I fear he has found me,

The hunter that always comes

and so I have days at most now.

-Note within the hidden journal.

Finnis Ter led Vallerian down a narrow corridor. Two large guards had formed rank behind them. They were an intimidating pair, and Vallerian swore he could feel a blade at his neck already.

It was a cramped, shadowed walkway. Only the occasional flickering torch lit the cut stone walls. These paths beneath the pits twisted and turned in complex patterns. It was smart, Vallerian realized, keeping your ‘guests’ on unsure footing. It just left Vallerian feeling ill at ease. Could he make his way out of here without these men? They passed door after door lining the long walls. From behind most of the doors came terrible sounds Vallerian didn’t want to think about. Others would be dead silent, then someone would slip out of the room covered in crimson. At that sight, he wondered if he had made a mistake coming down here. A question that had come too late as he strode through the bowels of the beast. Vallerian silently followed, hoping Celeste’s ire hadn’t put him in Ethinia’s bad books.

“Here.” The Jöln stopped in front of a splintering wooden door. “The boy is within; I hope you will remember our… generosity my Lord.” Finnis Ter shone a grin not unlike a viper. “Oh, and perhaps you might curry some favour by giving him his pay.” The Jöln reached up and placed a small pouch of coins in his hand. “For his win. It was a pleasure to do business with you, Lord Tarnarquill. I look forward to our next meeting.” The Jöln gave a flourished bow, then turned to walk away. Thankfully the two brutes followed.

“How am I supposed to find my way out of here?” Vallerian called after the man. Finnis didn’t even turn as he spoke.

“Ask the boy. If you’re lucky he will show you.”

Vallerian felt ill at the idea. Whoever this kid was, Vallerian was at his mercy. Vallerian hated counting on other people. It often turned out poorly. If he was lucky. Vallerian scowled at the Jöln’s words, when had he ever been lucky. A man makes his own luck, that’s what his teacher had always said. Vallerian shook his head and steeled himself for what came next. Then he pushed open the door.

It was a dark stone room, not unlike the corridor outside. A single flickering oil lantern casting harsh shadows on its lone occupant. The youth sat on a wooden bench in the center of the room, a small basin of water in front of him, and the lantern beside him. He was wrapping fresh cloth around his fists, crimson already staining through the thin layers. The boy looked up at him, the sharp lighting giving the boy a chiseled visage. Perhaps not a boy, a man in his younger years. His eyes carried an intensity that struck deep at Vallerian. As if this boy was weighing him with his gaze. His eyes darted to the sack of coins in Vallerian’s hand.

“Leave the coin and go. And you can tell that bastard Ter I’ll be out of here soon.” He had a booming, powerful voice. But it was not as cutting as Vallerian had expected. No, in fact he sounded more tired than angry.

“I have no intentions of seeing that man again as long as I can help it.” Vallerian responded. “It’s you I’m here for after all.” The man’s eyes narrowed.

“Look, I don’t have time for this. If you’re looking for a touch of flesh, well I’m not interested. And the Pitsmaster doesn’t own me so you can’t…”

“That is certainly not why I’m here.” Vallerian cut him off. “I’m… a friend.” Vallerian continued, stepping out of the doorway and into flickering light. He tossed the man the coin purse. “Those are for you, or so I’m told.” The lad seemed to study Vallerian’s trappings now.

“I don’t remember befriending a lord.” He responded, catching the coins. There was a deep intelligence behind those eyes, one that reminded Vallerian remarkably of Celeste. Vallerian chuckled, if all these street kids were this smart then no wonder the nobles had built their wall. The common folk would trick them all out of their money before they could blink.

“Well then you’re missing out. The befriending of lords is the exciting new thing in Southshore, haven’t you heard?” Vallerian grinned. The man still seemed wary. “The name’s Vallerian.” Vallerian bowed his head slightly. “And you?”

The young man sighed, rising from his seat, and turning from Vallerian. “Why are you here? Honestly?”

The man didn’t like to waste words it seemed. Fine. “I’m here on behalf of Celeste.” Vallerian responded. The man turned to him, slowly, with a lifted brow.

“Am I supposed to know who that is?” He asked. Vallerian studied the man now. Tall, relatively handsome, muddy blonde hair, right age. This should be the man he was looking for. But surely, he would remember running around with the bloody prophetess. Wouldn’t he?

“Celeste? The Holy Prophetess of Ethinia? One eye gold, one eye silver? Bad habit of causing trouble every time she trips over her own hair?” Vallerian clarified.

The man’s eyes went wide, and he stumbled back. He looked as though he had been struck by a club. The lad fell back into his seat, running fingers through his long sweat and dirt matted hair.

“You… you are friends with her?” The man asked, his entire demeanour had changed in a heartbeat. Where he had been angry before, he showed only concern now. “Is she safe? Has something happened to her?” He rose, stepping towards Vallerian with purpose.

“She’s fine lad.” Vallerian answered, and he saw visible relief sweep over the lad. “She misses you though. If you’ll come with me, we can rectify that.” Vallerian spun and headed towards the door. “What was your name again?” Vallerian called back but stopped when he didn’t hear footsteps following him.

“My name… My name is Kriss. And I can’t come.” Kriss called out to him. Vallerian turned to look at him once more.

“I thought you said the Pitsmaster didn’t…”

“He doesn’t.” Kriss snapped. “But I… I’m not who she remembers me to be.” Kriss clenched his half-wrapped fists. Crimson buds blossomed through the cloth, and the man kept his eyes down. “I’ve… I’ve done things since she left. I’m not worthy of her anymore.”

Vallerian really did not have time for some street kid’s histrionics. He strode across the room and placed his hand on Kriss’ shoulder.

“If you know her as well as you seem to lad, then you know that she won’t care. The girl will be happy to see you.” Vallerian comforted him. “Gods know she’s happy enough to meet every starving peasant we run across.” Kriss looked up to him with those big brown eyes of his. Those eyes stood out down here, they weren’t haunted like every other he’d seen.

“I… I can’t go. I’m sorry.” Kriss shrugged off Vallerian’s hand and walked back to his seat. His large shape silhouetted with weak golden light.

“What now?” Vallerian groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I have another fight today. I can’t afford to miss it.” Kriss returned to unwrapping his hands. “I have responsibilities I can’t ignore.”

“Look, I’ll pay off whatever it is you owe. I can do that much.”

“I don’t owe anything.” Kriss said. “I wouldn’t put myself at the mercy of the merciless.” Kriss let out a heavy sigh. “But I have people that rely on me. I can’t let them down.”

“A child?” Vallerian asked. It might make things difficult, but Vallerian could work around it. How would Celeste react to that though? Probably ecstatic to see a baby, he thought. Kriss chuckled at the suggestion.

“Me? A child? No, no.” Kriss shook his head. “Nothing like that. Just some people I keep an eye on. from where I grew up. Good people.” Kriss rubbed the back of his neck. Vallerian grinned, this was a problem he could fix easily.

“How much do you make from fights in a week?” Vallerian asked, preparing himself for a large sum. He would have to explain to his wife that it was a necessary expense for the job. She wouldn’t be happy. She had lectured him only a few months ago on his spending habits, but even she would agree this was a reasonable expense. Vallerian didn’t want to think how much the boy must be getting paid if he was risking his life the way he…

“One silver dracama a fight.” Kriss held up a finger. “And I can usually manage seven to ten fights a week.”

Vallerian stared at the boy. Ten dracama a week? That was it? His undergarments were worth more than that. Vallerian grinned, this would be easy then.

“Well, boy, congratulations you just got yourself a new occupation.”