The next morning greeted the Wanderer with the sight of a green ribbon fluttering from the branch of the grand oak tree.
He watched the silk ripple in the wind, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Looks like I’ve managed to drag myself into a dangerous situation once more, he thought. He let out a sigh and muttered aloud, “Can’t I just take a break for once?”
“Why didn’t you join Serenya?”
The voice shattered his thoughts. Duke Bradford was marching down the stone steps of the manor, in urgent steps and angry face.
The Wanderer blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “She explicitly told me she didn't want me around, Your Grace. She ordered me to stay behind.”
Bradford paced a tight circle on the gravel path before stopping dead in his tracks. “My contact in Hosar sent word this morning. She left the market yesterday afternoon. By horse, she should have arrived back at the capital a long time ago.” The Duke turned a piercing glare directly onto the Wanderer. “If anything has happened to her, you will be the prime suspect.”
The Wanderer’s irritation replaced by worry. “She hasn’t returned? I’ll go look for her right now. Please, send someone with me who knows the exact route to Hosar.”
“Stop right there!” Bradford roared.
He stepped forward, jamming a finger directly at his chest. “I swear, if my suspicions are true, your head on a pike won’t be enough to satisfy my rage.”
The Wanderer’s temper finally flared, his voice rising to match the Duke's. “Why in the world would you think I did something to her?! After everything she did to help me? What kind of man do you think I am?”
“How convenient it all is,” Bradford sneered. “She disappears on her very first trip outside the city walls following your arrival. A trip she has made a thousand times without incident. And you conveniently stay behind, claiming she ordered it, just to avoid suspicion.”
The Wanderer stared at him, shocked by the sheer audacity of the logic. “That is a completely baseless accusation! We don’t even know if something has actually happened to her yet. What matters right now is finding her. Let me go-”
“You won’t go anywhere,” Bradford cut him off, his voice commanding. “You expect me to let you walk out those gates so you can escape after your crime?”
The Duke turned to the soldiers standing watch and gestured. “Seize him!”
Four guards moved in instantly, grabbing the Wanderer’s single arm and forcing his shoulder back.
“Just let me look for her!” the Wanderer shouted, struggling against their grip but restraining his true strength. “Send any number of guards you want with me! Put me in chains if you have to! I just need to make sure she is safe!”
Duke Bradford looked at him with nothing but pure disgust, turning his back on the plea. He walked away toward the manor without another word.
The guards dragged the Wanderer and shoved him back into his quarters. He opened the door to try to leave, but two guards standing in front of his door blocked his chance of convincing Bradford.
Two agonizing days dragged by. The Wanderer remained a prisoner within his own four walls, completely cut off from the outside world. There was no news about Serenya, no word on the missing squires. He spent his time pacing the floor, the restless energy of the Spiral scratching at his chest.
A familiar whistle cut through the quiet.
The Wanderer rushed to the window and looked up. Roger was hanging upside down from the roof's edge, as he gestured for the Wanderer to come closer.
"It's time," Roger whispered.
The Wanderer shrugged, gesturing to the door behind him. "How? The Duke has me locked in here under guard."
"That's the perfect alibi," Roger replied.
"There are guards right outside," Wanderer whisperedred back.
"I'll take care of them," Roger said, before snapping backward and vanishing over the roofline.
A few minutes passed. Then, through his door, he heard a muffled voice ordering the two guards to abandon their posts for a patrol shift. The sound of their footsteps faded down the hall.
A moment later, the door opened, Roger stood in the threshold, grinning. "Come on."
The Wanderer stepped out cautiously, his eyes darting left and right, but not a soul in sight. "How did you get them to move?" he asked, turning to Roger. "Who was that voice?"
"No time for questions," Roger snapped. He reached beneath his cloak and shoved a spherical object wrapped in thick cloth into the Wanderer’s arm. "Don't drop it unless you want to be shattered into a million pieces. The fuse is active. It will explode in thirty minutes, so make sure it detonates inside the Mage Seekers' headquarters."
"But how am I supposed to get past their security?" the Wanderer pressed.
Roger threw a bundle of fabric over his shoulder. "Wear this. It’s a Seeker uniform. Make it fast before anyone notices you're gone."
The Wanderer gave a nod. Hurrying through the side exits, he slipped out of the Bradford manor gates, even the main courtyard guards had been cleared out.
Ten minutes later, the Wanderer ducked into a dark alleyway, a block away from the fortress of the Mage Seekers.
He dumped the clothes on a crate and stared at the uniform. This won't fool anyone, he thought bitterly. The moment I get close, the Seekers' staves will detect my magic.
And then there was the bomb. If it was a magical device, the security perimeter around the headquarters should have already been screaming.
With his heart hammering against his ribs, the Wanderer carefully unwrapped the cloth shielding the spherical explosive. The fabric fell away, exposing the device.
He froze.
The outer shell of the bomb gleamed with a familiar silver hue. It had an outer shell made of Moon Dew.
His eyes widened in sheer horror, the breath catching in his throat. "Moon Dew...?" he muttered, his voice trembling. The Nine Owls were in possession of the same volatile substance native to his homeland.
The Owls know Skida. Or worse... they're working with her, he thought.
He quickly wrapped the cloth back around the shimmering device, his mind racing through a maze of betrayal and traps. If he entered, he would be detected immediately, he can't abandon the mission either, or if he should tell Zeek about the moon dew.
But the clock was ticking. He had less than fifteen minutes left before the explosive detonated.
Pacing the alleyway, he looked up at the stone wall of the building directly adjacent to the Seekers' building. He stepped up to the stone and violently carved the words into the wall. DRAEMIR FOREVER.
He sheathed the weapon, turned around, and completely tore the cloth away from the bomb. The Moon Dew sphere pulsed with an angry silver radiance.
Bracing his boots against the ground, the Wanderer gathered every bit of strength in his muscles, winding his single arm back, and hurled the explosive across the gap, sending it sailing directly toward the side wall of the Mage Seekers' headquarters.
The thunderous boom tore through the night. The detonation completely gutted a massive section of the Mage Seekers' headquarters, raining stone and dust over the surrounding blocks.
The Wanderer bolted into the shadows, the chaotic sounds of shouting citizens and sirens rising behind him as he vanished into the night.
He slipped back into the Bradford manor unnoticed, his mind a chaotic storm of revelations. Moon Dew. It finally clicked. That was why the city’s Nullstones hadn't nullified the device, Moon Dew shielded it. He gasped aloud in the quiet of his room. Is that how Skida’s spy is concealing himself from the Seekers? Is he using Moon Dew to mask his mana?
He needed to get this information to Zeek immediately.
He moved to open his bedroom door, but the metallic spears stopped him. The guards were already back at their posts. He backed away and checked the window, scanning the rooftops for any sign of Roger, but the clay tiles were completely barren. Trapped and out of options, he reluctantly threw himself onto the bed, staring at the ceiling and praying the morning would bring a way out.
The next morning.
The Wanderer was jolted awake by the sound of splintering wood. Duke Bradford burst into the room, with the eyes of a mad man. Before the Wanderer could even swing his legs out of bed, the Duke lunged forward, grabbing him by the collar.
"You bastard!" Robert roared, throwing a brutal punch to Wanderer’s jaw.
"The refugees kidnapped Serenya!" Robert screamed, tears of absolute agony and frustration spilling down his cheeks. "It was you! It was you all along!"
The Wanderer, shaking off the daze, planted his boots and used his leverage to violently shove the older man back.
Robert stumbled, but immediately recovered, his voice cracking as he pointed a trembling finger. "I will cut you open with my own hand!"
"Calm down!" the Wanderer shouted back. "Think for a second! If I was the one who did it, why would I still be sitting in this room? Why wouldn't I have fled the city?"
But Robert was completely beyond the reach of logic, he lunged again, unleashing a flurry of punches into the Wanderer’s torso and face. The Wanderer braced himself, absorbing the blows and holding back himself.
Finally, gasping for air, the Duke dropped to his knees from sheer emotional and physical exhaustion.
The Wanderer stood over him, spiting a mouthful of blood onto the floor and spoke calmly. "Satisfied now? Can we discuss this?"
Robert rasped, his breath catching in his throat as he glared up from the floor. "Guards... take him! Take him away to Zeek!"
The door flew open. Four heavily armed guards descended on the Wanderer, pinning his arm and slamming heavy iron shackles onto his wrist.
The Wanderer shouted as they grabbed him. “Listen yo me god dam it!”
But they dragged him roughly out of the manor, marching him through the streets under the morning sun until they reached the refugee camp, throwing him down right at Captain Zeek's feet.
“What in the hell is going on here?!” Zeek shouted, storming out from behind his desk.
“Duke Bradford’s orders, Captain,” one of the guards barked, stepping forward. “He wants the truth tortured out of him. The bastard had a hand in kidnapping Lady Serenya.”
Zeek’s eyes widened in sudden rage. Without warning, he stepped in and launched a kick straight into his ribs. “You damn traitorous bastard!” Zeek roared, he turned to the escorts. “Everyone out! Leave him to me. I’ll make him talk myself.”
The guards saluted, turning on their heels and exiting the tent.
The moment they left, the anger vanished from Zeek’s face. He let out a sigh of frustration and rubbed his head.
The Wanderer adjusted himself on the ground. “I didn’t do it.”
“I know,” Zeek muttered, his voice dropping into a tense whisper. “But I can’t let them see us acting friendly. They can't know the truth, not yet anyway.”
The Wanderer pushed himself up to a sitting position. “Do you know who took her?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Zeek countered, pacing the tight space.
“The Owls?”
“Who else?” Zeek spat. “Who else benefits from kidnapping the Duke’s daughter and pinning it entirely on the refugee camp? It’s the perfect catalyst to start the purge they want.”
The Wanderer forced himself up to his feet. “Then we have to move. We have to save her.”
“No,” Zeek said flatly.
“What do you mean, no? They’re monsters, Zeek! They might kill her!”
“If that was their play, she is already dead!” Zeek shouted back, trying to keep his voice loud enough to sound like an interrogation to anyone listening outside.
“We have to try at least!” the Wanderer shouted back, stepping closer.
Zeek slammed his fist onto his wooden desk. “I know what I’m damn well doing! She is my niece, you think you worry about her more than I do?!”
“Then move!” the Wanderer yelled.
“My men are already tracking her, don’t worry about that,” Zeek hissed, leaning in close and drawing a small key from his uniform. He quickly unlocked the iron shackles. “You have a more pressing matter at hand right now. You need to escape, and you need to return to the Owls.”
The Wanderer stared at his freed wrists. “They think I’m a rogue veteran who just bombed the Seekers. If I’m on the run, it validates everything.”
“Exactly,” Zeek nodded urgently. “Now... knock me out.”
“Wait, I have to tell you about the explosive device first,” the Wanderer insisted, grabbing Zeek's arm. “It wasn't Valorian magic. It was covered with Moon Dew. Skida is-”
“There is no time!” Zeek shouted, cutting him off completely and bracing himself. “Knock me out right now and run! My messenger is waiting just outside the rear flap, he’ll grant you safe passage out of the camp. Do it!”
The Wanderer’s jaw tightened. He didn’t have a choice. Reaching down, he grabbed the heavy shackles, smashing it against the back of Zeek’s head.
The Captain went limp, collapsing face-first onto the desk. The Wanderer dropped the chains, took a deep breath, and bolted through the back of the tent where the messenger gestured him to hurry.