Free Fall (Part 3)

With a heavy heart, Brad Silverhilt found himself immersed in profound introspection. What were his true convictions? It had been only a few days since their stay in Barnachia, where he had directed his gaze towards the mesmerizing medallion known as Orion's Eye. The medallion now adorned the pommel of a silver dagger, its hilt shimmering with an ethereal glow.

The priest-blacksmith who had assisted him in the meticulous process of affixing the medallion onto the hilt had ardently proclaimed the unmatched efficacy of pure silver against ethereal beings, reciting sacred invocations throughout the forging of the blade.

Needless to say, this clandestine endeavor, borne from Brad's own beseeching, was shrouded in utmost secrecy, sanctioned solely by the solemn nod of Lady Illaine.

In the teachings of the God of Light, Orion, it was expounded upon the profound potency of the Sacred Light, which emanated from the harmonious fusion of truth, valor, sagacity, righteousness, temperance, integrity, benevolence, unity, and unwavering faith. Embracing all these virtues was deemed essential.

However, in the present juncture, Brad harbored doubt about his capacity to embody temperance and righteousness. A tempest of fury raged within him, and he wrestled with the formidable challenge of curbing the impulse to unleash his wrath unjustly upon another. Suspicion gnawed at his heart as he traversed the path, casting a dubious gaze upon those he encountered, especially Asvelas, whom he consciously evaded, Caleb, and even Ismeth.

Even in his attempts to seek respite through slumber, he found himself startled and abruptly awoken by the most fleeting of sounds. Perpetually besieged by the sensation of an imminent assailant, he labored to maintain an unwavering vigilance. Each passing day exacerbated his descent into a labyrinth of paranoia. The dearth of proper repose inflicted a toll upon his vitality, leaving him enfeebled. The wound etched upon his back remained ensnared in the clutches of unrelenting ache. On the rare occasions he managed to succumb to a fleeting respite, he was ensnared within the inescapable labyrinth of nightmares, their essence marked by a recurring motif.

Through the dense expanse of an enchanted forest, bedecked with majestic trees that reached for the heavens, Brad hurtled down the slope with unwavering determination. The cacophony of his relentless pursuers reverberated through the woodland, interwoven with the whistle of arrows that narrowly evaded their mark. A faithful companion, a bear, bounded by his side, their strides harmoniously synchronized. Such was the velocity of their flight, an embodiment of fluidity and grace.

Together, they descended into a sprawling valley, only to find themselves ensnared in the treacherous snare concealed amidst the rugged crags and hidden crevices.

Emerging from the shadows, masked figures gradually drew near, their identities unveiled in eerie unison. Each of Brad's once-trusted allies, now brandishing weapons infused with potent enchantments and sinister arms wreathed in wisps of ebony smoke, turned against him with malicious intent. In a malevolent onslaught, they unleashed a barrage of deadly assaults.

Night after night, his mind transformed into a harrowing battlefield, locked in an unrelenting clash against the eight shadowy adversaries. Without fail, he teetered on the precipice of defeat, only to be abruptly wrenched from the grips of this desolate nightmare, engulfed in a profound abyss of hopelessness.

* * *

"Arise!" reverberated a piercing cry that rent through the nocturnal air. "Take your positions! We are beset by assailants!" bellowed a voice that stirred familiarity.

Caught in a bewildered stupor, Brad's fingers clenched tightly around the hilt of his sword, his gaze fixating upon the enigmatic masked figures encircling their group. Suspended between the realm of nightmares and reality, he faltered momentarily. Yet, as his eyes beheld the fleet-footed archer, his nimble fingers releasing a formidable arrow, comprehension dawned upon him. Seizing his shield with unwavering resolve, he embarked on a furious charge toward his designated quarry.

The frenzied assailant managed to nock another arrow onto his bowstring, but Brad closed the distance with relentless speed. Though the quivering missile veered towards its intended mark, it met its demise against the swiftly raised shield, a reflex honed through countless practices. With a single, decisive strike, Brad sundered the man's chest. And then, he redirected his steely gaze towards the next archer, hurtling towards him with resolute determination.

Abruptly, a brawny figure wielding a battle axe materialized from the concealed depths of a thicket on Brad's left flank. Alas, Brad's notice came too late. However, in a breathtaking display, another shadowy form soared through the air, intercepting the oncoming assailant and redirecting his trajectory astray.

Remain ever vigilant," Shae's voice resounded, addressing Brad, her descent mirroring the grace of a hawk landing upon the earth.

Concealed behind a massive boulder, Derek stood as the guardian of Christine, the woman who had delivered a swift, mid-air kick to the axe-wielding assailant. The spectacle filled him with a mix of wonder and a touch of sorrow. At that moment, he cursed his own envy, for though he harbored admiration for Brad, he did not desire the knight to fall victim to a fatal blow.

Undeterred, Brad surged forward, closing in on the remaining archer. Witnessing Brad's relentless advance, the archer abandoned his bow and took flight. Simultaneously, Ismeth and Elphered engaged in fierce combat against their own adversaries.

The nimble archer proved to be an elusive opponent, deftly navigating the desolate and rugged terrain, skillfully maintaining distance for a prolonged period. However, his stamina dwindled, contrasting with Brad's unwavering endurance.

Eventually, the weary archer succumbed to exhaustion, collapsing within the embrace of a swift-flowing stream that cleaved through a steep hill, where the ancient olive tree boughs bent low. With his sword raised high, Brad commanded the young archer's attention, causing him to turn his gaze, now laden with fear.

"By whose command were you dispatched?" Brad bellowed, his voice reverberating like thunder across the expanse.

"We are but a lowly gang of marauders, my lord. We implore you, spare our wretched lives," the young man implored, his voice saturated with desperation.

"Do not attempt deceit. It was the elven enchanter who set you on this path. Admit it," Brad declared, brandishing his sword menacingly, its cold steel grazing the man's neck.

"Hold, Brad! Be calm," a voice called out from the shadows. It was Ismeth.

"These miscreants are mere cutthroats. No pursuers haunt our trails. I beseech you, quell your fury," Ismeth attempted to assuage him.

Brad clenched his jaw with ferocity, grappling to rein in his tempestuous wrath. He inhaled deep and coarse breaths, a technique honed through trials when his fury threatened to consume him whole.

"That accursed sorcerer lurks nearby, Ismeth. I sense it with every fiber of my being," he roared in a torrent of anger.

"Perhaps, Brad. Yet this man stands apart from their ranks," Ismeth responded. "Now, permit me to bind him," he added, stepping forth with measured caution as Brad receded several paces.

Brad sheathed his sword, granting himself a fleeting moment to regain composure. "When did I fall asleep, Ismeth?" he murmured softly, observing his companion expertly restrain and secure the captive.

"For a span of hours, Brad. It proves fortuitous. Your spirit demanded respite," Ismeth replied, his voice a balm of serenity.

Brad maintained his silence, a semblance of relief washing over him, yet he knew that the recurring nightmares will cast another shadow over the meager respite his few hours of sleep offered. He harbored a sense of urgency, knowing that he must uncover the truth behind that haunting dream before it consumed him entirely.

"In the heat of battle, where were Caleb and Asvelas?" Brad inquired, his voice tinged with concern.

"Asvelas proved himself a formidable warrior. His valiant efforts aided us greatly, and it was he who sounded the alarm. However, I must confess that Caleb's contributions to the fray were rather limited. He is a peculiar wizard, one who disclaims proficiency in combat spells. Instead, he gravitates toward the enigmatic realm of mystic arts," Ismeth responded.

Brad nodded in acknowledgement. "Indeed, I observed Caleb's distinct separation from our ranks." Then he murmured softly, his words barely audible, "While standing within a realm cloaked in shades of gray."

The aftermath of the skirmish revealed a grim toll: three lives lost, five wounded, and one brigand apprehended in the midst of his desperate escape, culminating in a tally of nine adversaries.

Asvelas discerned additional tracks, suggesting a failed attempt at ambush. According to him, these audacious assailants were not merely opportunistic escapees but rather inexperienced youths who had dared to assault a group of seasoned warriors.

Elphered supported the elf, offering his perspective. "It is plausible that these men, driven by desperation, foolishly launched their attack," he proposed, his voice laced with contemplation.

Shae discretely pulled Brad aside, her voice laced with authority, urging him to assume his role as the team's leader. Simultaneously, she delivered a stern caution, emphasizing the tactical error in fixating his attention on chasing the elusive archer.

"Sir Brad, Lady Illaine's trust in you is what brought me on this arduous journey. However, I must emphasize the folly of needlessly endangering Christine, a captive against her will," the monk-woman's words carried weight.

"Forgive me, Lady Alchanor. I did not request Christine's coerced presence. I never intended for events to transpire in this manner. I merely conveyed my reliance on her extraordinary gifts and expressed my desire for her voluntary companionship," Brad attempted to clarify.

"What's done is done, knight. We find ourselves here now. It is time for you to shoulder your responsibilities. Should doubts plague your mind, seek me out for guidance. I possess ample knowledge of the spiritual realms. Alongside the priest Centavius, I was chosen for this purpose. I can guide you, even through the ethereal planes if necessary," she offered.

Brad nodded solemnly. "At present, I believe that may not be the optimal course of action. My mind... is fatigued, plagued by perplexing nightmares."

"Speak with the priest, knight. Dreams and visions are his domain of expertise. He is present for precisely that reason. Without opening yourself to introspection, new pathways shall remain concealed," she advised.

Brad assured the monk-woman that he would seize the opportunity to confide in the priest, yet for now, he remained ever watchful, traversing the night without encountering further incidents.

The following morn, they ventured into the treacherous Bournavia Pass, where the narrow and sinuous trails wound their way amidst towering mountains. With caution as their guide, they pressed onward, braving the onslaught of fierce winds and sporadic rainfall. As twilight approached, they arrived at the formidable stronghold of Bournavia Keep, where the captured men were duly surrendered.

That night, they were bestowed the honor of being guests within the fortress's walls, indulging in savory feasts before retiring to the embrace of comfortable beds within the snug chambers. The respite proved rejuvenating for all save one.

In the witching hour, Brad abruptly snapped awake, entangled in the clutches of a nightmarish vision. He found himself thrust into a dimly illuminated chamber, its hearth long bereft of flames.

Captain knight Aegean Alcyones, the commander of Bournavia Keep, had thoughtfully arranged a bespoke chamber in the guest quarters, an acknowledgment of Brad's exalted position as the leader of the dispatched company.

Untangling himself from the covers, Brad fumbled in the obsidian darkness, his hands searching for the rough touch of flint to ignite a spark of light. Amidst his efforts, an unusual scent wafted down from the upper floors—a scent that bore all too familiar a signature. The distinct fragrance of smoldering Averan powder had seared itself deep into his memory. Unbridled fury surged through his veins, unyielding. Driven by an unwavering resolve to uncover and confront the perpetrator employing Averan powder, he made a solemn vow.

The parting words of Lady Illaine before their odyssey had commenced reverberated within the recesses of his mind.

* * *