While Leni honed her resolve, a gnawing anxiety began to consume her.
She felt like every passing moment was time wasted, a precious commodity slipping through her fingers.
How much longer did she have to endure this precarious situation?
More importantly, where was her father, and what was he doing to find her?
These questions circled endlessly in her mind, fueling her growing impatience.
Just as a wave of worry threatened to overwhelm her, William let out a satisfied grunt and straightened his back, a clear indication that he had finished his meticulous work.
“That’s enough,” he announced, his gaze settling on a neatly arranged pile of newly finished daggers.
“Take those and follow me.”
“Yes,” Leni responded promptly.
As William instructed, she carefully gathered six daggers, each encased in a plain, sturdy sheath, and cradled them to her chest.
For a fleeting moment, she considered hiding one, a small, desperate act of defiance and a potential tool for escape.
However, she quickly dismissed the idea.
It would be too easily noticed, and the risk of immediate discovery far outweighed the slim chance of success.
It was better, she decided, to bide her time, to wait for a more certain, less conspicuous opportunity to present itself.
As they walked, the air vibrated with the sounds of the training ground: the heavy breathing of sparring men, the rhythmic clang of metal on metal, and the occasional shouts of exertion.
Amidst this cacophony, Leni’s eyes, ever observant, spotted Blayden.
He was in a secluded corner of the training ground, his head encased in a black cloth blindfold that completely obscured his vision.
He was sparring against three formidable knights, their movements powerful and deliberate in their full armor and helmets.
Blayden, however, wore only a gambeson, a padded defensive jacket that offered little protection but allowed for maximum agility.
His vibrant red garment highlighted the strong, lean lines of his muscular body, and his sun-kissed golden hair scattered like a wild halo whenever his body moved with fluid, almost effortless grace.
It had to be night combat training, Leni deduced. In situations where visibility is poor, a warrior must rely entirely on sound to discern an enemy’s movements.
Such a refined sense wasn’t acquired overnight.
Her father, a man of unwavering discipline, had always emphasized the importance of consistently training one’s ears, and she herself had performed similar exercises often in her youth, honing her auditory awareness to an almost instinctive level.
“Thinking of the Shadow Wolf, are we?”
William murmured, his voice low aside, as he stood beside Leni, both observing Blayden’s intense training.
“Shadow Wolf?”
Leni questioned, her interest piqued despite the seriousness of her situation.
“Are you referring to the wolf controlled by the Shadow Spirit?”
She knew of the legends, whispered in hushed tones around campfires – a monstrous creature that, if it bit someone, would infect their blood with evil energy, causing terrifying hallucinations and a slow, agonizing descent into madness.
“Yes,” William confirmed, a somber note in his voice.
“The Captain fought a pack of Shadow Wolves in the mountainous region of Ruhachen three years ago. He was severely injured, and it was a very dangerous encounter.”
Ruhachen, Leni recalled, was one of the minor kingdoms that had fiercely resisted Equilium’s expansion.
Three years ago, it seemed Blayden had gotten entangled with a Shadow Spirit during the war, a dark and perilous incident that had left its mark.
“After he recovered from that time,” William continued, “he regularly trains by fighting with his eyes covered like that. I thought he had been neglecting it lately, but it seems it suddenly came to mind, perhaps because of recent events or renewed vigilance.”
“I see,” Leni nodded, absorbing every piece of information like a sponge.
She needed to learn anything and everything she could about the Red Wolf.
As she learned more, she would inevitably uncover his weaknesses, for no one in the world, no matter how powerful or formidable, is truly without flaws.
It was a cold, calculated thought, born of necessity.
As Leni silently pondered what kind of reaction occurred in the body when bitten by a Shadow Wolf, a young squire, his movements deferential and respectful, approached and acknowledged William.
“Master William,” he said, a shy, almost boyish smile spreading across a face that still held the undeniable energy of youth.
William handed the swords he had brought to the squire, his grip firm and precise, and then took the daggers from Leni’s arms.
Leni felt a quiet surge of relief seeing William specify not only the type and purpose of the swords but also their exact count.
It was a clear indication of his meticulousness and unwavering attention to detail.
It was good, she thought, that she hadn’t attempted to steal a dagger; it would have been instantly noticed, and her precarious situation would have worsened considerably.
“Alright, let’s go now,” William declared, a hint of finality in his tone.
“Yes,” Leni responded, forcing herself to sound agreeable and cooperative.
It was paramount not to arouse suspicion, but she sighed internally.
With someone stuck to her side like this, constantly monitoring her every move, she couldn’t possibly escape.
The constant proximity was a suffocating tether.
***
On the way back to the weapon storage, a voice called out to William, cutting through the general din of the fortress.
“Master William!”
It was a slender young man with a mop of chestnut curly hair falling over his forehead, giving him a perpetually boyish and slightly disheveled look.
His face was clear and round, like unbaked dough before being put into a furnace, and his gentle, dark brown eyes sparkled with an intelligent curiosity and warmth.
He was a little breathless and his cheeks were flushed, as if he had been running to catch them, and he held a large wooden basket in one hand, its contents partially obscured.
“Hey, Gabriel!”
William greeted him, raising a hand in welcome, a genuine warmth in his voice that surprised Leni.
“Perfect timing. I was just on my way to see you, Master,” Gabriel said, approaching William with a slight bow.
He reached into his basket and took out a small, brown glass bottle, offering it to William with a deferential gesture.
“What is it?”
William asked, examining the bottle with mild curiosity.
“You said you often wake up at night,” Gabriel explained, his voice soft and soothing, like a gentle breeze.
“I made it with comfrey and lettuce juice. If you take it regularly, it will help you sleep soundly.”
“Thank you, Gabriel,” William replied, accepting the bottle and giving a genuine nod of appreciation.
“Oh, this too,” Gabriel added, picking up a small cloth pouch from the basket and offering it.
“What’s this?”
William asked, taking the pouch.
“It’s dried oregano,” Gabriel elucidated.
“If you put it under your pillow, it will ward off nightmares.”
“Nightmares,” William scoffed, a dramatic wave of his hand dismissing the notion entirely.
“When did I ever have nightmares?”
He feigned indignation, though Leni noticed a subtle shift in his demeanor.
“You were constantly suffering from sleep paralysis on the way back from Berden,” Gabriel gently reminded him, a hint of concern in his voice, ignoring William’s theatrical denial.
“That was just from relaxing,” William insisted, still waving his hand dismissively.
“Not a nightmare, no.”
Even as he dramatically brushed off the suggestion, William carefully placed the medicine bottle and the cloth pouch into a leather pouch at his waist.
With an expression as if his vulnerability had been exposed, he kept muttering that nightmares couldn’t possibly bother him, then, as if seeking a distraction, looked at Leni.
“This is Leni,” he announced, turning to Gabriel, clearly eager to change the subject.
“She joined today. She’s good with a sword.”
It seemed less like he particularly wanted to introduce her and more like he was relieved to be able to divert attention from his own discomfort regarding the nightmares.
Gabriel’s gentle gaze shifted to Leni, his dark eyes sparkling with a friendly curiosity.
“It’s Solenia. Please call me Leni for short,” Leni spoke politely, offering her preferred name.
When their eyes met, Gabriel offered a warm, gentle smile, and stated his own name.
“I’m Gabriel Pattero.”
His voice was soft and light, almost melodic, like he was singing a quiet tune.
“Gabriel is a physician,” William added, providing context for Leni.
“He takes care of our unit members’ bodies and minds.”
At William’s words, Leni looked at Gabriel again, a new perspective dawning on her.
So that’s why he had medicine to help with sleep.
She had only imagined older, grizzled individuals as physicians, their faces etched with years of arduous experience, but young people practiced medicine too, it seemed.
Admiration and a prickle of envy washed over Leni, quickly followed by a sharp prick of alarm at the back of her head.
Could this be the one, she wondered, her heart quickening, who had put suspicious medicine in the strawberry tea she drank, the tea that had caused her alarming loss of consciousness back at the banquet?
Leni’s hands clenched almost imperceptibly as the unsettling memory resurfaced, sending a cold shiver down her spine.
Despite her inner turmoil, she forced herself to maintain a nonchalant expression, betraying nothing of her suspicions.
Her gaze drifted, subtly, to the large wooden basket Gabriel was holding, trying to appear innocently curious.
“Are you going to the market?” she inquired, attempting to sound casual and friendly.
“No,” Gabriel replied, a small smile playing on his lips, “I’m going to Forêt Forest to pick mushrooms.”
That revelation immediately piqued Leni’s interest, a sudden spark of hope igniting within her.
“Oh, where is Forêt Forest, you ask?” she blurted out, her excitement barely contained.
Before Gabriel could even begin to explain, Leni, unable to contain her eagerness, shot forward, a plan rapidly forming in her mind.
“I know where it is!” she exclaimed, her voice bright.
“Should I come along and help you? I know a little bit about mushrooms.”
“Weren’t you helping Master William with his work?”
Gabriel asked, a touch of surprise in his gentle voice, clearly uncertain how to respond to this sudden, unexpected offer.
“Oh, I was, but…”
Leni started, then looked at William, a silent plea in her eyes.
This wasn’t the theater troupe, she reminded herself.
This wasn’t like casually asking Father if she could go to the market.
If she pushed too hard, she would only raise their suspicions.
A slave who picked her own tasks – even she thought that was ridiculous, a blatant disregard for her supposed status.
But contrary to her worries, William nodded with an agreeable, almost benevolent look on his face.
“The urgent work is done, so go with Gabriel,” he instructed, much to Leni’s astonishment.
“You’ll understand the unit’s work faster if you try different things. It’s for the best.”
“Oh, really? Can I?”
Leni exclaimed, her eyes widening innocently, barely concealing her triumph.
‘Yes, it truly is for the best,’ she thought, blinking demurely.
“Thank you for your consideration, Master William,” she said, bowing politely, her voice sweet and grateful.
William chuckled heartily, a genuine laugh that filled the air.
“You’re a bright one, aren’t you?” he commented, a fond expression on his face.
“After years of fighting for our lives, we’ve forgotten all our manners. It truly seems the war is over, ha ha ha.”
‘He’s praising me without knowing anything,’ Leni thought, suppressing a triumphant grin.
‘Well, let him think what he wants.’
With her head still bowed, she pressed her quivering lips together to suppress a wide, burgeoning smile.
Finally, an opportunity!
If the troupe members were still camping in the forest, she might be able to meet them.
She would escape as soon as she found someone on her side, someone who could help her.
And if she got caught, she could always claim she simply got lost while picking mushrooms, a plausible excuse for a slave unfamiliar with the territory.
***
Meanwhile, the King remained in a deep, unresponsive coma, a silent, inert figure on his royal bed.
Kalian, ever the strategist, wasted no time.
He issued a chilling order for Tigrinu to be moved to the Tower of Time.
Under the strict supervision of Priest Boren, a figure of considerable spiritual authority, attendants carefully moved Tigrinu and Martin, the Story Master, to the top room of the imposing Tower of Time.
There were many dissenting opinions from the nobles, who murmured among themselves about the impropriety and potential danger of such a move. But Kalian, unwavering in his resolve, pushed his plan forward, citing the unimpeachable advice of the royal physician.
Of course, the physician was merely a pawn, someone he had bribed and manipulated, but the nobles, unaware of this dark secret, had no choice but to remain silent, their objections stifled by Kalian’s authority and the supposed medical expertise.
As soon as he heard the shocking news of the King’s collapse and subsequent relocation, Blayden went directly to the Tarsewin Temple to find Boren.
He found the priest in the sacred sanctuary, meticulously examining the ancient altar artifacts, his face etched with a contemplative expression.
Words spilled out of Blayden without him even having time to show proper respect to Boren, who had been his revered mentor since he was the Prince of Kiabek.
“Didn’t I ask you to protect Martin Scarson?”
Blayden demanded, his voice low and intense, a mixture of anger and desperate concern.
It was Blayden, after all, who had personally handed Martin over to Boren’s care.
He had reasoned that keeping Martin in his own quarters would draw unnecessary attention, given the king’s precarious condition.
He had also calculated that Martin, considered an important chess piece in the unfolding political game, would be safer under Boren’s spiritual protection.
He had specifically asked Boren not to let Martin fall into Kalian’s hands, so what was Boren’s intention now, allowing this transfer?
“I used this method to protect him,” Boren explained, his voice calm and measured, his gaze steady.
“Otherwise, Sir Scarson might have been suspected and imprisoned or put on trial. Kalian is ruthless.”
Blayden forced himself to calm down, acknowledging the logic in Boren’s words.
Considering Kalian’s recent actions, particularly his brutal elimination of Princess Kiabel, it was entirely possible that Martin would have faced a far worse fate.
“Now, in the Tower of Time, time will flow on the wind,” Boren stated, his voice taking on a mystical quality.
He moved gracefully to the window and opened it, revealing the majestic Tower of Time, towering elegantly in the corner of the Chiesa Garden, now fully visible.
“Did you summon spirits?”
Blayden asked, his brow furrowed, aware of Boren’s mastery of ancient rituals.
“Yes. The Spirit of Wind and the Spirit of Time have entered,” Boren confirmed.
“Depending on the direction of the wind, there will be those who shed time and those who receive it. I’ve arranged for the King’s time to move towards the Story Master.”
Blayden listened intently, his focus absolute, as Boren continued his intricate explanation.
“Tigrinu’s body will shed time and become younger, a process of regression, and Sir Scarson, who receives that time, will age. Faster than his body would naturally age, accelerating his years.”
He described it as a desperate, yet ingenious, way to keep Tigrinu, who was rapidly approaching the precipice of death, tethered to the realm of the living, buying precious time.
“Are there no side effects?”
Blayden pressed, skepticism in his tone.
Such powerful magic always came with a price.
“There is no magic without risk,” Boren countered, his voice resonating with ancient wisdom.
“Haven’t you experienced that countless times on the battlefield, the unforeseen consequences of even the most carefully laid plans?”
Boren’s eyes closed deeply for a moment, then opened, revealing a profound depth.
“But for now, this seems to be the way to save everyone. The wind will likely be calm for a while, and Sir Scarson is strong. The flow of time won’t be violent, so he will endure. He entered with his mind prepared, knowing the sacrifice.”
Blayden, however, was not concerned with the well-being of “everyone.”
His focus was narrower, sharper.
Only the lives of those he wished to save, those who were part of his intricate scheme, truly mattered.
“I didn’t expect the King to collapse so quickly,” Blayden admitted, a rare hint of frustration in his voice.
“All my plans have gone awry.”
The sudden, unexpected turn of events had thrown his carefully constructed strategies into disarray.
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