The Wandering Sword

"Why are we deviating, Luciara? Weren't we heading to Hezaran?" Mavros questioned as they marched. The girl had moved ahead to guide him along a specific trail, one that wound through the wooded outskirts of the city.

"We will... but tomorrow," she clarified, "Today we will visit my mother. She should still be staying at the mayor's residence."

The knight nodded in understanding. "I see," Mavros responded, picking up the pace once again. "So, this residence is around here…"

"That's right," Luciara nodded, her gaze fixed on the path ahead. "I know the way because it's not the first time I've visited it. For years now, the mayor of Hezaran has been one of my mother's most frequent clients."

"Now that I remember, I think your father mentioned during dinner that she was a sculptor. He said she was working on a sculpture for that mayor..." Mavros commented, suddenly intrigued to delve into the topic. "By any chance... did she sculpt the one in the square where your home is located?"

"'The Thunderblade that defies the Dimension Cutter,'" Luciara recited its name from memory, turning to look at the knight. "One of her many works displayed throughout Najta," she confirmed, her brow furrowing slightly. "Don't even think about telling her what happened to that sculpture yesterday. Remember the story you're going to use."

"Huh?" Mavros was taken aback by the seriousness of the warning. "I haven't forgotten the 'story,' I was the one who came up with the idea after all... But hasn't the Ser already spoken to your mother about me? Maybe he told her about that and much more."

"If he did, rest assured that his 'accident' was one of the few details he concealed," Luciara asserted, her frown deepening. "And you, for your own sake and his, should do the same."

She really means it... it's not a joke, Mavros realized, which heightened his attention. It was the first time since he met her that he had heard her speak with such gravity. The two fell into silence as they rounded a curve in the path. What kind of person her mother, Ser Janpelan's wife, is?

Just as that question began to dominate Mavros' thoughts, he and Luciara emerged from the curve. Ahead, at the end of the path, a grand structure came into view. It was an expansive mansion, two stories tall, with large windows and steep dark roofs, built against the walls of an immense rock face. Carefully landscaped gardens of shrubs and trees adorned its exteriors, shielded by tall walls and a wrought-iron gate.

A pair of guards stood sentinel at the gate, armed with halberds. Their curved helmets resembling hats and their steel breastplates and pauldrons were their only protection over their red and white striped baggy garments. It didn't take long for the two to identify the approaching travelers, stopping a few meters from the entrance.

"Lady Luciara!" One of them recognized her, signaling to his companion to open the gate.

As a gap large enough appeared, she and Mavros entered the mansion's grounds.

Once his companion closed it again, the guard approached them.

"We were expecting you. Your father informed us that you would arrive this afternoon on foot," he said to Luciara, observing her with a mix of awe and confusion. It wasn't often that a Ser's daughter was seen walking and carrying her belongings herself like an ordinary commoner.

The guard turned to look at Mavros.

"You must be the escort we were notified about."

"Zat's correct," Mavros answered, employing a distinct and forced accent. "Segr Mav... Mathias of Mandygnog, wandering sword."

The guard inspected him from head to toe, more out of admiration for his full-body armor than suspicion. After a brief pause, he positioned himself in front of them.

"Follow me," he instructed. The guard led them, taking them to the grand edifice. Mavros appreciated the great care and the verdant beauty of the strips of vegetation that bordered the pavement. Then, they arrived at steps that ascended to the mansion's doors. The guard removed their lock with a key and pushed them open with a gentle shove.

"Have a pleasant stay," he said before returning to his post.

"Thank you," they both courteously replied before entering. A spacious room with refined stairs and wooden furnishings unfolded before their eyes.

"Good afternoon."

A group of three servants, dressed in clean tunics and black pants, emerged to greet them from the right. Elongated hats of the same color covered the tops of their heads.

"Good afternoon," Luciara and Mavros returned their polite greeting.

The group halted before them.

"It's good to see you, Lady Luciara," said the leader of the group. "We have already prepared your room, as well as one for the Ser. Shall we assist you with your luggage?"

The girl unslung her backpack from her shoulders and placed it on the ground. She immediately felt immense relief as the pressure of the load she had carried for hours disappeared.

"Yes, please," she replied. She turned her head in both directions, looking for someone who didn't appear. "Where is my mother, and Lord Galeras?"

"The Lord Mayor should arrive shortly for lunch. He must have left the town hall by now," he informed her. "Your mother is currently working in her studio."

"Oh..." Luciara averted her gaze, aware of what he meant by her 'studio'. "I better go greet her later…"

"No, don't worry, I can take you to her right now," the servant offered. "I highly doubt she'd mind taking a break to meet with you; quite the opposite, she'll be delighted to see you." He turned to Mavros. "Ser, you can leave that box here. We will carry it up for you and Lady Luciara," he said, referring to the metal box with the Ramij implements he carried on his back like a backpack.

"Ah, please, do not fret. There eez no need for concern. It eez not an inconvenience for moi," the knight declined with a touch of grace. "I shall carry eet upstairs at a leeter time."

"As you wish, Ser..." The servant conceded after his firm refusal, perplexed by his lack of annoyance in carrying such weight. He looked at Luciara. "Come with me."

***

The white marble gleamed with the purity of spring water, bathed in the daylight that filtered through the translucent roof: a rectangular stained glass with square patterns of black and bold lines. Hammers and chisels carved the surface of the rock in harmonious synchronization, displaying dazzling skill and precision, depicting clouds that enveloped a young and apollonian man, bald-headed with a short beard, dressed in light pants and a long, fine, billowing fabric wrapped around his torso and neck in multiple folds. A symbol in the shape of a circle with three pentagons aligned like the vertices of a triangle was embroidered in the center of a strip of cloth passing over the left side of his chest. Around his neck, a necklace with an amulet of the same emblem clung. His legs were together with bare feet, and his arms extended with open hands, floating motionless and imposing among the clouds: a star that ruled the skies.

A few steps away, emerald ovals watched with complete concentration the metamorphosis of the rough block of rock into this refined abstraction where reality and the divine converged. No detail eluded them, not even the smallest and most inconspicuous to the common eye; those minute details that always made the difference. The tools came to life under the power of their influence; they levitated in the air just like the man they were sculpting. With the palms of her hands extended, the sculptor directed like a conductor the imaginary assistants working in unison, smoothing and chiseling the stone.

Her keen ears picked up a series of footsteps spreading through the cleared room where her masterpiece was being finalized; her solitude had been disrupted. From their distinct differences, she deduced that they belonged to three people. Under different circumstances, this interruption would have greatly irritated her; if there was one thing she always made clear to her clients, it was not to be disturbed while she was engrossed in her rigorous creative process.

But that occasion was an exception.

You came. A small smile tugged at her lips as she identified the author of the approaching footsteps. The tools aligned and descended in an orderly fashion, each finding its place within an open box beside the sculpture.

She sensed all three individuals stopping behind her.

"Lady Menuha, please pardon the interruption," one of them said to the artist, a servant from the mansion, as she recognized. Menuha picked up his uncertainty about her potential reaction. "But your daughter has come to visit."

"There's nothing to apologize for," the woman said, turning around and heading toward her daughter.

Is that her? Is she her mother? Mavros found it hard to believe as he observed her slender, regal figure, which immediately suggested a distinguished lineage, along with her face - with her large, serene, oval eyes and finely stylized features. Long, ash-blond hair flowed down her back, tied halfway in a ponytail similar to her daughter's. She wore a white dress that cascaded to her feet and a brown scarf around her neck - simple but exuding a great deal of elegance. Her appearance was a stark contrast to that of her husband.

"Luciara."

"Mother."

Once they were close enough, they exchanged a brief yet heartfelt embrace.

"How have you been?" Luciara inquired after they parted.

"Somewhat busy, as you can see, but quite well," her mother responded with a calm yet confident and firm voice.

"It seems you're almost finished with it," Luciara commented, glancing at the artwork behind her.

Menuha, her mother, followed her gaze.

"I only need to polish a few details," she said. "I'll most likely deliver it to Lord Galeras before the end of the week," she replied, gazing at the fruit of her effort and talent with cold satisfaction.

"Sublime," Mavros judged aloud, his eyes fixed on the sculpture, just like the two women. The level of detail and the mastery of aesthetics and proportions were a feast for his vision. That... that man is Maskirio. The knight realized that the sculpted character was none other than the deity of their religion: Maskirio, "the liberator," "the closest to the heavens"... the greatest avatar of God, the supreme creator and lord of the universe. His physical appearance and symbolism were unmistakable.

Drawn by his voice, Menuha turned toward the knight, regarding him with discreet interest.

"Mother," Luciara called, stepping to Mavros' side to introduce him. "This is the escort who accompanied me."

"I know, your father told me yesterday."

Approaching, she extended her right hand, which the knight caught in a handshake.

"Menuha of Salamandera, pleased to meet you."

Mavros felt an electrifying sensation coursing through his nerves. A sudden surge that immobilized his muscles for a few seconds. It had been quite revealing, not just an ordinary shiver. The subtle signals he read from her emerald eyes, locked onto his amethyst ones, were the definitive confirmation.

"Segr... Mathias of Mandygnog, wandering blayd," he murmured to Menuha, regaining his senses. "Pleazed as well. I am at your service."

They released their hands.

Now I understand why Ser Janpelan would fear her as much as Luciara was hinting… After that handshake, he regarded the woman with even more respect than before. A respect tinged with genuine awe.

The servant moved a bit closer to join in the conversation.

"Well... I'll leave you now," he announced. It was evident he had no further reasons to remain there. "If you need anything, you can find me or any of my companions."

He bid them farewell with a small bow before turning and exiting the room, his footsteps fading away.

Luciara scanned the surroundings with her gaze, searching for something or someone.

"Where is my father?"

She asked her mother, puzzled by not having seen any sign of his presence. Menuha lowered her gaze.

"He... had to leave early," she said, returning her gaze. "He said he had to go urgently to Netzach."

"Netzach?"

The mention of the capital was unexpected for the young woman. Due to his occupation, Ser Janpelan didn't usually travel to it much, let alone with such haste.

Mavros furrowed his brow. Something happened... and he told her more than that, he accurately surmised. He wanted to ask the sculptor several questions, but he refrained from doing so as he didn't see it as the right time or place.

"Yes, an unforeseen matter came up that he needs to resolve there," Menuha reaffirmed to Luciara, maintaining the same vagueness of details. "It seems he'll have to stay for a few days, so you'll probably run into him."

Luciara averted her gaze to the side. "I hope it's nothing serious," she murmured, with a touch of unease. If he had to go to Netzach for more than a day, it must be something serious... Could it be related to what happened yesterday? the girl wondered, eager to dig deeper.

Just as she was about to do so…

"Ser... 'Mathias'," Menuha addressed Mavros by his false name. Mavros raised his eyebrows, sensing a subtle irony. "My husband and I are grateful for escorting our daughter here," Menuha continued. "Your services couldn't have been more timely."

"It's mah honoah to do so, my Laydee," the knight responded with courtesy, flattered but also confused by her last remark. "But... why do you say I've been très timely?"

"This morning, several animals were found dead on a farm outside Hezaran, all brutally mutilated. There are wild beasts roaming these woods."

Beasts!

Luciara and Mavros swallowed, recalling the unsettling experience they had before reaching the mansion.

"The mayor has ordered a search; there are already men who have been sent to deal with it," Menuha added. "Hopefully, they'll find and hunt them down this very afternoon."

"What kind of béasts are we talking about? Are zey beyond ze reach of a wandering sword like myself?" Mavros inquired with a particular gravity, to which Menuha responded with an uncomfortable silence. She briefly glanced at Luciara before returning her gaze to the knight.

"There's no certainty... For now, there's suspicion that they might be wolves or bears," she finally answered. "If that's the case, someone like you would be qualified to fight them, but given the current uncertainty, I'd advise you to refrain from taking risks. The men who have been sent are more than prepared to deal with those and other threats."

She's speaking half-truths... She wouldn't worry so much about us if it were something like that. She knows I can handle that kind of danger, Luciara mused. She doubted that her mother was telling them the whole story. Just like Mavros, whose helmet hid his complete skepticism.

The who or what isn't known yet, that's true... but she's completely lying about her suspicions. Something tells me they're the same as mine... She doesn't want Luciara to hear them, the knight reasoned. His desire to go out, confirm, and put an end to his worst fears flared like flames fueled by firewood.

Menuha addressed the two of them:

"It's best for both of you to stay inside the mansion as long as the roads are unsafe."

"Agreed. Anyway, my plan was to spend tonight with you and leave for Netzach tomorrow," Luciara told Menuha. She looked at her legs, somewhat sore from the prolonged walk. "The last thing I want is to walk again today after the trick my father played on me."

Menuha smiled with closed lips. "He and his great stubbornness to put obstacles in your way," she joked. "In the end, he'll have to relent. Even this one didn't manage to stop you."

"Of course he will relent," Luciara smiled with determination. "If he's steadfast, I'm even more so."

That familial exchange brought a small smile to the knight's face, caught up in his 'ward's' enthusiasm. However, it quickly faded as he heard footsteps approaching. The footsteps halted a few meters away from the three; it was the same servant who had guided him and Luciara there.

"Please, come with me, lunch is being prepared," he informed them. "Lord Galeras has arrived. He wants all of you at the table."

All three nodded. Menuha took the lead, positioning herself at the forefront of her daughter and Mavros.

"Let's go," she instructed, glancing back at them. She fixed her gaze on Mavros. "You're going to make a good impression on Lord Galeras, Ser 'Mathias'. He has always been a great admirer of Grianzan culture."

***

Like the swift winds of a tempest, a hazy figure moved through unending successions of trees, following a well-defined path within the green labyrinth.

"Hm!" Suddenly, they came to an abrupt halt. Something anomalous had caught their eye. It was a corpse, the corpse of a mature stag, its antlers and robust build betraying its male gender. Its eyes and mouth were wide open, frozen in eternal horror.

The figure approached cautiously, coming into better view under the shadow of the firs. It was an individual, slender but athletically proportioned, with short hair that reached just past their neck. They wore worn-out boots, loose trousers, and a lightweight, long-sleeved leather jacket adorned with the emblem of a rose embroidered on its left side – all quite old and frayed. A mask of black fabric was tied behind their head, with only a small slit revealing the bearer's sky-blue almond-shaped eyes. These eyes fixated on the gruesome remains of the unfortunate creature. The fresh look of abundant blood flowing from its wounds, and the puddles beneath them, suggested a recent – and brutal – death. Deep gouges from sharp claws were displayed on its broken legs and chest, torn apart like puzzle pieces, its entrails nearly entirely devoured. Its neck and throat had been ripped off by a massive bite.

This isn't something a common beast could do. It's official now: an Ashaim… I did right in taking this task.

The hooded figure's right hand tightly gripped the hilt of a rapier, sheathed on the left side of their waist. Just as they had imagined, the evil lurking in those woods was among the most terrible known.

I must find and exterminate it as soon as possible. If those fools get ahead of me, they'll end up like this stag.