Chapter 36 Chapter 7 Fashion

Mosiah—the real Mosiah—huddled in the shadows of the Merlin Sacred Grove, staring nervously into the darkness around him.He knew he was alone in the woods—he had to repeat that to himself at least every five minutes after nightfall, to reassure himself.But unfortunately, this doesn't seem to work.He was far from at ease.Simkin was right, no one came here after dark.Mosiah now knew why.The woods look completely different at night.It returned to its original shape. At dawn the woods set all their flowers and jewels.It welcomes its admirers with open arms and treats them generously.Let them pluck the delicate flower, and let it wither and die unintentionally at their feet.It watched with a smile as they threw their trash into crystal pools and trampled the grass.It listened to their empty praises and torrential cheers like clouds of dust from its mouth.But at night, the woods pay the price, pulling a blanket of darkness around the cemetery, lying awake, licking its wounds.

Serf mages are as sensitive to the thoughts and feelings of plants as druids are, perhaps more acutely than some druids who never depend on crops for a living.Mosiah could hear angry feelings murmuring all around him, could hear angry and sad feelings. Wrath comes from the living creatures in the grove.And sorrow, Mosiah felt, came from the dead.The young man found Merlin's grave strangely reassuring, and so he lingered about the graveyard, laying his hands on the marble and feeling its warmth in the cool of the night.With this little strength, he watched and listened wearily, telling himself over and over that there was no one else around.

But Mosiah was growing restless.The usual noises of the moor, even such tame suburban noises, would startle him and make him break out in a cold sweat.The rustling of the trees, the whispering of the leaves, the rubbing of the branches against each other—there was an ominous sound to all this, some malevolent intent.He's an intruder here, disturbing the Sacred Forest's intermittent dormancy, so he's not welcome.So he paced up and down the side of a certain place, keeping his eyes on the woods warily, wondering how long it would take to become a baron. In order not to frighten himself, Mosiah imagined Joram becoming a rich man, a lord with a beautiful lady at his side, and a company of servants busily gratifying his smallest wishes.Mosiah smiled, but the smile quickly turned into a sigh.

Live a lie.Joram had lived a lie all his life, and now he was going to go on lying—certainly.For all Joram's vain claims that wealth would set him free, Mosiah had enough common sense to know that it would only add to the chains Joram already had.It made no difference whether the chains were made of gold or iron.Mosiah knew that Joram would never admit that he was the living dead.He would never admit to murdering the Overseer (Unlike Saryon, Mosiah hadn't seen Haylock's death as murder before, and won't do so in the future.) And then—what about the child?Mosiah shook his head, brushing the marble of the cemetery with his hand, drawing the outline of the sword absently with his fingertips.Will they be born the living dead like their father?Will he hide them?Many of the living dead are hiding.Is this lie going to be perpetuated from generation to generation?

Mosiah could see a darkness hanging over the family, casting its shadow first on Gwendelyn, who would bear the child of the living dead and never know why.And then those children will live a lie too— Joram's lie.Maybe he'll teach them the dark craft.Perhaps, after that there will be a war with Saraken.The way of KitKat craftsmanship will return to this world, bringing death and destruction.Mosiah shuddered.He didn't like Merilon, the people here and their way of life.The beauty and wonder of the place had attracted him at first, but now it seemed too dazzling.But he thought it was not his fault, not the fault of the people of Merilon.They shouldn't-

A hand was placed on his shoulder from behind. He turned around immediately, but it was too late. There was a voice, and the spell had been cast. The power of life flowed out from Mosiah's body and was greedily sucked away by the Sacred Forest. The young man fell helplessly to the ground, and his magic had been wiped out by the black-robed figures standing around him.But Mosiah had lived among the Witchcrafters, and he had been forced to live without magic for months, and, moreover, he had had one of these spells.Its deterrent effect was weakened so that the magic purge, though devastating at first, did not completely paralyze Mosiah.

Mosiah was shrewd enough not to let his opponent see this, though.Lying on the ground with his face pressed against the wet and cold grass, he fought back his terror and regained his strength; he drew his strength from within himself, not from the world around him.When his muscles obeyed his command and his body regained self-control, he had to suppress the desire to jump up and run away.There was no use running away, he couldn't run, they would just cast more powerful magic on him, magic too powerful for him to resist. So he lay on the ground, looked at his attacker, while recovering his strength, restrained his panic, and desperately planned what to do.

It was Duke Xisi who attacked him, of course.Barely visible in the darkness of the sacred grove, these black-cloaked figures stood beside Mocia now, their shadows reflected in the white marble of the cemetery.There were two of them, talking to each other, and they were so close to Mosiah that they could reach out and grab the hem of the black robe.Neither of them paid any attention to the young man on the ground, and did not doubt the effectiveness of the spell at all. "So they have left the palace?" It was a female voice, indifferent and hoarse, which made Mosiah tremble. "Yes, ma'am," replied the wizard. "According to your instructions, they have been let go."

"Didn't it cause a commotion?" The sorceress seemed anxious. "No, ma'am." "Lord Samuels, where is the lady's father?" "He's in control, ma'am. He kept asking, but finally understood it wasn't good for his daughter." "Questions will be silent on the tip of the tongue, but they will fly into the heart and take root." The witch warlock silently recited an ancient proverb. "Okay, when the time comes, we will settle this matter. However, it seems that these doubts must be pulled out and planted in the soil of truth in time, so that it withers and dies faster. Of course, this matter must be reported to Bishop Vanya, but between me and the bishop Before talking about it, I also strictly guarded that young lady."

There was no reply, but the robe beside Mosiah trembled, indicating that the sorcerer had bowed and obeyed. Mosiah listened carefully, terrified, lost in despair, wondering what had happened.How could they find Joram?The Dark Sword can protect him.How could they find me?Mosiah asked herself suddenly.Not only that, but also associate the two of us together.Nobody knew we'd meet here, except— "Are they coming to the sacred forest?" The sorceress asked impatiently. "That is what the traitor says," replied the wizard. "We have no reason to doubt him." traitor!Mosiah felt nauseous, his stomach turned, and a hot, bitter rage rose in his throat.That's why.Someone had betrayed them, and now Joram was walking into an elaborate trap?But who would have betrayed them?A young man in a white robe with a mustache vividly appeared in Mosiah's mind, waving an orange silk scarf in the air.

Simkin!He choked.Angry tears stung his eyes.If I can do one thing before I die, I will kill you! Calm down, calm down.His reason overwhelmed him.still have a chance.You must find Joram and warn him... Mosiah forced himself to forget about revenge and focus on one thing only - escape.He moved one hand carefully and held his breath, for fear of attracting Duke Xisi's attention.But they were so engrossed in each other's conversation that they took it for granted that the spell would be enough to trap the young man.Mosiah crept his fingers across the ground quietly, and when his fingertips touched the hard skin of a stick, his heart almost flew.He didn't care that it was a tool, he didn't care that when he used it, he passed the power of life to something inanimate. His hand holds the weapon.He raised his head slightly and looked up secretly.A feeling of joy passed.The wizard had his back to him.A quick hit on the head to put him between yourself and the witch warlock will block her spell.Mosiah gripped the stick tightly, tensing his muscles.He jumped to his feet— The kiye vine sprang up from the ground, shooting out sharp thorns, wrapping around his thighs and raised arms.Mosiah screamed, and dropped the wooden stick by mistake, the spikes pierced into his flesh, and the rattan bound him tightly.He fell to the ground, writhing in pain at the sorcerer's feet, and the sorcerer turned and stared at him in amazement, then glanced at the sorceress to see what had happened. "Yes, you made a mistake," she said to the wizard, who bowed his head in remorse. "I'll punish you later. We don't have much time now. I already know what he looks like. I must hear his voice now." The sorceress knelt beside the struggling Mosiah and laid her hands on him, and the spikes of the cane disappeared instantly.Mosiah sighed, rolled over on the grass, and groaned.Blood was bubbling from a hundred tiny cuts, running down his arms and staining his clothes. "What's your name?" The sorceress asked indifferently, swept over his sweating face, distorted by pain, and sized him up carefully. Mosiah shook his head, or tried to shake his head, with what seemed like a convulsion. The witch warlock said a word expressionlessly, and Mosiah was horrified to see the spikes sprouting from the vine again, but this time the spikes only stuck to his flesh and did not penetrate. "Not yet." The witch warlock saw through his thoughts from his pale face, and said deliberately.This made Mosiah's eyes widen. "But they'll keep growing, until they pierce the skin, puncture the muscles, pass through the internal organs, and tear you apart. Well, I'll ask you again. What's your name?" "What? What does that matter?" Mosiah moaned. "You already knew!" "Tell me." The sorceress said another word.The spikes grew another inch. "Mosiah!" He turned his head away in pain. "Mosiah! Damn it! Mosiah, Mosiah, Mosiah..." Then their plans are filtered out bit by bit through the sieve of pain.Mosiah held his breath, trying to swallow what he said.He watched with horror as the sorceress turned into Mosiah.Her face became his.Her clothes were replaced by his clothes.Her voice turned to his. "What are we going to do with him?" asked the wizard in a low voice, clearly displeased with his mistake. "Throw him into the teleportation corridor and throw him to the land beyond the transformation." Now the sorceress who turned into Mosiah said, standing up. "No!" Mosiah tried to free himself from the strong, strong hands of the sorcerer dragging his ankles, but the slightest movement sent the spikes digging deeper into his body, and he wept bitterly, collapsing on the ground. "Joran!" he yelled desperately as he saw the dark void of the portal emerge from the forest. "Joran!" he yelled, hoping his friend would hear, but in his heart he knew it was all hopeless. "Run! This is a trap! Run!" The wizard threw him into the portal.The teleportation corridor began to shrink, pressing towards him.The spikes dug into his flesh, and the blood ran warm over his skin.He looked out of the teleportation corridor and caught one last glimpse of the sorceress - himself now - looking at him, her face - his face was expressionless. Later, she spread her hands. "Furious," he heard himself say.