"I'm afraid the name Charlotta doesn't ring a bell, my dear Knight Aspirant," said the Archmage Meracles, his pointed beard swaying as he shook his head. "She may not be one of the Orion Wizards, but rest assured that I know every wizard registered in our guild. We take great pride in keeping a close eye on our brethren's comings and goings." commented Meacles. He paused, his eyes narrowing as he listened to the Knight Aspirant's report for further details..
"We already checked the area. Sadly, Charlman is dead and the fog elf is missing. A powerful soul cage spell has been cast, and a rare magical trap belonging to the Ancient Pharrah Civilization has been triggered. These are ominous signs, indeed." said Meracles, stroking his beard again as he delved deep into thought.
"Based on what you've told me, my dear Knight Aspirant, I suspect that the prisoned incorporeal you faced is a strong psychic. They possess a rare gift that sets them apart from other wizards, a gift that cannot be taught or learned in any guild or school. It is a mystical power that lies dormant within them from birth, waiting to be unleashed."
Meracles took a deep breath before continuing.
"Psychic masters are elusive and mysterious, hiding their powers from the world, and only a lucky few find a mentor to guide them. Sadly, most are crushed under the weight of their own abilities, going mad or dying before they can reach their full potential."
He fixed Brad with a piercing gaze.
"But what puzzles me, my dear Knight Aspirant. How did you survive those mind attacks? It takes a strong will and an even stronger mind to resist such assaults. Do you have a secret, I wonder?"
Brad's voice caught in his throat as he spoke. "Esteemed Archmage, I believe this medallion has had an impact," he said, drawing forth the medallion from beneath his shirt.
The Archmage's thick, arched eyebrows knit together as he turned his piercing gaze to Lady Illaine. The silvery-haired woman simply smiled.
"The Eye of Orion. I believed it was your personal artifact, Lady Illaine?" Archmage Meracles inquired.
"I have grown too old for adventures, my dear friend. That is why I have entrusted it to a more youthful individual," she replied.
"Is a knight aspirant a wise choice?"
"The medallion chooses its bearer, and it matches their efforts. Brad Silverhilt has proven to be a fitting candidate."
The wizard nodded in disapproval but refrained from arguing more.
"I wish to return the medallion to you, Lady Illaine," Brad said, endeavoring to remove the medallion from around his neck. The elderly woman extended her hands, halting him.
"The medallion has chosen you, Brad Silverhilt. We must respect its decision."
Brad shrugged and tucked the medallion back into his shirt.
"Very well. The Great Scholar David Cantorean alone could possess more knowledge on this matter. That is all I can say. I cannot even speak with him, Lady Illaine. You know he harbors no fondness for me," Meracles spoke with a bow before departing from the room.
"It's not that he dislikes you, truly. Master David simply has no liking for wizards who devote themselves to the great gods. That's all," replied the High Priestess.
"He does not seem to favor the priests either," commented Meracles as he strode towards the door.
"Then we shall send Brad Silverhilt," suggested Lady Illaine.
"A splendid choice," Meracles said with a cutting gaze towards the knight before exiting.
Brad looked at Lady Illaine with a puzzled expression, as he failed to comprehend their exchange. "Who is Master David?" he asked naively.
Lady Illaine furrowed her brow and smiled at Brad, her gaze deep and wise. "Master David Cantorean is a scholar of great renown. He is as testy as he is knowledgeable, and like any other venerable overaged wizard, he is not easily matched. One cannot live with them, nor can one live without them," she said, her voice tinged with a hint of humor.
"But why does he not like wizards who dedicate themselves to the great gods?" Brad asked wonderingly.
"Because Master David is a man who values knowledge above all else, and he sees the gods as a hindrance to true understanding," Lady Illaine explained patiently. "But enough of that. You and your companion must visit the temple tomorrow, Brad. I shall give you directions."
With a respectful nod, Brad thanked the high priestess and left the chamber, feeling grateful for the wisdom and guidance of the old woman.
* * *
As Ismeth meandered through the temple grounds, growing weary of his game of skipping stones across the pool, he chanced upon a small square. There, in the center of the meticulously manicured green space filled with vibrant ornamental plants, stood a striking woman. Dressed in cream white and wearing shalwar pants, she boasted a powerful, athletic build like Ismeth's and immediately caught his eye. Unlike the other nuns, she eschewed the full-length robes, an uncommon sight.
"Greetings, fair maiden. Are you, perchance, another artiste visiting these sacred halls, just like me?" he queried, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.
The woman narrowed her green eyes and fixed him with a stern gaze, refusing to answer.
"Allow me, then, to introduce myself. I am Ismeth Crimsongale, scion of the Five Stones' Fortune Teller Queen, Mama J. My pride swells at my family's heritage, for today, I am a candidate for knighthood, a champion of my free-spirited, wandering gypsy people. Our roots trace back to the nomads of the Barren Lands beyond the Kingdom of Radiant. And you, dear lady, hail from the south, do you not?"
Once again, the woman shot him an unyielding look, choosing to remain silent.
At that point, a little girl with radiant yellow tresses and sapphire irises approached Ismeth.
"Her name is Shaela Alchanor. Don't waste your breath, she won't reply. As a candidate for the White Maiden, she has taken a vow of silence," the girl elucidated.
"The White Maiden? What manner of title is that? And what vow of silence?" Ismeth inquired, turning his attention to the girl.
"I am Christine," the little girl introduced herself, offering her hand to him. "One day, I will be a White Maiden as well. That's why I am receiving training in martial arts. A Quanas elf maiden, a monk, is instructing us on the art of exploiting our opponent's strength."
"Is that so? How does one do that?" Ismeth probed.
"Extend your hand, and I shall demonstrate," the girl replied.
Ismeth complied, and the girl skillfully grasped his hand, maneuvering her lithe frame around him as though executing a dance step. Suddenly, she pitched forward, seizing Ismeth by his collar and flipping him over her shoulder onto the ground.
Ismeth's agility and athleticism only served to make the event more theatrical. He guffawed as he tumbled over and landed on the turf. Had Shaela also grinned for a moment as she watched the spectacle unfold, or had Ismeth imagined it? He could not say for certain.
"Damn, sister monk! That little lass hurled me to the ground like an empty sack. Perchance I should consider taking lessons from that monk," Ismeth grumbled while rising from the earth. Christine cackled with mirth, but also with pride.
"I say, when shall this vow of silence instruction conclude? I yearn to make acquaintance with loquacious Shaela," Ismeth queried, glancing once more at the monk.
"Should you visit tomorrow morn, perchance Shaela may offer a reply. Yet she is not among those maidens you would take to dance. She is among the White Maidens who have pledged to safeguard Lady Illaine. Hence, I cannot offer you felicity, knight," Christine retorted.
"Know-it-all brat. Regardless, we shall chat anon later. My fellow Brad has at last emerged," Ismeth muttered, gazing towards the temple gate from afar.
Christine also gazed at the same spot. Suddenly, the girl's animated stare faded akin to a tomb raider beholding a zombie and rapidly retreated in the opposite direction. Though Ismeth could not fathom it, he paid it no heed. "Adieu to thee, Christine!" he bellowed after her.
"Verily, in the eyes of today's young, there remains no reverence for knights, my dear sister of the cloth," joked Ismeth while looking at Shaeala.
He discerned a faint smile on the rigid countenance and lips of the monk woman, who stood like a statue with an impassive visage.
" Farewell, Lady Shaela," Ismeth bade farewell to the monk woman by bowing halfway and darted towards Brad, paying no heed to the approaching Priest Pedras. "Well, my friend, have you given your statement? Are we ready to plunge into the nocturnal revelries of Barnachia?" he inquired.
"Enough with the nonsense, Ismeth. We didn't come here to frolic. We'll revisit the details with Lady Illaine tomorrow morning," Brad replied sharply.
"We would be delighted to have you as our esteemed guests tonight, gallant knights," the priest interposed.
"Be that as it may, the night is long and we are weary. We can venture into the city tomorrow. Besides, the scenery here isn't too shabby," Ismeth sighed, thinking of the lithe monk woman.
Guided by the priest, they made their way to the room they were to occupy. They partook of dinner silently with the returning priests from the evening prayers and retired to their chambers. When each lay in their own bed, Brad, plagued by profound thoughts, muttered:
"Ismeth?"
"Aye."
"Would you accompany me on a perilous mission, should it arise?"
"What manner of question is that, lad? Are we not partners?"
"This is not akin to scaling a mountain, Ismeth. We may have to venture beyond the continent."
"We're not bound for the Mistra Deserts, are we?" Ismeth chortled.
"Wherever the mission leads us, we must follow. Answer me candidly."
For a moment, Ismeth fell silent.
"We swore to one another until death do us part, partner," he declared eventually. Brad knew that although Ismeth spoke in jest, he was in earnest in his heart.
They drifted off to sleep in silence.