After listening to his son’s report, Duke fer Artor rubbed the bridge of his nose with a tense expression. It seemed the problems were spiraling into new dimensions:
“Do you think it’s the groundwork for a rebellion?”
“You’ve got more intel on that front, so your perspective is broader,” Dalarn shook his head. “From what I can see, one thing is clear: someone desperately wants Viorin for her spatial magic abilities. But who? It’s too risky for the Shadow Syndicate.”
“I agree,” the Duke tapped a finger on the desk thoughtfully. “Getting entangled in a war with the Department just to make their thefts easier would be far too costly for them. On one hand. On the other, they exposed themselves dangerously with Shienn. I could speculate that she overplayed her hand and went all-in against orders, since right after that, our dear marquess fled Taruell in a hurry and secured citizenship in Rivellu, buying herself some temporary immunity. And we have no concrete evidence of her criminal activities beyond her own words, which can’t be verified. So, whoever’s behind her decided to remove such an irritant from under our noses. Now, whether her actions are connected to whoever is hunting the da Greyn family—that’s the big question,” fer Artor Sr. leaned back in his chair, mulling something over in his mind, as Dalarn could tell from the look on his face. “Theoretically, a coincidence is entirely possible. The Syndicate pushes their protégé into high society, and into the family of those directly responsible for the kingdom’s security, no less. That’s access to valuable information for them—warnings about raids, investigations, and detailed intel on potential targets for their thieves. Not to mention access to the keys for protective wards on those targets’ homes. What a goldmine! Meanwhile, someone else is trying to get their hands on knowledge about creating—if not permanent—at least long-lasting portals. But by sheer chance, the Syndicate’s target ends up linked to the target of our unknown hunter. Or perhaps this hunter is using the Syndicate blindly for their own ends, which isn’t out of the question either.”
“And signs of a rebellion?” Dalarn looked at him questioningly.
“That’s just it—there aren’t any,” the Duke grimaced. “But if we assume an undetected mentalist has emerged, they could be an agent of another kingdom preparing an attack on Taruell. Maybe not now, but in the distant future. One or two portals wouldn’t give them any real advantage. They’d need to open and sustain at least a dozen portals simultaneously to move enough troops through for a true element of surprise and a battlefield edge. Yet, we’re not seeing any suspicious troop movements from neighboring kingdoms at any of our borders.”
“Why would they need to move to the borders if they could just use a portal?” Dalarn snorted. “Besides, what’s the point of doing it now when even we don’t have stable results yet?”
“Fair point,” his father conceded. “But there’s nothing suspicious on the political front either. No claims, no grievances, no hints of anything like that—everything’s quiet and peaceful. The only ones who occasionally breach our borders are the Dorahs. But their world remains out of our reach for now.”
“Maybe that’s the key?” Dalarn rubbed his chin. “Someone from another world?”
“You mean from the Dorahs’ world?” the Duke speculated.
“Only if there’s someone else in that world besides the Dorahs themselves,” Dalarn shook his head. “From the skirmishes I’ve had with them, I’ve drawn a few conclusions. First, they’re fairly limited in intellect, but aggressive and warlike. Second, when they end up in our world, they seem disoriented, as if they didn’t expect it. From that, I infer they’re stumbling into our realm by accident through unstable patches in their own space. Third, their magic shows no development—every encounter, it’s the same basic set of tricks. So, I’d rule out their world. But that leads to another thought: if the Dorahs’ world exists, why couldn’t there be other worlds out there?”
“And how did this unknown figure get here?” his father posed the obvious question. “If the world they came from has access to portals of such power, why would they need the da Greyns, who are only at the stage of studying how to harness that kind of spatial magic? Something doesn’t add up.”
“Maybe they only had enough energy for a one-way portal?” Dalarn frowned, aware that no truly solid explanation existed.
“And how would they even know about our world?” the Duke scoffed skeptically.
“Maybe they stumbled here the same way the Dorahs do?” Dalarn mirrored his father’s skepticism with a grimace. “If so… do they have a connection back to their world? Or does he?”
“That last theory of yours,” his father nodded approvingly, “aligns more with the events unfolding around me in recent years. It feels like whoever’s been undermining me wasn’t trying to displace me but to distract me from something else. Our unknown player was most active right before the da Greyns disappeared, and they did manage to shift my focus onto my own issues. And now they’re stirring again.”
“So, our intruder might just be looking for a way to get back home?” A realization sparked in Dalarn’s mind.
“Quite possibly,” the Duke shook his head with displeasure. “And judging by everything, they have no intention of stopping.”
Dalarn already knew as much, since that cursed shadow had made it abundantly clear—without subtlety—that it was very close and deadly serious.
“What could have happened to Viorin’s parents? Have the mages figured out anything from the trace imprints?”
“That’s where we’re stuck,” his father threw up his hands. “I completely understand, and even share, your reluctance to involve your wife in this, but without her, it’s unlikely we’ll decipher what she uncovered. None of our mages have her innate sense of spatial awareness. Without that, we can’t untangle the layers of traces. And if we want to track down this unknown figure, we’ll need Viorin’s help.” Noticing the clear displeasure on his son’s face, he added, “I’m not insisting. But think about it—unless you want her to one day share her parents’ fate. I can only speculate that whoever we’re after found a way to pressure them, forcing them to rush their experiments. Something went wrong, and either the da Greyns tried to escape through it, or they were pulled somewhere they can’t get out of. I hope it didn’t kill them.”
That last possibility made Dalarn shudder—losing Viorin would be akin to death for him. But if she didn’t help unravel those traces, the danger of losing her grew more real. And living her life like a bird in a cage? That wasn’t her at all. Since their return from their getaway, he’d noticed more and more often a rebellious spark in her eyes, one she buried by diving headfirst into studying her parents’ notes.
“I’ll talk to her,” he said, standing, though he already knew his restless wife would latch onto the idea of poking around in those trace imprints before he could even finish suggesting it.
As much as Dalarn hated dragging her into this investigation, he knew the team was at a standstill without her, costing them precious time—time their adversary was using to their advantage, unscathed. And all the while, this enemy was somewhere close, while they hadn’t even gotten near them.
Dalarn hadn’t taken more than a few steps down the service corridor of the royal palace when a familiar voice rang out:
“Dyer Artor! Am I imagining things, or are you really ignoring me?”
Freezing for a moment, he used the pause to mask his irritation before turning around with a polite smile:
“Greetings, Dyer d’Gaol. Not at all! I’ve just been incredibly short on time lately.”
“So short that you’re neglecting your own health?” the tall, sturdy man—perhaps only slightly older than Dalarn—shook his head reproachfully. “Please,” he gestured ahead of himself. “I’m on my way to my office.”
“Dyer d’Gaol,” Dalarn grimaced, “I’m fine. The wound barely bothers me anymore.”
“You’re acting like a child afraid of healers,” the man chuckled mockingly. “And for your information, I have direct orders from His Majesty to monitor your condition. So don’t make me disobey. Let’s go—this isn’t a request! You’re on duty, and a healer’s orders aren’t up for debate.”
With a heavy sigh, fer Artor had no choice but to follow. In the office, he was immediately handed over to the royal healer’s assistant to prepare for an examination. However, Dalarn refused to remove the upper part of his clothing—he despised being seen as weak in any way. And though lifting his right arm still caused some pain, he had no intention of showing it.
Once he finally bared his torso, they seated him on a specialized chair and directed the beams of a particular artifact onto his back. The device illuminated curses from within, allowing them to observe both their effects and the neutralization process. For a couple of minutes, the healer examined the site of the Dorah curse’s impact before permitting him to dress.
“What’s the verdict, Dyer d’Gaol?” Dalarn asked, buttoning his shirt, deciding to inquire about the state of his injury after all.
“If you’d followed all my instructions, you’d have forgotten about it by now,” the healer grumbled discontentedly. “But who listens? I heard you got married. Doesn’t your wife care how you’re feeling? I doubt she’d love you any less if you didn’t carry her around for a while.”
“My wife is actually adamantly against me carrying her,” Dalarn defended her.
“I see,” the healer shook his head reproachfully. “So you don’t listen to her either.”
“Why not?” Dalarn smirked. “When she tries to treat me, I listen very carefully to her advice. That’s why my condition hasn’t worsened, at least.”
“Seriously?!” The healer’s eyebrows shot up. “She managed to figure out your injury?!”
“If my wife sets her mind to understanding something, that ‘something’ doesn’t stand a chance of remaining a mystery to her,” Dalarn chuckled quietly.
“My respects to Lady Artor!” d’Gaol nodded with admiration and walked over to a bookshelf, pulling out a volume. “Take this,” he offered it to Dalarn. “I think your wife will find it interesting, and she won’t come across it in any library.”
The book was titled *Principles of Neutralizing Dark Magic Injuries*, and it was undoubtedly a rare edition. Dark magic was banned, and knowledge about it was accessible only to those who specialized in its neutralization—all of whom served the crown.
“Thank you,” Dalarn shook his head in refusal, “but this is clearly restricted information.”
“Nonsense!” the healer waved dismissively. “You have access to far more classified material. I doubt Lady Artor would spread this where it shouldn’t be shared.”
Dalarn knew exactly how Viorin’s eyes would light up at the sight of this book. They always sparkled in two situations: when he aimed for her lips and when she heard about new spells. This book would undoubtedly thrill her. The temptation to take it was strong.
“Dyer Artor!” d’Gaol smiled. “I no longer need this book—I know it cover to cover. If Lady Artor is as eager for new knowledge as you say, she’ll find it far more useful. And believe me, I won’t feel anyone owes me for this. I admire people who value knowledge.”
“I’m still grateful to you,” Dalarn nodded respectfully, accepting the gift.
“It’s nothing, Dyer Artor! But I strongly recommend limiting your physical activity. The sooner you heal, the sooner you’ll return to a full life without lingering effects.”
After bidding farewell to the healer, Dalarn headed to the Department’s laboratory, where his mother was currently working alongside her husband. In light of recent events, it had been deemed prudent to bring them back to Ardell, hoping to achieve two goals at once: advance the study of spatial magic and bait whoever had previously targeted the da Greyn family. One of Dalarn’s father’s theories was that the unknown wasn’t specifically after Viorin, but rather anyone who first succeeded in creating a stable portal. So far, though, this unknown figure had only shown themselves near their estate. But that could just as easily be a diversion.
His mother greeted him with a warm, happy smile. Yet, for some reason, there was no light in her eyes.
“Is something wrong?” Dalarn asked, studying her face with concern.
“Why would you think that?” she tried to smile as brightly as possible.
“I don’t see any joy,” he shook his head reproachfully.
“That’s not true!” she protested, embracing him. “I’m always happy to see you, my boy!”
“I didn’t mean that kind of joy, Mom.”
“It’s just fatigue,” she shrugged. “Nothing more.”
“Why don’t I believe you?” He gave her a somber look. “More disagreements with Dad?”
“What? No! Your father has been nothing but caring and courteous lately!” Oddly enough, it was at these words that a strange glint appeared in her eyes. “How are things with you?” she quickly changed the subject.
“Fine,” he decided not to press for now. “But Viorin wants to test something in practice.”
“Alright,” his mother nodded eagerly. “Bring her by tomorrow, and we’ll discuss it.”