At first glimpse, one would think the seemingly peaceful East Commonlands of Antonica would offer an idyllic lifestyle for its inhabitants. Amid a wide variety of trees and hills and gullies, the land provided a bountiful setting where survival meant deciding which fruit to pick or what kind of meat to hunt that day. Aside from a few tiny collections of orcish clans who set up camp nearby and the occasional griffin hunting its way through the area, the East Commonlands presented what appeared on the surface to be an ideal spot to enjoy.

Such delusions were quickly put to rest by its nearby inhabitants, however. With the Teir’Dal city of Neriak resting in the heart of Nektulos Forest to the north, and the human occupation of Freeport to the east, the Commonlands often became the focus of contention. As such, the picturesque nature of the lush landscape was stained by years of blood as the two sovereignties feuded. Instead of living a life of peaceful contentment, the Commonlanders were subject to the mightier powers of their warring neighbors. Their home often became battleground to what they saw as a futile struggle they had little or no stake in.

And that’s not to mention the flotsam of bizarre creatures that filtered in from the more hazardous West Commonlands.

Although their numbers were largely human, the inhabitants of the Commonlands held no official loyalties to the teeming stronghold of Freeport, contrary to whatever Militia presence one might observe from time to time. Truth be known, they would much rather they and their homeland be forgotten by human and dark elf alike, and left alone to their own devices. In a perfect world, such a thing might have been possible.

But Norrath was far from perfect when it came to the dark elves, whose hateful and malicious eyes had been focused on the East Commonlands for quite some time. Should the Teir’Dal ever succeed in conquering the rich lands, they would finally have the resources to launch their killing blow to the city-state of Freeport. And from there, who knew? The Commonlanders didn’t much care, to be perfectly frank. All they knew was that their precious territory would wither and die under dark elf rule, and strove to thwart any such possibility.

The East Commonlands also had its share of the more seedy elements of humankind. Thieves and bandits occasionally reaped what they could from their situation as well. So successful were they, in fact, that they literally controlled passage into the mighty Desert of Ro to the south.

Long ago in times forgotten by most, a tunnel had been constructed that breached the otherwise impassible desert wall separating the Commonlands from the vast desert. It was within this tunnel and its lofty caverns that the less desirable members of the community gathered. Together they met and rallied to barter and banter amongst themselves, catering to anyone with gold or silver regardless of race or creed—including the Teir’Dal. Money was money, and they recognized its value be it honest or stolen, held in hands pale or ebony, green or blue. Race and motive never mattered, so long as the money was good.

Though their presence stuck in the craw of many locals, they were allowed to go about their business deep inside the tunnel, as long as that was where they remained. Word quickly spread about the finery of the merchandise that could be had for a price, and eventually the small rough-and-tumble cave community entered into their own thriving enterprise in the black market. It became well known among the local commonwealth—though less often spoken—that if you wanted the best of the underground, you literally went underground to find it. What began as a hideout for brigands and hoodlums became a commonly-known lawless crossroads for people from all walks of life.

Dreketh found the place to her liking. Resting beneath a makeshift lean-to near the entrance, she calmly observed as human and dark elf bartered and traded together in the most unofficial capacity they could. She even noted the occasional halfling making its way amidst the haphazard bazaar, their small voices piping as they sold their own goods imported from their homeland of Rivervale to the northwest. Dreketh marveled at knowing that once these people left the cavern, they would magically become bitter enemies again. It astonished her how the all-powerful platinum coin could erase any boundary, given the right circumstances.

The cavern was the perfect place to meet her companion. For all his shortcomings—and there were many—she had to hand it to Kella N’Threk. He had chosen the ideal spot where a rendezvous between a dark elf and a light dweller would go unquestioned. No need for sneaking about for secret meeting places. They could conduct their business completely in the open, and nobody would give them a second look or have cause to be suspicious of their actions.

As the hushed tones of the occupants wafted about the cavern, Dreketh wondered which one might be her contact. Try as she might, she couldn’t pry loose any specifics about her counterpart beyond the fact that it was a light dweller and she would recognize them immediately. Nothing about race or occupation. She didn’t even know if she should be expecting a male or female. The doddering old priest was just too vague to extract any useful information out of.

Her eyes searching among the small groups of patrons, Dreketh caught herself privately hoping it would be a male human. Though she had always been taught to hate light dwellers of every race, the handful of human men who were allowed to reside in Neriak’s foreign quarter always managed to catch her eye. Their physiques were very much unlike any dark elf male, with much stronger muscles and powerful catlike grace. They were considerably taller as well, and often grew beards—something of a challenge for their Teir’Dal counterparts. If she had to spend her time with a light dweller day in and day out, she wished for at least that much, just to make life tolerable. Who knew? Perhaps she could reap some small amount of pleasure along the way.

Sighing, Dreketh adjusted her bronze leggings. Though fine to wear while standing or walking, they annoyed her to no end while sitting—particularly on the floor, as she was. She fervently wished she could divest them right there while she waited. Unfortunately, their snug fit didn’t allow room for anything thicker than her undergarments beneath. With all these ruffians about, she decided it was best not to attract undue attention, not to mention any misleading ideas from the lonelier of the men.

Hours passed in the relative darkness of the cavern. During her patient tarry, Dreketh waved off the occasional merchant offering some trinket or other, purchasing only a handful of rations to tide her over until her contact showed up. She wasn’t certain how long her wait was going to be, and wondered if she should look into whatever room and board this place had to offer, if any. Chewing absently on a bland morsel, she craned her neck to see if there might be any pallets she could rent for the day.

That was when she saw the robed figure make its way through the gaping cavern entrance. Though certainly not an unusual sight, this particular figure had the look of having never graced this place before, nor any like it. Glancing promptly among the patrons, the person was obviously looking for something in particular.

Or someone.

Dreketh paid close attention to the newcomer. Whoever they might be, they were slight of build beneath the concealing robes, which were of a curious design she had never seen before. This person was obviously not human, as their height was no greater than that of a dark elf, but a good two heads taller than any dwarf. Slung over the figure’s shoulder was a pack that had the look of having traveled a fair distance. The figure had a habit of shying away from any passers by, evidently loath to have anything to do with the occupants of this place—certainly not the behavior of someone looking to do a bit of midnight browsing.

Which begged the question why the individual decided to come here in the first place. Either this was some homebody come to retrieve a spouse or sibling or…

The figure withdrew its cowling hood, revealing the sharp, refined features of a wood elf female from the far east continent of Faydwer. The torchlight reflected off the flawless chestnut complexion, surrounded by wisps of straight auburn hair that reached to her shoulders. Running her fingers through her hair, the wood elf made an impassive attempt at fixing the unkempt wisps that had become tousled in the folds of the hood, all the while her gaze darting here and there about the cavern.

Dreketh’s expression darkened even as she sat, staring. Though the sight of a wood elf this close to Freeport was not entirely suspect, they typically kept to themselves and they never graced such places as this with their presence. Had Dreketh stumbled across this loathsome creature out and away from the tunnel, she would already have been sliding her sword from the bleeding corpse. As it was, she knew the regulars at this place enforced a strict code of non-violence, and any upstarts were dealt with quickly and ruthlessly.

That didn’t mean Dreketh couldn’t show this abomination the depth of her repugnance. She merely sat, her seething eyes glaring a hole straight through the wood elf.

By whatever foul sixth sense that wood elves seemed to possess, the female somehow felt Dreketh’s burning gaze, and turned her searching eyes to look her way. Their eyes met in the same way lightning meets the ground. Several bystanders who passed between them stopped suddenly and looked from one to the other to see what it was they had inadvertently blundered upon.

The wood elf’s uncertain gaze wavered, as if she were reluctant about something. Dreketh silently willed her to draw a weapon or make a move—that way the market’s patrons would do her work for her. It wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying, but at least she wouldn’t have to look at those nauseatingly whimsical wood elf features anymore.

Blinking, the wood elf made her soft-footed approach toward Dreketh. Great. Now what did she want? Couldn’t she plainly see enough that she was unwelcome? Go back to your little homeland, woodie, Dreketh shouted in her mind. My people will deal with your kind soon enough.

Approaching Dreketh, the wood elf leaned down to speak, her expression filled with apprehension.

“My name is Laera Nellynwae. I come to fulfill the Pact of Zeranon,” she said in a small voice.

Dreketh’s disposition transformed from ire to shock. The Pact of Zeranon. It couldn’t be. Her gaze unwavering, Dreketh stood to face this obvious imposter.

“No,” she said simply.

Laera’s expression turned quizzical.

“I’m sorry?” she asked, turning an ear is if she hadn’t heard correctly.

“Who are you that you know of Zeranon’s Pact?” Dreketh practically spat the words.

“I… just told you,” Laera replied, warily confused at the question. “I am Laera Nellynwae. I have come to fulfill the Pact of-”

“And I said no!” Dreketh’s shout caught the attention of several patrons nearby. Glancing around, she lowered her voice. “N’Threk would never expect me to go off with some puny wood elf child. So you’d better start telling me who you really are and how you know about the Pact.”

Laera had expected a certain amount of friction to take place once she caught up with the dark elf emissary. She anticipated a great deal of tension, as she figured neither of them would be thrilled at the prospect of traveling together. But outright denial was something she wasn’t prepared to deal with. This person was obviously the one she was supposed to contact, it being unlikely that anyone else in this godforsaken place would know of the Pact. How dare she react like this! She spoke as though it was Laera’s whole idea!

“I’m not going to say it again,” she muttered, struggling to maintain her civility. “My name is Laera Nellynwae. I was sent by Yeolarn Bronzeleaf as an emissary to meet with-”

“Who?” Dreketh’s arms folded, her brow furrowed in a show of agitation.

Laera set her jaw squarely, standing firm with dignity.

“Yeolarn Bronzeleaf. High priest of Tunare and spiritual leader of Her elven followers.”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about. The Pact was set forth by a Teir’Dal priest named N’Threk. He made all the arrangements, and if you don’t even know his name, then you’re no emissary.”

Setting her jaw forward, Laera looked at Dreketh in perfect gall.

“I’m not?” she asked challengingly, placing her fists firmly against her hips. “Okay, then who am I?”

“You’re obviously some fool imposter who heard about the Pact somewhere and decided to get a piece of the action.” Dreketh made a gesture at Laera’s appearance. “Look at you. I’ll wager you’ve never left your little tree village over in Faydwer before this, have you?”

“I most certainly-”

“I don’t know how you came to find out about the Pact or my whereabouts, but it’s time to scuttle your way back home.” Dreketh made shooing motions with her bronze hands. “Go on, or you’ll get yourself into trouble out here. Hurry, before you try my patience.”

Laera fumed.

“I am a guardian of nature,” she spoke succinctly. “By the grace and power of Tunare, I wield her full authority as a druid. I refuse to be spoken to in this manner by an abomination not of Her divine hand.”

“Right, whatever,” Dreketh said offhandedly, reaching for Laera’s arm to lead her out of the cave.

“Don’t touch me!” Laera jerked away from the dark elf’s hand, her voice echoing sharply above the constant murmur of the cavern.

Having caught the attention of a particularly large and burly-looking barbarian, the two elves glanced up under his approaching shadow. In a show of solid, rippling muscles the size of tree trunks, the enormous man folded his arms and gazed down at the small upstarts before him.

“Problem?” his bass tone asked grimly.

The two exchanged bitter glances, each trying to anticipate what the other might do.

“No,” they both said simultaneously, each appearing sullen like two berated children caught fighting on a playground.

“Good,” came the barbarian’s curt, heavily accented response. “Both you leave and cool off. Is uncomfortably hot in here, no?”

Exchanging bitter glances again, the two silently left the sheltering cavern and traversed the tunnel until it opened out into the cool night air of the Commonlands. Their only company was a small group of mixed travelers who had made camp just outside the entrance a short distance away.

“Excellent,” Dreketh said piercingly over her shoulder as she marched away. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? I have to meet my contact inside that tunnel. Now I can’t because of your outburst.”

“I am your contact, dark elf,” Laera spoke tersely from behind. “How many times do I have to tell this to you before your deaf ears hear me? I am here to fulfill the Pact of Zeranon.”

“Impossible!” Dreketh rounded on her companion furiously. “N’Threk would never accept a whelp from a weakling race to fulfill the Pact.”

“Be very careful who you’re calling a whelp,” Laera’s voice lowered dangerously. “Yeolarn Bronzeleaf himself chose me for this mission.”

“I don’t care if Antonius Bayle’s count jester chose you for this mission. You’re not my contact!”

“Just what do-” Laera’s confused rage turned flustered as she hesitated. “Antonius who?”

Dreketh threw up her arms in frustration, turning her back on this simpleton. Placing her hands on her hips, she shifted her weight to the other foot and stared at the rolling hills stretching out before her. Why was she even trying to reason with this little annoyance? She had to find a way back into the cavern, and quickly or the Pact could well be broken before it even started.

She decided it was time to prove her point.

“Okay, fine,” Dreketh said over her shoulder. “If you’re my contact, then tell me your instructions. Precisely, or this conversation is finished.”

Laera swallowed, unsure what to do or how much she was supposed to tell this Teir’Dal. She was convinced, reluctantly, that this was her opposite number in the Pact. Headmistress Netheel said she was to meet with a dark elf female clad mostly in shining armor. She even gave Laera the exact location where to find her and that she would be the only one there who knew of the Pact or anything about it.

“Well?” Dreketh spoke impatiently, her head turned to glare at Laera over her shoulder.

Laera licked her lips, still uncertain. Over and over the headmistress stressed the importance of serving the Pact over all other considerations. She knew if she said nothing, the Pact was indeed threatened. Somehow she had to convince this irrational embodiment of evil that she was who she claimed to be.

Heaving a sigh, Laera swallowed.

“I was told by Mis-… my superiors to travel across the Ocean of Tears. Once I arrived in Antonica, I was to locate the Tunnel of Ro and seek the one who holds both keys of the dead. Once found, I was to join you in the Pact and never leave your side. I am to watch over you and keep you well and strong as you defend us both against those who seek us harm.”

Gaining resolve as she spoke, Laera stepped forward.

“I am to be your guardian as you are mine, alone together in the world to meet and surmount all obstacles before us. Only in this way will the Pact of Zeranon be fulfilled, and therefore the will of Tunare. Those are the instructions I have been given, and nothing—not even you—will keep me from serving Her will.

“So, if you don’t believe my claim,” Laera spread her arms wide, her hands empty, “then kill me now. For it will be the only way you will be rid of me. Go on. Break the Pact, and be done with it.”

Dreketh’s icy glare blinked once, her grim expression frozen in place. This dotard standing before her no longer seemed the whelp she did at first. She spoke of the Pact with devout faith in her god. As misled as that sentiment might have been, she was willing to die to fulfill it—a bluff no elf imposter would make while standing before a Teir’Dal. A human, perhaps, but not an elf.

The one who holds both keys of the dead. The words rang clearly in Dreketh’s mind. No other dark elf fit that description besides she. Incredulously, there was no longer any doubt. This nature-loving druid named Laera Nellynwae was to be her companion in the Pact.

She sneered caustically. A wood elf.

Turning about, Dreketh reached behind her shoulders and drew forth her father’s sword from its scabbard strapped to her back. The ring of metal pervaded the night air and made Laera seize nervously, the sudden break in tension taking her off her guard. Never once, however, did her eyes lose their fervency.

Placing the blade of the magnificent sword in one gauntleted hand, and the hilt in the other, Dreketh eyed her new companion darkly. Thinking only of Master Quexill and his emphasis of the importance of her mission, she brought the gleaming blade slowly to her lips.

“Upon the hatred of the Prince and by the blade of my father, I vow to guard and protect you. Your death in mine. My death in yours. Together we go forth. So it was decreed, so it shall be done.”

Sliding the sword abruptly back into its scabbard, Dreketh folded her arms to glower at Laera standing before her. Her displeasure at the current situation shown plainly evident across her scowling face.

Laera realized she had been holding her breath the entire time, having fully expected the dark one to impale her on that blade. Releasing her breath carefully, she tried not to allow too much relief to show as she broke their gaze. Her eyes closing, Laera silently whispered a prayer of thanks to Tunare.

Reopening her eyes, her sight was met by Dreketh’s dire visage still standing motionless before her. She supposed her first few self-introductions had been insufficient, and so ventured one last try.

“Laera Nellynwae, druid of Tunare,” she said evenly, extending a customary hand in diffident greeting.

“Dreketh’s eyes lowered to the wood elf’s proffered hand. Pausing a moment in consideration, Dreketh eventually reached out to grasp it in her own firm grip, the pinching folds of her bronze gauntlet making Laera wince.

“Dreketh,” She said in a monotone voice. “Shadow knight of Innoruuk, and practitioner of the dead.”

The awkwardness of the situation preyed on Laera. Her new companion had spoken barely a word since leaving the tunnel entrance.

Seeing as how neither of them were in any hurry to return to the cave merely for the privilege of paying to sleep on a floor mat, it was decided that they would make their way back to Freeport instead. Dreketh mentioned in her laconic way that the guards held no love for elves—dark or otherwise—but they did occasionally allow outsiders to sleep in any spare bunks they might have available in the Militia House. The whole sentiment seemed dubious to Laera, but Dreketh explained their reasoning was founded in the fact that it was better than allowing miscreant foreigners to roam the streets, stirring up trouble. At least in the Militia House it was easy to keep a close eye on them.

Shrugging, Laera gave way to her companion’s better judgment. Dreketh had, after all, been born and raised in this part of the world, and she herself had only just arrived on this continent a few hours ago. Besides, any promise of a bed made Laera’s spirits rise to no limits. After her ship docked at dusk, she immediately embarked upon her journey to find the elusive Tunnel of Ro. Having begged its whereabouts from the bothered citizens of Freeport, she traveled all evening and well into the night searching for the elusive thing. She was exhausted, and couldn’t wait to see the inside of her eyelids for more than a few seconds at a time. Judging from what little she knew about Teir’Dal habits, she figured it was probably time for Dreketh to be nodding off as well, with the impending sunrise.

At this point, that was plenty fine with her. The sociability of her new traveling companion left a lot to be desired. Candidly, Laera didn’t mind if Dreketh slept through the entire Pact.

“Orcs,” came Dreketh’s monotone voice, as if summoned by the wood elf’s thoughts.

“I beg your pardon?” Laera’s brow furrowed at the odd statement.

“Crushbone orcs,” Dreketh continued, her lips pressed together. “I refuse to slay any.”

“Why not?” Not that it mattered to Laera what Dreketh allowed to live, but she couldn’t fathom why the orcs of Crushbone neighboring her own homeland deserved such a grand concession.

“I just won’t,” Dreketh snapped. “So you can just forget about going anywhere near that place.”

Laera shrugged her shoulders in a show of tolerance.

“Fine by me,” she said. “As long as you respect my wishes and leave the natural fauna alone wherever we do go.”

Dreketh looked up sharply. She opened her mouth to protest until she remembered Laera’s occupation. By definition, a druid wouldn’t dream of upsetting nature’s supposedly delicate balance by hunting its native beasts. The dark elf had even heard of places to the west where such sentiments were held so strongly, anyone caught fighting off a bear or wolf attack was executed outright on the spot. Imagine! Such short-sighted beliefs were beyond Dreketh. As such, she could only suppose the leather they wore for protection grew on trees. And besides, the beasts were living things—they’d reproduce again like any other creature.

Be that as it may, she was stuck with someone who held strongly to those beliefs, and she knew there would be no peace until the boundaries of their relationship were agreed upon. So be it, then. In the interests of serving her own provisions in this pact, she nodded her assent.

As they journeyed eastward, the grass below their feet gave way to sands heralding their impending arrival at Freeport. Laera sighed inwardly, not particularly eager to return to the musty, high-walled stronghold. As a wood elf, she possessed a congenital love of nature. To her, it seemed more customary to embrace the world’s innate qualities, rather than wall one’s self away from them. In the end, what have you got? A crowded, smelly prison full of people crawling all over each other to get from place to place. What kind of way was that to live?

At least Freeport offered a dazzling view of the open sky—something Laera positively adored. Having grown up in the misty woods of Greater Faydark, she rarely saw the sun or moon, or even the wispy clouds high above. Seeing now the fiery glow of the sun’s ascent over the horizon made her heart melt. She was bombarded by breathtaking rays of yellow, orange and peach that reminded her strongly of the mornings she experienced in Felwithe during her annual visits there.

Dreketh was less impressed by the spectacle toward which she walked. To her, the rising sun meant the glare of blinding light in her eyes. Dark elves were, by and large, a nocturnal, subterranean race. They dwelt in darkness in much the same way fish dwell in water. So much so, their entire city was built inside vaulting caverns—almost completely dark to all eyes but theirs. The keen eyesight of the Teir’Dal granted them a marked advantage during nighttime endeavors, even to the point of seeing quite clearly in total blackness. A very useful attribute, to be sure, but it became a source of much anxiety once the sun came up. Though not exactly blinded by bright light, it wasn’t exactly comfortable either.

The other elven races weren’t without their share of night vision as well—though certainly not to the extent of their dark cousins. Once the ambient light fell past a certain point, the eyes of elvenkind were able to discern the soft, red glow of heat given off by living creatures. While the night appeared considerably darker through their eyes as opposed to the eyes of the Teir’Dal, they were still able to find their way at night without suffering from any discomfort at other times—even in broad daylight.

Laera figured that was part of the reason the humans of Freeport resented elves so much. Which reminded her of something else she wanted to bring up before they reached the city gate.

“What happens when we get there?” she asked. “Won’t people think it strange that we’re together?”

Dreketh continued her rapid stride, uninterrupted. Judging by the complete void of feedback, Laera couldn’t tell if Dreketh was ignoring her or didn’t hear the question.

In reality, Dreketh was considering their options.

“Let them,” she said dourly, her cynicism winning out. “It’s not their business.”

“But what do we say if someone asks about it?”

“Don’t worry, I have it covered.”

Laera supposed that was that. She wondered drearily if such ascetic conversations were going to be the mainstay of their relationship. They had been so far.

As the unlikely pair approached the west gate of Freeport, they came across the sundry vermin that so infested the grounds just outside. Both looked in distaste at the massed indications of the town’s unclean squalor.

Dreketh shook her head and gasped at the back of her throat in contempt. For the first time in their relationship, she actually made an unprovoked comment.

“I hate this barbaric place,” she spat. “You’ll not see such refuse strewn before the gates of Neriak.”

For once, Laera had to agree with her cohort. Casting about the sandy ground, she saw every sort of creature she could imagine that crept or slithered. Greater Faydark wasn’t exactly the most lifeless place in the world when it came to such things, but at least its inhabitants had the decency to clean up after themselves while hunting. The area outside Freeport, however, was bedlam. The sight that greeted her departure earlier that evening nearly gagged her when she first saw it. The place smelled of a heady musk that was overwhelming. She knew that once she entered the city, she would eventually get used to it, but for the moment it was borderline intolerable.

Resisting the temptation to hold her nose, Laera followed Dreketh up to the gate where two burly guards dressed in Militia uniforms framed the entryway. Casting a glowering look toward Dreketh, one of the guards broke away from his post and approached the two newcomers.

“I’ll handle this,” Dreketh whispered.

Drawing his sword, the guard blocked their path with the blade. Dreketh’s smooth stride came to a glib halt inches away from its sharp edge. She kept her gaze straight ahead arrogantly, as if even looking at the human guard were somehow beneath her.

“Ye a soldier?” came the guard’s inquiry.

“No,” Dreketh replied, her abruptness exuding a clear defiance.

“What are ye, then, dressed like that? A mercen’ry?”

Dreketh turned her head slowly, bringing her eyes to bear on the uncouth human. She raised a single hand and placed it artfully to rest on her hip, a crooked smirk gracing her lips.

“I’m for hire, if that’s what you mean,” she said with a nefarious undertone.

The guard took a moment to evaluate this Teir’Dal standing before him. The tensions between their two nations were on a hiatus for the time being, but that didn’t mean dark elves were allowed to come and go as they pleased—especially known dragoons of the dark elf army. As far as the local authorities were concerned, dark elves in the city walls meant nothing but more work for them. More often than not, they came to cause trouble, and those who didn’t often found it anyway if they wandered into the wrong parts of town.

Nevertheless, the occasional dark elf merchant or mercenary was tolerated so long as they seemed streetwise enough. It was good for the local economy. Dreketh’s calm demeanor and open approach would suggest she had nothing to hide.

What concerned the guard most was the armor she wore. It was obviously of fine make, and marked her either as a prominent soldier in the Teir’Dal army or a highly skilled sword-for-hire. Such talent of the latter was often sought by the wealthy in the port city, and denying such a person entry wouldn’t help the Militia’s already less-than-perfect reputation among the populace.

“Who’s she, then?” The guard’s gaze slid to Laera.

Dreketh cast a fluid eye over her shoulder toward the wood elf.

“Tech’len,” she said, wasting no more time for deliberation than she had to.

The guard gave Laera an inspecting sweep with his eyes from head to foot and back again.

“K'chal ver nieht?”

“Niess…”

Nodding to himself and giving Laera one more perfunctory glance, the guard chewed at whatever resided in his stubbled cheek and spat offhandedly on the ground. Lowering his sword, he merely tilted his head toward the entryway, granting the two women permission to enter.

“Watch yer step. Both o’ ye.”

Stepping forward as if the exchange never happened, Dreketh marched below the stone arches into Freeport.

“What was that?” Laera asked, hurriedly trying to keep up with the shadow knight’s pace.

“Which part?” came Dreketh’s usual monotone response.

“Those words you spoke. I didn’t understand them.”

“Dark speech.”

“Dark speech! The Freeport guard knows dark speech?”

“You’d be surprised, the things that some guards know.”

“Well, what did you say to him?” the druid pressed.

“I told him you were my slave,” Dreketh said evenly.

“You what!”

Dreketh turned around, holding up a silencing hand.

“Shush, relax.” She glanced around furtively at a pair of passing guards who were taking note of the minor disturbance. “He was about to turn us away. I could see it in his eyes. I had to come up with something that would bring me up a few notches in his estimation. Only Teir’Dal aristocracy own slaves. It was the only thing I could think of at the moment.”

“So, what’s next?” Laera asked, frantically livid. “You put me in a collar and lead me around on a chain like some sort of pet?”

At seeing Laera’s agitated disposition, the two guards who were about to pass them by stopped a distance away and folded their arms to see if the dispute was going to evolve into something bigger.

“Will you calm down?” Dreketh whispered in a growl. Taking Laera by the arm and walking quickly down the city street, away from their audience. “You’re going to get us kicked out of town, or worse.”

Rounding the corner, they stopped before a red brick building with an engraved brass placard hanging next to a nondescript door.

“First of all, the Teir’Dal break their slaves into total submission, so no such bonds are necessary to keep them in line.” Dreketh’s hurried words made Laera’s skin crawl. “Second, such open displays of slavery are forbidden in Freeport. It’s illegal for citizens to own any, and outsiders are expected to maintain a don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy while in the city limits.”

Her arms folded, Laera frowned angrily at her companion.

“And what was the look about?” she asked.

Dreketh opened her mouth silently with a raised eyebrow, carefully choosing her words.

“He was… asking how much you were.”

Laera’s disposition returned from calmly irate back to livid.

“He wanted to buy me?” she asked incredulously.

“No, not at all,” Dreketh turned her back and opened the door with a jerk of her hand. “He just wanted to ‘rent’ you for an hour or two.”

Laera’s jaw dropped clear to her chest, her voice eluding her in her outrage. Giving it up for a lost cause, she stalked into the brick building after her companion. By the gods, this wasn’t over yet.

Marching up behind her “slaver,” Laera’s heated words caught in her throat as she came upon Dreketh addressing another guard sitting behind a table just inside the door. Hunched over a stack of papers in front of him, the burly human didn’t seem to be much in the mood for casual conversation.

“Captain here?” Dreketh said calmly, looking straight ahead.

“Out,” came the guard’s muted response, his eyes remaining glued to the scroll he was reading.

“Mind if we squat for a while?”

The guard shrugged, nonchalant, his chain armor jingling.

“First door down the right. One day. No board.”

Nodding her silent acknowledgement, Dreketh turned down the indicated hall. She smiled to herself in satisfaction at actually obtaining a private room. She made a mental note to wear her bronze armor often when in the city.

Arriving at the correct door, she reached out and turned the lockless handle. Letting the door swing inward on nearly silent hinges, Dreketh’s thin-lipped smile made an encore appearance. She noted, with gratification, the small twin beds sitting against the back wall, facing each other from the corners. Three lit sconces graced the cinderblock walls. The room was otherwise empty, save for a couple of crates stacked haplessly in the corner near the door.

Sounding suspiciously like a purring cat, Dreketh made a noise of contentment as she stepped into the room.

Laera poked her head in and made her own evaluation of their quarters.

“This is it?” she asked with distaste.

“What is it now?” Dreketh was perturbed. Deciding that whatever whining the wood elf was going to make could be heard just as well from bed, Dreketh selected the one on the left. Walking over, she sat down to test the thin mattress.

“Well…” Laera gestured with an open hand around the stark room. “It’s empty! Two beds and some moldy crates with nothing but a few barely burning flames to see by?”

“Reaching down, Dreketh crossed one leg atop the other and began the task of pulling the brass greaves from her aching feet. Now that she was sitting, she realized how tired she was.

“This isn’t an inn,” she said in a haggard tone. “I take it you’re used to better in your little tree village?”

Folding her arms, Laera made another distasteful glance around the room.

“At least we have actual furniture. And look, there are no windows. I can’t see outside. It makes me-”

Releasing her foot, Dreketh let it fall suddenly with a striking boom as the metal boot struck the wooden floor.

“Look,” she said, her voice low. “It’s either this or one of the bunks the soldiers normally use in the common room, all right? Personally, I’ve had my fill of human eyes ogling me as I get ready for bed.” She jutted her chin at the open doorway as a passing guard stopped for a glance inside the room.

Turning, Laera smiled nervously at the guard and quickly closed the door.

“If you ask me,” Dreketh continued as she raised her foot to make a second attempt at pulling off her boot, “this place is luxurious compared to what I normally have to put up with in Freeport. It’s free, and the bigoted jackasses in this town won’t rent me a room no matter how much I pour on the charm. So do me a favor, shut up, and go to sleep. Your pain will be over in a few hours, I assure you.” Her sarcasm was biting as finally the greave gave way and slid off. Quickly removing the sock underneath, Dreketh massaged her aching foot.

Laera swallowed silently. She felt like a child being scolded by her mother.

“Fine,” she said haughtily, trying to regain some lost dignity as she marched to the other bed. “It looks like I traded one headmistress for another. It’s perfect. Just perfect.” Dropping her pack to the floor nearby, she flounced down onto the mattress, stewing as she glared up at the ceiling.

Casting the wood elf a brief scowl, Dreketh shook her head to herself. How did this undisciplined child ever become an advocate in the Pact? Though Dreketh couldn’t have been her elder by more than a year or two, she couldn’t help imagine what this whining druid would have done in the shadow knights' guild on the first day of training. The mental vision nearly made her laugh out loud.

Shaking her head to clear it, Dreketh touched her foot to the floor and stood to finally unfasten the bronze leggings that so chafed her legs.

Laera fumed as she lay in bed across the way, her hands resting on her stomach. Dreketh’s sudden rise from the other bed caught the druid’s attention, distracting her from her dismal thoughts. Laera watched idly as the dark elf went about removing the polished bronze leggings, noting the blue skin of her legs underneath as they emerged.

For some reason the sight caught Laera off her guard. Her curiosity was piqued as she saw that the blue color of Dreketh’s skin wasn’t just her face and hands, but her entire body. Well, of course it was! What did she expect? Still the night blue tint of the dark elf’s skin mystified the wood elf. In plays performed at the bard’s guild back home in Kelethin, elven actors playing Teir’Dal roles often used a strange blue makeup on their face and hands to create the same effect. The substance was created from the pollen of a particular flower found in Lesser Faydark that completely washed away with a brisk scrubbing of water.

It hit Laera that this blue skin before her was that of an actual, genuine Teir’Dal, and wouldn’t wash away when she bathed. Events of the day happened so fast for the young, travel-weary druid that she hadn’t taken the time to realize she was really alone with a true-blooded dark elf. She had never been this close to one in her life! The shocking realization of who and what she was with hit her fully as she watched her companion with abstracted eyes.

“What.” Dreketh’s sharp voice broke the wood elf from her thoughts.

Mildly startled, Laera blinked up to see the dark elf’s wary face staring back down at her. Taking on a wanton look of indifference, Laera turned her head aside to stare at the wall neighboring her bed.

“Nothing,” she said.

Raising a cautious eyebrow, Dreketh began to passively wonder if the bunks outside weren’t a wiser choice after all. Tentatively, she unstrapped the last of her armor from her shoulders and set it on the floor next to the other pieces. Reaching up to her shoulders with both hands, she adjusted the straps of her undershirt with a quick snap, and slid beneath her single blanket resting atop the bare mattress.

She had to admit, it was rather squalid compared to her berth in the Lodge of the Dead. A part of her couldn’t help agreeing with Laera that the amenities Freeport offered its unwanted visitors were austere, but she would be damned before she let it show in front of her new companion

Curling up with her standard-issue Freeport Militia pillow, Dreketh closed her eyes, coldly leaving Tunare’s advocate to whatever faculties she used to fall asleep in strange and unfamiliar places.

Chapter 6 - Hidden Agendas