After only thirty feet, they reached a wooden door set into the right-hand wall. It was similar in appearance to the one that had barred their cell, and Zo’Dal wondered if it might be another. Perhaps they might find other captives within.

Zo’Dal watched as Fel felt blindly for the keyhole and, finding it, fumbled with the ring of keys he had taken from the skeletal jailer. She considered suggesting that she let him handle it, but decided against it. There was no need to prompt an argument, and it seemed likely considering his far from cooperative mood. Instead, she took a moment to stretch her aching limbs and kept watch down the corridor while he tested keys. Another thirty feet down the corridor, she could make out a second door on the right before it continued on until her vision could no longer penetrate the inky blackness.

Several long moments passed, and she pictured creatures lurking beyond her sight, waiting for her to turn her back to set upon her. She imagined for a moment that she heard something over the clink of keys, a quiet shuffling sound like something dragging on stone. She thought she saw a glimmer of movement in the darkness, but when she blinked and peered closely, it was gone. A mechanical click from the door pulled her from her thoughts, and she shook her head as if to brush them aside. Still, she gave the corridor a last, lingering look before turning away.

The door opened on rusted hinges with a low groan. Instead of the small prison cell Zo’Dal expected when she peered through the opening, she was met by a large chamber, forty feet to a side. A pair of large alcoves like oversized hearths took up most of the far wall, cut deep into the stone. Stone slabs like great tables lined the other walls and the center of the room, each easily large enough for a man to lie upon. They reminded her of the burial niches and slabs that lined the catacombs beneath Ivonnum, her one-time home, but the thought brought her little comfort now. To her relief, there was no sign of movement among the rows of slabs, and she saw no corpses upon them, only indistinct piles of objects.

“It looks like a…burial chamber perhaps?” She said, keeping her voice low in case something was lurking in the darkness down the corridor.

“You can see?” Fel asked.

“Of course, I'm not blind.”

He couldn't see the smirk that spread on her lips, she knew, but she was sure he could hear it in her words.

“Well, I am not a rat, so see if you can find a source of light.”

Her smile vanished in an instant. Still, he was right despite his poor attitude. They wouldn't get far wandering blind and barefoot through the dark, not if there were any more undead about. Without a word, she brushed past Fel and into the room.

She stepped lightly and quietly, slipping into the room like a shadow. She was good at that, well practiced. There was no telling what traps or dangers could lie hidden in a place like this, and she had no intention of finding out.

Inside, she could see the room more clearly. There was another door on the same wall as the one she entered, no doubt the other she had seen further down the corridor, and she could make out the objects on the slabs now. Dozens of swords lay stacked upon eachother, their blades crumbling into dust and hilts rotted away. Dented and rusted helmets in unfamiliar styles were piled as high as Zo'Dal's shoulders. All manner of other gear: rucksacks, boots, hand tools, and more lay scattered among them. Most of it appeared old and ruined from so long in this damp place, much deteriorated to the point of being almost unrecognizable. Here-and-there, she spotted something newer, an article that hadn't completely rusted or rotted into uselessness, and it filled her with some hope. Perhaps they would not be making their escape completely unequipped.

Zo’Dal wondered if this might have been the equipment of other adventurers like herself, other captives. If it was, the number was truly staggering, and if the state of most of it was anything to go by, they had been brought here many, many years ago. She remembered her companions again and spent a minute looking over the slabs for anything that had belonged to one of them and for her own missing possessions, but found none. She hoped that was a good omen, but wasn't sure.

She made her way to the far end of the chamber to inspect the large alcoves, and realized that her first guess, that they looked like oversized fireplaces, wasn't far off the mark. A chimney was cut into the roof of each, stretching up into darkness beyond her vision. It was possible, likely even they reached to the surface, and for a moment, she considered the possibility of using one as a means of escape. Climbing was a something of a talent of hers, one she had honed traversing the rooftops and towers of Ivonnum, and one she took immense pride in. The shafts were narrow, but Zo’Dal’s slender form would likely fit without much difficulty, and she had made far more difficult and treacherous climbs before. Unfortunately, there was no way that her new companion would fit, assuming he could even make such a climb, which she also doubted. Though, the brief mental image of him attempting it forced her to hold back a snicker. Despite Fel's abrasive demeanor, she wasn't keen on the idea of abandoning him just yet, or setting off on her own, especially when she didn't know where she was, or if the chimney would even lead to safety.

Looking down, she saw that the base of each alcove was recessed below the floor. A thick layer of ash and what she thought was rocks or charcoal filled each, but when she looked closer, she realized with a stab of horror that they weren't charcoal, but pieces of blackened bone. This wasn't a burial chamber, it was a crematorium.

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At that, she decided it best to leave the furnaces alone, and turned back to the slabs of abandoned tools.

—

It took several attempts to light the lantern, but finally the wick caught. Zo’Dal gave a triumphant smile at that small victory. She had managed to find the lantern, a couple foul-smelling but usable flasks of oil, and some flint among the assorted adventuring gear after a few minutes of rummaging. Fel squinted and raised a hand to shield his eyes against the light and turned his face away slightly as she held it aloft, casting the flickering orange glow across each of them and about the chamber.

She could see him more clearly in the light, see the faint scars that crossed his neck and jaw beneath the days or maybe weeks of beard-growth, the dull brown eyes ringed with fatigue, the stains and tattered edges of his clothes. Looking at him closely, she realized she had been wrong when she had guessed him to be quite a bit older than herself. His face was drawn from exhaustion and trials she could only guess at and his olive skin had a pale tinge to it, but in the light, he looked no older than thirty.

“What?” He growled. She looked away, realizing with a flush of embarrassment that she had been staring. A moment of uncomfortable silence passed between them. To her surprise, Fel broke it.

“Your face is the first that I've laid my eyes upon in some time.” He said, his dry rasp of a voice lighter than it had been earlier.

When she looked up at him again, his eyes were fixed on her, his previous scowl had softened into an almost thoughtful expression.

“How long have you been down here?” She asked, suddenly hopeful that she had found an opening, an opportunity to actually speak with him.

Instead, his expression darkened again, and the opportunity slipped away like a cut-purse in a crowded marketplace.

“Long enough.” he said, then turned to one of the stone slabs and began sifting through the equipment spread upon it. “Let’s find what we can and depart.”

Zo’Dal rolled her eyes and set the lantern down on the slab beside her. His attitude was quickly grating on her nerves.

She glanced down, and her eyes settled on the strange bracelet clasped around her wrist. It was heavy, though not heavy enough to be encumbering, and small enough that it practically hugged her wrist. The small silver lettering glinted in the lantern-light. She held it up, turning her wrist to examine it closer, and her skin turned to gooseflesh. It didn't take a sorceress to tell that it was some kind of arcane runes. She thought to rip it off and cast it away, but it was entirely too small to fit over her hand to pull off, or on, for that matter, and had no indication of a seam or break in the metal.

She glanced up at Fel again, and noticed a similar band on his own wrist as he hefted a rusted blade and tested the weight of it in his hands.

“Fel,” She started, holding up her arm, “Do you know what these bracelets are?”

He spared her a brief glance, then turned back to his work.

“No.”

Once again, his voice had all the warmth of a blizzard, and Zo’Dal felt her temper rising. She closed her eyes and exhaled. Perhaps, she thought, it would be best if she gave him some space. She certainly could use some.

“Why don’t I go scout ahead while you search for anything useful?” She said.

“It's dangerous.” Fel said flatly.

“I can handle myself.” She reached for the nearest intact weapon, a sturdy-looking wooden club, and headed for the chamber door. The weapon had a satisfying weight in her hand. It was simple, lacking the finesse of the daggers she favored, but it could crack a skull. Perfect for skeletons. She may not look like a fighter, certainly not like Fel did, and truthfully, she wasn't. But, she could hold her own in a fight, in her own way.

If Fel replied before she slipped out into the corridor, she didn't hear it.

—

Fel watched Zo’Dal disappear into the shadows of the doorway over his shoulder. He felt the overwhelming desire to say something, to call her back, to stop her from leaving, but no words came, and he was alone again. His eyes remained on the empty doorway. His thoughts lingered on the image of the woman’s face, framed by her long, dark hair: the way the lantern-light had danced across her cheekbones that were just a little too high, ashen skin that was a little too pale and ears a little too pointed to be merely human, the soft smile on her lips, and her impossibly black eyes. She reminded him of a porcelain statuette, too fair, too delicate, to be in a place like this.

He couldn't remember the last face he’d seen. Maybe it had been Rozin’s. But, try as he might, he could summon only fleeting images of the old wizard that slipped away before he could seize them. He had known the old man only in passing before his captivity, but he had been his only companion in the dark. Fel could still picture his wizened features then, which had appeared stern to his eyes, seemed warm, almost fatherly to his memory, and he had clung to the image, picturing it each time the old man spoke. Rozin’s voice, quiet and possessed of a kindly humor, even as it gradually wasted away to nothing, had kept him sane. But now, he was dead, and the memories of him had been slowly swallowed up by the darkness, like everything else.

Fel’s thoughts wandered to how long it had been since he had heard the old man’s voice, and he suddenly felt very alone. Then the familiar thoughts came like crashing steel. He could have done more, should have done more. He could have worked harder to free himself, forced Rozin to take his share of the meager food they had, and maybe he could have freed the old man before it was too late. Then he caught himself, and shook his head. Too long. He had been alone too long.

Be at peace. Darkness is but a passing thing. Rozin’s voice echoed in his mind.

In truth, he didn't know how long he had been trapped in this hellhole, alone in the dark, feeding on scraps. Weeks? Months? Longer? It was impossible to tell, but it didn't matter now. Worrying on the past was a waste of time, he needed to focus on the present. He had an opportunity to escape, and he wasn't going to let it slip away. The image of Zo’Dal’s face was burned into his mind, and he clung to it like a drowning man to a drifting plank.

He took a last look at the doorway before turning back to the rusted blades scattered on the slab before him. He was going to be free, and he wasn't alone anymore.