Seven Rays

“Shit!” Klaus barked, slamming his worn-out quill onto the heavy oak desk. The metal nib gouged the wood, splattering black droplets over a freshly signed parchment. “Nicolas, did you include my request for new writing quills on your list? How do they expect me to clear this mountain of trash they dump on me if I can’t even get a damn quill that works?”

He slumped back into his chair, which groaned in protest, and rubbed his temples, trying to stifle his rising irritation.

“Of course, sir. It’s on the list. I also reinforced the request for those tranquilizing incenses—the ones made in Sylva Thalas,” Nicolas replied. The assistant’s voice held an annoying serenity, long since hardened by his Intendant’s corrosive humor.

Klaus snorted, pulling a new stack of crooked documents toward him. The small, windowless room, tucked beneath the ancient battlements of the watchtower, smelled strongly of mildew. A leak from the stone ceiling dripped directly onto an armor logbook, making Klaus curse again.

“Incense won’t fix this ceiling, Nicolas,” he grumbled, wiping the water from the leather cover with the sleeve of his tunic. He picked up another quill, slightly less worn, and began furiously signing the requisitions in front of him. “One hundred and twenty new spears for the Dawn Market guard... A pay raise for the night patrol... Two reports of theft in the Crown Bastion. Fourteen hours locked in this damp hole and the problems only multiply.”

Nicolas methodically gathered the dispatched orders, stacking them against his chest. He stopped near the ash-wood door, hesitating for a moment before turning the iron handle.

“There is one more matter, sir. And it’s not about spears or barracks.”

Klaus froze his quill mid-air, looking up from under his thick brows.

“If it’s another Lord complaining about the smell of sewage in the Low Streets, tell them I’m dead.”

“It’s two people, sir. They’ve come to discuss the scribe’s case. Nielsen’s disappearance.”

The name made Klaus’s jaw lock. Dropping the quill, the Intendant stared at the map of Drakenhold’s narrow streets spread across the table. The memory of the first group sent still tasted bitter in his mouth. Officially, the adventurers had “disappeared in the line of duty” after violating one of the investigation’s strictest rules. Klaus, however, in his quietest and most dangerous thoughts, was almost certain their vanishing had less to do with insubordination and much more to do with the implacable blade of Brother Esdras.

“More blood wanting to stain the city coffers,” he muttered, the fatigue suddenly weighing heavier on his shoulders. “Send them in. But, Nicolas... not a word about the mission details or the investigation rules. I want to see what they’re made of before I decide if they deserve the contract, or if I’m just sending two more lambs to the slaughter.”

“Let us rely on Seraphiel’s providence, then,” Nicolas commented, his tone laced with subtle sarcasm. “Because when we get Guild recruits, they at least have some standards... For this case, however... we’ll have to count on luck, or divine intervention.”

“Luck is a luxury Drakenhold cannot afford, Nicolas. Send them in.”

The heavy ash door opened with a long, drawn-out creak. From the shadows of the damp corridor, two figures stepped forward into the dim light of the Intendant’s office. They were surprisingly young—humans who had likely seen no more than twenty winters—and their faces bore the unmistakable symmetry of twins. The young man had the rigid posture and physical presence of a warrior. Beside him, the young woman exuded a lethal aura and the piercing eyes of a spellcaster, the fabric of her robes rustling softly with the promise of dormant magic.

“Come in, take a seat,” Klaus said in a dry, objective voice, like a commander in the field, though clearly frayed by exhaustion.

“Good morning, sir. We’re here about the contract,” the boy said, his tone cordial and firm.

“I know why you’re here. Let me get a good look at you, youngsters,” Klaus replied, leaning back in his chair to size them up.

The resemblance was undeniable. They shared the same dark hair, black as a Drakenhold night, and eyes of a blue so intense they seemed out of place in that grey room. Klaus noted the boy’s posture first: broad shoulders supported a worn shirt of chainmail, and the wooden shield on his back was so scarred and dented that either he was an improbable veteran for his age, or he had inherited the gear from a corpse. The girl, slightly shorter, carried no visible steel. Her fingers toyed absently with rings of dull bronze, and the small leather belt at her waist clinked with the muffled sound of vials and arcane components with every step she took.

“Experience?” Klaus asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow. “I see that gear has seen some battles. By the way, what’s your name, lad?”

“Dave, sir. And this is my sister, Dana. To answer your question: yes, we have some experience, though I’ll admit it’s not much. Most of the battles this armor has seen belonged to its previous owners, but I’ve faced my own and—”

He was suddenly cut off.

“We’ve already exterminated an undead that was terrorizing the northern part of Eldenstead Farm,” Dana interjected, her voice sharp. “We wouldn’t be here if we weren’t capable. We’re more than enough to handle your problem.”

Klaus let out a short, humorless laugh.

“I’ll be the judge of that, girl. Don’t think you’re the first pups still smelling of milk to knock on my door looking for easy silver.”

Dana took a step forward, resting her small, nimble hands on the Intendant’s oak desk. She didn’t flinch. Instead, her blue eyes swept the room as if reading an open map.

“Intendant Klaus, correct?” Her voice lost its haste, becoming cold and calculating. “From your pallor and the heavy circles under your eyes, you barely sleep. The leak ruining your records in the corner and this chaotic pile of documents show that the capital dumps its problems on your back but gives you neither the budget nor the respect to solve them.”

“But the main issue isn’t on your desk, Intendant. It’s in your notice. You specifically demanded mercenaries who weren’t tied to the Guild,” Dana pointed out, tilting her head slightly. “From what I know of Drakenhold law, the Guild is only called for a formal investigation or contract when there is a conflict of interest between the Kingdom and the Church, acting as a neutral and independent investigator.”

She leaned her weight onto the desk, narrowing the distance between herself and the bureaucrat.

“Extreme cases where the Guild itself is barred indicate that your contract regarding the scribe is just a front. The true purpose must be something else; this is all just a theater to bring interested parties here, where you analyze whether or not they’re capable of solving your real problem. Am I right?”

She straightened up, relaxing her shoulders in a calculated gesture, and held the bureaucrat’s gaze.

“And, for the record, I hate milk. But I’d take a beer if you have any to serve.”

“Dana, for Seraphiel’s sake!” Dave barked, his voice harsh, his face flushing in the dim light. “Where are your manners? He is the Intendant of Drakenhold, not some Low Street tavern keeper.”

Dave was constantly worried about his sister’s attitude. He lived to protect her, which invariably included trying to muzzle the mage’s sharp tongue before it cost them their heads.

“I beg your pardon, Lord Intendant,” Dave continued, bowing slightly. “We were raised on our own; she sometimes forgets who she’s speaking to...”

“The girl is right, at least in part,” Klaus’s gravelly voice cut through the warrior’s lecture. “She’s right about the law and the cases where the Guild is required to act as an independent investigator.”

Dana shot a smug “I told you so” look at Dave, the corner of her mouth twitching upward.

“But you’re wrong about the rest,” the Intendant continued. “There is no hidden objective, no conspiracy, or shadow society influence. The reason the Guild can’t act is much simpler than that.”

“Forgive my sister, my lord,” Dave intervened with a faint smile. “She spends too much time with her books and her fertile imagination. I have to constantly remind her that, usually, reality is simpler and more disappointing.”

Dana pulled away from her brother’s grip, smoothing the folds of her tunic with calculated slowness. She hated being wrong, and she hated even more being corrected publicly by Dave, but she chose not to cause further trouble.

“No matter, lad. As I said, she isn’t entirely right, but she isn’t entirely wrong either,” Klaus added.

He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a dark glass bottle and three pewter mugs. He poured an amber liquid into two of them and pushed them toward the siblings, serving himself the last one.

“It’s not beer, girl. It’s Kar Vhalor whiskey. It burns the throat, but it keeps the mind awake,” the Intendant said, draining his cup in one go. “Sit. Your reasoning about the Guild was perfect, but the web of shit we’re caught in is even thicker than you imagine.”

Dave and Dana pulled up the heavy wooden chairs. Dana swirled the pewter mug in her hands, her smug expression giving way to a look of pure concentration.

“Nielsen is a scribe. A man of books and records,” Klaus began, lowering his voice a notch. “But in recent weeks, reports say his mind seemed to break. He became paranoid, erratic. The Church certainly began to notice. And then, a few days ago, chaos erupted: he was arrested by the city guard after trying to kill his own wife, Helena.”

Dave frowned.

“A mad scribe tries to kill his wife and gets arrested. It’s a tragedy, sir, but why does that require secrecy and unbranded mercenaries?”

“Because Drakenhold politics is a nest of vipers, Dave,” Klaus sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. “Helena is no ordinary woman. She is the daughter of Andersen, the Captain of the Guard. Nielsen, for his part, is a Church employee. When something like this happens, the law demands the case be judged by an independent committee to prevent the Guard from favoring the Captain’s daughter or the Church from protecting its scribe. That independent committee, by law, is the Adventurers’ Guild.”

Dana’s eyes widened slightly as the puzzle pieces finally clicked.

“And the Guild was barred.”

“Nielsen is the nephew of the current Guild Master,” Klaus concluded with a bitter smile. “A complete stalemate. No one can touch him officially. That bought us some time, and he was kept in the Guard cells under maximum surveillance. But in the dead of night, the cell was simply found empty. No broken locks. He vanished.”

“And the first group you hired?” Dana asked. “What happened to them?”

Klaus’s expression darkened, and the flickering candlelight emphasized the pallor of his face. He instinctively glanced toward the heavy ash door before speaking again.

“They were bold, I’ll admit. On the night before they disappeared, the group leader stood in this very office. He told me, full of certainty, that they had found a solid lead on Nielsen’s whereabouts. I didn’t want to know the details, but I warned them. I reaffirmed that, by express order of this investigation, they had to report any progress to Brother Esdras before acting. I reminded them that if they found Nielsen without the Church present, they wouldn’t see a single coin of the reward.”

Klaus leaned his elbows on the desk, drawing closer to the two of them, his voice now little more than a harsh whisper.

“I suspect they thought they could be faster or smarter than the priests. They ignored the recommendation and went after the lead alone. Because that same night, I received the news: they were found dead, a few miles from our walls, in the Blue Oak Forest.”

He leaned back again, spinning the empty pewter mug between his fingers.

“The official version, signed and sealed, is that they were ambushed by beasts or night bandits.” Klaus paused, letting the silence hang heavy. “But an entire group of veteran mercenaries, armed to the teeth, isn’t slaughtered by wolves so close to the gates of Drakenhold. Much less on the exact night they were about to solve the case and claim the reward.”

The Intendant pointed an ink-stained finger at Dave and Dana.

“I have no proof of what happened in those woods, and if you repeat this outside, I will deny every word. But I didn’t reach my age believing in coincidences so sharp. Andersen, myself, and the city guards are tied by politics. Priests and inquisitors are scouring the streets in the shadows, interrogating people for leads. Nielsen is still missing, and time is running out.”

Klaus opened the desk drawer, pulled out a scroll sealed with Drakenhold’s official wax, and spread it across the oak table. He dipped his quill again but didn’t sign. He simply waited for the siblings to face the document.

“The contract provides for a payment of 200 silver pieces,” Klaus said, watching their reaction. “It’s more than triple what any Guild adventurer would earn for a job of this length.”

Dave exchanged a quick look with Dana. The sum was far too high—a value that didn’t just pay for finding a man, but for the extreme risk of getting involved with whatever had killed the previous group.

“The reward is generous,” Dave observed, his voice maintaining a professional tone but with a spark of interest. “Too generous... Not that I’m complaining, but money like that, even in the capital of the world, never comes without a leash.”

Klaus let out a dry laugh.

“The leash is short, and the Church holds the other end. This is their requirement after the incident with the last group: you are to find Nielsen’s whereabouts, but as soon as you do, you are forbidden from acting. You cannot rescue him, you cannot speak to him, you cannot even get close enough for him to recognize you. You must immediately come to me and formally request the Church’s accompaniment.”

“And if we find him in an emergency? If he’s about to be captured by someone other than the guard?” Dave questioned, already visualizing the tactical problems.

“It doesn’t matter,” Klaus snapped, his voice rising, cutting off any attempt at debate. “If you stumble upon Nielsen in the middle of the street, one of you stays in the shadows, watching his every move, and the other runs back here. If the Church is not present at the moment he is contacted or rescued, the contract is automatically void. Zero silver pieces. And honestly, if you aren’t accompanied by the Church when you find him, I will be able to do absolutely nothing to stop Brother Esdras from considering you ‘accomplices to a fugitive.’”

Dana narrowed her eyes, processing the order.

“So we’re being paid to find the target and serve him on a silver platter for the Church?” she asked with an acidic smile.

“You’re being paid to ensure Nielsen doesn’t vanish again and to ensure the Church has no reason to hunt you down as well,” Klaus retorted, pushing the quill toward them. “Sign. If you accept these terms, the initial payment of twenty silver for expenses is in the drawer. If you think you’re too smart to follow protocol, the door is the same one you came in through.”

Dave looked at Dana. The weight of the contract was clear: they had the freedom to investigate, but they were slaves to Church protocol at the crucial moment.

“Where do we start, Intendant?” Dave asked, picking up the quill.

“His wife, Helena. She still resides in their home, though the Guard keeps her under constant surveillance. It’s the only link left. And please...” Klaus looked directly at Dana. “Try not to annoy the Captain of the Guard’s daughter. I already have enough problems on my desk.”