning lanterns," Brad divulged.
"Where the hell might we find such spheres?" Ismeth asked.
"I glimpsed them down yonder. You venture forth and collect the glittering dust and the glass spheres. Meanwhile, I shall fashion the masks," Brad assigned.
"Let us exchange tasks. I've no desire to handle obscure minerals. My forte lies in needlework. Shall we not sew the rabbit skins into a sack?" Ismeth suggested.
"Agreed, Ismeth. The sooner we commence, the better," Brad concurred.
In accordance with Brad's instructions, Ismeth meticulously crafted the masks, and once his task was complete, the two companions ventured into the subterranean cavern at noon. By then, Brad had discovered the glass spheres, fashioned from sturdy mica elements, and he was delighted with their durability. With the lanterns now ready, the brilliant dust they emanated illuminated the path for two or three meters ahead, a remarkable feat.
Brad also conducted a thorough investigation of the ground where he had clashed with orcs and ogres. Though he surmised that Charlotte's footprints led eastward, the tracks were faint and challenging to discern.
Afterward, the duo set off in the opposite direction, following the trail that led west.