Step. Step. Step.

A cacophony of boots upon the pavestones drew the pair’s attention down the alleyway. In truth, Arrion had no idea what he was to do. Most likely, the oncoming group was composed of Einhold and what sounded like three or four enforcer members in tow. He had to act quickly. Arrion scanned the immediate area, finally landing his eyes upon the wagon and its strewn contents.

“Hey…” Irendria frantically muttered, a slight hint of pleading in her voice. Arrion kicked bits of rotten produce down the opposite end of the hall, creating a path of multicolored husks and peels. He grabbed Irendria’s shoulders, sweeping the elf’s legs out from under her, before rolling her beneath the decaying wagon. Loose splinters and fruit fragments shook from the jostled wagon as Arrion straightened up, not bothering to dust himself off.

“Oi, you!” a deep, grating voice sounded. Arrion whirled around, reforming his face into a scowl and clutching his ribs. The owner of the vocal was a tall man of considerable build, with vertically bulging shoulders and a trapezoidal jawline. His left eye was a faint brown rimmed with a gray halo, and seemed to contradict the man’s rather severe face, which was chiseled with deep shadows and creases that gave him the look of a very indignant oak tree. The man’s right eye, however, was something entirely different.

The iris was a piercing shade of abyssal cobalt, unmoving, and unblinking. A number of thin dark tinted veins originated from the region of the right eye, creeping their way to the man’s temple where they wrapped around the right side of his scalp.

“Halt!” The three other enforcers cried in unison, each unsheathing his shortsword with a short but piercing SHING. Arrion straightened up, still cradling his mock injuries.

“There you are, finally! I regret to inform you that you’re too late!” he growled, pointing forcefully down the alley, now strewn with decayed fruit matter.

“Your tricks are getting less and less impressive! Take him!” The supposed leader yelled, motioning to the other members with his sword.

“No, you bleedin’ idiots, the thief’s gone already,” Arrion said between shallow breaths, pointing again haphazardly down the alley.

“The bastard took me down and legged it!” He panted, using the wall to stabilize himself. The enforcer captain’s right eye narrowed, following the trail of fruit matter to the end of the stained pathway. Two of his subordinates wearing dark silvery capes over what seemed to be blackened mail walked forward, converging upon the still wagon. Arrion felt a drop of sweat roll down his temple, and turned to the left to conceal it from view. The captain lumbered over to the wagon, his boots pulverizing the few intact moonpeels* still scattered over the pavement. From behind one of the men, Einhold’s arm swung upward.

“Oi! That isn’t the man! Remember, I told you she was an elf,” he cried over the group’s heads, pushing through the greys. The captain turned his grizzled face back down the street once more, the grey’s blade tipping forward out of his grip. He finally resumed an overhand grip on the shortsword, sheathing it smoothly in his red and gold emblazoned scabbard.

“After her.”

At the captain’s words, the other enforcers hurried down the alley, their heavy footsteps followed by the pitter-patter of muddy water droplets impacting the stone edifices. The captain glanced back at Arrion and Einhold, his eyes running over the wagon and the stained bay walls. He eventually turned away and followed his subordinates at a slow jog, disappearing behind the corner.

“Are you alright?” Einhold’s voice jolted Arrion’s eyes away from the echoing footfalls.

“Yeah…” He said, unclasping his ribcage as his scowl faded. They stood silently for a moment, watching the alley settle.

“So, she got away, did she?” Einhold finally said, bending down to retrieve his scattered money. Arrion walked over to the tilted wagon.

“Not quite,” he murmured.

Arrion’s fingers found the bottom edge of the side boards, hoisting the cart a few feet into the air to reveal Irendria curled up beneath the dusty planks.

“Hey!” Einhold yelled, fumbling for his tuber. Irendria scrambled out from under the wagon, waving his hands submissively.

“It’s all right, mate, I made her hide,” Arrion said, stepping in front of the crouched elf.

“Yeah yeah it’s alright! Quit pointing that thing at me!” Irendria added frantically from behind Arrion. Einhold slowly lowered the gun, furrowing his brow.

“What is this?” Einhold asked, deciding against uncocking his tuber. Arrion grabbed Irendria’s shoulder, pulled her up.

“We need not submit her to the enforcers, I’ve decided,”

“And what gives you any right to decide things without me?” Einhold demanded.

“I’m… sorry. I should have thought of it earlier and decided with you, but you were gone,” Arrion said, nodding apologetically before stopping Einhold with raised hands.

“She swiped your money from right under your nose, and I barely had time to see it. We need fast hands, you’re a huge bloke and I was raised under the law - we haven’t the tools for … pilferage.”

Einhold paced in front of the elf, his grip tight on the tuber.

“You say we can trust her?” He asked, his back to Arrion.

“Aye, I’ll put down on it if need be.”

“Ack, so frakin’ be it,” Einhold growled, rolling his shoulders before lowering his massive frame to Irendria’s level.

“If I wake up tomorrow with my pockets empty, I’ll have my partner here find you. He’s a hunter, see, and when he leads me to you - there won’t be any bribe or blessing the Emperor could offer me to refrain from breaking every damned bone in your body,”

Irendria looked terror-stricken.

Did she?

Arrion watched her chest rise and fall just as slowly as it did during their little chat.

He remembered how rapidly the animals he’d shot over the years drew breath in their final moments, how their chests heaved for air whenever he stepped on the odd patch of dried leaves as he stalked them.

“Let’s hop to it, I’ve ‘ad enough of this place,” Einhold said, swiveling his head to find the way they came.

“Splendidly benevolent community, eh?”

“Shut it.”

The city proved less congested as the trio moved into the outer ring of lodgings and more temporary structures of wood and plaster amid Einhold’s incessant remonstrations. The men of the group observed disconsolately as the brickwork and four-cornered columns of the inner city gave way to the mildew streaked precarious wooden planks and logwalls of the slums.

“I can-not frakin’ believe you, boy, we’ve been on the move for WEEKS,”

“We’ve got food, we’ve got her. We’re not wasting any more time here, mate,”

“How is being well rested for the journey ahead wasting time? When’s the next time we’ll be able to sleep in a BED?” Einhold spat back, throwing his arms up.

“I wanna sleep in a bed…” Came a small voice from behind the pair.

“You don’t get the bed after your little stunt, elf. We’ll leave you locked in the privy,” Einhold said as Irendria ducked under his flailing limbs to move ahead of the pair.

“Privy?”

“Gods below, you really are a frakin’ street rat.”

The elf pursed her lips, exhaling.

“Where are we going?” She asked, slowing down to their pace.

“I’ve also been meaning to ask you, boy, where ARE we going?” Einhold added, casting an acidic glare at Irendria as though she’d once again swindled something from him.

“West.”

Einhold and the elf stared at Arrion.

“Uh, I’ll explain more when we’re out of the city - walls have ears and all that.”

Einhold narrowed his eyes.

“So let me straighten something out,” he said, soft fury draping his words as he held his hands in front of himself in emphasis.

“You’re dragging us right up to the front lines, where the fraking orange and yellowhides have sacked half the countryside - AND YOU WON’T LET US GET ONE LAST GOOD NIGHT’S REST!?”

“Einhold, do you know how many people like us are out in the wastes at this very moment? We’re not the only blokes searching for this prize, and we certainly won’t be the first to find it if we don’t take this seriously.”

“What’s the prize?” Irendria interjected.

“When we’re OUT of here,” Arrion said, his restraint slipping for a moment.

The bickering lasted all the way through the outskirts of Gerendal, prompting many a grimey shutter to be thrown open and harsh words hurled at the exiting trio.

“We can make camp in the valleys to the west. With any luck, the cold season will have forced all the drovers to the coast for the winter… At least, that’s how it works where I’m from,” Arrion said, pulling Einhold away from a careening corpse-wagon.

“God, the smell—” Irendria began, sneezing out the putrid odors as they wafted over the group. Einhold and Arrion watched darkly as the mound of bodies quivered with every stone the wagon wheels hit.

“The war’s really moving east, isn’t it?”

“Aye, and we’re walking right into it.”

Arrion blew what he could out of his nose, turning to see a dozen more such carriages trundling up the gravel road.

“Let’s get out of here.”

The hills west of Gerendal were nestled between the great cliffs of the southern canyons, used as pastures for the livestock of the Enclave. They were ancient, the birthplace of the Grey people and a culture far older than the First Founding - older than even the primitive Hixites that predated the Emperor.

The trio passed between the numerous remains of overgrown foundations, massive stone slabs cut with the piety and fervor of the ancient cults. Pillars of the dark sediments found at the base of the Augmarian ranges stood scattered across the rust-colored grass of the hills, all without temples to uphold and devotees to shelter at their base.

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Arrion pointed and swept his finger across the ruddy mounds that surrounded them,

“Watch the slopes. An overhanging stone would be ideal - breaks up the smoke from our fire.”

“Aren’t you being a pinch too paranoid, boy?”

The elf shook her head.

“I’m still a wanted criminal - if the Enforcers are still after me, it’s actually better if we don’t light any fires at all.”

“Aw-shuttup, elf, we’ve gotta cook the mea—” Einhold broke off, roughly unslinging his crude leather sack. The two others watched as Einhold pulled out cloth wrappings, various masonry tools, nails, scraps of paper, and other mundane effects.

“Damn!” He bellowed, causing the two to flinch.

Arrion knelt beside him, observing the loosened wrappings in his calloused hands fall apart. Irendria wrinkled her nose as a rotting stench caught the winds blowing through their midst. The two men beheld a small stack of what looked to be sliced boar chops, streaked with dozens of small orange splotches - each blot hosting a clump of stubby cream-colored mushrooms.

“The meat’s turned.”

Irendria held a longer cloth wrapping aloft with two fingers hooked into its knot, “We’ve still got the bread. It’ll keep ‘till the next town at least.”

They moved further west, Einhold and Irendria’s breaks lengthening as the undulating path wore upon their legs. As the bickering pair reclined below the shade of a shattered column, Arrion ran his hands though the thin-bladed grass - watching the reddish clumps yield to his weight. It was thinner and lighter than the green grasses further east, but harder to tear and rip out.

“What’re you doing, boy?”

A great shadow fell over Arrion’s hands as the mason sorely lowered himself onto a white streaked stone opposite him.

“Hunting here would’ve been easier,” Arrion mused.

“See?” He pointed at the ground before them, kicking out over the grass.

“—makes no noise, and there are plenty of big stones around for cover,”

Einhold’s gaze followed Arrion’s boots before resting on the falling sun in the West.

“Come sundown it’ll be easier to hunt us in these hills,” the elf muttered, joining the pair in their sun-gazing.

Einhold glanced at her, seemingly irked at the breaking of their silence,

“Huh?”

“During the cold season the drovers make the big push to the coast, so they can sell off the year’s yields and livestock before the frost kills the animals.” Irendria stopped, quickly peering across the dimming horizon before continuing.

“That’s when the raiders come down from the mountains, so they can shear off a bit of meat for their clans - maybe a few slaves as well.”

“And you’ve just remembered this NOW?”

“Einhold, lay off!”

The elf grabbed Arrion’s collar. “We’ve gotta find a place to hide - I thought it was a bit early for raiding season, but look how cold the wind’s getting!”

“Oi, pipe down,” Arrion groaned, removing her hands.

“Let’s just find a big stone. I’ll take being half concealed over sitting out here in the open.”

The other two nodded as he unslung his musket. “There, on that smaller mound,”

They followed his finger to a larger darkstone head half buried atop one of the less prominent hills.

“Haul it!”

Arrion once again felt Einhold’s bulk push past him, staggering into his own run as he grabbed Irendria’s arm.

The following minutes were spent in a hushed urgency. Einhold struggled with his pack in the waning light as Arrion gathered whatever dry kindling he could from around the fallen idol.

The elf sat atop the wizened head, her eyes watching the landscape as though the hills themselves threatened to swallow her whole.

“Aha!” Einhold cried out, yanking out a bundle of wrapped firewood amid Irendria’s frantic shushing.

“I dunno what you’re ‘aha-ing’ about. We’ve got nothing to cook, you old bastard!” she whispered angrily, sliding down the statue’s creased forehead amid the clicks of Einhold’s flintstarter.

“Still beats freezing to death out here.”

Arrion watched as the sky lost the last vestiges of orange and maroon, settling into a deep ocean-like blue.

The night was too bright.

“Couldn’t you ‘ave picked a less… angry stone? I don’t like the way this bloke’s looking at me,” Einhold grumbled, warming a chunk of bread above the feeble flames as he side-eyed the glowering stone face. Arrion shrugged, looking into the statue’s cracked eyes. It was much bigger up close than he thought, just half the head was already some two fathoms high - to think this construction stood upright in some long forgotten age.

He grabbed his musket as Irendria prepared to sit on the stone it was resting on.

“Sooo… let’s hear it then.” She said, wiping her hands on the grass.

“The prize,” She continued, scowling at Einhold as he moved the bread loaf out of her reach.

Arrion reached for his left pocket, feeling them emerge into his thoughts.

“Don’t speak of Ichorium.”

“You’re all too paranoid.”

“You wouldn’t have made it this far if we weren’t.”

“Debatable. They trusted me enough to come with me, why can’t I return that trust?”

“Tell them it is simply treasure, that isn’t a lie.”

He withdrew a folded scrap of parchment, feeling the same knot he always felt in his throat when he looked at it. The torn fragment still retained some of the burnt edges, his mother’s work. He unfolded it as Einhold raised himself and leaned over to observe the scrawl.

“Uhh… I can’t read that imperial stuff.” the elf said, squinting in the flickering light.

“And I can’t read upside down.” Einhold added, shuffling around the fire before squatting next to Arrion. The wind whispered through their camp, dimming the fire and bringing the first vestiges of the frost with it.

“H-Han - Han–let? No… Han… Han…” Einhold sounded out, his eyebrows marrying. Arrion suppressed a chuckle, the angular shadows the fire cast upon his creased face made him out like one of the comical villains of the stories he used to read.

“Can you actually read, grandfather?”

Einhold threw the elf a volcanic glance.

“It says Hanlen Stead, outside of Medria. The westmost city of the Enclave.” Arrion finished, replacing the parchment.

“It’s a house,” he continued, “Well, more like a small mansion from what I’ve heard. It is — was owned by the Tarclan guild before they handed it to my father’s old friend.”

“We’re visiting a friend of your father’s then.”

“Aye, his name is Earnheart - Ernie’s what we called him though.”

Arrion pursed his lips, trying to work out an explanation that wouldn’t take all night. They needed to get all the sleep they could while they had the chance.

“My father disappeared two years ago.”

Einhold raised his eyebrows as Irendria looked back at the fire, bringing her knees to her chest.

“Ernie was with him, leading the first and last Tarclan expedition to the lost city. It went… badly. He only told me that they were forced out of the ruins when they got attacked by imperial agents and the Jaag, but I think he’s leaving things out.”

Arrion paused, throwing a log onto the desperately crackling fire.

“No… I know he’s leaving things out. My father was separated from the party as they were escaping the ruins, Ernie couldn’t find him again after that.”

“Wait so this is actually a rescue?”

“No. I doubt he’s… still around anymore.”

“...Sorry mate, I didn’t — “ Irendria began.

“What we’re after,” Arrion cut across her, “—is what they found in those ruins.”

He reached for his pack this time, holding one finger up in forestallment. Einhold ripped another piece of bread free as he stared down the statue with a similar expression. It seemed as though the great stone visage was a fourth member of the gathering around this meager fire, begrudgingly bearing witness to the beginnings of a journey it would never be part of.

Arrion’s hand closed around it. The last memento of the expedition, one that his mother had rescued from Earnheart’s drunken rampages as he tried to destroy himself and anything he had brought back from those forsaken ruins. He withdrew his hand, letting his fingers uncurl before his companions.

In Arrion’s palm lay a small coin, silvery and wrought with impossible quality. Its edges sported diagonal grooves of very fine width, giving the illusion of a flat surface from far enough away. Upon one side of the coin was etched an incredibly precise image, the profile of a man, his jawline immaculate and his eyes depthless in spite of his flat nature. Everything on the figure was evident in unnatural detail, from his stubble to the subtle wrinkles across his forehead.

“Never seen a coin pressed this well, this isn’t the work of the capital. Not even the Greys could make something like this.” Einhold remarked, holding the coin up to the firelight where its almost flawless surface reflected the dim flames like a miniature lighthouse.

“What’s that on the back?” Irendria asked, tilting her head to see the other side of the coin. Einhold flipped it over.

“I’m not sure what it is. Could be a map, or some kind of sigil.” Arrion said, feeding the fire again. The coin’s opposing side illustrated a smaller circle within the rim of the coin, its surface embossed with a patternless group of asymmetrical shapes. Wrapped around the circumference of the circle were several letters, seemingly forming a phrase.

“The lettering’s almost imperial like, but it makes no sense if I read it with our language.”

“Alright, I figure there’s more where it came from, yes?” Irendria asked, flicking the coin into Arrion’s lap. He nodded, placing it on a lichen covered stone next to him.

“It’s not just the coins, there are lost works of technology in the ruins. They were filled with strange machines, none of the party could really tell what they were for though. We could find stuff that’s priceless on the guild market, hell, maybe we can sell even to the Emperor himself.”

Einhold grinned, straightening up.

“How many other bastards know about the ruins?” He asked, folding his arms.

“Outside the guild? Few, if any, I’d imagine. Fewer still who have the guts to travel that deep into the range.”

“And the guild won’t make a second run of it?”

“I doubt it, from what I’ve heard the guild isn’t what it used to be. Past their prime.”

“Then we’ve got a—” Einhold grabbed the coin, shoving it in their faces, “—silvery opportunity!”

“That was awful.”

“I agree. But the point is - we’ve got to get at those mountains before anyone else does. I say we nick some horses—”

“Hang on.” Irendria said, glaring at the fire. The two men turned to face her.

“Let me just understand something.” The elf stood, moving around to stand in front of the statue, her face mirroring the colossus behind her.

“You’re expecting us to—” She extended a finger as though counting, “—survive for weeks out in that mess of a western front, avoid getting killed by the Jaag, climb mountains, live out in the wilds for who knows how long, and through all of that manage to haul enough treasure to actually make a profit?”

Irendria let herself lean against the face of the statue, folding her arms.

“That’s a bit of a tall order for a big oaf, a hunter, and—” She gestured up and down her own body, “—me.”

“I disagree.” Arrion said, accepting the coin back.

“Aye, yeh’ve got no backbone elf. I should’ve expected as much.”

“This is suicide, Arrion.” Irendria whispered angrily, ignoring Einhold.

Arrion stepped forward.

“Look, I don’t know much of the world. But I know it is breaking. Nothing’s going to be easy in the next few years, and before that reality settles in I intend to rise above it.”

Arrion held up the coin.

“This is nothing—”

He tossed the piece into the fire.

“—nothing compared to what lies in those mountains.”

The elf stared into the fire.

“We’re not some gang of guild hopefuls who think they can make it big with enough luck. We have the information, the leads, we have the beginnings of the trail to this bounty. We can win.”

Hearing no answer, Arrion lowered himself onto his stone.

“It’s either this or the mines, Irendria.”

“Is that a threat?”

“You can’t keep pinching clueless foreigners forever. Someday you will slip up, rob the wrong person, trip over fleeing the scene, perhaps a drought hits the city, or a famine, and then what? Eventually you will die, starving, filthy, and surrounded with no company but the rats waiting to gnaw at your bones.”

Arrion ripped a huge chunk of Einhold’s loaf free as the latter groaned in protest.

“You’ll live for hundreds of years, you’ll live to see this world reduced to ashes.”

Striding over, he thrust the bread into the elf’s hands.

“At least face it with a full belly and a warm bed, staring up at a gilded roof.”

Peering at her lowered face, Arrion thought he saw a trace of anger. He stepped back, extending his hand.

“Are you with me?”

The elf considered the bread for a moment, as though it would offer guidance.

“Damn it—” She growled, taking Arrion’s hand, “—I suppose a bed of my own couldn’t hurt.”

“And you, Einhold? Stonemason, or famed explorer?”

Einhold’s grin returned, his eyes lit up the same way they did back when Arrion had first asked him to join the quest.

“The treasure is ours for the taking.”