Love and Bounty

Chapter Seventeen: My Old Friend

Kotag gro-Borak...

That name sounded like an orc's name, but if that were so, what business would he have avenging Einar?

As Hrolf, Iscraah, and the other Blackbloods continued on with one less man in their ranks, he ruminated on the alarming information he had just received. All of it could be lies, as far as he knew. Every word came from a man who had been shaking with fear before he went trigger-happy with his crossbow—on his own cousin... but Hrolf couldn't know. The man was lucid, toward the end. Either that or he was in so deep that Hrolf couldn't tell what was madness or sanity anymore.

He didn't regret killing Einar, that was for sure. His only regret was dragging the Blackbloods into this conflict that should have remained a personal matter. The men that destroyed his life needed to die, and he was willing to die on that quest, himself. Where he drew the line was taking people with him. Like... that man...

No. He was lost. That crazed look in his eye was evidence enough that he had gone off the deep end—brushed shoulders with something that no man could see and stay whole. The thought of such a thing dwelling in these sewers with them seized Hrolf's lungs and refused to let go, making each breath harder than the last.

Get a hold of yourself, Hrolf.

Kyne would protect him. She always did.

Aside from the odd skeever, the sewers were strangely empty. The corridors and quiet cisterns were, for the most part, silent. Devoid of life. What could a mage be doing down here that required such isolation and deafening silence? At least their footsteps cut through the quiet with a measure of persistence. Hrolf found it preferable to keep his anxious thoughts tucked away, for now.

Soon, they reached a section of the sewers where they would have to jump down to continue into an open cistern. Iscraah secured a rope around an iron grate and left two Blackbloods to guard the spot while the rest made their way down and sloshed in the shin-deep water, stagnant and reeking worse than ever before. Only the gods knew what was submerged in the muck, but Hrolf wasn't eager to find out. Nor was anyone else, it seemed.

The chamber would've been a dead end, had it not been for a gaping hole in the wall.

Beyond the ruined brick wall, a strangely organic cavern stretched forward, illuminated by orange, bulbous plants and mushrooms lining the broad tunnel walls. The strange sight was met with gasps of awe and underlying trepidation. Even Iscraah went perfectly still as she stood at the tunnel's maw.

"Shor's bones..." one Blackblood uttered. "What's that on the walls?"

It looked like... hardened sap, frozen in time as it oozed down in thick clumps. That must have been what the stones were from. It was everywhere down here. Just as Hrolf stepped toward the tunnel entrance to get a closer look, Iscraah held her arm out to stop him.

"Wait. There are bodies down there," she said.

Hrolf squinted. Iscraah must've had excellent eyesight, because it took him a while to notice the blackened humanoid outlines slouched against the tunnel walls. Where there were charred corpses, a mage had to have followed—unless Blackbloods did this. The only way to know for sure would be to check the bodies, and if there were any...

No, she's fine. She'll be fine.

"Any of ours?" Hrolf asked.

"I... cannot tell," Iscraah murmured.

He thought so. It was worth a shot. "Either way, it means our mad mage has been here. These tunnels may hold his treasure."

"And what if he fries all of us?" a Blackblood piped up. "What then?"