"Keep looking," he urged, but Osgar shook his head and resumed his search. "There must be something in here," Alf said. Wingar heard it, but said nothing, continuing his search through the titles. After about an hour of searching, Alf sighed, prompting the others to look at him. "There's nothing here either," he said, spreading his arms. Wingar bit his lower lip in frustration, but continued his search alongside Osgar anyway.
"Wait a minute," he said after a few moments. "What?" Osgar asked. "A book about Coltend wouldn't need to be translated," Wingar began. "Why would anyone want to translate a book about the castle's secrets? So that potential enemies would know of every nook and cranny? Knowing the deepest secrets wouldn't make sense for anyone besides the royal family. Still, there must be information about them somewhere in case death takes the royal family before they could pass on the information," he explained.
Osgar looked at Alf, and then at his brother. At the same time, they realized where the book might be. "I think we ought to pay a visit to Mourtis' room again," Osgar said, looking to the others, then gesturing for them to follow him. They rushed down the wooden steps that creaked under their rapid movements. They exited the chapel doors, leaving them wide open, and sprinted back to the palace.
The Masked One heard their footsteps as they came through the previously obliterated doorway and rose from his throne. "So?" he asked. "We believe we may have found something, but we need more time, lord," Wingar replied after breathing deeply. The Masked One grunted. "Time is the one thing that is never on anyone's side. Get me what I need, and be quick about it," he commanded. Wingar bowed, and the three were soon off again, sprinting up the stairs to Mourtis' quarters.
The cinnamon smell filled their lungs and nostrils, and Wingar spat. "I'll never get over that stench," he said. "We've got bigger fish to fry than worrying about the stench," Osgar said, to which Wingar nodded, and they began their search. He noted the journals still by the window, and shuddered, remembering the feeling that had come over him just a few short hours ago. He shook his head and moved towards the back of the room, where there was a small, wooden nightstand with a drawer.
Wingar opened the drawer to the nightstand, creaking and whining as it opened. "What do you think is in here?" his brother asked. "I'm not sure, but if it hasn't been opened in a long time, then that could mean there's something inside he never wanted anyone to see," Wingar noted, observing the drawer cautiously.
The small drawer, now fully opened, contained only a single, black book. The pair looked at each other while Alf still rummaged through the other books in the background. Wingar flipped through a few of the pages, his eyes opening wide.
"This book isn't translated at all," he began. "What does it say?" Osgar asked, trying to get a better look at the pages for himself. "It's hard to say, as this is in a much older version of Coltendian than we now know. If I'm reading it correctly, it says there's a… library?" he said the last word, questioning his own translation. "A library? That can't be right," Osgar said, furrowing his brow and moving in closer.
Wingar shook his head and pointed to the first few lines on the page he was reading. "I think it is right, though. Look, there are more and more indications that it is a library. It talks about books and other such valuable things to the kingdom that are not often shared with the public," he traced his finger along the lines he read.
"Do you think that's where whatever he's looking for is?" Osgar asked, hoping for a better answer than the one he had in his mind. "Only one way to find out," he replied with a heavy sigh.
The three returned to the main hall, where the Masked One observed their cautious approach. "Lord, we've found this book inside Father Mourtis' study," Wingar began, prompting the mage to tilt his head, and rip the book out of Wingar's hands with a tendril of mana, sending it flying through the air. The book landed in his hands, and he opened it to read the first page. His eyes burned even more than they usually did.
"Where did you find this?" he asked angrily. Wingar felt his stomach do a flip. "We missed it the first time we went up to Mourtis' quarters, lord. It was in his room all along," he replied as calmly as he could manage. The Masked One's eyes dimmed, and he inhaled deeply. "You have done well, my servants," he smiled wickedly beneath his mask.
"It's all thanks to his quick thinking, lord," Osgar nudged his brother and raised an eyebrow. "We have done as you requested and held up our end of the bargain. Are we now free to go and live out the rest of our lives in peace, away from these creatures, lord?" Wingar asked humbly.
The Masked One thought for a moment. "If you wish to live the impoverished life of the common folk, then by all means, you are free. However, if that's not what you want for your lives anymore, I will offer you power in exchange for your service," he said in a calmer tone than they were expecting, given the recent display of anger. Wingar looked at the others, hoping to see how they would reply to such an offer.
"I'm tired of always worrying about things. I'm tired of being anxious, and most of all, I'm tired of this world. If what you say is true, then I will join you, lord," Alf stepped forward, walking over to the man in the mask and knelt on one knee. The Masked One didn't move forward, but simply outstretched his hand. "Will you follow in your friend's footsteps?" he asked.
Wingar looked at his brother, who began to itch at the rough beard patches on his slim face, and shook his head subtly.
"I can't believe you're considering it," he hissed quietly, but instead of agreeing with his brother, Osgar shrugged. "I can't believe you're not. Is avoiding a life of powerlessness and poverty a bad thing now? I don't want to be either of those anymore," he replied. "In exchange for your soul, brother? Please, reconsider his offer," Wingar said desperately. "My soul was taken and destroyed long ago by that creepy old fuck, brother," Osgar replied gravely, looking at the Masked One, who was observing the exchange and tapping his index finger on his knee.
There's no way my life with him will be worse than it was before, Osgar thought, stepping away from his brother.
Wingar reached out and grabbed him by the crook of his elbow. "Brother, no," he shook his head, but Osgar's decision was already made. He tore his arm away from his brother's grasp, glaring at him with widened eyes. "It's no use anymore, brother. I-I'm sorry, but I won't go back to living like that," he gave a brief gesture toward his brother's attire.
Fine, have it your way, then, Wingar thought as his brow furrowed.
The mage raised an eyebrow beneath his mask in curiosity as he stared at the last of the trio, whose fist began to clench. "What about you, then? Will you join me, or risk your chances outside?" he asked, regarding Wingar intently. "I for one will not sell my soul; what little there is left," he replied sternly as tears began to well in his eyes, blurring his vision. "I will not!" he shouted as spit flew from his lips.
"You are free to go, but this chance will never present itself to you again," the mage said, gesturing for him to leave. The threat was clear as the sun is at its highest point. "I pray to the gods both light and dark that we never meet again," Wingar spat before turning around and proceeding out of the palace, never looking back.
His choice, his end. Does that idiot honestly believe the mage will keep him around after this assault? What an insane idea, Wingar thought angrily as he crossed the threshold of the shattered door.