The walls echoed with carefree laughter as the boys navigated their way through the filth-ridden, rat-infested tunnels below the city streets.

Holsley was regaling Roland with his exploits at the Crooked Hat Inn, and the rogue was laughing at every misstep. He stifled a grin when Holsley explained how Kythos had helped him win the game of Towers, let out a giggle when Holsley had told him about how he’d fumbled the ring through the floor, and was sent into a fit of unruly laughter at the very image of a panicked Holsley and a charmed guard frantically searching the tankards for it.

It was truly good for Roland to see his old friend again, but more than that, it was good to see he hadn’t changed. Holsley was still stumbling his way from trouble to trouble and always somehow landing on his feet.

The laughter was only untroubled for a little while, however. Soon, it forced Roland to reflect upon his own changes. Although he knew from Holsley’s first appearance at his cell door that the bard hadn’t been living an idyllic life after Tressa, he was afraid that his own life had been far worse these past three years.

Now that he was free and travelling with Holsley, the rogue silently promised himself that he wouldn’t reveal the darker deeds of his past. Not if he could help it. There were things that would forever alter how Holsley saw him, and, no doubt, it would end their friendship.

After about three hours of traversing through the muck, the pair agreed that they were far enough away from the Stone Keep to go up into the streets and navigate the alleys. Roland carefully peered out of a sewer grate, then quickly ducked his head as armoured feet rushed past it.

‘It’s like watching flea-crazed dogs chasing after their tails,’ he said, hopping down from the ledge and back into the knee-high muck. ‘They’ve probably figured out we’re in the sewers by now. It’d be safer to get out while we can.’

‘What happened to your hand?’ Holsley pointed towards the stone appendage Roland was now sporting. The rogue looked at it and quickly realised the rancid waters of the sewers had washed off the flesh-coloured paint. ‘Is that stone?’

‘A gift from her ladyship,’ Roland replied mockingly, tapping the petrified appendage against a sewer wall with an echoing clunk. ‘I managed to get out from under her yesterday. When I got recaptured, though, she thought this was a fitting punishment.’

Holsley laughed. He couldn’t help it. Perhaps it was the weight of the past few days or the absurdity of the situation, but he was caught in a case of the giggles. After a few moments, Roland joined in as well, and they stood there, laughing, for what must have been minutes.

‘Magic?’ he asked.

Roland nodded.

‘At least it’s your left hand,’ Holsley said, wiping away a tear. ‘I’ve always known you to be better with the right.’

‘Thank the Gods for small mercies, I suppose.’ Roland marched on. ‘Come on, there’s bound to be another ladder around here someplace. We can sneak up there.’

The pair ascended the next metal rung ladder they found. Above, Tressa was lit up like a jewel beneath the autumn sun. It was a rare, cloudless day, and the people were out enjoying it. The bustle and hustle beyond the alley was immense and loud, a mixture of people walking and talking while carriages rocketed by. None cared to look into the alley, and neither of the pair were particularly worried they would either. Tressans tended to keep to themselves.

There’d be very little trouble if Roland didn’t so happen to have one of the most recognisable faces in the city. Even now, as the boys pondered their next move, they were standing beneath a row of hastily pasted wanted posters illustrated with his face.

‘You know,’ Roland said, checking out his portraiture. He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I really think they’ve captured me perfectly. Dangerous, bold, but also roguish and rather—’

‘Delusional,’ Holsley interjected. ‘If you’re done admiring yourself, there’s a tavern not too far from here that we can hide in. Problem is—’

‘Yeah, I know,’ it was Roland’s turn to interject. ‘I need to find something to cover my face.’

Fortunately, they were in a city, and things like that were incredibly easy to find. The rogue looked around for a suitable fashion accessory, something along the lines of a hood or a cowl, maybe even a hat. Most times, when he needed a change of clothing, there was usually a convenient washing line standing by. Today, there wasn’t so much as a sock.

‘What about this?’ Holsley peered around the corner into the busy street ahead. Roland joined him but had trouble picking up on what Holsley was gesturing to, thanks mainly to the thick throng of people.

Then, he saw it.

A gruff, older gentleman sat cross-legged just a little down the sidewalk. He had his hands open as if waiting for rain to pour, and although they couldn’t see his face, they could certainly imagine it. The poor stranger was in rags and had become devilishly thin. The clothes he wore, of which there were little, were nothing more than baggy rags.

‘What do you want me to do, Holly?’ Roland raised an eyebrow. ‘Mug him?’

‘No!’ Holsley exclaimed, nodding enthusiastically back towards the beggar. ‘Look what he’s sitting on.’

It was a cloak. An old, torn, ratty-looking, probably flea-infested cloak.

‘I’m not wearing that!’ Roland protested. ‘We can just buy a cloak.’

However, the rogue knew that wasn’t true.

Right now, Roland was the most wanted person in the city and the tubheads had been given at least a few hours to prepare while they had been scrambling through the sewers. People would know of his escape by now and most likely know about Holsley’s assistance. Neither could simply walk into a shop and ask for some face-obscuring cowls.

‘Fine,’ he sighed, straightening up. ‘Wait here a moment.’

‘Whoa!’ Holsley put a hand to the rogue’s chest. ‘You can’t just rob this poor man. It might be the only thing keeping him warm at night. Here, let me get it for you.’

‘Alright.’ Roland shrugged, backing away. ‘Be my guest.’

Holsley spat into his hands and smoothed out his hair, then sauntered from the shadows towards the beggar. Roland watched him almost in disbelief. No matter what happened next, whether Holsley got the cloak or not, he knew it would be at least entertaining.

He watched, grinning madly, as the bard pretended as if he hadn’t seen the beggar until the very last minute and feigned almost tripping over him.

‘Oh, my goodness,’ Holsley said, looking down at the poor stranger. ‘I do apologise, my good fellow. I did not see you there.’

‘Spare a few peasants for the poor,’ the beggar said glumly. ‘I just need a little for a bite to eat.’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t…hold on just a moment!’ Holsley said in mock astonishment, pretending to be aghast with awe. ‘Why, what is that you’re sitting on?’

Roland rubbed his forehead in disbelief.

‘Why,’ Holsley continued, ‘this cloak would make a fine addition to my collection of, uh, fine cloaks. Would it be fair, I dare say, to trade for a good meal and, of course, some coins so you may purchase a suitable replacement.’

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‘Ten nobles,’ the beggar said quickly. ‘If it’s that valuable to you.’

‘Ten nobles!’ Holsley’s pretence dropped instantly. ‘I could buy a new cloak for half the price!’

‘Twelve then.’

Roland stifled a laugh.

Reluctantly, the young bard threw two and a half crowns at the eager stranger, who relinquished the cloak immediately in return for the coins. It would be enough to buy him meals for a month, alongside a cloak that’d see him through the autumn and right to the end of winter and a friend to share it all with.

Holsley returned to the rogue and grumbled as he handed Roland the tattered old thing. Roland wrapped it about himself without saying a word and threw the hood up. It was a warm item, even if it was a bit filthy. He didn’t know how Holsley could stand being in this chilly weather without thicker clothing.

‘Shall we head to the tavern then?’ he asked.

***

Thanks mainly to the cloak, they reached the tavern without incident.

They didn’t use the front door. Instead, they used Holsley’s bedroom window, which sat around the side and away from the eyes of the street. Roland figured there’d be less chance of being seen that way. He went in first, easily unlatching the window, and then clumsily hoisted Holsley over the ledge, who collapsed in a heap on the floor.

The young bard wasted no time getting back on his feet and rushing out the door to acquire food. Holsley had been listening to the rogue’s stomach whine for the past few hours and promised to return as quickly as he could with enough to satiate the rogue’s appetite.

He hopped off the last step of the stairs.

It was lucky they had managed to get to the tavern when they did, for any later, and the place would be heaving with patrons. As it stood now, however, the pub was nice and quiet and currently well suited for two young lads trying to keep a low profile. Holsley approached the bar and smiled when Gannamane turned to serve him.

‘Hiya, Holsley hun,’ she purred. ‘You look like you’re in the mood to eat.’

‘Oh, I am! Two of whatever smells best and a couple of tankards of water,’ Holsley said eagerly. ‘As quick as you can please. I’m, uh, really hungry.’

‘Just give us a minute.’

Gannamane turned away from him and toward a boiling pot on one of the stoves. The pot had been left to simmer and exuded an enticing aroma that Holsley had to stop himself from jumping across the bar to get at it. He could smell chicken, for sure, intermingled with vegetables like carrots and leeks and some kind of spice mixed in for taste.

‘Holsley!’

The young bard nearly fell out of his chair.

‘What are you doing here!?’ Merhim jangled towards him, his bangles shaking with rage. ‘Have you lost your mind, eh?’

‘Uh, I’m just getting some food?’

Merhim glanced over at Gannamane, who was stood preparing two bowls of stew. He hissed his next words in a low voice, as if afraid she might overhear. ‘Curly, autumn brown hair. A gap tooth smile. Carrying a stylish lute made of red wood and wearing a simple loose shirt with brown trousers. Possibly fifteen or sixteen.’

‘Why are you describing me?’

‘I’m not!’ Merhim hissed. ‘It’s the description I’ve just been given of the boy who helped Roland Darrow escape the bloody noose!’

‘Oh.’

‘Yes. Oh!’ Merhim shook his head. ‘You can’t be here, Holsley. Every guard in the city knows your description, and they’re going to be keeping an eye out for you.’

‘But I’m paid up through the next three days?’ Holsley moaned as if that was an answer in of itself. ‘What do you want me to—'

Merhim gave him a discouraging eye and he relented, defeated.

‘Well, where are we going to go?’

‘We!?’ Merhim hissed. ‘You brought that bastard here!?’

‘Yeah, he’s upstairs,’ said Holsley. ‘I’m getting him some food.’

‘Have you lost your goddall mind!?’ Merhim snapped. ‘What if someone saw you, eh? Why in the name of good did you come here?’

‘No one saw us, I promise.’ Holsley waved him off. ‘We climbed in through the window.’

‘In broad daylight!’ Holsley winced, and Merhim, once again, shook his head in disbelief. ‘This is bad, kid. Real bad. Do you know what those guards will do to you if they catch you? You and he need to find a safer place, one a little less public, eh.’

Two piping hot bowls of stew came gently down in front of Holsley, accompanied by a basket of sliced bread. Gannamane placed these on a tray, along with some tankards of water, and slid it over to him.

He handed over the appropriate change and returned towards the stairs, the gnome hot on his heels.

‘Do you have a plan?’ Merhim asked. ‘What’s your next move?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Why not leave now?’ Merhim urged. ‘You know, before the guards bar all the exits out of the city?’

‘It’d be difficult to move now, seeing as we have no clothes or a way to disguise ourselves.’ Holsley pointed down to his trousers, which were caked in sewer muck. ‘I don’t think Roland can step outside of that room without being recognised.’

‘Neither can you.’ Merhim rushed ahead of him and cornered Holsley with a foot on the stairs. ‘How much gold do you have left from our windfall with the goblins?’

‘About two regals.’

‘Hand it over.’

‘But—’

‘Hand it over!’ Merhim thrust out his palm, and Holsley juggled the tray as he grabbed his purse. He tossed it into the gnome’s expectant hand. ‘I’ll take it and get you two some clothes and disguises, eh. After which, I strongly suggest you leave the city. For good.’

That wasn’t a problem for Holsley.

‘How tall is your friend?’ Merhim asked.

‘About half a foot taller than me,’ Holsley replied. ‘If you’re going to buy stuff, could you get him some daggers too? So that he can defend himself.’

Merhim muttered something under his breath as he pushed past the bard. Holsley couldn’t be sure, but it sounded an awful lot like ‘so he can kill more people’, though he didn’t press it. Instead, he watched the gnome round the corner with a grumble in his throat, then continued on his way back to his room.

***

Holsley paused as he came through the door.

Roland stood on the other side with his shirt off, but that’s not what caught the bard by surprise. It was Roland’s skin. Almost every inch of his torso, back, and arms were covered in scars — hundreds, thousands, of thin white lines. Most of them looked pretty bad, too. He stood agape, frozen for a moment, looking stupid with the tray in his hand.

‘Smells good,’ Roland said, gesturing towards the stew. He had noticed Holsley staring and thought the best way to react was not to react at all. He wasn’t ready to discuss his scars yet. ‘I was just running a bath. It’s a bit tricky turning the tap with a stone hand, and I’ll tell you that for free.’

‘Yeah,’ Holsley breathed, unsure of what to say. He wanted to ask about the scars. Something had clearly happened to Roland, something horrible, and he was suddenly desperate to figure out what. Instead, he meandered into the room and placed the tray on the table.

Roland grabbed a bowl of piping hot stew with one hand and threw it back down his throat without a second thought.

‘A friend of mine is going to get us some clothes and disguises,’ said Holsley awkwardly. ‘I don’t know how long he’ll be gone, but I reckon he should be back soon. I asked him to get you a couple of daggers.’

‘Daggers?’ Roland gestured to his hand. Holsley could see now where the stone cut off, right at where his wrist met his forearm. ‘I don’t think I’ll need more than one.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Can we trust him?’ Roland narrowed his eyes.

‘Yeah,’ Holsley replied with a nod. ‘We can trust him.’

‘Good.’

‘So, are we going to leave the city now then?’ Holsley grabbed a wooden spoon and scooped up some of his stew. ‘The tubheads are definitely looking for us now. They’ve got my description and everything.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ said Roland. ‘But no, I can’t leave the city yet.’

‘What?’ Holsley’s eyes went wide. ‘Why?’

‘I’m not leaving without my things. Once we’ve got them, we can get out of the city.’

‘Isn’t that a little reckless?’

Roland grinned. ‘Sorry, have you forgotten who you’re talking to?’

‘I did for a moment there,’ replied Holsley. ‘What things are you after exactly?’

‘A rapier and a ruby,’ he said seriously. ‘I brought them into the city with me, and they were taken shortly after I was captured. I need to get them back before I leave Tressa.’

A ruby? Holsley recalled Kythos and Fox both talking about a ruby — that’s why Kythos had barged into the Crooked Hat yesterday and attempted to arrest Fox. The tiefling was asking him, well demanding, where it was. It was also why Kythos had gone after him while he’d been touring the dungeons. It must be the same ruby, he reasoned.

‘Oh, right,’ Holsley muttered. ‘Are they important?’

‘Very,’ said Roland. ‘I’ve got some really big plans, Holly. Massive even.’

‘Are those plans why Kythos let me play the lute at your execution?’ Holsley asked curiously. The question had been on his mind since they dropped into the sewers. ‘I don’t think anyone has ever been allowed to do that before. You said you’d tell him something, and he let me play.’

Roland clicked his jaw in contemplation as Holsley waited patiently for an answer.

‘I know some things,’ Roland said after a while. ‘I’m sorry, Holly. I can’t say any more. I know something that’s put me in danger, and if I tell you, I’m afraid it’ll also put you in danger.’

Holsley wasn’t sure he believed that.

‘Things concerning the Golden Keep?’

A moment passed.

‘Listen.’ Roland took a seat on the bed and leaned forward. ‘I appreciate everything you’ve done for me so far. You’ve genuinely saved my life, Holly, and I am grateful, but you don’t have to go any further if you don’t want to. You’ve done enough. I won’t think any less of you if you want to escape the city. I would absolutely understand.’

Holsley thought on the proposal for half a second. ‘I’m not leaving until I know you’re safely out of Tressa, but...I want you to be honest with me, Roland.’

Roland grimaced. It wasn’t entirely the answer he was hoping for, but it was exactly the answer he had been expecting, he guessed.

‘Not yet,’ replied Roland. ‘Soon, though.’

‘Okay,’ said Holsley, tabling the questions in his mind for another time. ‘When you’re ready then.’

The young bard watched him stand up, give him a short smile, and move towards the bathroom. His eyes caught one of the scars on his lower back, near the top of his thigh, and he cringed at it.

Holsley wasn’t familiar with many of the scars now riddling Roland’s body, but he knew that one. The nasty wound had been made when Roland had been stabbed, quite literally, in the back.

It was the wound that was killing Roland when they first met.