Chapter 29

The paintings were dedicated to the Destroyers of Evil. Yes, yes, those very same four “legends” whose statue stood by the Academy’s main entrance. The barefoot homeless man, the grim warrior, the brazen rogue, and, of course, the humble monk.

The sorcerer gently rested a hand against the last one. The image of the monk was the most muddled and indistinct. Apparently because the life of this legendary warrior had been just as tangled and unclear.

“Bored?” a nasty voice suddenly sounded right beside the sorcerer’s ear. Eric turned around and saw Svono standing before him in a luxurious red tailcoat. The supreme fire mage stood a full five heads taller than him. “Even with such a celebration going on all around you?” The demi-human swept his arms around the enormous glittering hall.

The celebration really was something. And Eric probably would have even enjoyed it if he had been in the company of his friends instead of this self-absorbed, pompous half-elf—or whatever the hell he was.

“And you… don’t like art?” Eric answered with a question of his own, all while trying to spot Flint somewhere among the crowd of guests and pawn this fire-mage pest off on him.

“Me?” Master Svono laughed. “No, of course I like it,” he said, looking at the painting of the “humble monk” before tapping it with his knuckle. “I simply don’t like paintings devoted to the past. I’m more partial to modern art. Something new. Bright. Understand?”

“I understand,” Eric forced himself to say, while thinking, “I bet he has ten portraits of himself in his office. Dwarven mugs.”

“Exactly my point,” Svono smiled. “And this… this is nothing but useless rags. Those days are long gone. If they ever existed at all. They’re just as useless as the people depicted on them. Think about it yourself—if these four, as the legends claim, cast Evil itself down into the Abyss…” The mage looked down at Eric. “Then why is so much of it still left in Existence? Take the Colored Witches, for example. Pure evil. They’re crying out for the righteous fire of the Inquisition of the Blacks. How does this land still bear them?”

“I know one fellow who’d rip your tongue out for saying something like that about them and feed it to the crows…” Eric muttered at his back.

“Did you say something?”

“No-no, nothing. I said: you really do see straight to the heart of the problem!”

“Yes, I do,” Svono said with a satisfied smile.

“Kill me,” the old sorcerer thought.

“Oh! Eric! Master Svono!” a familiar voice suddenly called out to them, and a pair consisting of Flint and Zaur approached. The latter gave Eric a ceremonious bow.

“Mister Flint!” Svono spread his arms solemnly, while casting a sidelong glance at the supreme earth mage. “You’ve finally arrived. What were you doing?”

“O-oh, esteemed Master Zaur was showing me the local gardens. I do love flowers and nature, you know. We also visited the arena where the tournament will be held, and more besides. I was very impressed!”

“That’s… w-wonderful, as far as I’m concerned,” Svono forced out, shooting Zaur a murderous look. The old man merely gave him a sly smile in return. “Well… in that case… why don’t we head up to the balcony? The visiting orchestra will soon begin its performance, along with the… athletes! We could enjoy the show together.”

“Of course! Lead the way!” Flint replied.

The lords of Triverd walked ahead, while the representatives of the Vault and Encantaria followed behind them.

That was when Eric asked his friend:

“Well? Did you see Kver and the others?”

“No, I couldn’t find them,” Flint replied. “They weren’t in their rooms either.”

“Damn. I wanted to ask if they’d found anything out,” Eric clicked his tongue.

“Perhaps we’re looking in the wrong place, my friend,” Flint suggested. “Existence is enormous. Maybe while we’re here, at this splendid reception, we really ought to have a little fun?”

“Splendid reception?” Eric asked skeptically.

“Well, yes. Is there something you don’t like?” Flint asked, genuinely surprised.

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“I don’t like anything about this,” Yan grumbled as he made his way through some secret corridors together with nine other utterly deranged specimens.

“You’re the one who asked us to take you by the safest route, Faraday, slap-dash,” Chadun replied, walking behind him.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not Faraday?!” Yan snapped, just as Morik, who was leading them, suddenly stopped.

“Closed. Sealed tight,” the mage reported.

“Let me open it,” Khad offered, reaching for his steel staff.

“No! Absolutely not!” Morik protested. “We’re directly above the water mages’ wing right now. One loud sound and they’ll all wake up.”

“You led us along the ‘safest route’—which runs directly over the heads of a hundred sleeping sorcerers?” Sovt hissed indignantly.

“Well, they’re all asleep!” the sorcerer explained. “All the water mages are well over a hundred years old. It would be a problem if we woke Sapphire Ivashtat, but his bedroom is in another wing of the Academy.”

“That’s reassuring enough to make me want to drop dead,” Zolotoros grunted. “Let me try opening it with magic.”

“You can’t, slap-dash,” Chadun interrupted him. “All the locks here are enchanted. Open one with magic and you’ll immediately trigger the alarm. Let me try.”

And Chadun tried. He spat on the lock so viciously that it dissolved along with the keyhole and the door handle.

“Done.”

“Graves, you’re unbelievably cool, Chadun!” Yan declared, and the group began moving again.

“Glad to be of service, Faraday. A pity, though, that you’re the one who thinks we’re ‘cool.’ At this Academy, they simply hate us.”

“Mister Lim always finds the best in people,” Morik croaked.

And Yan immediately caught Sovt’s disapproving stare.

In that frame of mind, they reached another door. This one, however, was already unlocked. Beyond it, the group saw a spiral staircase leading downward, then another door, which apparently opened either into someone’s quarters or into some kind of storeroom located, according to Morik, not far from the reception hall.

The rogue pulled the handle toward himself. And the entire group became witnesses to around seven invited performers putting on their makeup.

“Damn,” Yan grimaced.

“They’re going to start screaming now and bring everyone running,” Zolotoros said.

The unfortunate performers continued staring at their group with glassy eyes. Then one of them opened his mouth to scream, only to immediately get a faceful of Zolotoros’s magic. Another couple tried to run for the door, but two knightly wardrobes blocked their way. One of them panicked and charged straight at Yan, but Sovt stepped in and clobbered the man of culture with the nearest chair. The last thespian tried to climb out through a window that opened into a back room, but Semyu caught him in time, pinning him to the floor with the full weight of his enormous body.

Apparently, there were no casualties.

The team looked around.

“Looks like we’re in the clear,” Yan sighed in relief.

And then, as if on purpose, the universe answered him:

“And now, taking the stage before us—the famous orchestra from western Tsagat!” Svono’s voice boomed throughout the entire damn hall. “Give them a round of applause! And welcome them, my friends!”