Chapter 64: Departure
Lucas straightened his collar upon hearing voices outside. It wasn’t just one or two people speaking, but many voices that had grown somewhat noisy.
“What’s happening?” Lucas grew tense. “Did the Icelanders find the entrance?”
“Don’t be so jumpy, Porter,” the gnome said. “While you were sleeping, Bardel and York explained to everyone about that gentleman’s plan to go to Alvado for us.”
“If that gentleman can retrieve the Mist Stone, we should depart immediately once the fog rises.”
“We agreed to see him off, whether he returns as promised or not. Everyone’s preparing for the journey—those must be the others waking up.”
“I see…” Lucas bent down and pushed open the half-closed door, stepping out of the study.
Indeed, the villagers had awakened. Lucas saw firewood being added to the cauldron, making the flames burn brighter and illuminating the faces of the Tanians. Someone brought out freshly baked cookies—not just one plate. Before Lucas saw that batch come out, the wandering knight had already been working alone by the oven for some time.
Plates of cookies were placed on the stone table for people to take. Yet no one reached for those delicious-smelling biscuits. When the poorly equipped wandering knight emerged from the food storage warehouse, everyone fell silent.
Their expressions turned solemn and dignified. Even the small children stood straight, positioned in front of the adults, their pure brown or sky-blue eyes gazing up at the knight’s iron helmet.
The wandering knight had strapped on his two swords but replaced the longbow on his back with a superior Icelandic military bow. The curved bow resembled a crescent moon, and black crow feathers extended from the quiver pressed beneath it—jet-black as ink.
The knight stood silently before the crowd, his bow and arrows at his back. His left waist bore a sword, while his right held a belted goatskin pouch where vial stoppers could be seen between the leather buckles. Beyond weapons and potions, the knight carried nothing else—that large deerskin pack had been placed elsewhere.
Lucas went to the corner to retrieve his spear, equipped himself, prepared his potions, and approached the knight.
“Sir Wade, please allow me to accompany you,” Lucas said with a nod. “Alvado has been occupied by necromancers and Icelanders—it’s extremely dangerous. I still remember its streets and the mountain paths, which should prevent unnecessary delays in our journey.”
The wandering knight nodded. Lucas clenched his fist and placed it over his chest.
“If my life can ensure this journey’s success, I’ll not hesitate to give it. My spear is at your command.”
Hundreds watched Lucas and the wandering knight’s faces. It was time to depart. While Lucas had been speaking with the gnome, the path to the surface had been cleared.
Bardel led several young men down from the narrow cave entrance. They moved aside the debris blocking the opening and removed the bluestones.
“The moon has reached one-third of the night,” Bardel said. “May the goddess protect you on this journey.”
Wade said little—he couldn’t speak much anyway—only casting a final glance at the Tanians deep in the cave before striding forward. The gnome and Lucas followed closely as the crowd naturally made way.
As Wade moved through the gathered Tanians, someone handed him something—a silk cloth embroidered with Tania lilies. Lucas had seen such scenes before: whenever knights or soldiers marched to war, Tanians lining the streets would offer flowers. With no flowers available now, this silk cloth would have to suffice.
Wade accepted the cloth and tied it to Radiance’s hilt. He ascended the stone steps where moonlight spilled down, and the bitter winter wind greeted him.
Crossing the final stone step, he reached the surface. Snow still blanketed the earth and forest—a vast, cold, silent white expanse. Lucas, Bardel, and Old York emerged from the cave behind him.
“Old York dares not go to Alvado but will wait with Bardel by a stream outside the ravine for your return,” Old York said. “We’ll hide in the forest and wait until noon.”
Wade nodded. The four men worked with the youths from below to reseal the entrance, then took out Ash Potion, pouring it over themselves from head to toe, ensuring the earthy, ashy-smelling liquid covered their entire bodies.
“Follow Old York. Keep your heads down and stay in the shadows,” Old York whispered.
After leaving the cave, the gnome pricked up his ears, stepping carefully with each move. The three followed the gnome through the forest across snowy ground.
When crossing a downhill clearing, Old York suddenly stopped. He turned, raising a finger to signal everyone to freeze and stay silent. He pointed skyward. Wade looked up to see a black shadow pass beneath the half-moon—a bird-like silhouette circling high in the night sky.
The creature didn’t linger above them, soon flying elsewhere.
“That’s Quasimodo’s night owl,” Old York murmured. “Those naturally lively birds have been transformed into his undead servants through dark magic. Be extremely wary of these circling undead—remember to stay under eaves or tree shadows.”
Everyone nodded. The gnome continued leading until the moon reached its zenith, bringing them to the ravine where they’d previously encountered Icelandic soldiers.
“Old York and Bardel can only accompany you this far,” the gnome said, pursing his lips. “York truly dares not face Quasimodo again. Please forgive York’s cowardice.”
Wade patted the gnome’s shoulder, then bowed slightly before him. The gnome’s knowledge had helped him greatly, and after hearing the gnome’s story, he found no fault in him.
He didn’t consider the gnome shamefully timid—that disgrace belonged to the necromancer who’d exploited the gnome’s kindness for his own gain.
“Your bravery and generosity, York will never forget,” the gnome sniffed. “And Porter—York believes one day bards will sing of your deeds.”
“Thank you for your blessing,” Lucas smiled.
Suddenly Lucas recalled the bard he’d met as a child—silver-haired, pointy-eared, that elegant male elf whose eyes always seemed melancholy, never smiling. Where was that long-lived elf now? Perhaps still traveling somewhere. If someday that elf heard the name Lucas Porter, would he remember a small child he’d met decades ago at Tania’s border?
“I’ll take charge from here.”
Lucas shook his head and stepped forward. Though his beard and hair remained unkempt, he no longer carried the air of a vagrant. He stood like a black pine in the snowy wilderness—resilient and steadfast.