The Rude Rubies rode west, where the sun lived. Their journey would not be a long or dangerous one. It was an easy, safe ride along the roads for even the average traveler. It was an even easier trip when accompanied by military escort, regardless of what they called themselves.

Not being members of the Army of Yendell, or even citizens of the nation of Yendell, Lt. Chrincha couldn’t legally compel the Rude Rubies to go anywhere. Bonnelle and her company of adventurers were merely riding to Yendell based on a suggestion they received from Chrincha. The few dozen soldiers who surrounded the Rude Rubies were merely fellow travelers headed for the same place.

Hunched over on her doe, Essenia, Ayara watched the soldiers shadowing her and the other Rude Rubies. At the head of it was Lieutenant Chrincha, who became frustratingly tight-lipped as soon as they departed Fairlaigh.

Beside Ayara rode Kornin, astride his bull elk, Torkin, whose hooves churned the pebble-laden dirt with each step. Torkin snatched up a mouthful of dewy grass from the side of the road and proceeded to chew it with sloppy, open-mouthed smacks. Ayara suspected the animal had taught Kornin how to eat.

“I’m going to fall behind,” Ayara whispered to Kornin, leaning to the side on her ride.

“Is your deer tired,” Kornin asked Ayara. He looked over her doe with a sidelong glance.

“Essenia is fine,” Ayara snapped. She leaned lowered her voice to a surreptitious whisper: “I want to see how much I can stray before provoking a response.”

“Ayara, we’re about two-thirds of the way there already. There’s no point to causing trouble now,” his voice was loud enough to be a repudiation of her attempted covertness.

“Just … pay attention,” she said.

“Fine.” He sighed in exasperation.

Ayara chirped a command for the doe to slow to a trot. As she behind, Ayara watched the movements of the troops around her. The ones in the rear drew further back to maintain their distance while those flanking her eventually broke off to rejoin the bulk of the traveling party. Everyone ahead disappeared behind a hill-lined bend in the road and Ayara was left alone with the team behind her.

Realizing she was vulnerable, Ayara began to turn the screws on her gloves to unseal their lenses. Ahead, a trio of soldiers—including the Lieutenant—charged around the corner toward her. Seeing them approach made Ayara jerk suddenly which caused Essenia to canter a moment. Ayara watched as the soldiers rode past her and then listened to them circle back. They kept pace with her, following just north, off the road.

Daring a glance, Ayara saw Chrincha was in the lead and staring her down. The three drifted closer. They rounded the bend and Ayara saw her companions and their shadows were far ahead. Her mouth went dry as fear gripped her. Could she fend the lieutenant off long enough for Bonnelle and the others to join her? Would they be too busy contending with the other soldiers?

Chrincha came so near he could strike her with his staff. She could hear his horse’s breathing above the tromping of its feet. Yet he said nothing. Finally, wanting to ask him what he was up to, Ayara whipped her head around to face him.

The soldiers on Lt. Chrincha’s sides had their swords drawn. The soldiers behind her were holding their bows. When had they armed themselves? Pushing her lips to her doe’s left ear, Ayara commanded her to race ahead. Sweat beaded on Ayara’s forehead. She didn’t hear the soldiers giving chase. Why should they? Pressuring her into returning to the group was what they wanted, wasn’t it? To what lengths were they willing to go to ensure she wasn’t lost to them?

How far ahead had everyone gotten?! Ayara kept urging Essenia faster as she now heard the soldiers’ stampede behind her. Were they giving chase, routing her somewhere, or simply trying to keep up? She wanted to look back and see if they still had their weapons drawn but chose to focus on what was ahead.

Finally, stopped near a hill, were Bonnelle and the others. As Ayara rejoined them, Bonnelle and Kornin took sudden interest in something unseen off in the distance. The sprites were peeking out from under the flap of their satchel hanging off Torkin’s harness.

“Isn’t this where you said you saw that giant statue of a frog orgy,” Bonnelle asked as she shaded her eyes from the sun.

Kornin looked across the horizon. “I thought I had! It must have been a cloud. My mistake.”

“Is that always the kind of thing you see in clouds,” Ayara asked, her lips twisted in a wry grin as she and Essenia strode into the group.

“No. Sometimes they’re toads,” Kornin answered as he flashed her a leering smile.

Bonnelle nudged closer atop her pony. “Learn anything interesting?”

“I’m important enough to Yendell’s plans for the Lieutenant’s personal attention. They were ready to fight to keep me with you.” Ayara watched Lt. Chrincha and the others return.

“Well then don’t go running off again,” Bonnelle huffed. “If this isn’t about a contract, then I’d like to hold off on them dropping the pretense. Although … that would mean being in Yendell.”

“At which point we’re trapped,” Kornin said.

As a little girl, freshly emigrated from the great mountain city of Yendell, Ayara often fantasized about returning. It would be triumphant and everyone would let he know how much they’d missed ever; even complete strangers. Now she faced the prospect of returning only to face death or imprisonment. Younger her might have even preferred those to continued existence in the arid wasteland that was Fairlaigh. “What did Kornin say to get you to come wait for me,” Ayara asked Bonnelle.

“He used the code for ‘Ayara is in trouble,’” Bonnelle answered.

“You have a code for that?” Ayara bit her lower lip. Shouldn’t she have been told such codes for the other members of the company?

“’Frog orgy,’” Kornin said.

“You need to hold your liquor better; you miss out on vital things during our Company meetings.” Bonnelle made a playful wink.

Chrincha approached Bonnelle, still flanked, but none had weapons readied. “A word,” his voice made the breeze chill.

“As many as you’d like, Lieutenant; there’s still plenty of road ahead.” Bonnelle fluttered her eyes.

“It would be appreciated if you keep your company together during this journey. These lands are fraught with peril, and we can’t allow any of you to endanger yourselves just because your doe has gotten tired.”

“Essenia is fine,” Ayara snapped.

Kornin cleared his throat. “We’re about to enter the Yendell Path. These are some of the safest lands in the World of Light.” He stared at the Lieutenant with a mocking disbelief.

“Yes. About that, Chrincha,” Bonnelle said.

“Lieutenant Chricha,” the elf corrected her.

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” Bonnelle drew out the title. “But I can’t help but notice that you’re taking us in entirely the wrong direction if we’re supposed to go rescue someone in the Land of Darkness. Shouldn’t we have gone east to secure a boat?”

“I’ve not said that we’re going to the Land of Darkness.”

“You said the contract involves the Land of Darkness,” Bonnelle was quick to reply.

“Yes!” Kornin pointed at the Lieutenant. “Three days back after I asked you for more detail on the contract. You said—” He straightened his posture and puffed out his bare chest to speak in a deeper tone: “‘I can only tell you that the contract is for a rescue operation and that it involves the Land of Darkness.’”

“I did not say the individual being rescued is in the Land of Darkness.”

“Fine then. Maybe the rescue isn’t in the Land of Darkness, but if we aren’t going there for some reason why would that place matter to the contract?” Bonnelle leaned back in her saddle, exasperated.

“The details of the contract will be discussed in Yendell.” The Lieutenant answered, his voice dry as ever.

The final stretch of the Yendell Path, with the mountain city beckoning at the end, was a marvel to behold once more. Ayara’s final memory of the road was of watching the mountain city recede as she stared at if from the back of a carriage as it bounced down the wide, white road. On the opposite side of the carriage’s cabin sat her mother, who cradled Ayara’s bawling baby bother. Outside, in the driver’s box, her father and his brother, Toran, were yelling at each other about the particulars of their flight from Yendell. As much as she might shame her younger self’s fantasies of returning, she knew the fluttering in her heart as she beheld the silhouette of the flat mountain beyond, was that younger self’s cheering at finally realizing a dream.

It was late the next day when the elves arrived at the towering city. In the shadow of the mountain, Ayara saw a night darker than any for the past 1,200 years, which was a deep violet. Far off in the distance there was the rich red and purple she knew; a dusk that never completed until it was broken by the dawn. Her lips parted slightly as she wondered if she really was headed towards the Dark Lands, where one could see an actual night. Lieutenant Chrincha had informed Bonnelle and her Company that they would not be entering Yendell proper. Instead, they would be meeting in the Narrows, a mini-city outside of the mountain, in the relatively erudite neighborhood known as the Golden Vein which was tucked into crevasse on the eastern face.

“Typical Yendell snobs,” Bonnelle snorted. She lead her companions through the lower Narrows. There, they wound between hovels built in and between the scattered insides of the mountain. This wasn’t even a place for destitute elves cast from the capital city. This was a place for dwarves, orcs, and even the occasional human to eke out their living.

“They don’t think we’re good enough to let inside the city walls to talk with a bureaucrat,” Kornin said. His bull elk struggled to navigate the too-slim streets flowing between boulders. A couple of Yendell soldiers—Lt. Chrincha had separated from the group to handle some other matters—were riding ahead of Bonnelle’s company to clear their path to the meeting.

Ayara eyed an orc couple sitting on a doorstep and watching the Rude Rubies parade past. They embraced one another with their muscular arms. There was a half empty wine bottle standing up between them. Ayara locked eyes with the woman, who flashed her a faint smile, her sharp little tusks baring as she did. Fearing she’d imposed on their quiet, Ayara hid her face under her headscarf and pressed ahead. Leaving her embarrassment behind she raced past Bonnelle and even the escorts. There was some rancor ahead, causing Ayara to bring Essenia to slow tror. Ayara craned her neck to peer inside the cantankerous alley as she passed.

There she saw a trio of goblins who were drunkenly singing as they huddled against the wall. It was a funny tune which none of them seemed to agree on the details of. At any point one of them would be too fast or too slow, and only two were ever aligned on the pitch. It was a lilting melody, somewhere between lullaby and shanty that they might be struggling to recall if they weren’t making it up as they went.

They were terrible singers, by elven standards. Far too discordant to be beautiful … and yet it was. Her lips parted lightly, wanting to join them in the efforts. Just as she was about to throw back her hood and whistle along tiny claws pinched her left shoulder. She looked to see Henri perched there on his crow, Cawcaw. When she looked back into the alley, the goblins had scattered—leaving behind a pair of bottles that spun, then toppled, and spilled liquid into dirt ground.

“What’s going on?” Henri peered into the alley.

“Nothing.” Ayara commanded Essenia to proceed down the road.

“Bonnelle said she saw graffiti depicting a frog orgy ...” Henri began to explain.

“I know. I know. At least they weren’t toads.” A smile crawled across Ayara’s face. She hoped that fornicating amphibians had not always been so common a subject among her companions.

After climbing a ramp that was steep, despite switch-backing up foot of the mountain, the group finally arrived in the Golden Vein. The name was apt as this place where wealthy dwarves and elves did business and government workers pushed papers was awash in the amber light of lamps lining the cobblestone street and flooding in from the windows of taverns and inns. They made their way to a building butting against the rockface, where a banner hung over the door which read “Office of Narrows Management and other Capital of Yendell Facilities.” Below it, a smaller notice informed “Elf Admittance Only or Else Elven Accompaniment is Required; Monster Business Uses Side Door.”

The company dismounted and tied their animals to posts lining the street outside the front door. The sprites’ birds landed on the ground, and the two diminutive riders hopped off. Their birds flew to the roof of the building and watched from above as guards filed out of the building and barked at the Rude Rubies to submit their weapons before entering.

The elves hadn’t been savvy enough to deny the sprites their robes, which housed an assortment of magical reagents. Between those and Ayara’s gloves, which the security team also didn’t recognize as a weapon, the Rude Rubies had the unspoken agreement they were ready for any waiting trap. They proceeded into the building, standing side-by-side, the sprites seated on Kornin’s shoulders.

The building was not a display of the artistry of Yendell. It was cold and sterile; an office building built by budget-minded civil servants. The stark lighting betrayed the unimaginative colors and dull decorations.

“This room,” a uniformed elf directed. Inside there was a table, with Chrincha and a stern looking elf woman in a uniform of the Yendell colors of crimson and gold seated on one side. Her hair was pulled up into a severe bun. They watched Bonnelle and her company entered and took chairs, clustering on the other side. Henri and Renaut jumped from Kornin’s shoulders and shared a seat. Ayara dragged her chair closer to the door and sat there, legs crossed and hands gripping the bottom of her seat so as to hide her gloves, and watched the hallway for anyone coming.

“Okay, Chrincha. We’re here in Yendell,” Bonnelle said.

“The Narrows,” the uniformed woman interrupted.

“Right, the Narrows. Will you tell us about this contract, now?” Bonnelle wriggled in her seat which was too narrow for her bulk. Kornin managed to sit comfortably, although he humped over to set his arms on the table.

The two Yendell officers exchanged looks. Then, after a deep breath, the woman began to speak: “Good evening, Lady Rhodian.”

Seated behind the dwarf, closer to the door, Ayara heard her boss mutter curses. Bonnelle came from an important family among the dwarves but made it a point to not capitalize on her background. She detested the title “Lady.”

“Yes, good evening. And you are,” she drew out the question, tilting her head towards the woman.

With a twitching nod the elven woman cleared her throat before answering “I am Prefect Senaria. I have been put in charge of this matter.”

“What, exactly, is this ‘matter,’” Kornin asked.

“You, Lady Rhodian—“

It was the dwarf’s turn to interrupt. “Bonnelle will suffice. Or Bonnie.” Bonnelle tapped her chubby forefinger to the tip of her nose. “Let’s go with Bonnie, actually!” The dwarf knew the Prefect would despise such informality.

“Bonnie,” the Prefect shuddered as the said the name. “What can you tell me about the Dread Lord Withering Sorrows?”

Tilting her head back, her red curls spilling over the back of her seat, Bonnelle breathed in deep. “Is this the contract? You wanted the benefit of my extensive knowledge of the Dark Lands and its rulers? Why’d you bring me here for that? You could’ve just bought us some drinks back at Fairlaigh and slipped me a purse and I could have gone on all day and night about the Dread Lords! If you’d gotten me drunk enough, I wouldn’t even have cared if you didn’t pay me!”

“No, Bonnie.” The Prefect tilted her head toward Chrincha. The Lieutenant produced a rolled-up scroll from beneath the table and slapped it down. Kornin picked up the scroll and unfurled it. He took a moment to look it over, whistled sharp and long, then looked at Bonnelle with a boyish grin.

“The contract is not for information,” the Prefect said. “As Chrincha has told you, it is a rescue operation, in the Dark Lands, from the Dread Lord Withering Sorrows’ domain.”

“It’s for a small fortune,” Kornin commented as he handed the scroll to Bonnelle.

Bonnelle looked over the contract. As she did, she commented with uncharacteristic flatness in her voice. “That particular Dread Lord is deep into the Dark Lands. Working your way back to the eastern, sailing past the terminator, and then working through the Land of Darkness? We’re talking four months if things go especially well. I know some Dread Lords who would make the travel easier for us, but in the Dark Lands there are more dangerous things than orc patrols. Half a year for this kind of operation, probably.”

Bonnelle rolled up the scroll and pointed it at the two military officers. “I’m used to going into the Land of Darkness to get enchanted items. Sometimes we act as guides for hunters wanting to go after some unique game. A rescue operation, though? I don’t think I’ve heard of the Dread Lords taking prisoners from our side of the world in … well, probably before either of you were born! It’s something the Dread Lords consider rather ... gauche … these days. Withering Sorrows is not gauche.”

“We don’t believe this elf was taken prisoner; he went there of his own volition. However, the Dread Lord appears unwilling to give him up to us at this time,” Chrincha said. He received a sharp look from the Prefect, likely for speaking out of turn.

Leaning forward, Kornin spoke: “The contract didn’t say, so I’ll have to ask: who could be so important you’d be willing to take on a wraith to get him back? For that you need an army! I’ve only been working with Bonnelle for a few years, and we’re good, but we’re not that good.” Kornin sat back in his seat and ruminated aloud as he raked his fingertips along the stubble on his chin. “Although I suppose your army is occupied with that Sorceress taking over your lands.”

Prefect Senaria took a moment to respond. Her eyebrows were knitted into stern V that mirrored the cruel smile on her lips, as though she had smug satisfaction from springing a trap. “Well, Kornin of the Bolistars…”

Her boyfriend stiffened at such a formal address.

The prefect continued. “The man you are after is named Toran,” she finally answered, staring at Ayara. “Just Toran,” she added, her face as sour as her tone. “As he and his family were stripped of their lineage when they went into exile from Yendell.”

This time, Ayara’s heart pounded as her younger self raged against a past that wouldn’t leave her be and felt her triumphant return to Yendell stolen. “My uncle?!” Ayara shouted, standing up so forcefully that her chair teetered on its rear legs before it crashed back into place.

As though taking a moment to enjoy a lurid bliss, the Prefect closed her eyes for a moment before responding: “Yes. He’s also the one responsible for teaching the Sorceress Harnen Brokenshield all of her magic.”