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“As we said, they’re in the middle of reinforcements,” one of them explained. “We attempted to blend in and gather intel, but they have strict security around the site. It proved difficult to disguise ourselves.”
“The Dwarves couldn’t have been at it alone!” snapped Elder Lucius. “The mines are too big to defend its perimeter completely.”
“They all did look like Dwarves,” said another knight helplessly, “but it’s entirely possible that there was some concealment magic being used. We felt a lot of strange energy there compared to previous scouting missions.”
Furtow looked intently at the map on the table, unaffected by the tension as he observed the conversationunfold. “It’s either Fairies and Faes, or Humans. They’re the only ones capable of using magic in its raw form unlike everyone else.”
“Do you think the human guard planted something in the castle when escorting the princess?” said Lucius. “Maybe our clothes or rooms are bugged. Maybe the princess herself is the bug.”
“She’s not the bug,” Travus snapped. Everyone dropped their voices and raised their heads to look at him. The knights bowed, and the Council acknowledged him with a nod. “She’s been here for quite a while with no contact outside of the castle. How would her interference be possible? She’s a nymph.”
With an uncomfortable glare, Furtow spoke carefully. “Is it unwise to assume that she may not have any magical possessions that allow her communications?”
“There’s a barrier around Eldoria that would detect magical transmissions,” he replied.
“Yes, around Eldoria,” said Lucius, “but not the castle itself. Who’s to say the spy isn’t within the region to communicate with? Our security isn’t entirely foolproof, your majesty!”
Travus sighed and rubbed his forehead, then looked at the knights with an air of command and intimidation. “I want an in-depth report on the situation surrounding themines.” He then turned to his Elders. “I believe the Dwarves are simply acting in panic and trying to mine as much silver-rock as possible to stack up on resources. They’re going to forge as many weapons as they can in response to an impending attack.”
“Perhaps,” Furtow said begrudgingly. “I’m sure the Fairies have put in a tall order of arms for their own sentinels as well. All the nations would naturally want to defend their borders.”
“We should gear up for battle as well,” Lucius suggested. “Now that everyone will be prepared for us, we need to be able to strike back tenfold with the force to succeed in our tasks.”
With an exhausted exhale, he dismissed the knights and waited to be alone with the Council.
“What about our progress with Vihnmen’s Council?” he asked. “Have they revealed their stone’s location?”
“They’re not talking,” Lucius grunted. “I tried everything. They’re pretty loyal to their oath.”
“So that confirms it,” Travus muttered under his breath. “It exists and it is valuable. The ancient scrolls were right.”
Furtow looked at the other two Elders in a way that had them walking out of the room reluctantly. Travus watched as Furtow rounded the table while grabbing a book off theedge of it. It was a familiar cover, the same one that Furtow read out a cure from.
“I follow your orders regardless of the conclusions we come to,” he said almost gently, though he sounded strict. “What I read to you years ago was an interpretation. It was something lost to true translations centuries ago, your highness. Are you sure you want to pursue this Fairytale?”
“I will leave no stone unturned,” Travus bellowed.
“Except for the one that started this mayhem,” Furtow said pointedly. Travus looked away from him, but a hand on his shoulder drew his gaze back. With a fatherly look in his eyes, Furtow brought his other hand to Travus’s arm. “Why do you still run from it after all these years? Decades, your majesty? The one responsible for this–”
“Is long dead,” he finished. “You think I haven’t tried, Elder Furtow? She indulged in the darkest of magical arts, one without cure, for her own twisted fantasies.”
“She loved you,” Furrow said softly.
Travus’s teeth almost cracked against each other from how hard his jaw tensed up. “She didn’t,” he growled. “She was selfish and cruel.”
“She was hurt.”
“It does not justify!” he roared.
Though Furtow barely flinched, he blinked sadly as he nodded, turning away to open the book. He flipped through the pages while walking toward the light of the window and began to read what he could interpret.
“In the Realm of the Dead, is the River of Mortality, from which came five stones into the world of living. Each imbued with unique magic, they were each entrusted to the worthiest of Humans. On every winter solstice they would converge, guiding the weary souls of the departed into the Enchanted Lake under the watchful eye of the winter’s first, full moon. Then they would return, alive and well, having sipped from the River of Mortality to live anew, and to die again, and then to live again once more.”
He slammed the book shut and turned to Travus. “Your majesty! These are ancient scrolls with no proof. Something Humans needed to give themselves value, once our kind started to emerge. Humans, only able to harness magic with practice but never born with it imbued, would surely want to preserve their relevance somehow.”
“Our kind emerged from the evolutionary magical practices of Humans,” Travus argued. “That has remained an undisputed fact.”
“With what evidence other than the steadfast belief of generations?” Furtow said inquisitively. “Some scribbles on aged rock can only be so accurate.”
