The people of Yendell were skittish; a nation didn’t stand as the most powerful in the World of Light for over four elven lifetimes by being reckless. Although mercenary company Rude Rubies had not requested an escort for the brief trip through the Golden Vein to the Prefect’s offices, Ayara noted that they’d been provided one regardless. There were signs of covert accompaniment as the group of five navigated the discordant streets: candles on windowsills flickered; late-night drunks in alleys fell silent or collectively gasped at some unexpected specter; and wooden pathways creaked under the weight of unseen pedestrians. Occasionally one of the sprites, astride their birds, would try to chase down someone in the surreptitious accompaniment amid a flurry of beating wings but they’d return without catching the phantom followers in the act.

It made Ayara seethe to think that Lt. Chrincha didn’t trust the Rude Rubies to arrive on time (if not early) or considered the wealthy part of the Rockpile so dangerous as to warrant the protection. They were heading into the Land of Darkness to face down armies of orcs and a wraith capable of reducing Yendell to pebbles but worried a destitute dwarf or mugger goblin were serious threats? How far would these soldiers go to ensure the Rude Rubies’ arrival? If they’d lingered at the tavern too long, would they have barged in and dragged them to the office building?

“Are you okay, Ayara,” Kornin asked as he watched her ascent a stairway.

“I’m fine,” was her curt answer.

The mission made no sense, either. Yes, there was a sorceress inspiring a rebellion against Yendell. A sorceress whom Ayara’s uncle, Toran, supposedly trained in the ways of magic. Yendell had thousands of instructors; surely the nation didn’t make them answer for every former student who engaged in some misdeeds. “Nobody comes to him if they can afford better, although I’m sure plenty of the expensive ones aren’t worth the money,” Ayara’s father said when his brother wasn’t around. To have reached such heights she surely had instructors after Toran; was the military seeking them out as well?

Bonnelle proved true to her word and guided the group to the office building without the slightest deviation. Even the offices bore the mark of Yendell paranoid; the guards were doubled, with archers on the roofs of the office building and neighboring structures.

Kornin held the door open for his comrades as they strode into the office building. The last time, they were able to ride up to the doors on their steeds, whereas this time they’d arranged for their rides to be boarded during the excursion to the Dark Lands. Ayara had never parted from Essenia for so long; she’d taken a long time nuzzling her doe’s snout before leaving her behind in the stables. The moment would have been sweet, had Kornin not been fuming nearby; he was being charged double the stall rate to accommodate his bull elk. They’d been advised to arrange for the long-term stays by Corporal Yalcha because “the mission could not accommodate your steeds.” Bonnelle speculated that someone had failed to budget for animal feed.

Kornin and Bonnelle were both brandishing their weapons with aplomb as they entered the building. Bonnelle held her enchanted war maul, looking as new as the day it was freshly forged, with the handle balanced on her shoulder. The head of the weapon bounced along with her wild red hair. Kornin held his club out front, occasionally tapping the head of it against the floor. There were some arrow heads embedded in its rough-hewn surface that screeched against the stone tiles, leaving white gashes in their wake. Ayara winced at the sound, but she knew Kornin was smiling with satisfaction at marring government property. He’d always taken Fairlaigh’s conflict with Yendell personally.

Two guards at a counter stood up, hands at the hilts of their blades as they displayed that classic Yendell excitability. Before they could protest armed civilians entering these hallowed offices, Bonnelle spoke up: “We’re the Rude Rubies. Lieutenant Chrincha should be expecting us.”

One of the guards bent forward, flipping through pages in a notebook. “Oh, yes, Lady Rhodian. Supposed to be here by,” he stammered as he read the related entry.

Stifling a laugh, Ayara wondered if Chrincha wrote “a half hour before an hour until and an hour past three in the morning.” She turned her head down, hiding her head under her hood.

“Would you care to sign in,” the guard asked, having given up on deciphering the Lieutenant’s details. He presented the book to Bonnelle, the other guard nudging a bottle of ink with an ostentatious feathered quill dangling out. The feather cast a golden light. It was likely from a Royal Peacock.

Bonnelle dropped her maul down on the ground. It slammed the stone tiles hard enough that Ayara heard the hairline fractures spreading out. The dwarf pushed herself up on her toes so she could reach the pen. “An enchanted quill,” Bonnelle commented as she scribbled her name into the book. “Even my family’s offices don’t enjoy such luxuries!” Ayara wondered what magic could possibly be cast on a quill but dismissed it as more Yendell nonsense.

The guard closed the book. The enchantment probably made the ink dry quickly! Then he directed the group to a hallway with double doors at the end. After Bonnelle took up her weapon, they all headed towards the doors. Beyond them there was some commotion; shouting and the scrape and squeaks of heavy boxes being pushed around. Pink light which flickered and pulsed as though it came from a fire spilled over the threshold.

The team paused just before entering. Ayara focused on Kornin’s hand splayed against the door, ready to throw it open. It was a moment before she realized everyone was looking at her. Except for Renaut, who covered her mouth in a yawn. The rest, though, had knotted eyebrows which belied a certain apprehension. Not the kind one felt when heading into battle; more the one that accompanies a turning point in one’s life. The kind that asks “are you sure” even after you’ve committed.

The elf clutched her stomach, settling an unease that she wished had come from ill-prepared food. She looked down a moment, feeling reassurance at the sight of her glove weapons. They’d gotten her through two wars; a family reunion should be easy. Besides, from that show of force Chrincha made on their way over, Ayara doubted she had much choice in the matter!

Ayara answered her companions by giving them a knowing wink as she slammed her palms into the door to push it open herself. She winced as she did so, immediately fearing that she might have broken the lenses buried in the palms of her gloves.

A contingent of soldiers stood in formation. At the head of them were Lt. Chrincha and Prefect Senaria. They were speaking protocol to the gathering. Behind all of them, mages and workers readied spells and wrangled gear. A heatless, noiseless bonfire of aqua and violet rose up from a pit in the center of the floor. The fire’s nauseating pink glow was pierced by lanterns of white along the walls. The room was permeated by an acidic smell that made Ayara’s nose crinkle.

“Like you said, Bonnelle; they’d need to send everything and everyone for a return trip, too, plus the supplies to sustain them throughout the mission,” Kornin muttered. He loosened his grip on the club and it struck the floor with an echoing thud.

The noise drew Prefect Senaria’s attention, who turned and approached the Rude Rubies. The sharp features of her face caught the pink of the fires, making them dramatic and striking as they were outlined against the deep red of her skin. Lt. Chrincha continued his speech unabated. “You’ve made it in time!” The prefect clapped her hands together as she walked towards them. Her smile bared teeth like a predator eyeing its next meal.

“Of course. As I assured the Lieutenant earlier, we will not be the ones holding back the Yendellian Army during this contract,” Bonnelle answered. She tried to match the Prefect’s smile. Doing so came with some difficulty, as the corners of her mouth twitched from the strain.

Prefect Senaria made a noise of exasperated annoyance, like being confronted by a sudden foul smell. “This is not an operation being conducted by the Yendellian Army. You are simply a company of mercenaries,” she paused, pursed her lips as she thought, staring at the high ceiling. “‘The Rude Rubies,’ right? That’s cute.” A pert clearing of the throat. “Who have been contract to retrieve an emigrant—“

“We were exiled by Yendell,” Ayara blurted, glowering at the woman.

“Not by the government, actually,” the Prefect answered. She leaned closer to Ayara, pinching the air with her thumb and forefinger. “There are quite a few steps in the process of a formal exile. Your family vacated before that process was even started. It’s why your mother was able to return with little difficulty. It’s a simple matter of re-establishing certain aspects of your lineage if you would like to restore your citizenship. Would you care for me to look into that?” She stood, nose-to-nose, with Ayara, who averted her gaze to anywhere else in the room. This woman managed to make any question feel like an accusation.

“Please do look into that.” Bonnelle said. “And do continue; this is not a military operation?” Bonnelle stood, one hand on her hip, and whistled in astonishment at the collection of soldiers and mages adorned in the uniforms of Yendell’s military. “Could have fooled me.”

“As I was saying, and you should recall from the contract that you signed, this is a matter of the City and Nation of Yendell hiring the Rude Rubies in order to retrieve an individual of …” She paused to sneered in Ayara’s direction. “Unknown citizenship status but of interest to the City and Nation of Yendell, including its military, however this is not a military contract.”

“Whose contract is it, then?” Bonnelle pawed at her chin with her free hand, the other gripping the hilt of her hammer. “I mean, I seem to recall ... from the contract, which I read, of course, was that it was,” she drew out that last word to agonizing length.

The Prefect concluded Bonnelle’s thought with: “Agency of Revenue Collection.”

“He’s wanted for tax evasion?!” Ayara’s outburst echoed throughout the room. She cringed and wished the magical pyre was louder.

“We’re debt collectors?” Bonnelle bellowed without Ayara’s concern for being loud.

“More like a bounty.” Prefect Senaria said, shaking her head in a series of rapid twitches.

“A bounty? For back taxes?” Bonnelle leaned back, her free hand on her hip. Her tangle of red hair swept free from off her shoulders. “I have to ask: how much does he owe? It’s got to be a small fortune considering this contract’s price!”

Ayara breathed deeply in relief. If he was wanted for owing taxes—cover story or no—this could not be an assassination. They could still imprison him, though.

“That’s yet to be determined.” Again, the nervous shaking. It threatened to loosen that severe bun. “Your family vacated its home and business so abruptly that a proper assessment on unpaid debts at that time, along with the related penalties and interest, has not been made.”

“Another lengthy process?” Kornin chided the Prefect.

“Interest on a thousand years.” Bonnelle whistled.

Ayara doubted any dwarves had calculation tables for debts that long lasting. Although they did hold a grudge regarding the construction of the city of Yendell. Perhaps someday they’ll send a bill to the government for those debts. It would likely start a war.

“So,” Bonnelle pointed at the massive entourage preparing to disembark. “If we’re just bounty hunters then what is all that?”

“A fortunate coincidence.” Senaria clapped her hands together with a sharp crack. “This is routine practice for the mages. We perform a translocation casting ever century so nobody forgets the spells. This time, we’re moving supplies to a facility in Osdell. The inventory is quite important, hence the military escort.”

“Osdell is nowhere near—,” Bonnelle said.

“But if we’re already going to—” Kornin said.

“Again, a fortunate coincidence that when their spell is miscast that you will end up so close to your bounty,” the Prefect reminded them before they could finish quibbling with the planned accident.

“This is needlessly complicated,” Kornin said.

“The requisition forms for a military operation in the Dark Lands can be very time consuming,” Prefect Senaria explained.

They all stared at each other. Lieutenant Chrincha approached, his boot heels clacking against the stone floor. “If you would please, deposit your equipment with Corporal Yalcha.”

The meek looking elf with surprising decorations on his uniform approached them, clipboard in hand. “I’ll be providing you all with claim tickets.”

“Afterwards, I would appreciate it if you would … accidentally … attend a briefing I am conducting for our upcoming mission,” Lt. Chrincha said. He rolled his eyes toward the Prefect, apparently displeased to engage in her loaded language of procedural shenanigans.

Bonnelle confirmed the team’s coincidental arrival at a briefing that shouldn’t involve them, and the two high-ranking officials departed. Corporal Yalcha stayed behind, ready to collect the Rude Rubies’ equipment. Bonnelle dueled wits with Yalcha, pitting her knowledge of corporate paper shuffling against his governmental red tape as they traded receipts, vouchers, and tickets.

Trying to ignore the baffling duel of paperwork, Ayara leaned towards Kornin. “What do you think about this,” she asked as she locked the iris in her right hand glove.

“Letting the army take our stuff?”

“No; that makes sense. They need to seal up things that could react to the translocation spell. You know, like Bonnelle’s hammer? It’s, what, indestructible? But if its enchantment disrupted the spell we might end up in … well, Osdell.” Ayara shrugged. “I mean, what do you think about going to the Dark Lands?”

“Can’t say I’ve given it much thought over the past week,” Kornin answered. He’d never been one to really ponder the future. Although now Ayara wondered how she’d managed to worry about the Dark Lands considering how much time she’d spent with Kornin over the past week.

“I mean, it’s a whole different situation out there. Orcs and trolls bigger than you! There are Claw Furs! Just one can wipe out a team of mercenaries and they roam around in packs!” Ayara spoke as she pulled off one of her gloves. The lenses inside the palms were enchanted, and so the gloves would need to be sealed up as well.

“We can handle ourselves in a fight,” Kornin said. He picked up his club and waved it in the air. His weapon was not enchanted. It was just very big and very heavy and only the latest in a long string of such weapons that Kornin had sported. The nice thing about lugging around what was essentially just a stripped tree trunk was that it was easy to replace.

“Yes. In the militia. Against other soldiers! The Dark Lands isn’t civilization! Those are monsters out there!” Ayara set down the glove on a small table. She began locking the lens on her left palm. It was much easier to twist the key with her bare fingers.

Leaning against his club, standing out with his casualness, Kornin countered her: “What was the Ichthat? Or the twin demon dogs of Parleigh Manor? Or that flock of venom serpents? Pets? No! We’ve handled monsters before.”

The serpents were in fact pets to a mad elf wizard. Centuries of exposure to the creatures’ venom via their playful nips had rotted his brain. The Rude Rubies had to put down both the flying serpents and their master. “Those were different. More like … hunting. But an orc? They hunt you back!” Ayara began removing her other glove.

“We’ll be fine. Bonnelle has extensive history in the Dark Lands. She even knows some of the Dread Lords by their Wraith names! That was just on her own. This time, she’s got the backing of an army behind her.” Kornin caught himself and added: “Even if only by coincidence.”

“Fortunate coincidence.” Ayara rolled her eyes.

“Very fortunate, yes,” Kornin laughed, tilting his head back. “So don’t worry. Look at it as the opportunity that it is: a chance for us to get firsthand experience in the Dark Lands in the safest way possible. It’ll practically be a vacation! It’s not many people who can say they’ve vacationed on the other side of the world!”

She bit her lip. That’s right! This was the land on the other side of The Map, across the crack that tore the Shattered Sea in half. That crack was the Terminator, the line that separated the World of Light from the Land of Darkness.

She would get to see night for the first time!