“Hurry,” Therin said as he rolled off the second sentry, shaking his hand. He had knocked that one unconscious a second after attacking Zeke and Alira was watching him with horrified alarm. Yanking her arm, he dragged her into his cell.

He threw open the chest and pulled out a small linen pack, cramming it full of his things from the chest: prayer beads, a robe, a cloak, trousers and a shirt, a small thick book and a quill and ink. He threw his bag on the cot, pulled his long robe off, and yanked his chainmail over his head then buckled the short sword around his waist.

While Therin packed and dressed, Alira regained her own things and watched him, wary, the bells an awful soundtrack to their hurried movements.

“You’ve never been drunk, huh?”

“Never. I usually burn the alcohol while I drink. But the dwarven beer has other stuff in it that I didn’t know how to burn off. It took longer.”

“How often do you do that?”

“I don’t know,” he snapped. “Is it a problem?” She shook her head and raised her eyebrows. The alarm bells continued.

“You attacked two of your brothers,” she muttered as he gave his room a quick once over.

“They’ll live. It isn’t the first fight we’ve been in.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her behind him as he jogged from the dormitory, his chainmail jangling discordantly to the alarm bells still ringing.

They paused at the pillar in the hall and Therin clenched his fist in frustration. She felt his power gathering and could tell he sensed someone was coming.

“Who are you?”

“Therin,” he whispered, meeting her eyes in the dark. “Just Therin.” He squeezed her hand once, gently, as he led them into the moonlight of the courtyard.

“Halt!” Voices rang out from two sides of the courtyard and four tousled monks entered, blocking their path.

“I caught her sneaking into my cell,” Therin said, brandishing her arm, shaking her. “I’m taking her to High Lord Devan.” The four armed monks slowly lowered their weapons and stood rigid, at attention. “She attacked Zeke and Ivo.” He jerked his head toward the dormitory doors and made a move to keep walking. Fear bled into Alira’s veins.

“The High Lord left this afternoon, sir,” one of the monks called. “Urgent business from the Primate.” Therin slowed and turned, thinking.

“I’ll take her to the dungeons, then.”

“Iniquistor Mara is here.” Therin froze, his back straight. He nodded once and looked over his shoulder as he began walking again. “Then I’ll take the prisoner to the Inquisitor.” The fear in Alira hardened into ice.

“We’ll escort–”

“No, she may have accomplices,” Therin interrupted. “Search the halls.” The four snapped brief, un-monkish salutes.

“Yes, sir.” Therin turned again.

“Captain?”

“Yes?” Therin snapped, rounding on the man who had addressed him.

“She didn’t come alone. He’s with her.” Therin nodded bleakley and left the courtyard, dragging Alira behind, cloaked in confusion.

“Captain?” she breathed when they had started to descend a short set of steps.

“I’m not just a monk,” he admitted. “I’m a captain in the guard for the Monastery.”

“What?” she demanded. She yanked her arm out of his grasp and slowed. “So you’re not training to become a paladin?”

“I am,” he said, trying to take her arm again. She shrugged him off. “Can we talk about this after we escape?”

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He led her down another corridor and the bells got louder as they ran.

“Where–”

“Through here,” he jerked her to the right and into a cold, dark stairwell that smelled damp and green. Suddenly the bells stopped and Therin visibly relaxed, his pace slowing on the slippery steps.

“Where are we going?” Alira hissed in the darkness.

“Down.” His voice was hushed. “Smuggler’s harbour.”

“Who are you?” she repeated.

“I told you,” he stopped, one foot resting the a step above him. “I’m just Therin.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were…” She looked away, trying to figure out the word she wanted. “Important?”

“Because I’m not.” The bitterness in his reply caused Alira to draw back in alarm.

“A captain of the guard is not important?” They continued down the steps. “I might be a hick, but I’m educated enough to know that’s not true.”

“Depends on your point of view, I suppose,” Therin said, and his tone had returned to his usual casual softness.

“How can I trust you?” Her whispered words bounced off the stones and faded into the darkness below them.

“You can’t, not really.” The bluntness stung. “But I swear to you, I am going to help you.”

“No more lies,” she said. “I want the truth.”

“It's not a lie to not tell the entire truth. I told you that. I am emphatic that lying does not include omission.” He put his hand to the wall to steady himself as the stairway began to curl inwards. “I didn’t press you for your entire history.”

“Fine, what do you want to know?”

“Why do you have to find those gems?”

“I can’t tell you that.” Alira said stubbornly.

“And that darkness inside you?”

“I can’t tell you that, either.”

“Hmm, helpful.” He fell silent and Alira withdrew into herself, careful to not slip, watching his back as he descended before her.

Ass.

Again, Alira was not sure if Henry meant herself or the mysterious man she had blindly put her faith into.

It was several minutes before they reached the bottom of the stairs and Alira had started to shiver in the damp chill. The darkness was complete and she held onto Therin’s pack to keep pace with him. She could hear water lapping to her left and smell the dank tang of the ocean. Something splashed loudly and she jumped, clinging to his pack. He chuckled and reached for her hand, squeezing it gently.

“Just the rats running from us,” he said and his voice echoed in the narrow tunnel. Ahead, she could see the light of the moon on water and a small rowboat tied to a short dock bobbing in the black swirls of water.

They approached the small boat and he untied it and held it steady while Alira clambered aboard, careful to keep it steady. As Therin was about to join her, the snick of steel on stone made them both freeze.

“Captain,” a cold, nasal voice drawled. “Thank you for bringing the intruder to me.” Therin straightened and whirled, his hand to his sword. A wraith-thin shadow peeled off from the wall along the water and bright silver hair glinted in the moonlight.

The man’s face was horribly scarred but could have been quite handsome, his features now destroyed by the pockmarks left behind from some terrible childhood illness. He wore a tight black leather vest, trousers and boots, his legs strapped with knives, a crossbow on his back. A quiver of bolts hung at his belt and in his hands he held a Witch Knife. Alira could not tear her eyes off the recognizable blade, the dark gemstones glinting in the moonlight.

“Noran,” Therin breathed and he let his hand drop from his sword. “Thank the Gods.” Alira noted the tension running in his body, his coiled muscles ready to act.

“The Inquisitor will be so glad to see you again.” The voice was oily and slid off Alira in an unnerving way, making her skin crawl. Henry’s attention was suddenly bright, alert, forefront in her mind.

Alira, the spirit said, warning her. Don’t move. This is a dangerous man. Henry slowly slid into her limbs, his power dripping into her veins very gradually. Panic rose in her.

“I’ll take her from here, Therin,” drawled the shadowy man. He pointed his Witch Knife at Alira and jerked his head behind him. “Get out.” Alira stood slowly, her hands raised. Suddenly the man’s eyes flicked to her daggers, one on either hip and he hissed in excitement.

“A real witch,” his dark eyes glittered. “It’s been months.”

Therin hadn’t moved since he had addressed the man but Alira could still see him coiled, ready to strike. She stepped onto the dock with one foot and then the other, moving slowly and deliberately. Henry’s power, their combined will, was building inside her uncomfortably.

Therin suddenly ducked and grabbed for the man’s leg, trying to yank him off balance. The man was quicker, though, and sliced at the monk, drawing a long black line of blood across the back of his hand. Therin immediately began to recite his mantras, golden light filling the darkness as he clutched his hand.

Alira took the opportunity to strike, reaching with her and Henry’s power to knock the blade out of the pale, long fingered hand. A scream filled her head and the tunnel as she tried to wrest it from him and she stopped, grabbing her head. Henry whimpered inside her, withdrawing into himself so rapidly she fell to her knees, weak.

“It looks like I’ll be taking you both to see the Inquisitor.” He pointed the blade at Alira and she felt her body go stiff as though tight ropes were binding her. “Pick her up and let’s go.” His eyes wide, Therin met Alira’s gaze. His face was unreadable but she could detect a note of sorrow and regret, and she felt that he was apologising for failing her. Then he quickly knelt and picked her up, slinging her over his shoulder.