Relan looked at the unconscious Orc and said, “I am a failure as a Hero.”

“You’ll get no argument from me,” said Boltac. “But don’t feel bad. Most Heroes are. Now what do we do about this?” he said, gesturing at the Orc.

“Kill him?”

“Me or you, Mr. Hero?”

Relan flinched a little at this. Boltac’s expression softened and he scratched the side of his round face. “Well, figure they already know we’re here. And one more Orc won’t make much of a difference.”

“But, you must kill him, Boltac, you must!” said Relan with great sincerity.

“En-henh. Well, if it’s so important to you, why don’t you take my sword off your hip and cut him down.” Boltac looked down at the Orc. As it slept, its terrible features somehow took on an innocence. When Relan did not speak, Boltac said, “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Tie him tight, we’ll leave him.”

“But how are we going to get out? It’s a maze Boltac. A maze!” whined Relan.

Boltac slapped Relan across the face. “Now, you listen to me. I didn’t ask you to come. In fact, I told you not to come. I told you you’d probably get killed, right?”

Relan nodded, rubbing the red mark on his face.

“And are you killed yet?”

Relan stood there, still breathing.

“Then cheer up, ‘cause things could be a whole lot worse. And likely will be before we’re done. You wanted an Adventure, ya big dumb ox, and you got one. So now what are you gonna do?”

Relan didn’t say anything, but knelt down and began binding the Orc with strips of leather that he cut from its jerkin.

Boltac stuck his belly out and stretched a good long stretch. “Okay,” he said to himself. “Now that we’re good and screwed, how do we renegotiate this deal?”

“May I suggest stealth?” whispered Rattick’s voice from the shadows.

“You sneaky bastard,” exclaimed Boltac, “you’re alive!”

“Yes, I am rather less dead than my enemies would like. This is the truth of it.”

“How did you survive?” Relan asked.

“The Gods love a thief,” said Rattick.

“You know, Rattick,” said Boltac, looking directly into the shadow where he thought Rattick was, “as your employer, I have to tell you, I have some serious questions to ask you. Not the least of which is, why didn’t you tell me there were so many of these things?” he asked, gesturing towards the Orc.

Rattick stepped out of the shadow behind Boltac and said, “To be honest, I did not think you would survive this long.”

To Boltac’s credit, he didn’t jump… much. “En-henh, so now what?”

“For all the gold you have, I can return you and the boy to the surface where you will be safe.”

“I didn’t come this far to return home empty-handed.”

“You wish to go on?” Rattick asked, his thick eyebrows expressing surprise.

“En-henh.”

“You, perhaps,” said Rattick, “but I don’t think the youngling is still so keen.”

“My courage is as good as yours, sir.”

Rattick unwrapped his cape of faded black. He stood toe-to-toe with Relan and looked up into his eyes. “I am no sir,”–he looked the lad up and down in a way that made his next word a curse–“sir. And what does that make of your courage?”

“Test me and you will find me ready, sir,” said Relan, trying to make an insult of his own. But the quaver in his voice was less than convincing.

“Very well,” said Rattick, giving Boltac a mocking bow, “I lead where my Master commands.”

“What’sa plan, Rattick?”

Rattick bent down and lifted the Orc’s tunic. He plunged his dagger into the soft part of the Orc’s thigh and held the creature’s garment away from the spurt of greenish-black blood. The Orc let out a soft, sinking moan, as if it was deflating into death. The blood pulsed slower and slower until finally Rattick said, “There, now you can untie it. Bring me its clothes.”

Relan was wide-eyed and pale. He looked to Boltac. Boltac just observed everything with a look of professional disgust. As if the whole thing were going to cost him money no matter what he did. Relan bent to the task.

“I know these passages far better than I have let on, stout Merchant.” Rattick said, as he wiped his dagger clean with a black rag.

“No shit, Rattick? You’ve been keeping secrets from me?” Boltac asked with absolutely no air of surprise.

“You have no idea.”

“En-henh. So, once again, what’sa plan?”

“By keeping to the shadows and whispering with their ancient tongue, I have found the woman. She is being kept by the Wizard in a room at the very bottom of this dungeon.”

“You found her, and you didn’t bring her back with you?”

“Gods, no!” hissed Rattick. “She is clumsy and loud like you. And how am I to know that she would not do something stupid, like this one?” He pointed at Relan. “For money, I risk my skin, but for nothing do I risk my life.”

“A wise policy, Rattick, and one I support. But can you get us to her?”

“I can, but you will have to do what I say, when I say it,” he pointed at Relan, “Especially you. If you do not, I will slit your throat myself.”

“I’d like to see you try,” said Relan.

“That’s the point,” Rattick said, his eyes floating glassily in the feeble light of the winding darkness, “you wouldn’t see me try. You wouldn’t see me at all.”

“All right, all right, Mr. Death-Waits-in-the-Friggin-Darkness, you’re very scary–do you have a plan or not?”

“I do,” said Rattick, “but you won’t like it.” Then he stripped the crude clothing from the Orc. When he was done, he said, “Now we must skin him.”

“Skin him!” said Relan.

“I told you you weren’t going to like it.”