His name was Borog. He claimed to be the high steward of the hidden keep which appeared to be mostly abandoned. The maidens went to work immediately, organizing the kitchen and the small dining chamber. They shooed away Abraham and the steward, who seemed flustered at first but easily acquiesced. He ended up giving Abe a short tour of that corner of the underground fortress. Apparently this section was the servant’s private nook, while there was a great hall for formal guests. It was in no condition to be used, although Abraham briefly noted the large, echoing, space. With only a bit of that dim, spectral, light, there was not much to be seen through the gloom except that the space was majestically appointed. There were glints of jewels and fine embroidery. As for the King, his chambers were sealed. Two guards, wearing ancient plate armor and armed with spiked clubs, stood at each side of the heavy wooden door leading to the royal quarters.

The steward coughed, “The King has been in an ill humor for quite a while. It is best if we wait patiently. You can take these rooms.” Abe was shown to a guest apartment which could rival a modern luxury suite in size but the amenities were strictly medieval at best. Smoke from the hearths appeared to be sent up via shafts cut into the rock. There was a communal toilet, essentially wooden boards with round openings that sat over penetrations that apparently fell to some abyss, as Abe could hear the eerie howls of wind rushing up from far below. It didn’t smell as much as he’d have expected, but he didn’t look forward to having a cold ass when it came time to use the facility. The place, overall, was not to his taste, and he already wished to leave it as a sense of claustrophobia oppressed him despite the high ceilings.

When they returned to the servant’s area, the dining chamber had the air of a home, and the smell of fresh food gave Abraham a sense of nostalgia. The steward seemed to agree, as his eyes moistened, “These past few years have been hard.”

What had been promised as a simple tea turned into nearly a full meal, as the maidens had decided to celebrate. They must have found some usable materials from the larder, as there was meat, hot cakes, and even eggs, although probably not from a chicken. The clutter had been cleared, and a fresh cloth placed on the main table. Borog cupped his hands around his steaming mug of tea, enjoying the aroma. Candles had been lit, giving the room a cheerier air than the spectral light. Abe had wondered about it: it came from strips of some kind of luminescent stone. Other than the guns, it was the only indication of technology much beyond the medieval that he had noticed, although he assumed some of the fabrics people wore may have been produced industrially.

When the steward seemed relaxed after finishing his meal, Abraham asked, “How did you know we were coming?”

“Well,” he laughed. “Old habits. Also, when you walked past the first marker, my bell rang. Can’t have a secret fortress without being able to know when people are nosing about, can we? Also, the entrance cannot be found by mortal means. I will guess that these three are offerings, as they seem to know the old ways.”

Mariken nodded, “Yes, we are here to marry the Great King of the mountain.”

“I don’t know if I have a pot big enough for all three of you,” he chuckled. Karil moaned, face going pale. The steward changed his tone, “Bah, you think we’re barbarians? It’s been a long time since we ate people. Not that you wouldn’t taste good, but it’s considered ill-mannered these days. Seems like a waste to me, when you have foreign armies rolling across the plains killing for loot and glory. Why not eat the meat? Oh, we hear things even in this place. Times are going to get worse. It used to be people just kept to themselves, but now you have empire builders who want to put their name everywhere.”

Mariken pointedly changed the subject, “When will the Lord be pleased to meet us?”

“He’s resting. Knowing his temper, it is best to wait till he calls for my attendance, so you may reside in the guest apartment. I will have the pantry restocked. You may draw water as needed from the cisterns, and there is ample bedding although their condition has diminished. Not enough help, these days.”

Abraham wondered who this help was, since he’d only seen the two guards and the elderly steward. He asked, “What happened to everyone? This place could house a hundred or more, easily.”

“It was a full hall, long ago. You must be new to these lands, young man. It is well known that the Shay folk have been dying off or fleeing. Hunting has been poor, and the humans are well armed now with their cannons so all the good land has been taken by their settlements. They even take our people for slaves, to mine for coal and gold. Soon enough, they’ll be coming for this place too.” He stared into his cup, clearly not happy to recount such things. He laughed bitterly, “Most of the treasure room has been spent, years gone by, although I guess there is still a king’s ransom worth in just the furnishings. Do you still wish to marry into a failing house?”

Mariken nodded without hesitation, “It is our duty.”

The steward leaned forward, “And who is this man to you? To whose duty does he belong?”

Karil leaned over protectively, “He’s our chaperone, though he was lost and we adopted him.”

“He’s a noble in his own right. Someone of a fine lineage, but from a faraway place,” Mariken added.

The old troll’s eyes lit up, and he pressed, “I’d like to hear what he has to say.”

“I’m here to treat with your King, for my friend. She was snatched up, rather crudely, by the Mountain Clan. I also had other companions, although they weren’t friends, to be exact.”

“Interesting. The King does not involve himself with such matters, but I will make inquiries,” he got up. “If you will excuse me, I must tend to some business.”

Abraham felt nervous. For all he knew, the old troll was planning something unpleasant, but Abe had no better ideas. If he was to find and free Piro, there was no higher authority in this place, and they had been treated well so far. As the maidens prepared the apartment, he decided to look for some kind of armory and the quickest escape route, just in case. Quickly, he discovered that the place was a maze. He held the oil lamp in front of him, preferring its light to the dim strips. There were stairs that led deeper into the mountain. Abe used a piece of chalky stone to mark the turns, hoping for forgiveness for his mild vandalism. The existing scuffs and cracks helped to mitigate his guilt.

Abe had gone down a couple levels when he found the armory. Unfortunately, the metal gates were locked. They weren’t sophisticated, but he assumed that breaking in would void any hospitality.

“That was fruitless,” he sighed. Before giving up, he found another passage. It led to a series of chambers that were clearly the dungeons of the place. Arranged under a vaulted space, rows of metal cages lined the stone floor which also had hooks and eye loop rings for attaching chains. He imagined the forlorn prisoners who had been held here. To his relief, they were all empty, although one or two had suspicious bundles in the middle of the cages that he did not examine carefully. Something glinted, making him stop to investigate: one of the cages was open. In the middle there were some discarded items, including a short dagger with a jeweled grip. It was clearly ceremonial, but still had a sharp edge. He slipped it back into its holder, tucking the item into his belt. There was an old piece of paper, but it was crumbling and illegible. The other item was a rotting cloak. If whoever owned these items had died here, they left no bones to haunt him.

It wasn’t a handgun, but Abe felt better having a backup option. When he got back to the apartment, he hid the knife in the room he had picked for himself. There were three different bedchambers, the smallest clearly for servants, plus a common room, its own kitchen, storage, and a full bath room with its own hearth for heating water. Lamps had been lit, brightening up the area considerably.

Mariken, diligent as ever, was itemizing their belongings as they setup in one of the main bedchambers. She waved to Abe, “Good, you are back. You can make yourself useful by tending to the fire.” By the fire, she meant the one heating up the water for their bath. The room was well crafted, with drainage built into the floor. The actual bath was a large wooden tub placed into a stone cubby and was large enough for two or even three people. Aril and Karil had already partially filled it up and were preparing to wash. Abe hesitated but they were unfazed as he entered. Mariken showed him where to draw water and the big metal pot used to heat it. He became engrossed in the labor, pumping water from a tap, carrying the heavy bucket to the bath, loading up the pot, stoking up the fire, and then ladling the steaming water over the two women as they washed, being careful not to skald them. It was quite inefficient and time-consuming, but steam soon filled the chamber.

If their nudity distracted him, he managed to keep it to himself. Clearly, they did not have the same social inhibitions. Abe wondered, “Is all right to be using his lordship, myself in other words, as a servant boy?”

Mariken stepped into the room, already undressed, “We shall take turns, my lord.”

Aril sighed, reluctant to get out of the bath. She noticed the odd look on Abe’s face, “Perhaps you are not used to the ways of our people. We bathe communally, and nobles and servants share the duties, it is an old tradition meant to keep bonds strong.” With that, he undressed and in a fresh tub, shared a bath with Mariken as the two others kept fresh, hot, water coming to them.

Abe washed her back, explaining, “Where I come from, public baths and toilets are separated for male and female.”

Mariken replied, “Some do, but isn’t it more practical to share?”

“It’s also a chastity thing,” he explained. “And in my culture, virgin brides generally do not mix with the other sex.”

Mariken turned around, surprised, as she asked, “Were you under the impression that we were virgins?”

Aril and Karil laughed.

“I guess that explains the brothel songs,” he said sheepishly. As it turned out, Karil had been engaged, but her groom had run off with another woman. Abe couldn’t understand how this could happen to someone so attractive, but it turned out the other woman’s family was far wealthier. Evidently, gold-digging went both ways in their society. In any case, neither Aril nor Karil were the eldest, who held the inheritance rights, so the dowries of the two sisters were relatively modest. Aril had served as a minstrel in a brothel, but her turns in the hay had been for entertainment, not profit. Her last fling had run off with a prostitute he favored more.

As for Mariken, she was a widow, as her husband had been executed in disgrace for crimes against the crown. Her face darkened as she vented, “It was the work of our rivals in the family. But I have no vengeance left for him, as he was a cheat and a drunk. He chose the wrong mistress, and it got him killed.” It was apparent that she didn’t mind the fact that he had cheated, rather that he had gotten caught.

Abe realized that they weren’t innocent at all, but fairly world weary. They had come upon this path because other avenues in society had become closed to them. He said, “I guess you don’t marry for love in this world.”

Mariken stared blankly at him, as if a toad has spoken.

Aril helped dry him off, attempting to grab his crotch which he narrowly avoided, she smirked, “Marriage for love? What madness. A man loves his mistresses or finds a partner in the brothel. I’ve heard them tell stories they never tell their wives. This is what rules a man.”

“Hey, that’s sexual harassment, lady,” Abe joked, pulling back, though he half meant it. He did realize that sex obviously meant something totally different in this world. It was both more honest and brutally transactional. Karil dragged him back to the common room. She said, “Have a drink, my lord. Pay my sister no heed–her lusts have carried her off into degeneracy.” She shrugged into a nightgown, pouring spiced wine into four goblets. Drying her hair, Aril joined them, soon followed by Mariken. They got drunker as they took turns venting about the unfairness of their lives. Abe had a blanket wrapped around him. Aril kept glancing at him, making no bones that he could have her that night if he so wished.

A strange sense of ease settled onto Abraham as he realized that he was genuinely happy in that moment. They were speaking to him openly because they trusted him, and the moment felt like something from childhood: pure, unadulterated by pretense or shame, or hidden agendas. It was something he hadn’t even realized he had been looking for, especially later when Karil crawled into bed with him. There was nothing that needed to happen, just the comfort of intimacy without any strings attached. Aril drunkenly stood by the door, once again the last one awake. She said, “Foo, maybe next time.” She dragged Mariken from the table where she had fallen asleep, head on her arms.

Once again, Abraham’s dreams were strange and riddled with desire. He imagined himself back in the dungeon with the open cage, except this time there was someone in it. Of course, it was a woman, wearing a green outfit that barely covered her curves. Her stunning beauty captivated him although he could not quite make out her face. Each time he tried to focus on it, the image slipped from his mind. Lust overcame any sense of reason, as he pulled her out from the cage.

“Why should I follow you?” she asked.

“I am a king,” he said confidently. “You will become my bride.”

“You only want me for my dowry.”

He shook his head adamantly, “No, you are fine beyond imagining. I will love you, as a man should.”

“Then, I have only one request of you,” she whispered.

Abraham put his arms around her, pulling her closer, “Anything within my power.”

“You must take care of me.”

He nodded, his nostrils filled with her scent, “I promise, I swear.” There was truth to this, although he had no idea what he was promising.

Once again, he swam in that dark, deep, sea, but the throbbing heartbeat was louder now.

The world shook and he opened his eyes.

Karil looked down at him with a worried expression, “You were yelling in your sleep.”

“Whoa, really? I was having a good dream, I think,” he said, rubbing his eyelids. There was no telling what time of day it was. On the second day, it was clear that underground life was not suitable for the average human for any extended period of time, or at least not Abraham, as he missed daylight. The steward gave little information about when they would have an audience with the king. The primary measure of time was a water clock that chimed every hour in the great hall. At some point, although no one saw them work, the pantry had been stocked with fresh food, including slabs of meat kept cool in the darkest recess, vegetables and fruit brought in from the outside, and various preserves.

Abraham’s patience grew thin, so he finally gathered up the nerve to confront the steward. On the third day, he found him in one of the studies, reading from some old tome under a greasy lamp. Abraham was about to launch into a tirade when the steward spoke up first, “It is time. Follow me.”

Caught aback, Abe probed, “What about the others?”

“Just you for now,” the steward said, beckoning for him to follow.

They walked past the guards who stood at ease as the steward pushed open the big door. It creaked but opened easily. The interior was darker than the hallway. Abraham’s eyes adjusted to the dim antechamber that led into a master bedroom of palatial size. On one side there was a fireplace with two giant wingback chairs set on an embroidered rug. The fire was low, and was the main source of light, so the shadows flickered on the walls. Trying not to trip, Abraham headed toward the chairs as the steward shuffled behind him.

Abe stared for a moment, before blurting, “Is this a joke?”

Borog scratched his beard, before he lifted a finger, saying, “Ah, I will need to translate.” He leaned forward, as if listening intently.

“That man is dead,” Abraham pronounced.

The steward stared back at him as if he was mad, “Apologies, my liege, the guest does not understand. Yes, I will ask him. Ah, understood. The Great King asks: What are your intents on my daughter?”

Abraham gaped. It was clearly a corpse, long dead, sitting in the chair. The skeletal frame was clothed in a robe that hung open, exposing ribs and desiccated remains. The skull wore a crown over dried patches of flesh, what little remained on the withered face that had been attacked by insects or small animals. At least, it must have rotted long ago, as there was no longer a foul stench, though Abraham avoided breathing deeply. The air in the room smelled ancient, and nothing of life.

“Daughter?” asked Abraham.

The steward nodded, continuing his translation of the dead man’s speech, “Yes, you met her last night. You made promises.”

Shocked, Abraham understood, “But that was just a dream.”

The steward frowned, consulting the dead man once more, for what seemed like several minutes. He repeated, “The King says you accepted the promise, and possess the token that was given.”

Abraham’s face flushed. Did he mean the dagger?

Borog continued, “The marriage will take place in the Great Hall as soon as the bride is prepared. I will show you to the wardrobe, where we keep the proper outfit. Come, we must make preparations.”

Abraham backed away, holding up his hands, “I think this is a mistake. I wasn’t planning on marrying so soon, especially to someone I only met in a dream. She was beautiful, so that’s not why I have to take a raincheck…”

The two guards hovered over him. He couldn’t see their expressions through their helmets, but their clubs convinced him that he should follow the steward. The corpse remained sitting, staring into nothingness just as it had when they had entered.

As they walked, the steward kept talking, “It is a good thing. The King has been looking for an heir for a long time. Once you are married, there will be much to do to return this place to its former glory.”

“Just where is the bride?” Abraham asked without much hope. He fully expected another corpse.

“She is arriving quite soon, in full raiment, as promised,” Borog stated. They arrived in a room that Abe hadn’t seen before during his exploration. It was a deep, vaulted, chamber filled with chests, shelves, and standing wardrobes overflowing with dusty old clothes. Some were ruined by neglect, but Borog headed straight to a particular wardrobe that appeared more ornate than the others. He unsealed its lock, opening it to reveal an array of finery that would have impressed a modern follower of the haute couture. Borog took measurements before selecting what he considered the most appropriate items: fine hose, underclothes, a gilded jacket, matching tunic, belt, and accessories.

“I will have these fitted for your frame,” the steward said. “For now, you may return to the apartment and rest.”

When he returned, somewhat dazed, he noticed a large bag in the common room. Before he could ask about it, Aril came in to take it back into their bed chamber. Karil tumbled in, eager to ask about his meeting, “Did you see him? Is he handsome and regal?”

“You might want to sit down. Get the others in here,” he said. “And more wine. You’re going to need it.”

He avoided talking about the state of the King, instead letting them know about his imminent wedding.

Mariken took it in stride, “I assume we will act as the bridesmaids. It will be an honor, my lord. We will need to make preparations. Who is cooking the feast? What entertainments are planned?”

Abraham shrugged, “I am not sure. All the details were vague. I only know that it will happen in two days. A shotgun wedding, so to speak.”

Karil looked thoughtful, “Cousin, does that mean our friend would become our son-in-law?”

“We need an audience with the King ourselves first,” Mariken chided. “We must prepare, come.” The three retired to their chamber in order to make plans. Abraham felt a little left out, as they’d spoken freely before this. Dinner was short and perfunctory, and this time he slept alone.

The next day he spent in restless anticipation, wondering if he should make a break for it. When the clock told him it was late afternoon, he should have suspected something when he’d bumped into Aril carrying another large sack. She’d rushed off without much explanation. He assumed it was laundry but his assessment changed when later he wandered back into Great Hall. It took him a moment, but he realized what had changed: items had been moved or were missing, including a set of jeweled tumblers that had been set on one of the side tables. The gilded edges of the hanging tapestries had been cut away, holes left where precious gems had been pried out of the furnishings. Gold accessories were missing from the wall sconces.

A cold realization hit Abraham: the maidens had come as thieves. Or perhaps, upon seeing the destitute state of the keep, they had changed their minds. In either case, they were opportunists who were intent on taking what they could. He didn’t mind this–he just wished they had trusted him enough to include him in their plans. When he returned to the apartment, it was obvious that they had fled.

“Shit,” he said to himself. “Don’t leave me here to marry a rotting corpse!” He grabbed a sack of supplies, a spare lamp, and the dagger in order to make his own escape. Abraham only managed to make it down one hallway before he saw that his path was blocked by a guard. It was clear that he wasn’t going that way. Whistling nonchalantly, he turned heel to find an alternate path. In the end it didn’t matter, there was a guard on every passageway. He could have sworn that there were only two, and each time he saw a guard, it seemed to be the same fellow, or at least the rust pattern on his armor seemed the same.

Finally, feeling abandoned and hopeless, he returned to the apartment. He uncorked a fresh jar of wine from the pantry, found a wheel of cheese, and walked back to the common room table where he got drunk and stuffed himself on moldy cheese. It made him gassy, so he was farting by the time the steward returned.

Borog said, “Rest well, the wedding will occur as scheduled. As for the maids, well, this is not the first time we have been visited by common thieves. They will be dealt with accordingly.”

Abraham shuddered, his mind imagining what that might entail. He gripped the dagger, but it would be of no use against armor. That night, he barely slept, as his mind was full of churning thoughts. They probably weren’t noble girls at all and the expensive items they had were probably stolen as well. With a sense of hopelessness, he let the steward dress him in the elaborate finery. Unlike the rest of the things in the place, the suit seemed freshly minted.

Looking at himself in a floor standing mirror, Abe thought he looked pretty smashing in the outfit. He proclaimed, “Henry Tudor would look on me and weep.”

“You’ve come around to it, I knew you would,” Borog approved.

“I guess someone wants me to be a King of this joint, who am I to refuse?” Abraham said with only a hint of sarcasm. “It means I inherit this dump, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed, but as I mentioned, the mountain is no longer safe. Our enemies already make their moves, there has been blood spilled and much more to come. Even now, Shay blood is being shed on the slopes. Once you have taken the bride, you will be escorted to the place that was promised.”

“That sounds familiar. I thought I heard someone else mention something like that,” Abraham mused. Was this all fated, then? Some machination of an unknown power. If so, who?

The Great Hall was fully lit now by torches on the wall that emitted a bright glow that resembled daylight. He could now see the full splendor of the place, undiminished by time and the looting, as it stretched behind him. Abe waited patiently at the altar, standing under resplendent tapestries that still glittered although their bottoms had been stripped. There were rows of seats, enough for a hundred or more guests. The steward waited patiently like a priest at the steps.

Abe asked once more, “So, why me? I’m just a man, not one of you.”

“Let me ask you instead, what is the difference between man and troll?”

As soon as he was about to mention their greed, sexual appetites, violence, and cannibalism, he realized that humanity had nothing to be proud of in its history as well. He laughed, “Good point.”

A strange music seemed to play in the air, and Abraham imagined, for a brief moment, that he could see the Fay court spread out in front of him as he had a momentary glimpse into another universe. The hair on his neck crawled as he finally heard the beat of a distant drum, and footsteps. At the far end of the hall, the doors swung open, in stepped the guards, followed by a giant troll. Abraham instantly recognized him as the one who had struck him in the head. Beside the giant demi-human, a small figure wearing a green wedding gown complete with a veil stood.

The steward beckoned them, but the big man was already striding forward, a glare on his face. He stared down at Abraham, “What manner of foolishness is this?” His hands clenched a box, apparently a wedding gift. He looked like he wanted to beat Abraham to death with it.

“The King has made his wishes known. This is the appointed time, as promised. Give me the items,” the steward put his hand out. Reluctantly, the troll chieftain gave it over.

“My people are holding out in the caves, but we’re bottled up above the snow line now. They have the passes covered with their marksmen and they are using explosives to seal off the high village. This will be our last winter here,” the chief growled, clenching his fists. “If we try to go down, they will slaughter us, if we stay up here, we will eventually be starved out. This keep can save a few for a while.”

“Indeed, bring as many as you can, but this will not be the final stop. There is a passage, an old one, but it is still open. It will take you to the far valley. When you are strong enough, come back, and take this place back. There is some gold left in the treasure house. Take as much as you can carry, plus anything else. But first, the wedding.”

“Why not that first, and the wedding later? Why must we waste our time with this nonsense? By rights, I should take the throne, although I share no blood with the old King, I am still of the Clan!”

The steward roared, “Exactly, you share no blood with the Great King! His line is dead and gone, so his lineage is now by his will alone. It is his grace to give, not yours.” Whatever power the old troll held, it was enough to seal the lips of the chieftain who stood at the ready. Borog said, “Now, young lady, step forth to complete this ceremony.” The lights seemed to brighten as the woman, apparently wholly alive and not some ghost, stepped forth. Abraham peered at his bride to be, a great suspicion forming in his mind. He felt dizzy. The ceremonial dagger at his side seemed to hum in anticipation.

He managed to speak despite the circumstances, “Really? So that's the way this will go. I'm good with it, then.” He said this to no one in particular. In the end, it didn’t matter, as soon as she lifted the veil, Abraham swept her up into his arms.

Piro looked up at him, tears in her eyes, as she said, “I’ll take that as a yes.”