I lay in a jail cell two hours later, bored out of my mind. The guards had detained us, though Nicola had hinted that my race might have had something to do with their heightened aggression.

We'd been subjected to cordial questioning, regardless, and now awaited a representative from the Adventurers’ Guild to corroborate our accounts.

The arrest had brought an abrupt end to my journey through Dreadwood. Rather anticlimactic, not that I was complaining. Crouching tigers and hidden monkeys withered beneath my blade, but human bureaucracy could never be dismayed.

Hurray for humanity!

I rolled over on the mattress and stared at my stoic companion. Ben sat in a corner of the cell, head down, arms wrapped around his shins. He hadn’t spoken a word since our detention and had only responded to my attempts at conversation with grunts and nods.

He probably appreciated the silence, lost as he was in his thoughts. But, dammit, the solitude was grating. How was I supposed to help if I didn’t know where to begin?

Loud footsteps clanked in the corridor outside the cell. The guard who had arrested us strode into view and stopped in front of the bars.

“Off you go,” he said. “Your story checks out. You are the guild’s problem now.”

A small pop resounded as he unlocked the door, an action that resulted in the dampening of the protective runes built into the cell. Rune magic piqued my interest, but freedom was a more seductive mistress.

I rose from the bed and offered a hand to Ben. He accepted it with a distracted air and almost pulled us both to the ground.

Goddammit, man. Get yourself together.

The guard interrupted us with a thrown badge.

“What’s this?” I asked, picking up the item.

“What’s it look like, elf? Those eyes of yours aren't good for anything?”

Ooh. Someone had barbs.

“That’s a fucking gate pass,” the guard continued. “It’s only valid for a quarter. Any longer, and you would need to apply for a resident permit at the courthouse. Though, I can’t see why someone like you would want to stay here that long.”

I turned the badge over in my hand. It looked nothing more than a piece of wood, hewn into a rough circle. But, I could sense the magic in it. Delicate runes ran around its surface, etched with a fine hand.

“Now, get lost,” the guard said. “I don’t have all day. Be sure to keep away from trouble in the city. Especially you, sword ears. We’ll be watching.”

“Sword ears?” I asked. Was that some kind of slur?

My body might be elven, but my soul was a hundred percent humanoid. I couldn't be affronted by an insult that meant nothing to me. What a dumbass.

I placed the gate pass in my inventory and glowered at the guard. Then, I guffawed. Because despite all his machismo, he still stood over a foot shorter than me.

The guard’s eyes narrowed. “What’s so funny, elf?”

“You are,” I replied. "Silly clown." Was that a good insult? Did clowns exist in this world?

The barb did the trick because the guard responded by reaching for his sword.

Ben stepped in between the two of us, eyes coming alive in his face. “Lower your weapon. He's a person of interest to the Guild now. Plus, you provoked him first.”

The guard stood his ground.

Ben shoved past him and out of the cell. I followed after him, resisting the juvenile urge to stick my tongue out at the guard.

The guard kept a strong grip on his sword, stance tense and loaded. Dark eyes followed us from beneath his helmet all the way out of the room.

Creep.

“Took you long enough,” Nicola said from her spot outside the guard quarters.

She leaned against a stone fence, legs crossed atop the cobblestones.

Ben stopped short and blinked at her. “You didn’t rush to see your siblings the first chance you got?”

“No,” Nicola said. “I mean, I want to, but that can wait for later. Ezin has requested a meeting. He sounded displeased.”

“Who’s Ezin?” I asked, still overwhelmed by my very first visit to a fantasy town. Everything looked both familiar and foreign at the same time. And, the smells . . . could take some getting used to.

“The guild master,” Nicola said, “of the Adventurer’s. This won’t be fun.”

Ben’s broad shoulders sagged. “I am just about done with all of this.”

Nicola pursed her lips. “No, Ben. Not now. The merchants would raise hell over Isaac’s death. Ezin needs our help to get things under control. And, we also need to visit Isaac’s family.”

Ben didn’t look interested in any of that. He stared at the ground, instead, as if wishing to disappear.

“May I tag along?” I asked.

Nicola paused to think. “No, it would be best if you sat things out in the meantime. Ezin would want to speak with you at some point. But, he would inquire about your abilities, and I can already imagine how that conversation would go.”

Good point. “Where do we meet up then?”

“An hour after dusk? We should be done by then. There’s a tavern opposite the Adventurer’s Guild called The Naked Bard. It’s pretty prominent. You can’t miss it.”

“Naked Bard. Got it.”

Nicola grabbed Ben’s arm. “It was nice traveling with you, Damien. If you need a place to stay, the city is filled with inns. Try to avoid inns near the main street; they are notorious for putting their guests out of pocket.

“Midtown harbors some of the cheapest options for room and board. But, you’d need to move quickly to secure a room. With the festival just around the corner, a lot of good inns will fill up quickly.”

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

What festival? I wanted to ask, but she was already pulling Ben down the street.

I stood there in front of the guard quarters, caked in dirt from my time in Dreadwood. I needed a hot bath and a change of clothes.

And then, I would go hunting for a solution to my conundrum.

Skeelie was incredible.

I’d caught a glimpse of it during the short trek to the guard quarters, but the city looked even better when experienced up close.

The first feature that caught my eye was the dark spire. It towered over the rest of the city from its spot at the center, casting a thin shadow in the direction of the sun.

Nicola had attributed the city’s booming traffic to an upcoming festival. But, I still didn’t understand what that had to do with the Labyrinth.

The situation called for an exploration. And, thankfully, there was no shortage of people to query.

A horde of pedestrians milled about the streets, engrossed in some business or the other. A wide roadway extended from the gates up to the spire which sat in an enormous piazza ringed by imposing buildings.

Wooden houses clustered on both sides of the roadway, painted in a dizzying array of muted colors. Most of the houses featured a single floor, though a few rose as high as two or three stories.

Side alleys branched off the main road at haphazard intervals, wide enough for carriages to maneuver. Most of the alleys were choked with markets, however, teeming with customers and hastily erected stalls.

The city smelled lived in—much different from the woodsy scent of rural Harkonean. I passed a small bakery with a large number of people queued in front of it, and a roadside vendor preparing kebabs. The aroma of hot food enticed me, but it soon clashed with the less palatable smells of smoke, industry, and refuse bins.

“Make way!” a driver said, guiding his horse-drawn carriage down the street.

I stepped backward into the shelter of an eave and ran into a severe-looking woman carrying a basket of apples. She made a fist at me, noticed my unusual ears midway, and then scurried away in the opposite direction.

This . . . This was awesome! The scenery jarred me a little, but it helped put into perspective that I wasn’t just a fantasy elf with strange magic powers. I was a fantasy elf with strange powers in a world and civilization that differed vastly from mine.

How did the people of Skeelie plumb clean water into their apartments? What was their cuisine like? Where did they grow medieval staples like wheat, oats, and barley?

I had so many questions burning at the tip of my tongue . . . but, spirit orbs, Damien. Remember that. This was no time to sightsee. My pressing goals needed to be solved.

I turned off the main street and into a side alley less crowded than others. I specifically avoided the fancy buildings, searching instead for the broken cobblestones and mud paths that were sure to lead midtown.

The first clothing shop I entered contained a rough bearded man who exploded in expletives the moment he saw me.

The second store slammed shut in my face.

The man in the third shop—an actual trader, complete with a level and class—didn’t care whether I was an elf or a vampire. However, the price tag on the sole shirt I touched bore a bold 25 silver.

No freaking way.

He tried to entice me with a sixty percent discount on a pair of trousers that were supposedly made from griffon hide. Then, I remembered that he was a specialist and made myself scarce.

The final store looked smaller than the three before it, but also homelier and well maintained. A large, brawny woman with mousy, red hair and a shirt ripped at the sleeves stood behind the counter.

Town Merchant Level 42.

Hoo boy, that was high.

I made to exit as quickly as I entered, but she raised an eyebrow at my ragged clothes and studied my face. “You’re not here to beg, are you, dear?”

I threw my hands up in exasperation. “Why the hell would you think that?”

“Why not?” she fired, and her voice rumbled in her throat. It was a rich voice, quick to laughter. “I’ve never seen an elf visit a human establishment. Usually, when your kind aren’t pursuing blood wars, they resort to snubbing everything around them.”

“Well, I was here to shop, and the only snobbery I’ve seen is from the townsfolk slamming doors in my face.”

The woman's eyebrows rose. “A friendly elf, huh? And, one who can speak without needing to scowl. Where do you hail from? Dreadwood is my likely guess, but we occasionally get news of tribes of wanderers.”

I hesitated. “Dreadwood.”

“What can I help you with, then? I presume you’re looking for a change of clothes, seeing how you can’t walk around in those.”

“That would be nice, yes,” I said, studying her wares. She had succeded in pacifying me with a few choice words. Definitely a specialist worth her level. “If it’s not cheap, I’m not buying though.”

“Cheap?” She stepped around the counter and ruffled in the clothing racks.

I studied her as she worked. She seemed genial enough. At least, for a human. Maybe I could probe her for more information?

“What can you tell me about the festival?” I asked in what I hoped was a casual tone.

“What’s there to tell? Every three years, the Labyrinth opens up, and every applicable ranker with a death wish comes looking to challenge it.” She held a shirt on a hanger up to the light and juxtaposed it against my frame. “The city makes a big deal out of the whole affair, and business picks up for merchants and royals alike. However, no one remembers the foolish kids who go into that meat grinder in search of glory. A good number of them do not return.”

She picked a different set of clothes. “Festival? That's an ill-fitting name. Mass funeral, more like.”

Oh, wow.

“I’d have thought,” I said, “that the city would care more about preserving rankers, what with how much they cost.”

“Many rankers are freelancers,” the woman explained, “though many more still have to serve the crown until their debts are repaid. It’s all a matter of coin anyway. Live or die, no one cares as long as you pay the specialization fee. If it’s anyone’s job to keep freelancers alive, then it is the Guild’s.”

I scratched my chin. I technically qualified as a freelancer, though one could say I owed a debt to Harkonean. Freelancer or not, a visit to the guild had gotten more urgent. Someone there should have information about the orbs. Someone like . . .

I wet my lips. “Who are the most famous adventurers around these parts?”

The woman shot me a quizzical look. “That’s an odd question. But, everyone knows Ezin the guildmaster, at least. Excluding him, I’ll probably mention the members of the two strongest parties: Glamring and Red Wyrm.”

Glamring? That sounded like copyright infringement, didn't it? Surely, no copy of earth novels had made it to this world.

I committed the names to memory. Recruiting the guild master was out of the question, which meant I needed to target the lower-hanging fruits.

Would any of the two groups be interested in my abilities? I could easily scale my quest objective if I joined them. But, I had the slight problem of being a Dark Elf in a city that didn’t care much for them.

“This should fit,” the shopkeeper said, holding up a muted green shirt. “You elves are taller than you have any right to be. But the sleeves on this should be long enough.”

I glimpsed the price tag, prepared to turn her down, only to find that the shirt cost a measly thirty copper. Not that I could say for certain that thirty copper was cheap, but I got the feeling she wasn’t ripping me off. “Can I get one more of this? And maybe some boots?”

She smiled wryly. “That can be arranged. But, pardon my saying, you could use some freshening up. You look like you’ve been sleeping in a ditch.”

“Yeah, I was hoping to find an inn after I was done here.”

“Tell you what. My brother runs one a few blocks from here. His prices are pretty fair, but he’ll go even lower if I put in a good word.”

My defenses flared. “And you want something in exchange for that?”

The shopkeeper smiled. “Not really, no. Just because I am a classer doesn't mean I care only about material profits. You get to experience the best comforts Skeelie can offer, and I get one Dark Elf who departs someday knowing I treated him nicely. Should an opportunity arise in the future, be sure to bring it here first. To Liliana’s.”

Merchants were scary.

I left her shop with the goods I purchased and reentered the mud path. A haptic buzz signified the appearance of a new notification. Absent-mindedly, I clicked on it:

You have unlocked a hidden Legacy Quest!

New quest: [{Insert name}, the Explorer]

The dungeons of Vizhima are teeming with secrets. Explore them to uncover the truth.

Dungeons Explored: 0/5.

Time remaining: 356 days.

Reward: 5,000 spirit orbs. Complete each milestone to unlock extra rewards.

[System] Error: Quest has already been assigned.

Bloody hell.