“I win again,” Lydie sang, slamming down a hand of cards onto a dried, sticky patch of the last patron’s spilled drink. Hands behind her head, she kicked back in her moment of triumph. A grumbling Ardmy sunk into his chair.

“It is easy to win when you cheat,” Tatsidi growled, his ears folded over. His whiskers flicked forward and back as he crossed his arms, shifting his attention to a more important matter. “Were we not meeting here to discuss plans? Anna and Deventh seem to be awfully late.”

The Ogre’s Bowl had met the tapering end of its suppertime rush. Warmth from the kitchen dwindled by the minute, as did the fragrance of butter and garlic. The barmaid, too, was afforded some time to catch her breath, but the night had only just begun, and less food would soon lead to more drinks.

Julien sat with them, taking amusement as a quiet spectator to their game. Since he joined them, Lydie had been changing rules and swapping cards – the latter of which, he had to admit, displayed remarkable sleight of hand. But Tatsidi’s curiosity led his attention astray too, and as he scanned over the heads of the other patrons, a gust of cold air flooded in. When he looked to the door, it had already swung shut, and Deventh and Anna began their weaving path between tables to reach them.

“Evening,” Deventh greeted everyone as they pulled up chairs. Julien smiled, raising his tankard, and Anna waved for the barmaid before sitting.

“Apologies for our lateness,” she said, her chair creaking as she searched for a comfortable position. “I hope you’ve all kept yourselves entertained while waiting.”

“Of course,” Ardmy said, his tone rising well beyond his normal inflection. “Lydie was just teaching us how to play a Sheannoran card game. It’s called ‘Saucy Weevil – No-Wait-That-Wasn’t-It, Kiss the Ogre, No-That-Was-a-Dice-Game, Lusmir’s Eleven Deathplanes, Let’s-Just-Play.’ Although, something tells me she’s forgotten the rules as well as the name, seeing as they keep changing. Curious.”

“Curious indeed,” said Tatsidi, a grin baring his sharp canines. “We were just beginning to grow weary of playing children’s games, but not yet too much.”

“Wonderful,” Anna said, loose skin gathering around her rings as she twisted them off her swollen fingers. Tatsidi began collecting the cards strewn across the table while the two guild leaders settled in and awaited drinks. When the time came due, the topic of plans found its way to them.

“I would estimate it’s here,” said Julien, pointing to a remote forested valley in Uminora – the Gildvari kingdom neighboring Nelthemar. “Just a quick climb over the Razorbacks, a sneak past the mountain guards at Chilgrave, a wade through the Noxious Valley, and a swim over Pir’s Shiver Bay…”

Anna chuckled, musing at the details of his plans for a perilous journey. “You might have a hard time with those mountain guards.”

“Of course, how could I be so foolish?” Julien placed down his tankard with a bit more force than intended, and ale sloshed over the rim as it bounced back. His finger drew a much safer path on the map, mostly by thoroughfare, and his bottom lip protruded in mock contemplation. “I suppose this way will do. Through Raven Gate, across Pareltolle, and, well, then we squeeze in between some mountains.”

Deventh followed Julien’s route with his eyes. “No civilization for miles, I take it?”

“Tens of miles once we leave Anhedell at the border. Eerier still, once we stray from the road there’s not a tree in sight for hours.” Julien clasped his hands on the table. “That distance, as you might imagine, brings us to the subject of horses. Of which you only have two.”

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

“Both Ardmy’s, at that,” Deventh said.

“And not particularly acquainted with riding,” the Gildvar chimed in.

“Why haven’t you any of your own?”

“Maintenance costs, mostly,” Deventh said, shrugging. “Rarely have our travels been heavy or far enough for going without to be an issue. And we’ve certainly had no need to stray from Grimros, let alone Nelthemar itself.”

“Sound,” said Julien, “I should be able to arrange something in that regard. A steep discount on rental, at the very least.”

“Very well,” Deventh said. “How many of us are needed for this expedition, and what, or whom, will we find?”

“The more, the merrier, I’d say… Well, perhaps merry isn’t apt, but we’ll need as large a group as we can manage,” Julien said. “It’s a ruin of old Gildvari fashion – tunnels and caverns bored through rock and dirt, reconstructed with meticulous masonry. It’s almost lovely until you notice the blood streaks are not part of the marble.” He paused with an­ odd flinch and thumbed the embroidered owl at his collar.

“As for whom, if there is anyone still there, prisoners are kept deep underground. By no means is the place too heavily guarded. The winding maze certainly lessens the need – it's trouble enough on its own.”

“And you surmise we’ll find answers if we reach the prison?” Deventh asked. Julien shook his head.

“The room beyond it, rather,” He drew in a deep breath, flushing as he swigged his ale. “They dragged people there from their cells. Not long after, screams. Gurgling. Silence. Dread constantly looming. No one knew when they’d be next.”

Twisting the neck of his whiskey bottle between his finger and thumb, Deventh met Julien’s gaze. Amidst the fear and dismay raging in the young man’s eyes, he found an equally fervent resolve that was eager to conquer what few specks of doubt might dare to disrupt it.

“No words can alleviate the lasting torment of captivity,” Deventh said, his tone flat. Julien relaxed his trembling grip on the handle of his tankard, studying the Dronvar’s expression. Whatever conclusion he’d found in his words or his face, it seemed to suffice. “Nonetheless, you’re still here to speak of it. Your captors, is there anything we should know about them?”

“Perhaps.” Julien pinched his chin in thought. “They wield magic somewhat formidably. None of them seemed to be of high status among their… cult, I believe it is. Although, two of them, a man and a woman, were quite unusual looking.”

“How so?”

“I could not place their origin. Almost silver in complexion, with dark, dark eyes. My closest guess was Dronvar, and they could pass as such to those less keen. But their language… Familiar, yet foreign all the same – elven, but not one of the three common derivatives.”

Deventh tipped the bottle against his lips. A cold sensation spread across his tongue as the liquor evaporated, and the burn traveling down his throat quelled a rising tension in his chest. The din became muffled around him, and he felt each tick of his timekeeping device jumping in his pocket.

“Are you all right?” asked Anna, ripping him out of his trance which may have lasted longer than he realized.

“Aye,” Deventh assured, taking a quick swig before setting down his whiskey bottle, “Just curious, regarding that description.”

Anna nodded, leaving him to ruminate.

“And you’re certain this is what you want to do, Julien?” she asked. “After what you’ve endured, this sort of eagerness concerns me enough to ask.”

“This is what I need to do,” Julien answered. “Never has any certainty shaken my entire being to the point of such restlessness. If it meant no one else would suffer the same fate, I would return just to lock myself back in that cell until they dragged me away to my death.”

As Anna took in his words, the motherly concern which rounded her face yielded to a smirk of admiration.

“I’ll drink to that,” she said, raising her mug. “How refreshing it is to see dedication in a place so sick with apathy.”

“It is Grimros, after all,” Tatsidi muttered. Anna continued coordinating the smaller details of their imminent journey, occasionally having to redirect Lydie’s attention to the topic at hand. Still, jokes prevailed and came in waves, as it was likely the final night they’d have to make merry before setting out on their journey.

Deventh sat back and withdrew from the conversation, giving it just enough attention to soak into the edge of his mind. Mirth and laughter encircled him in a muted embrace, eliciting little more than a half-smile to signal he was still among the others. Something in Julien’s description called to the deep recesses of his memory, frayed his nerves beyond any inkling of hope to enjoy himself. He turned up nothing in those shadowed corners, but they reeked of rot and metal.