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dnd_drow

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 "That doesn’t make me feel any better." I admitted, not taking my gaze of the Amulet as I motioned to him and the carnage around us. "But what about you? What will you do?"

 "I... I’ll stay here to guard the Emperor’s body, and make sure no one follows you."

 A tiny pouch with a tied string was pulled from his belt and he gave it to me while pointing to the hole. "That has to go somewhere, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it manages to go around that blocked gate. Past that gate is a secret entrance into the sewers." a scowl tightened his features. "Or it was supposed to be secret..."

 I swore under my breath at the prospect of entering the sewers and felt the weight of the pouch he had given me. It was obviously containing a dozen or more coins. "Sewers... of course."

 "Not all of our duties are glorious." He grimaced as I put my boot on the successful Assassin’s shoulder and heaved back on the hilt of the gladius, freeing it from the dead man’s mouth in a wash of blood. "A merry jaunt through a cesspit isn’t going to be the worst you would have faced."

 Looking at the way he had pointed to the Legion brand on my shoulder I nodded. "Seven years in the 14th."

 "Good. Good..." The young Blade was obviously feeling better that the Amulet was in the hands of a soldier rather than some damn bard or acrobat. "In that case a few rats and goblins won’t give you any trouble."

 "Goblins? Suppose it’s better than corpus creatures at least." I offered my hand to him, seeing how both of us were splattered with blood to the elbow. "I’m Kaius by the way."

 His hand gripped mine and it felt like I was shaking hands with a dwemer centurion. He might have been young but he was strong. "Baurus." Nodding to the hole he gave my hand a quick squeeze and let go. "You better get out of here. There’s no telling who will come first; the Blades or more assassins."

 "I understand, and I don’t feel like being put back in a cell." Pausing only briefly in the threshold of the passage I looked back at him and gave a grim smile.

 "May Talos guide you." he said as I ducked through the hole.

 In the darkness and with the Amulet of Kings gripped tightly in the palm of my hand I couldn’t help but shiver. "I’m going to need as much help as I can get." I said to the encroaching shadows, trying to shake away the building urge to lick the blood from my arms.

The sun was high in the sky when I emerged from a dribbling tunnel leading into the depths of the sewers. Home to creatures both natural and not, I had managed to somehow walk into the sunlight a lot better off than I had been when I had left my cell. The Undercity of the greatest city in the Empire was home to beasts and men, and as such I had somehow managed to not only find clothing but the smatterings of armour that left me feeling much more confident. The stench that radiated from me was a different story however. In the semidarkness of the sewers, lit only by what light filtered down the drains and barred holes in the gutters I had somehow managed to avoid being gutted by a goblin. Unfortunately killing the beast had left me falling into a river of effluent that had left me violently vomiting three days’ worth of gruel. Somehow the smell of bile had managed to be an improvement.

 Through the simple process of throwing myself into the Rumare I had managed to wash off the majority of the unmentionables that I had bathed in. Using some of the coins that Baurus had gifted me I had managed to hire one of the hundreds of fishing boats and barges that plied the lake. Leaving the shadows of the city behind me and luckily getting off City Isle before the assassination and the failed attempts forced the Imperial Watch and the Praetorians to lock it down.

 And so I found myself in the afternoon breeze, feeling the late summer warmth on my flesh and trying to understand how I had found myself at a crossroads. Both figuratively and literally. On the north shore between the dozens of minor settlements and fishing huts I looked at the sign posts and the milestones, grimacing at the journey ahead of me. To the west lay Chorrol, and the destination of the priceless artefact stuffed into a mouldering backpack I had pulled from a goblin trove. It was four days’ travel, even at the pace that all Legionaries were accustomed to. The issue was that other than the acquired remnants of equipment that I carried I had nothing. Without a bow I couldn’t hunt, and I wasn’t in the position to set up camp somewhere to rely on snares and traps to catch rabbits and other small woodland creatures for food. Besides a handful of rings and the meagre collection of coins I wouldn’t be able to make it all the way to Chorrol without some divine intervention or absurd luck.

 To the north however lay the city of Bruma, less than eighty kilometres away and easily within two days marching distance. I knew enough of Cyrodiil from my first year as a Hastatii that I could easily make that distance even with my meagre supplies and equipment. Better yet, I knew someone who lived there who owed me a favour. The weight of the Amulet of Kings in my pack was a considerable weight that had nothing to do with the gold and gemstones it was made from. Every pace that I took was accompanied by the thoughts of everything that had happened that morning, and my dreams for two nights travel were filled with shifting images of assassins in the dark and prophecies from the lips of a dead man. What concerned me more however was the fact that my dreams were turning darker, more horrific and more overwhelmingly bloody. No matter how hard I was trying to ignore the fact, there was something insidiously wrong with me.

 With makeshift boots which were little more than leather and cloth wrappings around my feet I strode along the road. Years of hunting and moving though the wilds as a forester and as a legionary marching in a cohort had left my body tempered and hard as iron. A distance that most would have quailed at was barely a hindrance and my legs were inexhaustible. Up the gradually sloping road where the scattered forest thinned away to rocky soil and tumbled hills on the base of the mountains I continued. It was almost pleasant compared to the times I had slogged my way through shifting ash storms and blinding snow. It was made almost laughably easy by the fact that I was carrying a tenth of the weight I would have had I not deserted. While I missed the sensation of security and comfort from my chainmail and leather armour, and especially my bow it was significantly easier to march without thirty kilograms of extra equipment weighing me down.

 By the time the sun had reached its zenith on the second day I had come into sight of the towering walls of Bruma. Fifteen metres tall, and gently sloped, they towered high in the valley as though they were challenging the foreboding peaks of the Jerrall Mountains for supremacy. The city itself was a simple affair, the influence of the Nords evident in every brick and stone of its construction. It was the gateway to the Empire’s Heart, close to the legendary Pale Pass and one of the few accessible routes north to Skyrim. Numerous battles had been fought here, and uncountable soldiers had died in this region and Bruma had been built with this in mind.

 Scattered at even intervals along the walls, towers rose into the sky and allowed the city to command the sweeping plain to the north and east where the Jerall’s split and levelled out. Armies could clash and bleed in this region, but as long as the city stood there would be no lasting victory.

 Wagons rolled through the gateway, each being stopped by the small number of bored and weary looking city guard and officials as they accounted for each and every good brought into, and leaving the city. A common sight throughout the Empire, the Imperial Taxmen and Customs officers were a necessary evil to allow trade to flow and the Imperial Coffers to be filled. For travellers like myself they barely even spared a glance, especially one dressed as poorly as myself. I didn’t have to be concerned with vagrancy or being mistaken for a beggar as they were already inside the city walls and it was unheard of for such individuals to move between cities. Not unless they were suicidal in any case.

 Walking into the city I made my way through the crowded streets where peddlers and merchants attempted to muscle their way into each other’s trades and beggars scraped and kowtowed for a coin. Women of the night, crooks, citizens and craftsmen moved, jostled, apologised, swore and spat; an ever shifting mass of humanity that was the same no matter the city or the species that filled it.

 I was seeking a single man in particular; a member of the town guard and someone who I considered as a friend. Iglund Burdlam; a towering Nord who had spent the best part of his youth in the legion had been one of the few that had managed to survive long enough to receive his pension and return to his home. In the days before he left Fort Ironhand he had told me that if I had ever found myself in Cyrodiil and needed assistance that I was to seek him in Bruma.

 At all times, one hand tightly gripped the straps of my pack and I wove through the flowing crowds of people as they went about their daily business in the afternoon chill. On every corner, market stall and even one of the local taverns I would stop to ask if anyone knew where I could find him.

 Surprisingly it wasn’t a lengthy search, and even less surprisingly he had done well in the years since leaving the legion. No longer a Centurion in command of the Fort’s 3rd Cohort, I soon discovered that he was now in charge of the entire city’s guard contingent.

 The air moaned softly as I pushed through the solid door into the castle barracks, and I sighed thankfully as the warm air washed over me It might have been the dying days of summer, but the mountains were always cold. Winter was fast approaching but as I stepped inside, the barracks felt more like a home to me than anywhere else in the Empire. Rows of bunks, chests at the foot of each lined the walls and I couldn’t help but grin slightly as I saw all the details of the Legion’s influence on the guard.

 The clink of metal and the sound of rustling chainmail announced the presence of one of the Guard. Clad in a solid but lightweight mail and surcoat, she would have been an imposing sight to any pickpocket or drunkard. At the sight of me she stepped forward looking highly annoyed, expecting me to either be little more than an overly hopeful beggar or a source of some work in her near future.

 "Can I help you?" she asked, idly scratching her scalp under the chainmail coif. Her tone of voice suggested that she desired the complete opposite of the question though.

 "I’m here to see Captain Burd." I replied, looking around the barracks hall. "I was told that he was here."

 "And what business do you have with him?" The look of annoyance grew stronger.

 "I’m an old friend of his from the Legion, and I thought I would catch up with him on the way through Bruma."

 The snort from the guard told me how much she believed what I said, but she did quickly measure me up with a single gaze. Noting the scars up my forearms from hundreds of hours of sword practice, and the unmistakeable way I held myself that was shared by all those who had served she decided to give me the benefit of the doubt.

 Shrugging, she motioned for me to follow her, turning and walking down a short flight of steps to the lower level with her chainmail jingling with every step. The temperature dropped a handful of degrees, but was still thankfully warm and for the second time in a week I found myself looking at rows of cells and their barred doors.

 For a moment I felt as though I had made a mistake, looking around the prison level of the castle and seeing how unlike the Imperial City Prison with it’s neat wings of narrow corridors and a cell for each prisoner, the Bruma dungeon was a single room, several dozen metres square. This space was filled with several tables and desks where prisoners would be processed by the jailors and where at least one of their number would be seated at all times to keep an eye on the inmates.

 The cells themselves were spread around the outer walls, each easily large enough to contain half a dozen beds, and accommodate twice that number of prisoners in a pinch. For the moment most were devoid of any warm bodies, and with a glance I saw that besides a handful of drunks passed out where they were obviously used to spending a considerable number of nights, there were only a pair of prisoners of any note. The first; a towering, heavily muscled Nord paced aggressively back and forth in his cell, alone and obviously placed there for a reason. The other prisoner was a Dark Elf of striking beauty who stared with an empty expression at all those who entered the prison. It was an expression not of despair, but of complete apathy and distain that marred her achingly beautiful features into something almost hideous.

 My escort walked quickly over to one of the hunched figures seated at one of the desks, quill scratching away carefully on the parchment in front of him. A quick tap on the shoulder and a handful of whispered words in the ear later and the armoured form of the guard commander stood up, turned and looked at me with an expression of weary resignation.

 "You don’t have to bring every wandering vagrant in to...." He stopped in mid-sentence, his broad face suddenly lighting in surprise as he recognised me. "By the Nine.... Kaius?"

 With a laugh and barely before I could reply he had stepped forward and picked me from off the ground in a crushing hug.

 "Good to see you too you Nordic bastard." I said to him as I managed to disentangle myself from his grasp. Although we both shared the same height, a lifetime of wearing fifty kilograms of plate armour, shield and sword had left Iglund a lot bigger and broader in the chest.

 "It’s been what? Three years?" he said, laughing slightly and waving his thanks to the guard who had escorted me down. "To be honest I didn’t expect to see you again."

 We moved across to one of the tables furthest from the occupied cells and I dragged out a seat while I dropped my pack to the floor with a thump. He straddled a stool, which squeaked alarmingly as he settled his muscled and chainmail clad bulk onto it.

 "It has been a while and that’s the truth." For the first time in weeks, or months if I was honest with myself I felt happier and strangely at home. Iglund Burdlam, or "Burd" had been somewhat of a mentor to me during the early years at Fort Ironhand, and between him, Ozzarious, Lukah and myself we had been one of the small groups of Legionaries who had supported each other through every hardship we had faced.

 "What brings you to this frozen armpit of the Empire? He asked, giving me a solid measuring glance at my clothes and belongings. "Especially dressed like an Ashlander vagabond?"

 "Looking for you coincidentally. I need a bit of help."

 The grunt from him spoke volumes. "Ah. I see." With a nod and a gesture, he motioned at my right bicep, where the Legion brand was only partially covered by the sleeves of the tunic I wore. "It wouldn’t have anything to do with that fresh cross over your mark would it?"

 I grimaced and leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms in the vain attempt to hide the fresh branding of a deserter over the older brand of the Imperial dragon and the numerals of the 14th. The cross brand was the easiest way of tracking a deserter, and I knew that I would have to do something about the mark if I was to stay ahead of the authorities.

 My lack of a response and embarrassment served more of a response to Burd than anything that I could say. He signed heavily, looking around the prison for any other guards. "I would say that it surprises me but that would be a lie."

 An eyebrow raised on my face and he chuckled. "If I’m truly honest I’m surprised that you didn’t leave sooner by what little I have heard of Legate Quintillius. It was either that or you would’ve ended up dead."

 "It was bad." I admitted, nodding not only to myself but in response to his statement. "There’s a lot of good legionaries that are in the ground up there because of him."

 "Aye, I can understand that but I’m not going to ask what sort of trouble you are in. That way I don’t have to lie if I’m asked." With a scrape of wood on stone he stood up and moved over to the thick wooden door beside the stairs to the upper level and began fumbling with the lock. "I’m assuming that you are looking for equipment and better gear than those scraps you are wearing, and the less time you spend here the better."

 After grinding the lock open he turned to look at me. "Not that I wouldn’t mind downing a couple of pints with you lad, but a man in my position can only turn a blind eye for so long."

 The grin on my face couldn’t be wiped off as he opened the storage room where the confiscated items from the prisoners despite the feeling of being unable to spend time with an old friend. The mere fact that he was helping me, a deserter while he was the captain of the guard for the entire city spoke more for our friendship than any single words or acts could. It was far more than what I was expecting when I first began my trek up into the foothills to the city.

 As the door swung open I laid eyes on a small collection of clothes, armour, jewellery, cloaks, hoods, furs and a small assortment of weapons. To a man in my position it appeared as glorious as the Imperial Treasury.

 "I’m not going to get you into trouble for this am I?"

 "Not any more than what I would be helping a deserter from the Legion." He made a "help-yourself’ gesture. "I can look after myself quite well these days."

 "I doubt that, especially how terrible you were at reading maps." Stepping into the room, I began rummaging through the collection of items within. "I’m surprised we didn’t end up invading Valenwood on any of the patrols that you led."

 "It was that one time we got lost." The door creaked as he leaned against it and watched me shrug on a thick padded gambeson and try on a pair of braces and gloves. "And if I remember correctly you were the bloody scout for that mission."

 The pair of us chuckled and continued to throw good-natured insults at each other as I picked out pieces of the contraband and acquired items. Judging by the layers of dust and the definite lack of prisoners I knew that these pieces had been left behind either when their original owners had been moved along on board a prisoner wagon train, or had simply been forgotten about. I purposefully chose the more common items, not wishing to draw attention to myself, but also ensuring that only the most functional pieces were placed into a small pile for me to sort through.

 "How are you in the way of septims?" Burd asked as I carefully chose a functional double-curved hunting bow, picking out the only strings that still seemed to be in good condition and testing each one in turn.

 "I have enough for a hot meal and a roof over my head if I choose to hide in a stable." I replied honestly. The small collection of rings and coin I had acquired in the sewers had provided me with a few travelling supplies in Bleakers Way but had otherwise not gone anywhere near as far as I had hoped.

 With a grunt of exertion and a feeling of tight pain in the fresh branding on my right arm I pulled the bow to full nock, staring down an imaginary arrow and feeling pleased with myself that there was barely a tremor in my arms. The weeks of captivity and my injuries had not been overly detrimental to my strength and fitness.

 "What would you say if I provided you with 200 septims?"

 He shook his head. "Gold."

 I stopped, turning and lowering the bow and slowly releasing the tension. "Okay, now I’m concerned. You’re as tight as an Argonian’s arsehole in a blizzard. What’s the catch?"

 He bobbed his head over his shoulder in the direction of the solitary cells in the far end of the prison where the Dark Elf sat in silence. "I want you to take her with you."

 My eyes narrowed and I gave her a very careful look over. The mere fact that she was locked away in the cells normally reserved for the more violent of prisoners was enough cause for alarm, and I somehow knew that it wasn’t to protect her from the "attentions’ of the usual population of the prison. She was stunningly, achingly beautiful and years within Vvardenfell also told me that she was not a regular Dunmer of Morrowind. Her cheekbones were high, but not protruding, eyes a cold yellow instead of deep red, and hair white as fresh snow instead of a dark amber or charcoal brown. Even her skin, while dark was several degrees darker again than the average Dunmer, giving the appearance of polished Ebony rather than the grey-black of soot. The tension around her was almost a physical force, a natural warning on an instinctive level that immediately brought to mind some predatory cat or lioness waiting for something foolish enough to gain her attention.

 "Again... What’s the catch?"

 "She’s dangerous."

 I laughed. "Even a Moth Priest can see that. But she’s obviously locked up for a reason and looks bloody dangerous to me. This also means that you are trying to find a way to get her out of your hair. What did she do?"

 For a moment Burd looked embarrassed and a tiny bit nervous. "Killed a farmer and his son. Chained the old man to his bed and set fire to the cottage. She also buried his son to his neck in the outhouse, dousing him in lamp-oil and setting his face on fire."

 My sudden curse was loud enough to not only startle Burd but also drew the Dark Elf’s attention. She looked over to me with such an intensity that I was surprised that I didn’t spontaneously combust. There was something else in her eyes though. Pity? Remorse? Desperation? I wasn’t sure, but for a moment it was though the northern winds had chilled me to the bone.

 "Why in Stendarr’s name do you want me to take her with me? I have had enough of hot iron to last me for a lifetime and I particularly don’t like the idea of death by immolation."

 "I wouldn’t be setting some harpy on you without a reason Kaius." He raised a hand and stifled me in mid-sentence. "While I wouldn’t wish that sort of death on anyone, it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving pair than Roran and Kothon. Too many stories around them for them all to be rumours."

 "And so you want me to take a murderess under my wing? Because of your gut feelings?"

 "Since when have my instincts been wrong about something?"

 "Well, there was that one time with the Netch Herder who turned out to be a Hlaalu Retainer..."

 "Ugh, you had to remind me. I couldn’t walk properly for a week."

 A grin erupted across both our faces, but it didn’t last as my eyes wandered back over to the prisoner, and Burd’s grew deadly serious. "I know I owe you a favour, and this is your choice at the end of the day, but the only other way she is going to leave this prison is on the way to the chopping block."

 For several moments I stood, staring at the lonely figure sitting behind the bars on the far end of the prison. She was dangerous, that was ridiculously obvious, but there was something alluring about her that went far beyond simple desire or physical attraction.

 "Five hundred."

 "Four, and she can take her pick of what’s left in here." He replied, and I felt as though that his heart wasn’t in haggling or even joking about the matter to me. I suddenly felt wrong taking money from a long-time friend, but a single look at his serious expression I knew that he didn’t see it as an issue. In fact, I suddenly realised that he truly believed that she wasn’t entirely guilty. His honour had been tempered and honed during the years in the legion and it had left him torn between her fate at his hands, and his instincts stating she wasn’t as guilty as she appeared. In that moment of making my decision, his burden had become mine and an enormous weight almost appeared to physically lift from his shoulders.

 "Prisoner transfers occur on the sixth hour every evening. No one will think twice seeing the Captain of the Guard escorting a prisoner at that time. I’ll meet you at the Northern Gatehouse and then you will be free to go where you please." He reached down and plucked his coin purse from his belt where it hung alongside his sword’s scabbard, tossing it lightly to me. "You’ll find that’s the full amount."

 I grasped the purse in my hand, feeling the weight and hearing the clink of the coins inside. There were very obviously gold septims in there and my jaw dropped in surprise. "You’ve been planning this for a while."

 Burd shrugged. "Ever since she got locked away. I just haven’t had a chance before today to act. I do suggest that you go and prepare yourself for a travel to wherever you are going as by tomorrow evening you don’t want to be too close to the city in case the patrols come across you two."

 "Don’t worry about thanking me you dumb bastard." The grin on his face was the least stressed I had seen him in years. "I would’ve helped you out no matter what you had done. This way at least you will earn something resembling an honest living."

 Our arms clasped together, hands gripping forearms in the solid grip of the legion. It had been too long since I had anyone I could depend upon, and despite all that had happened I felt confident in my path. We parted ways shortly after, as I faded into the press of humanity making their way through the city streets after leaving Castle Bruma. The sun was slowly beginning to set and the echoes of the second bell tolling from the Great Chapel of Talos still hung in the cooling air and I had preparations to make. A small collection of waterskins and travellers rations of hardtack and various dried foods were purchased with only a couple of coins from the purse. Several more paid for a sturdy cloak and a dozen arrows and their quiver. I ensured that I had a couple of various arrows, mostly broadheads for hunting the inevitable game that would allow me and my new travelling companion to live off the land as much as possible. Among other things I collected a handful of specific items; an axe for chopping wood, a well-worn scabbard for the short sword gifted by Baurus and a small collection of pouches that I could strap to my chest and around my waist for carrying everything. A steel needle, a pair of daggers, one thin and curved for cutting and skinning animals, a collection of flints and a tinderbox, tiny clay gourds with wax stoppers for herbs and other ingredients and dozens of other items all disappeared into my growing collection.

 Mostly I kept the majority of the coins, not needing to purchase much supplies or equipment as whatever I bought would then have to be carried one way or another. I preferred to travel light wherever possible, relying on my own skills to live through the wilderness and a lifetime of hunting and serving as a forester meant that I was fully capable of doing so.

 Purchasing what little I needed, and with the sun slowly setting over the towering mountain peaks I made my way to the north gate. I was considerably early by this point, but with a new travelling pack and supplies as well as equipment it gave me the time needed to repack and organise myself for at least half a week’s journey to Chorrol. My quiver was set alongside the pack, which was loaded with the handful of clothes and rations while the trio of waterskins sloshed gently under bottom pouch where their weight wouldn’t affect me unduly.

 As the Chapel bells began to toll for the 6th hour, I stood off to the side of the towering gates, looking out over the mountains and watching the clouds and mist rolls off the peaks of Pale Pass. It was a calming sight, even as the sun’s last rays of the evening were swallowed by the mountain range and darkness began to spread across the land like spilled ink. Soon owls would begin to echo their cries into the night as they searched for prey, and wolves and foxes would emerge seeking their own meals for the coming days. The night was the time of predators, and was something almost akin to a home for me as a skilled hunter.

 Footsteps echoed from within the gatehouse as the pair of individuals made their way under the yawning portcullises and the gaping murder holes in the roof. With darkness approaching there was no longer anyone outside the walls, all the wandering merchants and other assorted travellers would be bunking down in the various taverns and inns within the city. The three of us were the only individuals in sight, and only the guards stationed within the gatehouse were anywhere close to us.

 Burd stepped forward, holding a lantern in one hand and still clad in his surcoat and armour, the shorter form of the Dark Elf prisoner standing alongside. She was only a few centimetres shorter than the both of us, but the sheer force of her presence more than made up for the slight height disadvantage. She held herself high, walking as though she owned the entire world and that she was in full control of the situation despite the iron manacles binding her wrists together. Suddenly standing closer to her than I had ever before I realised that how painfully beautiful she was, even despite the attempts of her diamond-sharp personality to dissuade all those around her of the fact.

 "I trust that you are prepared." He said to me, glancing over my equipment and momentarily staring at the unstrung bow in my left hand and the other weapons that I had collected.

 "I’m as ready as I’ve always been. You of all people should now me better by now."

 "Heh, that is true. Did you leave any weapons behind though?"

 He knew of my opinion that you could never have too many options to defend yourself, and while I always ensured that I could move quickly and lightly I would never be found wanting for a weapon. Besides my hunting bow, and steel shortsword in its scabbard on my hip I also had a trio of knives fastened to my chest with their hilts pointing down on an angle so that within a heartbeat I could draw them.

 "These are dangerous times." I stated simply, receiving a knowing nod in return. The news of the Emperor’s death had already reached this far north as had the sudden wave of unrest and uncertainty that had come with it.

 "That it is." He stepped forward giving me another crushing embrace before stepping away somewhat sheepishly. "You take care of yourself brother."

 "You don’t need to start acting like an old woman. I’ve survived worse."

 With a light pat on the shoulder he turned back to my new travelling companion, taking out a key and unlocking the manacles around her wrists. There was a moment of murmuring conversation that was too softly spoken for me to make out between them, and then Burd had stepped aside. She stepped forward, rubbing her wrists almost absentmindedly as she looked around at the flowing darkness with an obvious sense of pleasure.

 "Travel safely you two." He called out as he moved back inside of the gatehouse, before whistling loudly to the gatehouse guards. With grunts of exertion and the clattering and squeal of oiled metal and chains the portcullis began to grind closed. Only when the metal spikes under the bottom of the gate pressed into the carved holes in the stone floor did Burd turn and walk back through into the city with single wave to send us on our way.

 For several moments both me and the Elf stood there quietly, looking and measuring each other with appraising eyes and both seemingly unable to make up our minds about the other.