"I swear to the Deceiver I saw them turn in here." a dark elf says.
"If we’ve lost them you will lose your head." A dark elf Captain says.
In the darkness, we huddle together, hearts hammering, lungs burning. The broken orc whimpers. And somewhere above us, angry voices fade as the search moves on.
But all I can think about is Kresh—proud, fierce Kresh—reduced to scattered ash because he helped us escape.
"The harbor," Nazim whispers finally, his voice thick with grief. "This tunnel leads to the boats. But, we will wait until tomorrow."
I reach out in the blackness and find Forla's hand. Her fingers are sticky with someone else's blood, but they're warm and real and alive.
18
FORLA
The tunnel leads us through the bowels of Eelry like the throat of some great beast. Nazim moves ahead with the confidence of someone who's walked these passages many times, his serpentine form flowing through spaces that would challenge the rest of us.
"Not much further," Nazim whispers, his forked tongue tasting the stale air. "Just ahead."
The passage opens into a cavern carved from living rock, larger than I expected and surprisingly well-appointed. Barrels of ale sit stacked against one wall, alongside cured meats wrapped in oiled cloth and clay jugs of what smells like clean water. Small alcoves have been carved into the walls—separate sleeping chambers, each barely large enough for one person but offering privacy.
"How long have you maintained this place?" I ask, already taking inventory of our supplies with my healer's instincts.
"Years," Nazim replies. "Old smuggler's cache from when I was... less reformed. We can stay here safely until morning. The entrance is warded against detection, and there are three other ways out if we need them."
Thoktar sinks onto a simple stool, his body finally acknowledging the punishment it's taken. I can see the gash across his forearm from his arena fight, the way he favors his ribs. But he's alive. We're alive.
A calm settles as Nazim pours each of us a mug of ale. The relief it brings is welcome.
“More.” Rophan says.
The madness has left his eyes, but something haunted remains.
“Of course, your help turned the day in our favour, my friend.” Nazim says pouring him another mugful. “Tell us, how did such a powerful and noble one end up as a dark elf plaything?”
“Powerful, I am, noble I am far from,” Rophan replies, downing the fresh ale in one mouthful. “More.”
Nazim obliges.
When he speaks, his voice carries the weight of old sorrows.
"The Fire Run," he begins without preamble, as if speaking to the shadows rather than us. "Sacred trial of the minotaur. Climb the volcano of Aegino, take the lava, prove your worth to the gods."
None of us interrupt. There's something in his tone that demands silence.
"I raced against another minotaur. Romas." The name comes out like a curse. "Proud bastard, thought himself better than everyone."
His massive hands clench into fists, knuckles still raw from the arena fights.
"He cheated..." His voice drops to a growl. "I woke to find both ships gone. Mine, his—sailing away together. Romas had convinced my crew to abandon me. Left me on that cursed rock to die."
My heart clenches. I know what abandonment feels like, what it means to be left behind by those who should protect you.
"The island... it does things to your mind. The spirits, the endless heat, the hunger. Years I spent there, fighting monsters, eating whatever I could catch. Years of madness, of rage, of planning what I'd do when I escaped."
"How did you get off?" I ask softly.
"Demons." Rophan's laugh is bitter. "The only race dumb enough to try and plunder Aegino. By then I was more beast than minotaur. They took me, broke what was left of my sanity and sold me to the dark elves." He looks up at us with eyes that have seen too much.
