Ismeth and Brad elected to descend from the western peak on foot this time, preferring to stay above ground and bask in the security of fresh air. Ismeth's unwavering declaration to never set foot in caves again weighed heavily on their decision. The sky was a vast expanse of oppressive clouds, blocking out all but the faintest rays of light. The rain fell in sporadic torrents, and the air was biting cold. The rocky terrain was slick with moisture. Although it had seen little use in over three centuries, a path once existed that facilitated the ascent and descent from the dark tower. Brad, who led the way like a skilled ranger during their descent, was taken aback by the absence of treacherous dead ends or traps that would have tested Ismeth's mountaineering prowess. Every step was taken with extreme caution, anticipating any potential pitfalls.
The bewildered knight considered that he had made an erroneous decision by forgoing the cave route to reach the top of the mountain, but then he realized that it might have been the hand of fate at play. For if he had not chanced upon the bodiless captive and the mist elf, he would be clueless as to what the sorceress had filched from the trunk. And alas, he wouldn't be lugging the weight on his shoulders nor would be tormented by the notion of halting Charlotta by any means necessary. A seemingly unimportant choice of path had steered him toward an entirely different destiny. He ruminated on how to surmount the problem that he couldn't disregard.
Ismeth maintained a stoic demeanor until they arrived at the settlement on the plateau, devoting himself to the descent. His silence was partly due to the lingering effects of the magical trap, but it was his partner's lack of speech that truly concerned him. Despite badgering Brad repeatedly to tell the story during a brief respite in the settlement, Ismeth received only silence in return.
By the time they had made it down the mountain and reached the stables where their steeds were kept, Ismeth was boiling with fury. He swore a solemn oath that he would not budge from that spot until he had wrung a satisfactory answer from his partner. As Brad prepared to mount his horse, Ismeth seized his shoulder with an iron grip and gave him a hard shake, articulating his vow in a seething tone;
"Spit it out, partner," Ismeth growled, his tone seething with fury as they faced off against each other. "Either you divulge the entire tale, or our partnership comes to an abrupt end," he snarled.
"What in the nine hells are you on about, Ismeth?" Brad hollered back, shoving his comrade aside. "This matter is none of your concern. I'm bound for Barnachia to rectify the issue before it snowballs into something worse."
Ismeth staggered backwards before barreling towards Brad, demanding in a thunderous voice, "Where the devil are you going, you bloody lunatic?"
"I cannot involve you in this affair, Ismeth. It's better if you keep out of it," Brad shoved Ismeth away again.
"What affair? What trouble? For pity's sake, enlighten me so I can be of aid. Perhaps I could lend you some counsel," Ismeth persisted, closing the distance between them.
"It's safer if you remain ignorant, Ismeth."
"Why on earth not, friend? Share a morsel of information so I can grasp the situation," Ismeth insisted.
"The sorceress has wrought something perilous, and I must act posthaste to rectify it."
"You shan't mount that horse, friend. No, this won't stand. You'll tell me the entire tale this instant!" Ismeth barked, lunging towards Brad once more and shoving him forcefully.
Brad's attempt to mount his horse ended in a painful mishap when he slammed his head against the saddle. The searing pain made him see red as he turned and threw a furious punch at Ismeth. But the dark-skinned knight saw it coming and deftly dodged it, sweeping Brad's feet from under him with a swift and forceful move. Brad tumbled backward, his backside hitting the mud with a squelching thud, while Ismeth pounced on him, raining down two blows in quick succession. The sight of blood oozing from Brad's mouth made Ismeth stop abruptly, his hands now open in remorse.
Spitting out the metallic taste of blood, Brad delivered a brutal uppercut to Ismeth's jaw, which was now slack from the relief of letting down his guard. Ismeth went flying backward, his body crashing into a pool of muddy water. He clutched his jaw, which was pulsing with a sharp pain, and groaned in agony. Brad got up, charged at Ismeth, and grabbed him by the neck, squeezing tightly with both hands.
"You were never one of us," Ismeth gasped, his battered face contorted in agony, his eyes bloodshot and bruised.
Brad seethed with anger upon hearing Ismeth's words. But when he noticed Ismeth struggling to catch his breath, he relaxed his grip just in time. "I'm no highborn fool!" Brad bellowed, jumping to his feet.
"That's irrelevant," Ismeth countered. "You've been bred among them, haven't you? Illuen The Commander grew up among savage Northerners, there he learned that brotherhood comes before honor. You may have memorized every word the commander has spoken, but you're clueless about what he meant. You're nothing more than a pampered lapdog, just like those noble canines."
Brad shook his head incredulously.
"Do you truly aspire to become a knight?" Ismeth asked.
Brad stared at him blankly.
"Why do you think they paired me with you and that fool Derek with Elphered?" Ismeth continued. "Because they thought you two understood the heart of this calling. They believed you could teach. But they were wrong. You haven't learned a thing. You're just reciting hollow phrases from memory. I've got your back, mate. Eat whatever shit you like. Leave if you must. I'll cover your arse, even serve your time in prison if necessary. But if you don't share with me, how can I perform my duties properly? How can I be a shield to your sword? Become a true knight or quit this job this instant."
Brad, on the brink of losing control, collapsed onto the muddy ground, his rage causing him to tremble like a leaf. The events of the past two days clouded his mind, preventing him from thinking clearly.
His comrade was not wrong in one respect. If he were to depart at this moment, he would place himself and his comrade in a most precarious predicament. Abandonment of a comrade, under the rules of chivalry, presuming his partner was not a turncoat, was an unpardonable offense. This principle of brotherhood lay at the foundation of the entire system of chivalry.
The duos designated as "Sword and Shield" underwent rigorous training and practical exercises. During the course of their candidacy, they were paired up to form squads of ten known as "Winged Swords," which comprised the primary assault units of the army. These winged swords combined to create larger units of one hundred soldiers designated as "Charging Swords," the chief offensive groups in a battle. In this way, the basic structure of the army was established. The most seasoned soldiers were placed in the thousand-man units stationed in the heart of the fray, referred to as "Unbreakable Swords." When they numbered ten thousand, they were known as "United Swords," and should they, on rare occasions, reach one hundred thousand, they were designated as "Heavenly Swords."
Brad muttered under his breath, "I must convey this news to Lady Illaine."
"No worries, we can manage that, it's effortless. But first, tell me everything about these occurrences," Ismeth encouraged him, massaging his throbbing jaw.
Brad meticulously narrated the incidents of the past forty-eight hours, and Ismeth listened calmly and with great patience.
"Alright, I see. Whatever mystical object you mentioned appears perilous. Of course, if you can trust the words of a mist elf," Ismeth remarked.
"That wretched elf spoke the truth, I'm positive."
"But your Charlotta deceived you. That's unequivocal," Ismeth affirmed.
Brad nodded silently.
"Perhaps she had a reason. We shouldn't jump to conclusions. Spellcasters always loathe sharing magical knowledge with warriors. Plus, she left you a letter saying you'll meet in three months. So, she hasn't entirely fled." Ismeth tried to be optimistic.
"I cannot wait for three months, Ismeth. I will exhaust all my connections to locate her because I have an ominous feeling."
"Alright, alright. This is what we'll do," Ismeth began and elucidated his plan.