Top Secret Project! (Patreon)

Happy Friday y'all!

In the interest of trying something new, I thought I'd have a go at writing a light novel this month, a little story about a group of adventurous, but inexperienced, delvers headed down into the great Delve. I thought I'd share the rough draft of the first several chapters with you here to see what you think of it. If it gets enough likes, I'll share some more as I finish them.

I hope you like it!

Chapter 1: Into the Dark

“Is this your first time going into the Delve?” Phil asked. The big man ducked to avoid hitting his head on the iron-bound frame of the easternmost of the three gateways leading into the ancient dungeon complex.

“Yeah,” Asher answered, nodding at his companion as he followed him into the shadows beyond the grim portal.

“Stick with me,” Phil said with a shrug of his broad shoulders that stuck out to either side of his backpack, “You’ll be fine.”

Phil’s size as well as his stiff northern accent marked him as another immigrant, but the lank strands of hair that stuck out from beneath his rough-spun stocking were as brown as Asher’s. Every other northerner that Asher had met in Laxton had been blonde.

“I’ll keep an eye on you too!” Razuru’s nasally voice spoke up from behind, and Asher looked back at the little gemling with a grateful nod.

Asher still wasn’t used to the sight of non-humans, but Razuru’s appearance wasn’t nearly as intimidating as some of the ones he’d crossed paths with since his arrival in the town built atop the Delve.

The gemling was smaller than most humans. His porter’s pack seemed almost too large for his slender frame. Razuru had a thin layer of gray fur covering his body, at least as far as Asher could tell. He wore the same guild-issued olive-colored livery and mud-stained boots that Asher and Phil did, but to this, the gemling had added a baggy brown linen hood, perhaps in an attempt to hide the twelve-inch-long proboscis that served as his nose.

The tip of Razuru’s long nose glistened wetly in the yellow light of the ever-burning lamp that hung from a chain around his neck, and his friendly, over-large eyes glittered like the emeralds his people were supposed to be so clever at digging up.

“Keep up!” growled the man in the chainmail shirt who stood watch at the turn in the corridor ahead. Asher had yet to learn the man’s name, but he was a real adventurer by the looks of the scars on his face and the battered crossbow he held in the crook of his arm.

The three porters hustled onward, and the bowman pointed them down the right turn of the brickwork tunnel before falling into step behind them.

Asher was still getting used to the weight of the porter’s pack strapped across his back. It was heavy, but not nearly as heavy as it should have been, given the enormous quantity of supplies he’d watch the Magister and his companions pack inside it that morning. The enchanted bag reduced the size and weight of its contents tenfold, the guild quartermaster had told him.

Asher hadn’t believed that such a thing was possible before he’d seen it for himself, and the quartermaster had assured him that it was quite valuable. “Worth more than you are,” had been the man’s exact words.

Phil, the veteran of the group seemed not to notice the weight of his own pack at all, and even little Razuru was humming cheerfully to himself as he marched behind them.

Asher clasped the shoulder straps of his pack tightly and bore his burden with grim determination. He knew that he would need to get stronger if he ever wanted to be a real adventurer.

The corridor ahead curved to the left and then straightened out and broadened enough that Asher could make out the rest of the party past Phil’s wide body.

Asher’s eyes lingered for a moment on the backside of the priestess walking, just ahead of them. Her white satin robes fit snugly enough to enhance more than conceal the alluring curves of her body beneath, and Asher couldn’t help but blush every time he looked at her. He glanced away in embarrassment, glad that the dark-haired healer kept her gaze on the path ahead.

Beside the priestess walked a skinny, curly-haired man dressed in black leather. He wore a half dozen knives on his belt but seemed otherwise unencumbered. He was grinning as he leaned close to whisper something to the priestess, but she showed no reaction at all to whatever it was he had said.

For some reason, Asher felt an intense dislike for the curly-haired man, though he knew even less about him than what little he knew of the other party members.

He caught a glimpse of Magister Proquebert, the party’s leader and Asher’s employer, walking next to the plump little man named Gutguk. At least that was what Phil had told Asher. Gutguk was supposed to be a pretty good cook that Phil had worked with before, and the big man was looking forward to the first meal break, whenever that might be.

Magister Proquebert himself didn’t seem very intimidating, but the guild had instructed Asher and the others to obey him as if he were a god. His scraggly red beard did little to support his god-like status, but the mage had waxed it into an upward curl at the point of his chin by way of compensation. He wore a wine-colored robe with a matching pointed cap and carried a wooden staff, carved into a spiraling twist and topped with an aquamarine crystal that gave of a cold, magical glow, brighter than the guild-issued lamps that Asher and his fellow porters wore.

The only other source of light emanated from the center of the broad shield, slung across the back of the warrior that led the party onward into the darkness ahead. The image of a crescent moon was blazoned across the shield’s face, and some enchantment worked into the inlaid steel seemed to fill the whole hall ahead with a silvery radiance.

The warrior wore a sword at his hip, but he carried a thick spear in his hand, no taller than himself but with a haft as thick as Asher’s wrist and topped with a serrated steel tip with four barbed cross bars protruding from its sides.

The man moved with easy confidence, like a man returning home… or maybe like an artisan going into his workshop.

Asher couldn’t help but smile when he looked at that man. He was the kind of adventurer that Asher wanted to be.

“Hey, Phil, what’s his name,” Asher spoke up.

“Who?” Phil asked.

“The guy at the front,” Asher said.

“Oh, that is Graf Monlagher,” Phil answered quietly, not exactly whispering, but careful that his voice didn’t carry too far, “He is what they call a Steelsinger.”

“He doesn’t look like a bard to me,” Asher chuckled, careful to keep his voice low too.

“Hedoesn’t sing,” Phil laughed, “he makes the steel sing!”

“Oh,” Asher said, not quite sure that he understood, but he didn’t want to come across as the country bumpkin he had been told he was.

“When we meet the monsters, he is the one who will go in close and keep them busy,” Phil explained, “and the magister and the others will deal with them.”

“And what are we supposed to do?” Asher asked.

Phil glanced back at him with a perplexed frown. “Were you not told at the guild?” he asked.

“We stay back and stay safe!” Razuru chimed in, repeating the mantra of the Porter’s Guild.

“Yeah, but…” Asher sighed, “wouldn’t we be able to help out more if they gave us some weapons?”

“Do you want to be killed?” Phil scoffed.

“No, but, I don’t want to just sit back and do nothing!” Asher protested.

“We guard the packs!” Razuru said, “That’s a really important job.”

“But, what if some monster gets past the others and comes after us?” Asher asked.

Phil shook his head. “That won’t happen,” he grunted, “and, even if it did, you would be better off running away. You have no training for fighting monsters.”

“That’s not true!” Asher said, a bit more loudly than he had intended, and he saw the man in black leather cast a disgusted glance back at him. Asher ducked his head low and added in a whisper, “I know how to use a sword.”

Phil gave a noncommittal grunt. “A monster comes at you,” he sighed, “you should run… or don’t. That’s your business, but me, I would run.”

“Me too,” Razuru added, “monsters can be pretty scary. I’ve read all about ‘em in my book.”

“Not the book again!” Phil grumbled.

“Master Skosi Pepato’s Guide to the Creatures of the Delve,” Razuru exclaimed, “Fifth Edition. It teaches you all about the monsters here, and I’ve read it four times!”

“Interesting,” was all that Asher could think to respond.

“I’ll show it to you later when we stop!” the little gemling promised, “I brought it with me, in my pack.”

“You aren’t supposed to bring personal possessions in the guild backpack,” Phil chided him, lowering his voice even further.

“It doesn’t take up much space,” Razuru muttered defensively.

“I’ll look at it later,” Asher said, hoping to end the discussion.

“You’ll like it!” the gemling beamed, “Master Pepato is a genius when it comes to knowing about monsters! I hope to meet him for real someday.”

“Oh,” Asher said, his attention drawn to something that the priestess and the man in black now stepped wide to avoid in their path.

A tangle of rotten leather and old bones lay strewn across the tunnel floor, and something metallic gleamed, half covered by the moldy heap of filth.

“Phil, do you think Master Pepato would take me as an apprentice?” Razuru asked.

“I don’t know, Raz,” Phil sighed.

Asher had lost all interest in the conversation, his eyes locked on that cold gleam of steel in the path ahead. He glanced back to see if the bowman was watching him, feeling somehow guilty for even considering what he was about to do, but the archer seemed more intent on picking his teeth than keeping an eye on the porters.

As Asher stepped past the heap of rag and bone on the floor, he stooped and snatched up the thing he saw gleaming there. He straightened quickly and tucked the object close to his body, hoping that no one had seen him do it.

“What’d you find?” Razuru’s curious, nasally voice called from behind, and Asher blushed at having been caught.

Asher half turned as he walked to show the little gemling the very first treasure of his adventuring career.

“Nice!” Razuru sniffled appreciatively at the sight of the rusty dagger cradled in Asher’s palm.

Asher grinned back at him and nodded before turning his attention to his prize again. He wiped it as clean as he could on the hem of his tunic and then wrapped his fingers around the wire-bound grip of the knife. It felt heavy and solid in his hand, his first real weapon.

It wasn’t quite a real sword… but every adventurer had to start somewhere.

By the time they reached the protected lift leading down to level seven, Asher felt as though he was ready to take on the whole Delve single-handedly.

Chapter 2: Hard Lessons

Gutguk proved to be every bit as good a cook as Phil had promised, and, once the adventurers had all been fed, the grinning old man had ladled out double helpings of oyster stew to the boys that carried his supplies.

Asher was grateful for the opportunity to set his pack aside in the spacious interior of the subterranean vault where they had chosen to stop. He massaged his aching shoulders as he sat, cross-legged against the wall with the dagger and an oily cleaning rag in his lap.

Phil lay against the wall to Asher’s left, using his pack for a pillow as he napped, but Raz, as Asher had come to call him by now, sat to his right with a well-worn book laid across his knees. He had opened it to a page containing a rather gruesome illustration of a slime monster devouring a rotting corpse.

“My favorite kind of slime is the golden slime,” Razuru proclaimed, “because they like to hide in treasure piles.”

“Why does that make them your favorite?” Asher asked.

Raz wrinkled his long snout as he considered the question for a moment. “I guess because I like treasure too,” he said.

“Well, you’d better check for slimes then, if you ever find any,” Asher chuckled as he went back to cleaning his new knife.

“Yeah,” Raz agreed as he flipped to the next page, “you’ve always gotta check.”

“Have you ever seen any real monsters?” Asher asked.

“I’ve only been down a couple of times, so far,” Raz admitted, “and those parties had us stay way back from the fighting, so I only saw a few monsters, and only after they were already dead.”

The gemling had pulled back his hood to reveal his small, cat-like ears, and Asher saw the disappointment in his eyes when he mentioned the dead monsters.

“Aren’t you scared of them?” Asher asked.

“A little bit,” Raz said, “but it would still be fun to see a monster while it was still alive.”

“Yeah, maybe then we’d get a chance to help out,” Asher said. He hefted the dagger in his hand and admired the way the lamplight gleamed on the freshly-polished steel.

“Do you know how to use that?” Raz asked.

“Yeah,” Asher answered, “my cousin taught me how to fight when he came to visit my village. He was part of his town’s militia a few miles down the road from our farm.”

“Your family owns a farm?” Raz asked.

“No, we just worked there,” Asher said, “or we did until my mom and dad died.”

“I’m sorry,” Raz whispered.

“Yeah, but I never liked farming much anyway,” Asher chuckled, “I’d rather be an adventurer.”

“Me too,” Raz said with a grin that was mostly concealed behind his prominent snout.

“Someday, I’m gonna go back there and show everybody all the stuff I found in the dungeon,” Asher sighed, his eyes lost in the gleam of arcane light on the edge of his blade, “My cousin will probably be pretty jealous then!”

Raz laughed with him and then nodded at the dagger.

“Show me some of your fighting moves!” the gemling insisted.

Asher frowned, a little embarrassed at being called to perform, but his new friend seemed so eager to see him do something, that he felt like he had to show him something at least.

“Now, this is just a dagger,” Asher said as he got to his feet, “and most of what my cousin showed me was for using a sword… but it should work pretty much the same.”

Raz’s large eyes glittered with anticipation as he watched Asher move out away from the wall to a spot with plenty of swinging room.

Asher cast a self-conscious glance toward the Magister’s party, a little farther down the length of the long, vaulted chamber, but none of the real adventurers were looking his way at the moment. He loosened up his arm with a few practice slashes, slightly disappointed that the short blade didn’t make the same kind of whooshing noise that a good stick made when you swung it.

“All right,” Asher sighed, “It took me a long time to learn this one, but it’s a pretty effective technique for surprising your opponent.”

Raz watched in rapt attention as Asher took a step back, measuring the distance to an imaginary sparring partner. Then, he stepped in quickly, thrusting low, then throwing a quick feint at eye level.

Then he spun completely around, lightning-quick, slashing with all his strength at where his opponent’s belly would be.

Asher grinned as he turned to find the gemling applauding him.

“My cousin said that they never see it coming because they’re too busy trying to protect their face,” Asher explained.

“Your cousin’s a fool,” a gravelly voice from behind made Asher nearly jump out of his skin.

“Wh-what?” Asher stammered as he turned to face Graf Monlagher who stood against the far wall, in the shadow of a stone support pillar.

“I said your cousin’s a fool,” the big warrior grumbled as he stepped into the light of the porters’ lamps. He carried a bowl of stew in one hand and wiped the grease from his bristly face with the other. His eyes were hard as flint and his scowl as cold as a winter stream as he towered over the skinny boy from the farmlands.

Asher’s jaw moved, but he couldn’t think of anything to say in defense of his cousin’s honor in the face of this mountain of a man.

“And you’re a fool if you ever turn your back on somethin’ that’s tryin’to kill you in a fight,” Monlagher said, “unless it’s to run like hell.”

“I wasn’t planning on running away,” Asher hissed through his teeth, immensely pleased with himself to find not only the ability to speak again but to deliver such a stinging rebuttal in turn.

Monlagher gave him a wicked grin, and he brushed the long, charcoal-colored hair back from his eyes as he took the measure of the defiant farm boy in front of him.

“You’re brave,” Monlagher said, “I’ll give you that, but bein’ brave is one of the quickest ways to get you dead down here.”

“You’rebrave,” Asher said, more confused than angry now, “aren’t you?”

“Braver than most,” Monlagher chuckled, “more like stupider than most, but maybe it’s all the same thing.”

Asher furrowed his brow as he looked up at the big man.

“Listen, kid,” Monlagher sighed, “If you wanna stay alive in this line of work, you’ve gotta know when you can win a fight and when it’s time to run for your life. There are things, down below, that can tear through a whole party of delvers, and there’s nothin’ you can do to stop ‘em.”

“No monster is unbeatable!” Raz called out from where he still sat against the wall.

“Your book tell you that?” Monlagher scoffed.

“Page seven,” Raz said.

“And do you know what happened to the guy that wrote that book?” the warrior asked.

The gemling looked too afraid to ask.

“He got his brain sucked out by one of those monsters he loved so much,” Monlagher sneered.

Asher looked at his friend and saw the hope dying in Raz’s eyes. He looked at Monlagher again and saw now only a swaggering bully where his hero had stood a moment before.

Monlagher saw the look in Asher’s eyes and he grinned again.

“You wanna kick my ass, kid?” he asked.

Asher had the good sense to think for a moment before answering, “I can’t beat you, and you know it.”

“No,” Monlagher said, “but I can give you a fair chance to hurt me, if you’ve got the stones to try.”

“Huh?” Asher said.

Monlagher wiped his hand clean on the stained leather of his brigandine shirt and then pulled the spoon from his soup bowl before tapping the last of it out against the wall. Then he turned to face the young man again with the empty bowl pinched between the fingers of his left hand and brandishing the wooden spoon in his right.

“My sword and board against your dagger,” the big man laughed, “That’s as fair of a fight as you’re gonna get in the Delve!”

Asher looked down at the dagger clenched tightly in his fist and then nodded. He had no illusions that he could beat the man, or even really hurt him, but, if he could give Monlagher a good scratch in repayment for what he said to Raz…

“All right,” Asher said, lifting his knife into the guard stance that his cousin had shown him, “I’m ready.”

“Good,” Monlagher sniffed, “come at me.”

Asher took a cautious step toward the big man. Monlagher hadn’t even bothered to drop into a fighting stance but stood, looking down at Asher with an expression of bored contempt.

Asher lunged, his blade flashing in the dim light, but the warrior didn’t even flinch as the dagger’s tip cut the air, still six inches away from his body.

Asher bared his teeth in frustration, having misjudged the gap between himself and his opponent. He leapt backward and then jumped in again, making sure to close the distance properly this time.

Monlagher stepped aside, his feet moving like a dancer’s to reposition his body clear of the attack.

Asher’s body moved without thinking, repeating the move he’d practiced so many times that it had become almost instinctual. He feinted high, flicking his blade toward Monlagher’s grinning face, and then he spun…

Fiery pain exploded in Asher’s ribs as Monlagher drove the spoon into his back. His breath burst from his lungs as the force of the blow sent him sprawling across the grimy floor, and the dagger clattered against the flagstones as he lost his grip on it.

He rolled into a ball, clutching at his ribs and grinding his teeth together against the pain.

A few moments later, when he could open his eyes again, he looked up to see Raz wide-eyed and standing against the wall with his book clutched against his chest and Phil, bleary-eyed from his nap and slack-jawed in confusion.

Then Asher felt the tap of a boot against his rump and he turned to see Monlagher standing over him with his now empty hand extended toward him.

“Come on, kid,” Monlagher sighed, “get up.”

“I don’t need your help!” Asher snarled as he scrambled to his feet and limped over to retrieve his fallen dagger.

“Yeah, whatever, kid,” Monlagher growled.

Asher stared back at the grizzled delver with undisguised loathing.

Monlagher shook his head and then looked away. “A bit of free advice, kid,” he said before turning to go, “You don’t want this life. Do yourself a favor and go back to wherever the hell you came from.”

Asher watched the big man disappear into the shadows again, and then he slumped against the wall, his fingertips pressed against the throbbing pain in his side.

“Are you all right, Ash?” Raz whispered, putting his hand on his shoulder.

“What happened?” Phil wondered as he got to his feet to see about his injured companion.

“Ash had a fight with the shield man,” Raz explained.

“You did what?” Phil almost gagged.

“We were just sparring!” Asher raged through his clenched teeth.

“No!” Phil groaned, “We don’t spar with the clients! That kind of thing will get you kicked out of the guild!”

“Screw the guild!” Asher spat, “And screw these guys too, I’m done carrying their stupid crap around!”

Phil’s face went white in shock and then he seized Asher by the shoulders and pushed him hard against the wall.

“Ah!” Asher cried in pain.

“Shut your mouth, Ash!” Phil hissed, his voice dangerous and low, “Shut your mouth, right now!” His eyes burned with a frightening intensity.

Asher stared wide-eyed into the angry face of a man he’d believed incapable of showing any real emotion.

“When we get back up top, you can leave the guild and go do whatever you want,” Phil whispered as he leaned in so close that his lips almost touched Asher’s face, “but, until you see daylight again, we are all three of us guilders, bound in service to this party and the people in it! You will not fail in that duty. Do you understand?”

Asher winced in pain, more scared of Phil now than he had been of Monlagher.

“Do you understand?” the big northlander growled.

“Yeah, yeah!” Asher yelped, “I understand!”

Phil gave him a hard look, and then his expression softened again. He released his grip on Asher’s shoulders and then stepped back, muttering, “A guildsman does his duty.”

Asher nodded at him and straightened his tunic. He winced again at the pain in his back.

“How bad is it?” Phil asked.

“I don’t know,” Asher admitted, gritting his teeth as he probed at the spot where Monlagher had jabbed the spoon between his ribs.

“Shirt off,” Phil commanded.

“It’s not that…” Asher started to protest.

“Let me look at it!” Phil ordered.

Asher passed his dagger to Razuru, but Phil had to help him lift the chain that held the arcane lamp around his neck up over his head. It hurt too much to lift his left arm that high.

Phil helped peel off Asher’s sweaty tunic as well, but at least the fabric helped to muffle Asher’s curses as it went over his face.

“Ow!” Razuru moaned in sympathy when he looked at Asher’s back.

“Am I bleeding?” Asher asked, more afraid that he’d ruined his guild-issued tunic than anything else. They’d probably take the cost of it out of his pay, and he needed all the pay he could get.

“You’re not bleeding,” Phil pronounced grimly, “I think you’ll be all right.”

“You should have the healer look at it,” Razuru said, wiggling his snout in disgust.

“No,” Phil said, “he just needs to walk it off.”

Asher craned his neck around but couldn’t see the spot where he’d been hit. The skin there felt very warm and tender, and it hurt a little when he took a deep breath.

“I think he should still go ask the healer,” Raz insisted, “It might be serious, and she does have a nice back bottom.”

“What?” Asher choked.

“I said it might be serious,” the gemling answered.

“No,” Asher whispered, “I mean, what did you say about her… bottom?”

“That’s the right word for it, isn’t it?” Razuru said, looking perplexed, “I mean, I saw Ash looking at her back bottom. I think he finds her attractive.”

“I do not!” Ash hissed. He couldn’t help but glance toward the far end of the chamber where the young priestess sat reading. “I mean… well, yeah, she’s kinda cute, but…”

“The word is ass, Raz,” Phil sighed, “but if either one of you tells a client that she has a nice ass, I’ll knock both of your heads together!”

“Well, whatever you call it,” Raz grumbled, “Ash’s middle ass could be bleeding internally right now, and we won’t know until he falls over dead.”

Asher was starting to worry now. He’d never been hit that hard before in his life. What if Razuru was right, and it really was a serious injury?

“Maybe I should just ask her to look at it,” he murmured, looking to his friends for support.

Phil only sighed and shook his head, but Raz nodded furiously in agreement.

Asher turned and took a moment to work up his courage. He wanted to put his tunic back on first, but he wasn’t sure he could take it off again without help, and he’d never be able to ask the priestess to help him do it. At last, he decided that it was just like jumping in a winter stream, better just to be quick about it.

Asher strode on stiff legs across the room. He could feel the eyes of the other adventurers turn upon him as he approached, but he kept his gaze locked firmly on the young priestess. She was sitting against the wall, atop a rolled blanket. A slender book, bound between two tablets of polished silver lay open on her lap, and she was reading it by the light of a single wax candle that hovered without visible support in the air above her.

She did not lift her head at his approach.

Asher felt profoundly foolish, standing there before her, stripped to the waist, with, he had no doubt, every member of the party but her watching him. At last, he cleared his throat.

“What?” the priestess demanded as she lifted her hazel-colored eyes from her prayer book and gave him an annoyed squint.

“I’m really sorry to bother you, ma’am,” Asher mumbled, “it’s just that… well I’ve been injured and…” he twisted sideways, trying to show her his wound.

“Are you bleeding?” she asked.

“No, but…”

“Can you still walk?” she demanded.

“Well, yeah,” he said with a weak chuckle as he gestured back towards the path he had obviously just walked to get to her.

“And can you still carry your burden?” she continued.

“My burden?” Asher asked.

“Bur-den,” she repeated slowly, “It’s a word meaning a heavy load, or perhaps a vital responsibility which one must bear. In your case, literally both.”

Asher stared at her in confusion for a moment before catching her meaning. “You mean my pack?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied with a simpering smile, “your pack, the one you were paid to carry for us… you are still capable of doing your job, are you not?”

Asher now felt neck-deep in the hypothetical ice-water he’d imagined before.

“Can you do your job?” she asked very slowly as if speaking to a simpleton.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered softly.

The priestess rolled her eyes and scoffed.

“Listen, boy,” she sighed, “I want to explain something to you. You are what we in the profession refer to as a Loot Mule, and, much like your namesake animal, you are blessed with a single purpose. Do you know what that is?”

“We carry stuff,” Asher answered flatly, wanting to be anywhere but where he was standing right now. He recognized the oily laughter of the man in black from behind him.

“You carry stuff,” the priestess agreed with a tight smile, “and, so long as you can still carry stuff, you are still useful to us, and I don’t need to waste any of my precious and limited resources in making you feel better.”

“Yeah,” Asher grunted, hoping she was finished.

“So, I must ask you not to interrupt me again,” she said, “unless…” She paused for a moment, scowling, before she concluded, “Just don’t bother me again.”

“I won’t ma’am,” Asher forced himself to say. He felt as if his face was on fire, but the priestess gave no indication that she had noticed his embarrassment as she returned to the perusal of her book, ignoring him completely.

The only thing that broke the silence of his long walk back to the other end of the hall was the snickering laughter of the man in black.

“What’d she say,” Razuru asked as Asher reached for his tunic, “Are you gonna be all right?”

“She said I don’t need healing,” Asher rasped hoarsely, “I’m just a Loot Mule.”

Chapter 3: The Long Descent

The walk through the rest of level seven passed like a fevered dream for Asher.

He stumped along on numbed feet, enduring the pain that shot through his back with every step. Eventually, it became a steady cadence of steps and pain that he counted out in his head to the mantra of the words Loot Mule, repeated, over and over again.

He barely noticed when they were attacked by a group of some kind of monsters that swarmed out of the dark tunnel ahead.

Phil grabbed Asher by the pack strap and forced him back against the wall, protecting him and Razuru with his body.

“Let me see!” Raz whined, trying to get a better look at whatever was coming at them from out of the darkness.

The party’s crossbowman nocked a bolt and raised his weapon to chest level, but he never pulled the trigger. The man in black leather and the priestess only stepped clear of the bowman’s path while Magister Proquebert lifted his glowing staff high to illuminate the hallway ahead.

Asher caught a glimpse of a dozen pairs of shining red eyes, squinting against the magical light. A few of the creatures were caught near enough to its radiance that Asher could make out their emaciated humanoid bodies, hunched over and clutching crude weapons in their hands. They had leathery rust-colored skin, short tails, and faces like a dog had mated with a particularly ugly lizard.

“I think those are kobolds!” Raz gasped in excitement.

They had no further opportunity to study the creatures, for, at that moment, Graf Monlagher banged the haft of his spear against his enchanted shield, and shouted a battle cry in a voice so loud that it shook dust from the mortared seams of the walls.

The kobolds, if that’s what they were, turned and fled into the blackness again, their hooting cries of panic echoing into silence soon thereafter.

“Let’s go,” Monlagher grunted, and the party fell into step behind him once again.

“That’s usually how it goes down here,” Phil explained as they began to walk again, “The monsters on this level won’t bother a steelsinger like him.”

“I think they were afraid of the light too,” Razuru pointed out.

Phil made an unconvinced noise. “Everybody has a light down here,” Phil reasoned, “That’s how the monsters find us.”

Ahead of them, Monlagher cleared his throat loudly and then fell into a coughing fit. The entire party slowed to a stop as the big warrior leaned against the wall, catching his breath.

“Is this a problem?” the Magister asked with a frown.

“No… problem,” Monlagher rasped between coughs, “just… somethin’… in my throat.”

The man in black whispered something to the priestess, but she ignored him as usual. The bowman un-nocked his bolt and returned it to his hip quiver.

Then Monlagher seemed to recover, and he waved them into motion again with his spear.

Asher watched the steelsinger from behind, noting the way his big shoulders shook from time to time with another ragged cough.

I hope he dies of consumption, Asher thought. Then he fell back into the steady rhythm of walking again. Step. Pain. Step. Pain. Loot Mule. Loot Mule.

The cloying scent of warding torches filled the chilly air as they neared another one of the protected lifts that the delvers’ guilds maintained throughout the upper levels of the dungeon. No monsters would approach the ring of magical torches that surrounded the great mechanical lifts that carried delvers down between the levels of the great labyrinth.

Asher and his friends waited, just inside the ring of sputtering arcane torches, while the Magister paid the hooded attendant for the use of the lift. The man grinned as he deposited the coins in a pouch at his belt, and then he ushered Monlagher first into the metal cage that would be lowered into the great pit in the floor at the center of the torch ring.

Everyone watched as the man in the hood pulled a lever set into the wall, and the cage with Monlagher in it lurched into motion, the heavy chain that supported it rattling through a hole in the ceiling as it lowered him into the pit. Within moments, he was out of sight, disappearing into the dark shaft below.

After about a minute, the chain went slack, and the attendant counted to ten aloud before throwing the lever and bringing the lift back up.

Then the Magister and the cook, who were chatting merrily about something food-related, stepped into the cage together, and the attendant sent them down as well.

“Things might get a little tougher, from here on out,” Phil whispered, and Asher could hear the tension in his friend’s voice, “Until now, the monsters have been too scared to mess with us, but there are things down there that don’t even know howto be afraid.”

“Like dragons?” Raz asked breathlessly.

“No, not dragons!” Phil grumbled, “I mean real monsters!”

“Dragons are…” Raz tried to interrupt.

“Shut up and listen!” Phil growled, “I’m just saying that anything could happen down there. I don’t know how low we’re going, but it could be pretty low, and even people like the steelsinger can get overrun.”

Something in the way Phil kept glancing at the pit was setting Asher’s nerves on edge. What had the big porter seen down there that had him so spooked now?

A clanging rattle filled the chamber as the hooded attendant threw the lever, and the metal cage began its descent again into darkness.

“Stick close to me,” Phil sighed, and I’ll do my best to protect you if it comes to that… which it probably won’t!”

Asher’s hand moved to the pommel of the dagger he had tucked into his belt. If it came to that, would he even be able to defend himself? The pain in his back throbbed in a mocking answer, Loot Mule.

They watched as the lift returned empty a minute later, and the grinning attendant swung the cage door open, ushering the scowling priestess inside. The man in black tried to join her, but the crossbowman stepped in front of him, gracing the rogue with a smug grin as he pulled the door shut with just the healer and himself inside.

The attendant pulled the lever again, and the cage rattled down into the darkness.

The man in black fidgeted with his knives and paced a circle around the pit while he waited for the lift to return.

Phil nudged his friends forward to stand a respectful distance back, awaiting their turn as well.

When the now-empty cage appeared again, the man in black let himself in and swung the door shut behind him, even as Phil moved to join him in the two-person space within.

“Occupied,” the rogue sing-songed as he graced the big porter with a fake smile through the bars of the cage.

“Yes, sir,” Phil grunted.

The attendant pulled the lever, sending the rogue down the shaft alone.

“I hate that guy,” Asher muttered when he was sure the man in black was beyond earshot.

The lift attendant chuckled in response.

“Knock it off,” Phil grumbled, “A guildsman does his duty and keeps his mouth shut about it.”

“Yeah, but who says you can’t have a little fun at the same time?” the hooded lift attendant laughed, “Watch this!”

The man suddenly yanked the lever backward about six inches, and the heavy chains that supported the dangling lift jerked and jangled as the pulley mechanism groaned in protest.

They were certainly not beyond earshot of the yowl of terror that arose from the pit below or the tirade of blistering profanities that followed after it.

“Apologies, m’lord!” the lift attendant shouted down the pit, “’twas only a kink in the cable. Nothing to be concerned about!”

The grinning attendant pushed the lever back into the proper position again, and the four of them listened as the rogue’s curses receded into the depths.

Raz and Asher couldn’t stop from giggling now, and even Phil, at last, cracked a smile.

“Nice one,” Phil complimented the hooded lift-guilder.

The attendant stepped back from the lever mechanism to take a deep bow. “We find our pleasures where we must,” he sighed dramatically.

“You must get pretty bored, waiting around by the lift all the time,” Raz noted.

The hooded attendant shrugged. “It gives me time to work on my poetry,” he mused.

“You’re a poet?” Raz asked.

The lift attendant swept back his hood to reveal his dark-skinned face and curly black hair. He graced them with a pearly grin and a wink as he raised one hand high as though addressing an audience of hundreds.

He cleared his throat and began to orate, “My name is Belando. It’s not very grand-o, but I watch o’er a hole in the ground. When in it I piss, I seldomly miss, and can fart without making a sound!”

The attendant took another bow as Raz applauded enthusiastically, and Asher and Phil chuckled along.

A clattering sound drew their eyes to the lift again, and they saw that the chain had gone slack. Belando hurried back to the lever and shoved it into the upposition.

Asher’s smile bled away as he watched the chain rise from the pit, knowing that his turn would soon come to go down into the dark.

“Oi,” Belando said as he leaned against his lever, “You lot seem decent enough, so I’ll give you a bit of a warnin’. The last party I sent down to level twelve… they didn’t come back up, at least not this way.”

Asher felt a chill run up his aching spine.

“Maybe it’s nothin’,” Belando sighed, “but watch your arses down there, all right?”

“Yeah,” Phil said, nodding at the attendant, “we will.”

Asher stood, lost in his thoughts until Phil nudged his elbow.

The iron door of the lift cage creaked as Belando swung it open and gestured for them to enter with an overly dramatic flourish.

“Your carriage awaits, m’lords!” Belando drawled.

“Thank you,” Phil said, “Ash, you ride with me. Raz, we’ll wait for you at the bottom.”

“I can squeeze all three of you in there,” Belando promised, “No problem.”

“Really?” Asher asked, “It won’t be too much weight?”

“Nah,” Belando said, “I’ve seen this thing haul up a crate full of gold ingots once. It can hold the three of you.”

Squeeze was the appropriate term for what happened next, and Asher found his face pressed against the bars once all three of them and their packs were safely secured inside the cage. His stomach churned as the cage floor swayed beneath him, and he looked down at the black abyss below. He shut his eyes and tried to slow his breathing as Belando latched them in.

“I kinda want to get this over with,” Belando admitted as he threw the lever and sent them on their way, “I really need to take a piss!”

Asher was already surrounded by the glistening walls of the dark pit when he remembered Belando’s poem.

“Hey!” he shouted back up the shaft, “wait until we’re outta this thing!”

An evil chuckle from the top of the pit was his only answer.

Chapter 4: A Hero’s Worth

Once beyond the incense-laden air of the torch ring, Asher decided that level twelve earned a place of honor among the worst-smelling places he’d ever visited.

A rank, damp odor clung to the mossy stones of the tunnel walls, as if someone had been making cheese in a horse stable and then forgot and left it lying around in a privy for a few weeks.

Magister Proquebert walked along, holding a small packet of something presumably better-smelling against his nose as he talked with the cook, but the other experienced delvers seemed used to it.

Phil too soldiered along beneath his pack, ignoring the smell the same as any other hardship, but Raz looked altogether miserable.

“Don’t they ever clean this place?” the gemling groaned, his voice even more nasally than usual because he had buried his proboscis in the crook of his elbow.

“I don’t think anybody’s in charge of that down here,” Asher sighed. At least the pain in his back had subsided enough for him to notice the growing blister on the sole of his left foot. If he ever got out of this alive, he was going to need some better boots.

The crossbowman had resumed his position, walking at the back of the column as they moved through the twisting tunnels. Asher wanted to believe that it was to provide protection for the three, mostly unarmed porters, but he rather suspected it was to keep them from getting any ideas about running away.

The priestess and the rogue walked ahead of Phil, and beyond, Magister Proquebert and Gutguk with Graf Monlagher leading the way.

Asher was sick of the sight of them, so he kept his head down as he walked, trying to spot anything interesting in the muck heaped against the tunnel walls. He counted eighty-three well-gnawed bones, some of them disconcertingly large, before he got too bored with the game.

“I thought there were supposed to be monsters down here,” he whispered, “What did we even come down here for anyway?”

“Shut up,” Phil grumbled, “You’ll jinx us!”

Asher rolled his eyes and went back to staring at the delvers ahead of him, imagining how enjoyable it might be to watch them all get eaten by a dragon.

Then Monlagher raised his spear, and the party stopped in its tracks.

Phil cast an I told you so glare back at Asher.

“What is it?” the Magister asked, but Monlagher did not answer. The big warrior fell into a defensive stance behind his shield, leveling the tip of his spear toward the darkness of the tunnel ahead.

Then Asher heard what sounded like running water coming from the black mouth of the tunnel. His pulse quickened in fear. Did the tunnels flood? Was that a thing that happened down here?

He looked around, desperately searching for something he could cling to, some higher ground or at least a ledge, but there was only a tunnel full of mostly non-buoyant people.

Then the sound grew louder, and Asher realized that it wasn’t water at all. It was something even worse.

The skittering hiss of thousands of insects swept down the hallway, a living tide of chitin and mandibles that crashed like a breaking wave around Monlagher’s shield.

The priestess and the rogue both screamed like little girls, and the bowman muttered an, “Oh, shit!” from behind, but the rest of them were too stunned to speak as the swarm spilled across the floor all around them.

Asher pulled the dagger from his belt and threw himself against the wall, kicking at the torrent of yard-long centipedes that wriggled and crawled around his legs. He tried to stab at one, but the tip of his dagger simply glanced off the purplish exoskeleton of the huge bug.

“Don’t agitate them!” Phil cried, reaching out to catch Asher’s sleeve as he pulled back to strike again.

Asher looked at his friend in confusion and then back at the giant bug which had now fled away in the darkness behind them.

“Just hold still!” Phil said.

Razuru whined in misery as he hunched into a ball, completely overrun by the scurrying insects, but he looked otherwise unharmed.

Then a flash of ruddy light filled the hallway, and an acrid, burning stench filled the air.

Asher looked to see Magister Proquebert’s body wreathed in flickering tongues of ruby flame. All around him, centipedes writhed and shriveled in the magical heat of his spell.

“Save your mana!” Monlagher shouted, “They’re runnin’ away!”

“From what?” the Magister cried.

“Somethin’ big!” Monlagher answered, “Real big.”

Asher pulled Raz to his feet again as the last of the centipedes skittered away down the tunnel leading back to the lift.

“Thanks,” the gemling sniffled. He looked scared but uninjured by his encounter with the swarm.

“Is it the manticore?” Magister Proquebert asked breathlessly, “Can you see it?”

“No, I can’t see it!” Monlagher snapped, “But I can hear it!”

Asher heard it too, or rather he felt it, a great booming vibration that ran through the flagstones beneath the thin soles of his cheap boots, a steady boom boom boom, like the steps of an approaching giant.

You couldn’t fit a giant in this tunnel, could you? Asher wondered.

“That’s no fucking manticore!” Monlagher snarled, “Get ready!”

The Magister raised his staff as high as the tunnel ceiling would permit, and he whispered a word. The crystal atop his staff flared with a white-hot radiance that dazzled Asher’s eyes and he raised his hand to block out the light.

“I can’t see!” Razuru cried, “What’s happening, Ash?”

Asher squinted, trying to get a better look at what was coming toward them. Then he saw the sheen of iridescent scales, a lot of them, covering something very, very large.

“A basilisk!” Magister Proquebert shouted.

“If it was, you’d be dead!” Monlagher shouted back, “That’s somethin’ else. Hit with whatever you got, all of you!”

“Get outta my fuckin’ way!” the archer shouted, and Asher and his friends crouched low against the wall as the crossbow thunked, releasing a quarrel to zip past the rogue’s ear and shatter against the scaly snout of the charging giant lizard.

“Hey!” the man in black leather cried as he turned to look back at the bowman, but whatever he said after that was drowned out by the ear-splitting crack of the lightning bolt that blasted from the crystal tip of the Magister’s staff.

The bolt struck the giant lizard between its eyes, staggering it.

Asher stood up again to get a better look, certain that this must have killed it.

The titanic lizard shook its head in dismay, as bright arcs of electricity leapt from its metallic scales and crackled harmlessly against the corbelled arch of the tunnel’s walls and roof.

“Shit!” the bowman cursed as he cranked the lever to cock his weapon again.

“It resisted it,” Magister Proquebert murmured in dismay, “It resisted my spell… myspell!”

“Do somethin’ else!” Monlagher shouted.

The priestess was chanting a prayer now, but she seemed to be having trouble pronouncing one of the words properly, and just kept muttering the same two syllables over and over again.

For his part, the man in black leather seemed to be backing slowly away from the scene of horror before him. He tripped on an uneven flagstone about the time he drew even with the porters, and Asher gave the man a disgusted look as the rogue scrambled to his feet again and bolted down the hall past the frantically reloading bowman.

Gutguk seemed to think the rogue had the right idea, and the portly cook clutched his spice pouch tightly to his hip as he turned to run away as well.

“For god’s sake, hit it again!” Monlagher screamed.

“He can’t resist my spell!” the Magister shouted, his voice gone shrill with panic, “Nothing on this level can do that!”

The archer snapped off another shot, striking the giant lizard in its left eye. The lizard’s head jerked to the side, and it hissed in pain.

“Yes!” the bowman shouted in triumph.

Then the lizard looked at them again, and its long, purple tongue darted out from between its teeth to lick at the tough clear membrane that covered its seemingly uninjured eye.

“Fuck this!” the archer exclaimed, and then he too turned and fled down the corridor towards escape.

Monlagher looked back to see the party rapidly dissipating behind him, and Asher saw the look of incredulity on the man’s face.

“It can’t do that!” the Magister was still muttering, looking for all the world like a whipped farm boy in a silly hat.

The lizard beast gave a mighty roar and charged again, and Monlagher met it with the face of his shield. The big man grunted in pain as the force of the impact drove him backward, and his boots dug up twin furrows in the grime that coated the stones beneath him.

Then a golden glow filled the hallway as the power of Monlagher’s shield redirected the strength of his opponent’s attack into a glittering web of light, stretching between the ceiling and the floor.

“Get the fuck outta here!” Monlagher yelled, “All of you run, now!”

Magister Proquebert snapped out of his trance of self-pity and hitched up the skirt of his robe as he ran. He dropped his staff when he caromed off of the priestess behind him, sending them both reeling for a moment before they could recover.

The Magister looked as if he might try to recover his fallen staff, but one more look at the giant lizard, now trying to gnaw the rim off the steelsinger’s shield, convinced him to leave it and run.

The priestess followed after him, still gibbering her mangled prayer as she sprinted ahead, trying to keep up with her employer.

Asher watched them pass, marveling at how quick these veteran adventurers had been to abandon their companion.

He looked at Monlagher again and saw the man’s knees shaking beneath the strain of holding back the monstrous lizard. Whatever Asher thought of the man before, he didn’t deserve to die like this!

“We need to go,” Phil said, tugging at Asher’s sleeve. The big porter’s face was as pale as death in the light of the ever-burning lamp that hung around his neck.

“We’re just going to leave him?” Razuru whispered in dismay.

“We can’t help him now,” Phil said, “We need to go.” He grabbed both his friends by their collars and hustled them toward the tunnel back to the lift.

Monlagher groaned in pain from behind them as the great lizard-beast snarled and gnawed at his enchanted shield.

Asher twisted free of Phil’s grip and turned to look back at the man they were leaving behind. Out of everyone in the party, Monlagher was the only one who was acting the way a real hero was supposed to act. It didn’t seem right that the others should live and he should die.

“This isn’t right!” he cried, “He needs help.”

“We can’t help him!” Phil argued, “There’s nothing we can do!”

“We can try!” Asher said, “I mean… we have to try!”

Phil and Raz looked at each other, both of their faces filled with the same anguished uncertainty that was tearing apart Asher’s insides.

“Ihave to try,” Asher said, feeling the cold hand of Fate closing around his heart.

He turned and raised his dagger in his fist as he ran toward the lone steelsinger and the beast he was holding back.

“Yah!” Asher yelled as he jabbed the tip of his dagger into the crease of one of the lizard’s claw joints, and the blade vibrated with the impact, stinging his hand.

“What are you doing?” Monlagher growled, his face beaded with sweat beneath the brow of his helmet.

“I’m helping you!” Asher snorted as he hacked at the lizard’s claw again, “Your real friends all ran away!”

“That’s because they’re not stupid!” Monlagher said.

“If I was smart, I’d never have signed up for this job!” Asher shot back.

Monlagher laughed at this as he watched Asher continue, vainly, to find a weak spot between the lizard’s scales.

The lizard took no notice of Asher’s attacks but instead shifted his weight atop the steelsinger’s shield, bringing more of its monstrous bulk to bear against the straining human beneath.

Monlagher groaned as his boots fought for traction on the grimy floor, and he skidded backward another step before he could force his shield upright again.

“Listen, kid,” the warrior gasped when he could catch his breath again, “The only one that’s gonna win this fight is this goddamned lizard, so get out while you still can!”

“What about you?” Asher cried in frustration, “Weren’t you the one who told me that you have to know when to run away?”

Monlagher gave him a bitter grin. “Kid,” he said, “I owe a lot of money to some very bad people. Going back empty-handed was never an option for me… Trust me, this is a way better end to the story of the great Graf Monlagher. I’d rather it was this than me bleeding out in an alley behind a tavern.”

Asher stared at him in shock, realizing what he was saying.

Monlagher grunted in exertion as he shoved the massive lizard backward a few inches, and the crackling radiance of the shield flared and sputtered around him. Then he looked at Asher again and smiled.

“I was wrong about you, kid,” he said, “Maybe you do have what it takes to be a hero. Provided you’re smart enough to live that long.”

Asher nodded and then he looked back at his friends who were still waiting for him.

“Here!” Monlagher shouted, “The sword on my belt, take it!”

“What?” Asher asked.

“The sword,” Monlagher growled through gritted teeth, “Just pull the scabbard out of the belt loop.”

Asher hesitated a moment and then slipped his dagger beneath his own belt before ducking into the shadow of Monlagher’s big shield. With a little effort, he was able to work the sword’s scabbard free of the steelsinger’s belt.

“It was my father’s,” Monlagher gasped, “It’s a good blade, better than that toothpick you’re swinging!”

Asher marveled at the craftsmanship of the sword’s hilt as he stared down at the heirloom in his hands. “Who do you want me to give it to?” he asked.

“I just gave it to you, stupid!” Monlagher yelled, “Now get the hell outta here and learn how to use it!”

Asher nodded and then turned to run. Then he stopped and turned back toward Monlagher again.

“Thank you,” Asher said, his voice husky with emotion.

“Go!” Monlagher screamed as the great lizard thrashed its tail and dug its claws between the buckling floor tiles.

Asher ran, and his friends ran with him as the hall behind them was filled with crackling golden light, the ferocious roars of the metal-skinned monster, and the last defiant cry of the steelsinger.

About fifty yards down the twisting corridor, Asher ran, face-first into a shimmering wall of magical energy.

“Uf!” Asher grunted as the enchanted barrier rebutted the full force of his panicked sprint.

Raz and Phil slammed into the barrier a moment later, delivering equally eloquent exclamations in response.

“What’s that?” Raz asked as he picked himself up off the floor.

“It’s a Wall of Protection,” Phil said as Asher helped him up, “The priestess must have cast it to keep the monster from following them back to the lift.”

“But they didn’t wait for us!” Razuru protested.

Asher sniffed in disgust as he stared at the shimmering wall that prevented them from fleeing to safety as well. “How long will it last?” he asked.

“Longer than we’ve got,” Phil answered solemnly as he looked back into the darkness, the golden light of Monlagher’s shield had faded to darkness, and only wet crunching sounds echoed from the place where the hero had fallen.

Asher looked down at the scabbard in his hand, and he grasped the sword within it. He drew the blade out about six inches and tried to make out the faint runes engraved into the flat of the marbled steel blade.

At least he would die with a real sword in his hands.

“Think, Razuru, think!” the little gemling moaned as he paced back and forth, his eyes scanning the walls and floors.

“I’m sorry,” Phil sighed, “I thought I would be able to protect you both.”

“It’s my fault,” Asher admitted, “If we’d run away when you said we should…”

“Drain!” Razuru exclaimed, falling to his knees on the muck-strewn floor, “I knew it!”

Asher watched as the gemling clawed at the thickly-crusted filth that covered the floor. Had he gone made with fear?

Then he saw the dull gleam of metal beneath, and both he and Phil fell to their knees to help scrape the filth clear of the rusty grate in the floor.

“Gemlings are tunnel-folk!” Razuru chuckled, “Gemlings know, there’s always a drain. Yes, gemlings know!”

Phil threaded his thick fingers between the openings of the grate and strained to lift it.

“Gnyah!” Phil groaned in defeat, “It’s stuck shut!”

“We need a pry-bar!” Raz cried.

“I think there’s one in my pack,” Phil said. He started to slip the strap of his backpack off over his shoulder.

A rattling hiss sounded from the darkness of the hallway behind them.

“No time!” Asher cried.

He yanked the dagger from his belt and jammed its tip down into the seam between the iron grate and its rusted frame.

He heard a steely clink as the dagger’s tip snapped off, but he forced it harder still, working it back and forth in the grimy seam between the metal rims.

“Keep going!” Razuru encouraged him, “It’s working!”

“Yeah, it is!” Phil gasped, seeing the slight wobbling motion of the grate.

“Gah!” Asher cried when the dagger’s blade snapped off at the hilt, and he fell hard, scraping his knuckles bloody on the flagstones.

“Here!” Phil said, shouldering him aside as he pushed his fingers through the grate again. With a mighty groan, the big porter pulled the loosened grate free, falling backward with a huff as it came loose in his hands.

“Down, down!” Razuru cried desperately, “Go!”

Asher hesitated only a moment before he dropped into the dark unknown below.

Chapter 5: Shadows and Light

They fled down the sewer pipe, trudging through knee-deep muck. Asher and Phil had to stoop to keep from scraping their heads on the rough stonework of the tube’s ceiling, but Razuru led the way.

Behind them, the great lizard-beast clawed at the drain’s mouth, and Asher dared one last glance backward to see a long, purple tongue lashing through the gap, tasting the fading scent of its lost prey. Then they turned a bend in the tunnel, and only the angry hissing of the frustrated beast followed after them.

“Which way?” Phil asked when they reached an intersection of four tunnels.

Razuru gave him a how am I supposed to know? look, but then paused to think it through.

The gemling stooped and dipped his fingers in the scummy water that swirled and eddied around the knees of his filthy pants.

“It’s flowing that way,” he mused as he pointed his dripping fingers to the right, “So… we go that way!” He turned and pointed to the left tunnel.

“Because we want to go up,” Asher said.

“Exactly!” Raz said.

“Huh,” Phil grunted, understanding now as well.

Raz sniffled in satisfaction as he waded upstream, leading them into the new drainpipe.

“Should we try to find the party again?” Razuru asked.

Asher made a rude noise.

“No,” Phil said, “We held up our end of the contract. They left us behind, so the guild owns everything in the packs now. All we have to do is find our way back to the guild house, give our report, and collect our pay.

“And take a bath,” Raz sighed, wrinkling his snout against the rank odor of the sewer pipe.

“Yeah, that would be nice,” Phil agreed.

“But we’ve still gotta find our way back to the lift,” Asher pointed out, “and how are we gonna pay for using it when we do?”

“The Lifters Guild and the Porters Guild have an arrangement,” Phil explained, “They’ll just charge the fee to our guild, and they’ll sort it out later.”

“You mean they’ll take it out of our pay,” Asher chuckled.

“Only if it was our fault,” Phil said, “In this case, they’ll probably bill the Magister for it.”

“That seems reasonable,” Razuru said, “You know an awful lot about how the guild works.”

“It’s just business,” Phil said, “I used to handle the account books at my mom’s place.”

“Your mom runs a business?” Asher asked.

“…Yeah,” Phil said quietly.

Asher glanced at the big man and saw the redness in his cheeks.

“What kind of business?” Razuru pressed.

“It’s not important!” Phil snapped, his face flushed with shame.

“Can we go there when we get out?” Razuru continued, “I want to meet your mom!”

Phil was shaking with embarrassment and rage now, and he clenched his jaw tightly. His steps had slowed and both fists were clamped tightly around his pack straps.

Asher thought quickly, hoping to change the subject. “Hey, Raz,” he said, “What do your parents do?”

“Oh, they’re burglars,” the gemling said matter-of-factly.

“What?” Asher guffawed.

“Yeah,” Razuru sighed, “our family mines ran dry years ago, so we steal stuff from the other families now.”

“Uh… all right,” Asher said, not knowing what else to say.

“It’s a little bit dangerous,” the gemling continued, “I got bit by a dog once, but he wasn’t that big, so the bleeding stopped pretty soon after I got my leg wrapped up.”

“You were a burglar too?” Asher asked.

“Yeah, but I never really liked it,” Razuru said, “I figured adventuring would be way more exciting, and I might even get to see some real monsters!”

“Well, now you have,” Asher chuckled, “Do you still want to be an adventurer?”

“Yeah!” Raz said, his eyes glittering merrily in the lamplight, “This so much better than rummaging through old ladies’ underwear drawers, looking for jewelry!”

The three friends shared a laugh.

“Hey, look!” Razuru said, “It’s another drain grate!” He pointed up the tunnel ahead.

Asher saw another iron grate in the roof about five yards up the tunnel.

“Hey,” Asher whispered, “Cover your lights for a second.” He wrapped his fingers around the glowing glass vial of the lamp pendant hanging around his neck, snuffing out its glow.

A moment later, his friends did the same with their lamps, plunging the tunnel into darkness.

Asher’s eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom, and then he was sure of what he thought he’d seen before.

“A light!” he said, seeing the dim, orange glow that drifted down through the bars of the grate.

“Where there’s light, there’s delvers!” Phil said.

The three friends sloshed through the knee-deep water, hurrying toward the grate and their hope of salvation.

“What’s that?” they heard a man’s voice say from above.

“Down here!” Phil yelled up through the drain grate, “Help us!”

“There’s someone in the sewer pipe!” a woman’s voice exclaimed.

“We got separated from our party,” Asher called out, “We were running from a monster and got chased down here.”

“Just a moment,” the man above called down, “We’ll have you out in a whiff!”

Asher breathed a heavy sigh of relief, and he clutched Monlagher’s sword to his chest as he watched the dark silhouette of the man above working the drain cover loose with a pry bar.

“I hope they have something to eat,” Raz whispered.

“Not to worry,” the man above quipped, “we shall all feast like zerklings soon enough!”

“What’s a zerkling?” Phil mumbled.

“A small, bipedal beast made mostly of teeth,” Razuru quoted his favorite book, “They travel in packs and eat anything that doesn’t move faster than a waddle.”

“A man of learning, I see!” the man above chuckled as he pulled the grate free and reached a gloved hand down to the gemling. “A something of learning at least!” he corrected himself.

Razuru laughed appreciatively as the gloved hand hauled him effortlessly from the drainpipe.

“You next,” Phil said to Asher.

Asher nodded and moved into position to look up through the hole.

The man above wore a shirt of fine chainmail links that had been stained a deep blueish gray color, and dark leather greaves covered his arms from shoulder to glove. Most surprisingly of all was the close-fitting hood that covered his head, leaving his face in shadow. Asher saw two slight bulges where his ears would be beneath the hood, and he realized that this was the closest he’d ever been to a real elf.

“Hand me the sword first,” the elf said as he reached down.

Asher hesitated a moment. A tiny twinge of misgiving tugged at his gut.

“I swear I’m not a thief!” the elf laughed.

What choice did he have? Asher reasoned. The elf and his companion already had Razuru up there. It wasn’t like he and Phil were going to run off and leave him.

Asher passed the elf the sword.

The elf gave an appreciative whistle as he looked over the sword before passing it to his companion. “I’ll bet that’s worth a cute copper!” he chuckled.

Asher couldn’t help but frown at the laughing elf as he hauled him up out of the hole as well.

Asher emerged into a circular antechamber with only one exit. Whatever lay beyond the dark archway in the curved wall, he couldn’t make it out in the dim light of the small cookfire the elf and his companion had built against the opposite wall.

The elf’s companion proved just as heavily armored as her male counterpart, though her own chainmail shirt hugged her slim form a bit more tightly, revealing the soft, feminine curves of her body beneath. The bulges in the side of her hood were ever more pronounced, hinting at a particularly pointy pair of ears beneath.

Neither one of them appeared to be armed, save for Asher’s sword which the female elf still held, examining it. He wanted to ask for it back, but the male elf stood between him and her and was busy trying to haul Phil up from the hole in the floor.

“Give me a hand here, friend!” the male elf called to Asher, and he hurried to help pull his friend through the tight drain.

With a mighty heave, Asher and the elf hauled the big northlander up through the hole and collapsed on their butts on the chamber floor.

“You’re a big one!” the elf laughed. His hood had fallen back to reveal the upward-pointing ears that peeked between the strands of his silvery hair. His grin gleamed white against the dusky violet hue of his face.

Razuru’s eyes had gone wide at the sight of him.

“Thank you,” Phil gasped as he rose to his knees on the floor, shrugging off his backpack.

Asher rose quickly and stepped around his big friend. He extended his hand, palm-upraised, toward the elven woman who still held his sword, half-drawn as she studied the runes on its blade.

“Ma’am?” he said.

The woman’s teal-green eyes flashed in the shadow of her hood, and her berry-colored lips curled into a sneer of disdain.

“His sword, Tesha,” the male elf said with a crooked grin, “The boy wants his sword back.”

The elf woman slid the blade back into its sheath with a sullen snap of steel on leather, and then she passed it back to Asher, scabbard-first.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Asher sighed, grateful to have something to defend himself with, though he didn’t quite know the source of the nagging fear in his gut.

The male elf got to his feet again and dusted himself off.

“We weren’t expecting guests just yet,” the elf said, “so, I’m afraid we’ve still got a while before breakfast is ready.” He gestured toward the steaming cookpot.

“Breakfast?” Phil chuckled as he wiped the grime from his pack, “I could have sworn it was time for supper.”

“Supper… breakfast… what’s the difference down here?” the elf laughed.

Phil laughed with him, and Raz joined in, albeit a bit nervously. The little gemling’s eyes were still wide and darted back and forth between the two strange elves.

“Could you show us the quickest way out of here?” Asher asked, anxious to be on his way.

The elf looked at Asher, raising one pale eyebrow. “Yeah,” he said, “we’ll be glad to show you, as soon as our companions arrive. We’re meeting some friends here before we head back home again.”

“It’s just, we’re kind of in a hurry,” Asher said, giving the elf a tense smile.

The female elf slipped her hand behind her back as she side-stepped, putting herself between Asher and the exit to the adjoining room.

Asher’s hand moved to the grip of his sword.

“No, I understand,” the male elf sighed, lifting his open hands, “You boys have had a rough time of it, and you’re anxious to get back to the upside. It would be rude of us to make you wait.”

Asher looked at him, feeling a little bit of the tension drain from his shoulders.

“I can draw you a map,” the elf offered, “You should be able to follow it well enough. There’s a safe passage leading back up, and you shouldn’t run into any trouble along the way.”

“Thank you,” Asher sighed gratefully.

“Give me a minute,” the elf said, moving toward the pair of rucksacks that lay against the wall near the cookfire.

The three porters stood together, watching as the elf rummaged through his pack, producing a small notebook and a pencil which he clamped between his teeth as he flipped open the book.

“They should be fine, going through the old chapel, don’t you think?” he asked his companion, but the elf woman only sniffed noncommittally.

“Hey, Tesh,” he said, “Why don’t you get our friends a drink while I work on this? They must be parched.”

The female elf gave her companion an incredulous sneer.

“Pretty please?” he crooned.

Tesha groaned as she crossed the room to her own pack and plucked the drawstring open with contemptuous zeal.

Asher looked toward the now unblocked exit and considered running for it. He looked down at Raz, but the gemling’s eyes were still on the elves, and Phil was licking his dry lips in anticipation of the offered drink.

Tesha returned a moment later, carrying what might have been a wine bottle, but the black glass container gave no hint at its true contents. She worked the stopper free with a soft pop, and the scent of fermented fruit filled the air.

“Here,” the elf woman said, thrusting the open bottle toward Asher.

“I… I’m not really thirsty,” Asher lied.

The dusky-skinned elf sneered at him again and then took a long swig from the bottle herself. Her sardonic smile glistened in the lamplight when she offered it to him again.

“I don’t carry around a bottle of poison if that’s what you’re thinking!” she hissed.

Asher flushed in shame and took the bottle from her hand. A little flutter of trepidation went through him as he tilted it back and took a sip.

Asher had never had real wine before his arrival in Laxton, and the stuff he’d been able to afford there barely qualified as such. The rich, sultry nectar that coated his tongue now made him regret his poverty all the more. If this was what wine really tasted like, he understood why so many young lordlings squandered their inheritances in the wine hall.

He gasped for breath as he passed the bottle to Phil.

“Thank you,” he said to the elf woman.

Her teal-green eyes sparkled with mirth.

Phil gasped as well and nodded his breathless thanks to the woman as he offered the bottle in turn to the little gemling.

“I don’t really…” Razuru tried to protest.

“Drink!” the woman snapped.

“Yes, ma’am!” Razuru squeaked, and then he sampled the bottle as well before handing it back to her.

The woman stoppered the bottle again, and Asher watched her walk back to her pack. He noticed that her chainmail shirt didn’t hang low enough to cover her backside and that her dark leather leggings fit quite snugly indeed. He rather liked the way the coil of the whip hanging from her belt slapped against her rump, jiggling her right butt cheek with every step she took.

He couldn’t stop himself from giggling aloud.

“Are you drunk, Ash?” Razuru asked.

“Huh?” Asher said, unable to pry his gaze away from the elf woman’s back bottom as she bent over to return the bottle to her pack.

“You can’t… get drunk that quick,” Phil said, his speech slower than usual, “The alcohol hash to go through your… your belly firsh.”

“You’re drunk too!” Razuru said. He jabbed a furry finger accusingly at the big man and then crossed his eyes to stare down at his own hand. “Did I always have this many fingers?” he whispered in awe.

“I’m a little confused,” the male elf said as he crossed the room to stand before them, “I think you go left after reaching the old chapel, but it may be a right turn. Can you make any sense of this map?”

Asher tried to look at the page of the elf’s notebook as he held it open before him, but his vision had gone all blurry. With a supreme effort of will, at last, he managed to bring his eyes to focus on it.

The elf had written only two words on the otherwise blank page.

“Sweet Dreams”

Asher tried to draw his sword, but his feet were all tangled together, and his backpack felt suddenly very heavy. The last thing he heard as the blackness closed in was the elf’s delighted laughter.

Chapter 6: Downward Bound

A dull ache hammered inside Asher’s head, right behind his eyes, and he had felt a puddle of drool, cool against his cheek on his pillow. Then he opened his eyes to realize that it wasn’t a pillow. It was Phil’s stomach that was supporting his head, and the big man was snoring beneath him.

Asher went to push himself up from the floor, only to find that his hands were bound together at the wrist with a pair of slim manacles. They were made of the same grayish blue metal that formed the links of the chainmail the two elves wore, and they had fixed a larger set of cuffs around the ankles of Asher’s boots.

He wriggled himself into a seated position against the wall between his friends and saw that they too were bound in similar fashion. At least Razuru was awake, and the little gemling nodded a weary greeting to him.

“Good morning!” the male elf said cheerfully as he sat, rummaging through one of the three enchanted backpacks that Asher and his friends had been carrying. He sat cross-legged on the floor with the trio of ever-burning lamps they had been wearing on the ground beside him, next to Asher’s sword.

“Why are you doing this?” Asher asked, his voice still husky from sleep, “You’re delvers too, aren’t you?”

The elf gave him a disbelieving look and shook his head, laughing.

“They’re not delvers,” Razuru whispered, “They’re monsters.”

“Monsters!” the purple-skinned elf scoffed. He clucked his tongue disapprovingly as he counted out the large number of rolls of sanitary tissue that the priestess had stuffed into Razuru’s pack.

“They’re shadow elves,” Razuru continued, “They live down on the lower levels.”

“Lower levels?” the elf scoffed, “You people really have no idea how deep this place goes, do you?”

“How deep does it go?” Asher asked, more curious than afraid now. He reasoned that, if the elves planned on killing them, they probably wouldn’t have bothered chaining them up.

The elf juggled a roll of privy paper back and forth between his hands as he considered the question. “Well, I’ve only been down as far as Lower Ten, which is counting down from our home level, mind you, so that would be…

“Shut up!” the female elf known as Tesha snapped as she reappeared through the archway from the other chamber.

“The boy was just curious,” the male elf sighed, “I didn’t see any harm in educating him a bit about his new home.”

“All they need to know is that, if they don’t do as they are told, or if they try to run away, I’ll cut their hands and feet off and leave them for the jakaali!” Tesha hissed.

“I’ve read about…” Razuru started to say, but his voice trailed off to silence as the elf woman turned her cold gaze upon him.

“What are you going to do with us?” Asher asked.

“You might as well tell them that much,” Tesha said to her companion, “The others are coming in now, and we’ll be moving out as soon as they get here. Make sure the merchandise knows its place… or just cut their throats. I don’t care which.”

Tesha turned and stalked from the room again, but this time, Asher didn’t find her ass quite as attractive as he had the night before… or was it still nighttime now?

“Don’t worry,” the male elf said once she was gone, “I wouldn’t really cut your throats. You’re worth far too much money.”

“You’re going to sell us?” Razuru gasped.

The elf grinned and nodded.

“To who?” Asher asked.

The elf shrugged and replied, “To the highest bidder, of course.”

“What?” Phil mumbled as he stirred to wakefulness now, “What happened?”

“Would you like to fill him in, or shall I?” the elf asked with a friendly glance at Asher.

“These guys are shadow elves who live in the Delve,” Asher explained, “and they’re going to sell us as slaves.”

“Those packs are guild property!” Phil cried as he rolled into a seated position at Asher’s side.

“Oh, dear!” the elf exclaimed in mock alarm, “I hope the guild doesn’t send me a sternly-worded letter!”

“They don’t belong to you,” Phil grumbled, “and we don’t either!”

“Wrong, on both counts,” the elf quipped.

Phill growled in frustration as he tried to pull free of the manacles, managing only to rub the skin of his wrists raw in the attempt.

“What’s your name?” Razuru asked.

The elf looked momentarily startled by the question, and then he sprang to his feet with surprising grace before bowing toward the gemling with a flourish of his left hand.

“Mendicio Hearthblack, at your service,” the elf said.

“My name’s Razuru,” the gemling said, “Pleased to meet you.”

Mendicio stood straight again and graced Razuru with a genuine smile. “I think this one will do quite well down here,” he said.

“Can I ask you a favor, Mendicio?” Razuru said.

“You can ask anything you’d like, little friend,” Mendicio quipped.

Razuru gestured toward the pile of gear beside the open backpack on the floor. “That’s my book there,” he said, “Would you mind giving it back to me?”

Mendicio raised one silvery eyebrow as he considered the request.

“In point of fact,” Mendicio sighed, “None of this belongs to you anymore, not even yourselves. This is all property of House Colwriver.”

“Oh,” Razuru said, his eyes falling in disappointment.

“But…” Mendicio said, rubbing his chin, “I don’t see any harm in letting you carry it for us.”

“Really?” Raz exclaimed, his snout curling in renewed hope.

“At least until we reach the auction house,” Mendicio said, passing the tattered book of monster facts to the grateful gemling.

“Can I carry my sword too?” Asher dared to ask.

Mendicio simply laughed in response.

“Get that trash stowed away and get them moving!” Tesha shouted from the other room, “The boss is back!”

Mendicio the shadow elf hurriedly stuffed the stolen gear back into Raz’s backpack. He looped all three lamp pendants around his neck and then tucked Asher’s sword under his arm before moving to help the prisoners to their feet.

Asher thought about making a grab for the sword when the elf pulled him up from the floor, but with his hands and feet bound and who knew how many shadow elves standing between him and freedom, it would have been suicide.

“Grab those packs and head that way,” Mendicio said, gesturing toward the dark room beyond the archway.

“We can’t wear the packs with our hands tied like this,” Phil protested,

“You don’t have to carry them very far,” Mendicio sighed, “just out to the rail line. We’ll load everything on the carriage there.”

“Carriage?” Razuru said curiously.

“We’ll soon be riding in style, my friends,” the elf chuckled, “but, seriously, get moving before Tesha cuts all our feet off!”

Asher shuffled as quickly as he could across the floor, hobbled as he was by the short chain between his ankle cuffs. He grabbed the strap of one of the packs and hefted it just high enough to clear the floor.

The going proved even more difficult after that as the fully-laden backpack was now banging into his shins with every short step he took, and he was muttering curses with every breath by the time he managed to waddle his way across the dusty chamber on the other side of the archway to reach the stone platform where Tesha stood, staring into the darkness of a large, tube-like tunnel.

“Our passengers are ready to depart!” Mendicio announced as the panting prisoners shuffled to a halt.

Tesha ignored him, her long ears straining to hear something in the darkness.

Then Asher heard it too, a low, metallic clattering sound, growing louder as it approached from farther up the tunnel.

“What’s that?” Razuru whispered.

“I don’t know,” Asher whispered back.

The clattering grew louder by the moment until it became an almost deafening shriek of tortured metal. It was then that Asher noticed the twin rails of gray-blue steel that rain the length of the tunnel, barely visible in the light of the arcane lamps, set into the tunnel floor, six feet below the base of the raised platform on which they stood.

Then another light filled the darkness as something enormous rounded a bend in the tunnel, rattling its way toward them at frightening speed.

Asher and his friends fell back a step as a beam of indigo light lanced across the platform, and the horrible shriek of grinding metal gears rattled their bones.

Then the indigo light was gone as the great mechanical monstrosity it was affixed to hurtled past the platform, showering those gathered on it with a spray of orange sparks.

“Is she going to stop?” Mendicio growled.

“Back it up!” a woman’s voice yelled as the great mechanical contraption ground to a halt in the tunnel before them.

Asher coughed as a cloud of smoke rolled over him, and he squinted through it to see what appeared to be a broad, metal-framed carriage, attached to some kind of machine, so large that it filled the whole tunnel ahead of the carriage. The whole thing now lurched and reversed its course to slowly bring the door of the carriage back in line with the platform.

“What is that!” Razuru gasped.

“I still don’t know,” Asher replied.

Mendicio hurried to the carriage door and pulled a latch to swing it open, allowing another shadow elf to step out.

Asher’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. This woman stood about six inches taller than the other elves, and very little of her violet-hued skin was covered by what served as her clothing.

A slender thong of black silk barely concealed the elf woman’s sex, and twin disks of beaten gold capped her glorious breasts. She wore knee-high black boots and a matching leather collar, from which hung a cape of cobweb-thin gossamer that flowed like a fine mist in the air behind her as she strode across the platform to embrace Tesha.

“How was your journey?” Tesha asked between a pair of lingering kisses that she shared with the newcomer.

“It was well worth the expense,” the tall elf woman sighed as she slipped one hand up under Tesha’s chainmail and fondled her breast, “I missed you.”

“I’ll make it up to you later,” Tesha promised with another breathless kiss.

Asher was grateful that the backpack he was holding concealed his body from the waist down. He really didn’t want the shadow elves to see his reaction to the wanton display before him.

“And what did you find?” the tall elf asked as she turned her smoldering, lapis-colored gaze upon the prisoners now.

“A few stragglers from the surface wandered into our camp while we were waiting,” Tesha explained, “We thought they might help pad the numbers a bit.”

Asher couldn’t help but tremble as the mostly-nude elf woman swept down upon them like some over-sexed bird of prey. Phil was blushing furiously and averting his eyes as the tall elf leaned close to inspect him. He sucked in his breath as she ran her long fingers across his chest and shoulders to feel his muscles, and he groaned in alarm when she reached down to cup the bulge in the front of his breeches.

“Not bad,” the elf woman purred as she moved on to Asher next.

Asher lifted his chin defiantly, but couldn’t quite bring himself to meet her gaze as she eyed him like a bull in a stockyard.

This time, she didn’t waste time with his muscles but slipped her hand directly between his legs. He let out a little whimper as she grasped the swollen prize she found there and squeezed hard.

“Oh, my!” the elf woman exclaimed, “I may have to sample this one myself before he goes on the block!”

Tesh gave her mistress a gracious smile, but the glance she gave Asher was one of utter loathing.

The shadow elf leader moved on to Razuru next, and the little gemling looked up at her in terror as he clutched his pack tightly with his precious book tucked beneath one arm.

“Isn’t he adorable?” the woman said, stroking one of Raz’s ears with her fingertips.

Razuru giggled helplessly, his shoulders hunched and snout curled as she tickled him.

“Is it a male?” she asked.

“I haven’t checked,” Tesha replied flatly.

“The breeders might be interested in this one,” the mistress said. She ruffled Raz’s fur one last time and then strode across the platform, returning to the waiting carriage.

“Come along,” she called back to them, “I want you to see what I found!”

“Let’s go,” Mendicio said quietly, waving the prisoners after Tesha and their mistress into to carriage.

Asher hustled along as best he could, taking a moment to navigate the slender gap between the edge of the stone platform and the doorway of the strange metal carriage.

Once inside, his eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim light of the glowing amethyst crystals set into brass sockets in the richly-upholstered walls of the carriage. Soft black carpet cushioned his steps, and the cool air withing smelled faintly of strawberries and soot. A long bench of black velvet cushions ran along the opposite wall of the carriage, and a pair of male shadow elves lounged there who looked so similar that they might have been twins. One of them was reading a book and showed no indication that he had noticed the arrival of the newcomers, but the other one flashed Asher a dangerous glare over the top of the long curved knife that he was using to carve slices from an apple.

Tesha and her mistress were already disappearing through a curtained doorway in the back of the carriage.

“Keep moving,” Mendicio commanded, “All the way to the back.

Asher and his friends shuffled as quickly as they could through the curtained doorway, anxious to be rid of their burdens. As Asher stepped through the curtain, he was greeted with the scent of ripened fruits and the faint tang of sweat.

He found himself standing in some sort of cargo hold, packed from floor to ceiling with crates of fresh berries and apples. The two shadow elf women were standing at the far end of the carriage in front of some sort of large animal cage. Their bodies blocked his view of whatever creature was housed within it, and he had a momentary twinge of panic that he was about to be stuffed into the cage with some sort of wild beast.

He heard the carriage door being latched shut behind them, and Mendicio banged on the wall with his fist, shouting, “All in!”

Asher stumbled forward, nearly falling as the carriage lurched into motion again beneath his feet. His empty stomach churned within him at the sensation of falling sideways as the carriage rocketed back up to full speed in a manner of moments. Swaying on his feet, he fell against a crate of strawberries and then sunk to his knees, feeling light-headed.

Then he looked up across the room again, just as the two elf women stepped apart, and he saw, at last, the subject of their conversation.

Inside the cage sat a girl, wearing only a ragged loincloth and mud-stained boots. She looked through the bars toward Asher, her eyes filled with despair, and her gaze met his.

In that moment, Asher swore within his heart that he would do anything to help this girl, no matter who she was, no matter what risks he must take to free her.

And no matter that her skin was green.

(To Be Continued?)

I hope you enjoyed it, and please let me know what you think!