Brad hesitated, his ears attuned to Ismeth's breathing. The steady rhythm gave him hope. He propped Ismeth up against the wall and took a seat on the ground beside his partner, drawing in deep breaths to calm himself. "Speak on, make your tale believable. Or else, I shall rest a while longer and depart. When my weariness ebbs and this cursed headache wanes, our conversation ends. Wizards have tested my patience of late, and I have paid dearly for it."
"I spied the guardian from afar. Non-human, he was, a mist elf, or so he seemed." Charlman began, then stopped.
Brad's eyes narrowed in skepticism. As an evil race, Mist elves were encountered very rarely in Barnachia.
"Charlotta mentioned it to me. But we never imagined he would possess such acute senses, capable of detecting my presence." Charlman continued.
"Why did you come here? Conceal nothing," Brad cautioned.
"Very well, I confess. A tome. An enchanted tome. A prophecy tome, to be precise. It can furnish answers to certain questions. But the chest that protects book is not within this tower. I scoured every inch of this place but to no avail. The only room left unsearched was this one. And it was here where I fell into a trap."
After hearing the word "chest," Brad had pieced together the situation. "An ancient chest with runes that devour light?" the knight inquired.
"Yes, how did you surmise that?" Charlman exclaimed excitedly.
"Because Charlotta found the chest, took its contents, and vanished," replied the knight.
"That sly girl," muttered the wizard with a taut expression, masking his fleeting rage with a smile. However, Brad had detected that momentary flicker of tension.
"What about the tunnels?" Brad pressed.
"What tunnels?" questioned Charlman.
"There are tunnels beneath this passageway. Did you not consider investigating them?" Brad queried.
"I swear I had no knowledge of the tunnels until I arrived here. I even contemplated inspecting the tunnels instead of entering this room. But fate intervened. I opened the door, saw the chest in the center, and charged towards it. And then...boom!"
"Thinking back, my partner Ismeth claimed he saw the hearth ablaze, but all I perceived was pitch-black darkness," Brad reflected.
"Believe me, my friend, that fireplace has not been kindled in three centuries. Your partner, like me, has been ensnared by an illusionary spell."
"You're suggesting that the mist elf is responsible for the sorcery?" queried Brad.
"Aye, 'tis most likely," Charlman replied.
"Very well then, Charlman, would you mind stepping out of the room? You haven't attempted it yet. Give it a try," Brad urged.
The shadowy figure made his way towards the door, as though restrained by some unseen force.
"This is absurd. I can't leave," he lamented.
"We're still at an impasse, wizard. Most of your explanations and answers seem cogent, but someone has ensnared you within these walls. And with my wounds and exhaustion, I'm struggling to decide what to do with you."
"If I were truly trapped here, I'd implore you to come in," Charlman stated, logically.
"That's reasonable. However, you could also be a cunning and sagacious wizard with nefarious intentions," Brad countered.
"Aye, that's also a possibility. You truly are in a quandary, my friend," Charlman conceded, with a wry smile.
"I've survived by trusting my instincts a few times in my life," Brad whispered.
"What do your instincts say now?" Charlman inquired.
"I cannot tell. I'm so weary and my head is pounding, that at present, I am no different from a stone or a tree that a minstrel serenades, waiting for applause or tip," Brad replied.
"The saying isn't quite right, but never mind. Very well. Even though I may be on the verge of death, I am not in a hurry. Might I inquire as to your name?" asked Charlman courteously. He seemed very kind, almost to the point of being suspicious, Brad thought.
"My name is Brad Silverhilt. I am a member of the Illuen knighthood."
"Well, at least you seem to be a good person. Being a knight is a noble profession. Sanctuary knights are particularly admirable," replied Charlman.
Brad's demeanor suddenly became tense. He then let out a forced laugh.
"Illuen who? Do you even know who he is?" he asked.
"How should I know your lord? In which province does he reign?" the wizard inquired.
"You mean to say you don't know who Illuen is?" Brad was taken aback.
The wizard shook his head, indicating a negative response.
"You played your role well. You almost had me fooled. Are you Charlman or someone else entirely? You are not from this era. That's for sure. Any man who lives in this era would know Illuen," Brad said.
The silhouette's countenance suddenly grew serious.
"What are you trying to say, Knight Silverhilt? I am not playing games with you," he retorted.
"For how many years have you been trapped inside that cursed object? Is it a magical vase, a jar or something else entirely? Who cares. You are evil, that's one thing I'm sure of!" Brad yelled, spittle flying out of his mouth.
The quivering of the shadow abruptly ceased. It was at that moment that Brad observed the man's face rapidly transform into that of a mist elf.
"Fool Charlman is dead, but he left me in this trap. Oh, if I could escape through that door, I would inflict serious harm upon you!" the elf bellowed, seething with fury.
"At last, I see your true identity. Where is Charlman's body?" Brad inquired.
The mist elf flaunted his power, snapping his fingers to conjure a display of magic. In an instant, the room's image transformed, revealing a sight that made Brad's heart skip a beat. At the spot where the glass had shattered, a white-robed wizard lay amidst the broken shards, the true Charlman.
"Damn you, you despicable mist elf!" Brad seethed, his anger palpable. "How did you learn all this about the wizard woman and her brother? How could you answer all my inquiries about Charlotta?"
The mist elf guffawed, his amusement at Brad's ignorance apparent.
"Truly, you are a formidable foe, accursed knight. Your mind is fortified by a protective shield of unfathomable strength. Even though Charlman, a wizard possessing a will far mightier than yours, was far easier for me to infiltrate. His mind eventually crumbled under my influence. With the intelligence gathered from both you and him, I wove a marvelous tale. But with each endeavor, the wall shielding your thoughts grew ever taller. At the end, when I could no longer breach your defenses, you discovered my blunder. Who the hell is Illuen? How should I know the identity of a foolish human lord?"
"So, Charlman didn't trap you here," Brad exclaimed, realization dawning on him. "You managed to unlock his mind too. He was also your victim."
The mist elf sneered with annoyance, his frustration clear. "Yes, you dim-witted fool. Charlman was only able to retrieve the magical jug from the depths of the fireplace before succumbing to my mental attacks. However, somehow, he was able to die without breaking the jug and uttering his last breath."
"You were ensnared here by another. But by whom?" Brad queried with fervor.
"Why does this matter to you so greatly?"
"I am at a loss. In truth, I simply yearn to seize Ismeth and depart, but for some reason, I am incapable. I cannot even rise from my position." Brad declared in revolt.
The mist elf chortled once more.
"It appears that my incantation is having a partial effect on you as well. Alas, it acts akin to a potent charm powder, akin to Averan herb; it must be influencing us both. Why?" The mist elf's laughter reverberated off the cavern walls in the corridor.
"Desist from your laughter, you contemptible elf!" Brad spat.
"I am powerless to cease myself. My head is spinning, and I have never afflicted myself before with my own mental assaults." The mist elf continued to snigger and laugh hysterically.
Brad's hand instinctively went to his medallion. "Could it be warding off the mist elf's magic?" he pondered. However, his mind was preoccupied with more pressing matters. Though he yearned to move, he remained paralyzed. His body was completely numb, as if encased in ice. The frigid ground beneath him seemed to sap the warmth from his bones, sending violent shivers coursing through him.
"Was every word you spoke of Charlotta a falsehood?" Brad inquired, praying that the remembrance of the woman would provide him some fortitude.
"What import does it hold?" the mist elf retorted.
"What did you do to Ismeth? At the very least, answer that." Brad insisted, thinking to himself, 'I must rise for Ismeth, at least.'
"I know not. I did not craft that spell. The scoundrel who confined me here must have executed diverse wards of protection."
"Who is that sorcerer? Tell me, you loathsome mist elf!" Brad bellowed.
"Why is it of such importance?"
"I know not. I must discover it. This question is incessantly gnawing at my mind, without rhyme or reason."
"Very well, I will disclose the answer, but with a stipulation."
"What sort of stipulation?"
"I implore you to pledge an oath to me."
"What oath? I shall not make any pacts with the devil."
"If thou canst escape from this place, I beseech thee to locate a sorcerer for me. I implore thee, find her and put a stop to her devilry. She is far more demonic and perilous than I." The mist elf almost begged.
"Tell me, who is she?" Brad yelled and demanded.
"Allendra Cahosse."
In Brad's mind, an array of vivid images blazed like lightning. A plethora of pictures flashed before his eyes. Each one was so vivid and real, they felt like memories that had yet to occur, but were his. Pictures of a woman with facial features reminiscent of Charlotta, with fiery red hair, hazel eyes, donning a resplendent robe in shades of black and navy blue, but much more stunning and alluring.
"I don't know anyone of that description," Brad finally said. But his mind was somewhat alleviated.
"You chose the wrong door and the venom has disoriented your mind. Put on the mask, foolish warrior," a familiar voice whispered from afar, resounding in his mind.
Brad didn't hesitate; followed the instructions and donned his mask, then helped Ismeth with his. After inhaling deeply, the crisp air filled his lungs, and he felt revitalized.
"Goodbye, mist elf. Our paths won't cross again," Brad spoke from behind his mask, embracing Ismeth before ascending the staircase to the door on the next floor.
"Curse you, knight! I'll escape from here eventually, and then I'll hunt you and that wanton Allendra down!" Those were the final words he heard from the mist elf.
With unwavering determination, Brad opened the door and descended heavily into the basement of the decrepit tower, then cautiously made his way outside. He gazed out at the vista. Rain was pelting down on the east side, while the west basked in the sun's final rays. The air was frigid, and the wind was howling mercilessly. He paid it no heed. Removing Ismeth's mask, he laid him on the ground. The mountaintop was shrouded in a crimson haze blended with mist. The sun was on the verge of disappearing over the horizon.
He drew in the icy fresh air, feeling the frosty, penetrating effect of the cold and wind. Suddenly, his partner regained his senses and looked around in amazement.
"What happened to me, Brad? Did I faint? Where are we?" Ismeth inquired, his voice still groggy from his ordeal.
"We've left the tower, Ismeth. You were ensnared in a magical trap, but you've recovered now," Brad replied.
"And what of the wizard you sought?" Ismeth asked, curiosity lacing his tone.
"Alas, he has met his demise," Brad answered solemnly.
"Well, good riddance! A dead wizard is the best kind," Ismeth quipped, a laugh booming from deep within his chest.
After the intense and enigmatic events of the past two days, Brad found himself questioning his views on magic and the practitioners of such. With a genuine smile gracing his face, he resolved to distance himself from wizards for at least three months. In his mind's eye, he conjured an image of the red-haired woman, and as he gazed upon the crimson sun, his heart panged with longing and bittersweet joy.