3. The Palace

The palace appeared out of thin air, ephemeral as a ghost in the moonlight. Its walls were overgrown with creeping vines of white flowers. It was beautifully built, with many tall towers and open balconies. They were still standing in the clearing, which turned out to be a part of the palace’s garden. A narrow path ran through it leading to the main entrance, lined on either side with sculptures, many of which were broken. They seemed to be watching the intruders with their blind eyes.
“Let’s go,” the Master said and headed toward the door.
He gave it a push and it swung inward with surprising ease.
“You can go anywhere and take anything you wish, but make sure you come out this door before sunrise.”
“How will we know when it’s sunrise?” Alistair asked.
“When the moon disappears and it starts to grow light,” the Master explained. “Keep an eye on the windows.”
There were many rooms inside the palace, all beautifully decorated with tapestries, paintings, and ornate hanging lamps. The walls of its hallways were covered with depictions of birds and flowers, as well as fancier scenes with nude figures that often caused Hagen to pause in his tracks.
Plenty of expensive, exquisite items were scattered all over the opulent rooms, spilling out of vases filled to the brim with jewels, gold, and silver. Hagen passed all this. He would take something later on, he told himself. Better to explore it first, while he was still light on foot. In one room he saw Richard loading up his bag with some kind of ornate golden things. He heaved it over his shoulder with a grunt.
"Alistair, I've found it! Come quick!" he suddenly heard the Master's voice call out from one of the rooms and was almost knocked down as Alistair ran past him. He disappeared in the doorway. Hagen followed him and peered inside.
The Master and Alistair appeared to have gone mad, running around the room in circles and stomping their feet as if trying to put out an invisible insect. "It's heading for the door!" the Master cried, and Alistair darted as fast as he could to close it. Before the door shut, Hagen saw a glint of something small rolling quickly toward him. It was a simple silver ring, just a band of metal. He reached for it, and the ring jumped and popped onto his right index finger. Try as he might, he couldn’t pry it off.
“Damn it!” he heard the Master’s voice through the door. “You sloth! It was right under your nose and you missed it!”
“I’m sorry, Master!” Alistair replied. “We’ll find.”
The door began opening, and Hagen dove into a nearby room.
He waited. He sat down in one of the chairs that were still standing around a large wooden table. The rest were broken, lying propped up against the wall. It was dark and cool here and smelled of flowers. The broken ceiling held a clear view of the night sky, and the big moon peering in like a curious child peers into a doll house. Hagen looked and looked at the moon, until his eyes tired of it. Lazily, his gaze moved across the walls decorated with strange designs, patterns like some mosaic he had seen long ago in his childhood. There were snakes and birds, and a chain of seven elephants walking in a circle through a green jungle. In one corner stood a copper wash basin, and in the other, there was a great bed with its dusty red curtains drawn. It reminded him of a circus tent.
As he exited this room, he ran smack into Alistair.
“What’s that on your hand?” he asked.
“Oh, this—some ring I found.”
“Let me see it.”
Hagen tried to pry it off his finger but couldn’t.
“I can’t take it off.”
“Horseshit,” said Alistair, grabbing his wrist like a vise.
“Let me go, I really can’t!”
“Then let me help you,” he said, drawing out his dagger.
Hagen socked him in the gut, wrested away his hand, and ran off.
“Come back here, you!”
Alistair’s heavy feet were thudding after him as he ran down the hall. He dove into a room, through a door, then another one. The last room he ran into had a heavy metal door that slammed shut on its own as he rushed inside. There were no other doors leading from this chamber, only a small window across which a trellis of white flowers had crawled.
He was trapped. He heard loud bangs on the door as he climbed onto the windowsill and pushed the glass panel open from the inside. The room he was in was at the top of a tower, with a huge, seemingly endless drop. He could hear his pursuers outside, hitting the door with something heavy but it wouldn’t give way and after a while, they gave up.
Hagen stood on the windowsill, listening. He waited for a long time before he finally dared to go back into the room. It was unusually barren. There were no decorations or ornate things, only a simple table, chair, and bed. The air smelled somewhat bitter as if tinged with smoke. He stood near the door with bated breath, listening, but all was quiet. With a trembling hand, he tried the handle, but it was firmly locked from the inside. The only other exit was the window. He returned to the window, more calmly now, to see if he could climb along the outer wall and perhaps reach another room.
There was a thin ledge going out from it, barely enough for a foothold, and the white flowers growing all along the wall, giving off a pleasant scent. Some of the vines looked thick, so he tested the ones within his reach and it seemed like that’d hold. It took him a while to work up the will to make both of his feet leave the windowsill. He moved slowly, ever so slowly like a stranded crab, feeling each vine and foothold multiple times before shifting his weight an inch.
In what felt like an eternity he reached another window. He pushed on it and it swung open into the room with a merciful creak. He crept into the room, and with horror saw that it had no doors at all.
His head throbbed. He peered out the window but the wall turned here and it was impossible to see if there was another window around the bend. What good would it be if the next room also didn’t have a door? He needed to think. He stared at the ring on his hand, for which his new friends were willing to part him with his finger, or worse, and tried to peel it off again, but it was as good as a part of him.
“Damn this thing!” he quietly cursed. “Let me leave this place!”
“Your wish is granted, my lord,” a disembodied voice said.
Hagen looked around wildly. Nothing about this room indicated the presence of another being. There was only dusty furniture and a few books scattered on the floor.
I must be losing my mind, he thought.
The walls began to shimmer like water, the floor gave way, and Hagen found himself submerged as if underwater. The moon looked like a bright spot far above him growing ever smaller as he sank into the darkness. He tried to scream but couldn’t. Abruptly, he felt solid ground under his behind. He had sank somehow and found himself sitting on the forest floor, with his companions standing nearby.
“There he is!” cried Alistair, and lunged toward him.
Before he could get to his feet the boar swung at him, but he dodged his strike. Hagen saw the glint of Alistair’s dagger as it dove into his side, and then he lost sight of him, and everything else, and slumped to the ground.