The cathedral’s image was getting more obscure with the passing distance, making Aramant and Thaidren feel nostalgic. They had left their home in the past when tasked with different missions in the name of the Congregation of Paladins. Given the nature and difficulty of some assignments, they would sometimes think that their latest departure would end up being their last in a worst-case scenario. In a sense, they were relieved that the last time had nothing to do with what they imagined. From a self-preservation perspective, that should’ve been enough. Yet, this was their home, which now lay abandoned and forsaken from the protection of The Light. Aramant had made peace with the sentiment, mostly. Thaidren, on the other hand, had not. He knew that the initial reason behind his training in the ways of the holy path wasn’t to end up as a paladin. For a time, though, he wouldn’t have dismissed the idea, seeing as their moral code and ideals were similar enough to his. Recent events had changed this. His faith in The Light may have never been as strong as it was compared to his fellow paladins, but he believed that it would protect the people and the cathedral’s grounds. He was proven wrong, and ended up angry because of it. Why didn’t it do more? How could it simply forsake us in our hour of need? Those were a few of the multitude of questions that lingered in his mind. All the while, Thraik’s voice in the background managed to interrupt his line of thoughts.
“And that’s how yers truly had left a giant with one eye. Bastard may now as well go and drink with the other one-eyed giants. They should be havin’ a different name altogether,” said the dwarf, laughing.
Some of the dwarf’s stories were pleasant to hear, others sounded exaggerated. Both Thaidren and Aramant were hoping to zone out during most of them. Yet, the dwarf’s loud voice proved hard to ignore time after time.
“Ye boys didn’ like that one?” he asked upon receiving no reaction from them.
While his last tale proved somewhat better than the previous four, it was still far from being good. Aramant would picture a scenario in which he told Thraik to shut up, or one where he would cut off his own ears. The young paladin remained silent for the time being, hoping that Thaidren would respectfully tell him to quiet down. His faith regarding that was gravely misplaced. Thaidren did not utter a word. Same as Aramant, he remained silent.
The dwarf sighed. “With boys like ye, I would’ve fallen asleep if I weren’t movin’.”
***
At Wizera’s mansion, the old lich had recently arrived from the cathedral’s grounds. The Silver Sorceress sensed his presence, but paid him no mind. She was too engaged in her work. After going with Haara to the Council of Mages, things got a little tense. The reason behind this was Haara, or rather her presence. In the council’s eyes, she was branded as a rogue mage who didn’t abide by the institution’s will. She was not welcomed there anymore. Yet, after talking through with the institution’s leading figures, the Silver Sorceress managed to convince them to set aside their animosity in favor of achieving a common goal, or at least, to bear with it. As for the necromantic book, Wizera decided to keep it a secret from them until it could be restored and translated. Haara was to contribute the most to this matter. In order to establish a stronger connection with the earth, she created an underground room with her powers, a few meters away from the house. There, the earthen sorceress would use her magic to undo the damage suffered by the book’s pages while carefully restoring the ink etched on them. Nez’rin offered to help with deciphering the finished product once it was done.
Wizera began regretting her decision to show the council the mysterious shard. She was tasked to conduct research on it and to find out as much as she could. It felt for her as if she was on a tight schedule. So far, she hadn’t uncovered much since her return home. The shard had lost most of its energy source, but there were still traces of it that could be studied and identified. With one hand covering her forehead, she took a seat on a nearby chair and exhaled. From behind her, the lich’s skeletal fingers beating on the door could be heard before he entered the room.
“You seem troubled, m’lady.”
The Silver Sorceress kept rubbing her forehead as she spoke. “Yeah. This object or whatever it is. It’s driving me crazy.”
“If you allow me to speak frankly, perhaps you should consider taking a break. Or, at the very least, accept my assistance?”
Before she had a chance to answer, in a moment of clarity, Wizera realized that Nez’rin’s return meant that the others must’ve done so as well. “Never mind that,” she said with an impatient tone. “Where are they?”
“The dwarf insisted they would come here on their own.”
“What?”
“He halfway-called me a ‘sack of bones,’ became aware that it wouldn’t have been a good time to reveal that to the young master’s companion, then instructed me to take my teleport elsewhere while they come here on foot. He does not like to travel through magical means,” continued the lich.
“But still… Thraik.” She exhaled loudly to express her irritation before deciding to move on with her research while waiting for them. In truth, she could’ve teleported at them without necessarily knowing exactly where they were had she given Thraik a magical trinket to serve as an anchor point. However, she did not think that he’d need to have one. “Thank you, Nez. That’ll be all.”
Wizera turned back to the research table, with the lich standing silently, without leaving the room. Compelled by an unspecific human reflex, he cleared his empty throat. The sorceress turned back to him.
“Is everything all right?” she asked with gentleness and compassion.
The necromancer cleared his throat once again. “If I may speak openly…”
“Of course you can,” she replied. “There’s no need for you to ask permission for such things. You should know that by now.”
“During all the years that you visited the young master, you never mentioned how much he resembles Master Thieron.”
Wizera’s eyes narrowed, followed by a saddened and contemplating expression. “Yeah, he does. I guess I never stopped to think about that or maybe I didn’t want to. He’s grown to look just like him. He even has the same gentle look in his eyes.”
“Except for his hair color,” said the lich in an attempt to cheer her up. “He resembles you in that regard.”
She smiled briefly. “You mean my strands of hair color? He’s fully silver, unlike me.”
“I am sorry if my words have caused you pain.”
“No, no, that’s not wha — ”
The lich raised his hand to his chest, signaling Wizera that there was no need for her to explain herself. “I will give you some privacy. Should you need me, I will be close by.”
“Nez?” asked the Silver Sorceress before he had the chance to leave the room. He turned back at her, waiting. “Thank you.” The lich nodded and closed the door behind him.
***
The sunset was nigh, marking the time for Thaidren, Aramant, and Thraik to set up camp for the upcoming night. They had been on the road for half a day already. As soon as the campfire was set and lit, they each unpacked their food supplies.
Aramant had packed only a handful of provisions, mainly consisting of vegetables and some meat that could be mixed into a stew. Thaidren’s pack carried similar supplies, along with a large pot for meals. As for the dwarf, his bag was filled with one thing: alcohol. After the commemoration ceremonies, Thraik had asked Issin if he could take some of the numerous bottles and small kegs that lay in the cathedral’s stashes. It would’ve been a pity to let them go to waste, after all. He did not wait for the boys to prepare their dinner before starting to drink. They paid him no mind.
For a time, everything around them remained silent, with each of them lost in their own thoughts. The crackling fire and boiling water inside the pot were the only sounds that disturbed the stillness. As soon as the food was ready, Aramant and Thaidren began to eat. Thaidren then pointed to a bowl for the dwarf.
“I’m good, lad,” he said. “I got all dat I need her’,” he continued as he looked at a half-empty bottle, smiling.
Thaidren raised an eyebrow in disagreement. Yet, he did not express his thoughts out loud. He figured that it wouldn’t change Thraik’s mind and only worsen his mood.
The young paladin moved further away from the other two. He was partially lost in his thoughts while, at the same time, trying to not let himself feel overwhelmed by them. A constant wonder of what he would find when they’d reach their destination perturbed him. He asked himself whether Wizera could offer him closure regarding his father or not. In an attempt to distract himself from the subject, he looked at the dwarf and pointed at the bowl Thaidren had offered him before.
“Your ‘lad’ cooks pretty well. It’d be a shame to let it get cold.”
Thraik looked back at Aramant. “Fine; pass me da stew, lad.” They sat down and enjoyed their meal. Thaidren finished first before dishing himself another serving. Who would’ve thought, he wondered? To sit alongside Aramant in the wilderness and enjoy a meal without being at each other’s throats. If someone would’ve told him that a few months back, he wouldn’t have believed it. The same could be said for Aramant. He would’ve been infuriated by the idea. After everything that happened, they seemed to have buried the hatchet, or at least reached a point of tolerance with one another.
“Ah, ‘t was a fine brew that ye paladins had holdin’ up at yer church,” said Thraik as he emptied a total of three-quarters of one bottle of ale.
How much can one dwarf drink? The question baffled both Thaidren and Aramant.
“A quiet night like dis and sittin’ around a bonfire calls for a story, wouldn’t ya agree? Anyway, ‘t was about thirty-five year — ”
The violent sound of an explosion interrupted the dwarf. Its shockwave put out their campfire and engulfed the surroundings in darkness. Thaidren and Aramant quickly rose and took hold of their weapons, with the dwarf slow to react. Given his age, plus the alcohol in his system, it was of no surprise.
“It came from that way,” shouted the young paladin.
Thaidren rushed in the direction from where it had come from, followed by Aramant. Upon venturing further into the woods, they stumbled across three armed men wearing leather armor, usually more suited for hunting due to their lightweight and lack of noise produced when moving. Unfortunately, the garments could also be associated with those worn by common bandits. Thaidren and Aramant assumed the worst.
“Hold yer horses and keep yer heads down,” whispered Thraik.
The alleged bandits seemed to roam around with a predefined purpose. Most likely they were searching for something. Something or someone, thought Aramant. Either way, they hadn’t yet spotted him and the others.
One of the men kept grunting something indistinguishable. He signaled the other two to follow him.
The group followed them. It proved difficult for both Thaidren and Aramant to sneak quietly in their armor. To compensate for the clanking of their moving plates, they maintained a larger gap between them and their targets of interest.
After a few minutes of shadowing them, it became clear what they were searching for. Down on the ground, small puddles of blood formed a crimson trail in the grass, leading to whatever lost soul had left them. To the surprise of both Thaidren’s party and the bandit group, the mysterious target made its presence known by throwing a stone toward one of the bandit’s head. It struck true, causing him to fall unconscious to the ground, dropping his torch in the process. One of the remaining bandits rushed toward the torch, extinguishing it before it had a chance to turn the grass into a blanket of flame. The other ran in the direction from where the stone had come. Their target emerged from one of the tall bushes and slashed him on the shoulder. The bandit reacted with a counterblow, pounding his ambusher to the ground.
From a safe distance, Thaidren, Aramant, and Thraik realized the bandits were fighting a woman, an unusual-looking one, similar to a human, yet there were differences indicating she was something else. Apart from being taller than an ordinary person, her ears were longer and pointy while partially covered by her dark, almost black, purple hair. Her skin was gray, and her eyes radiated in a bright yellow. Seemingly malnourished, her waistcloth, the only piece of clothing she wore, was tattered and dirty. The slash attack that ended on the bandit’s shoulder was clearly intended to strike his neck. She must’ve missed due to her condition, thought the young paladin.
“We should help her,” he whispered to Thaidren.
“Agre — ”
Before the young warrior could finish, Thraik jumped from his hiding spot with his axe in hand. He threw it toward the first bandit, hitting him straight in the chest as the dwarf let loose a fierce battle cry. “Accursed bandits! Ye have da nerve ta chase down a poor woman like dat? I’ll give ye somethin’ ta remember!”
Thaidren and Aramant followed in his steps, aiming to surround the other assailant. The last remaining bandit attempted to run away seeing his companions’ defeat. He found himself held by the foot by the woman, somehow still conscious after the suffered blow. Thraik jumped on the bandit’s back, followed by a punch from Thaidren. As his fist hit the mark, the bandit fell without ending up unconscious. Aramant aimed his hammer at him, ready to strike in the event he attempted to get back on his feet.
“Give up. It’s over.”
Thraik opened his bag and tossed a roll of rope toward Aramant. “Here, lad. Use this ta tie up da bastard.”
“Why do you carry rope with you?” asked Thaidren.
“Why wouldn’t I?” He pointed back at the bandit. “Ya never know.”
At this point, Aramant stepped away from the bandit and offered a hand to the mysterious woman. She proved hesitant to answer his gesture at first, but after a brief moment, she accepted his aid. Upon getting up, Aramant noticed that what he and the rest thought to be the woman’s top piece of cloth was actually a mass of solidified mud that covered her chest. The young paladin swung his arm backward, grabbed his cloak, and tore it from his armor. He offered it to her to cover herself with it.
“Th… Thank you,” she murmured.
Both Aramant and Thaidren wanted answers. Yet, they believed that the girl needed some medical care and probably a hot meal before being ready to answer any question. Thraik, on the other hand, did not feel the same way.
“Who’re ye, lass?” he asked as soft as a dwarf’s guttural voice could be. “Wha’ happened ta ye?”
Thaidren raised his hand to signal Thraik to cease the questioning for now. “No need for this yet. You look exhausted. And famished. We have a camp close by. Let’s go there, get you something to eat, then we can talk if you feel like it. What do you say?”
With a shaky nod from the woman, the group escorted her toward their camp, with Aramant helping her walk. A while later, the woman began to slowly show signs of recovery. After receiving the bare medical attention that the three party members knew and finishing her second portion of stew, she seemed a bit embarrassed for eating almost half of the remaining pot herself.
Thraik searched his bag and took out one of his two spare shirts. It was partially drenched and reeked of alcohol. Still, it was better than nothing. It barely fit a girl her size, but at least she could use it as a top for the time being. She seemed grateful for his gesture but was still holding the cloak that Aramant had so chivalrously ripped from his back.
“What’s your name?” asked the young paladin.
She cleared her throat. Using her voice still caused her pain, yet she did her best to sound coherent. After a few coughs, she answered. “Elarin.”
Thaidren looked at her as she struggled to talk. He boiled some water in a bowl and mixed in some herbs he knew had healing properties. It wasn’t as effective as a healing spell, but at least it would help her throat for the time being. He handed the bowl to Aramant, and he passed it on to her. Smells terrible, but it’ll do her good.
Elarin held her nose with each sip. After a few struggles to not regurgitate both the stew and the dreadful medicine that challenged her stomach, she found it easier to talk.
“I know it tastes bad,” said the young warrior, “but it’s meant to help you.”
She cleared her throat a second time, with her voice sounding less guttural and painful this time. “It did.” Her fatigued eyes offered a thankful glance to each of them.
Despite the fact she was still weak and in need of rest, everyone wanted to know more. “Can you tell us what happened? Who were those men, and what did they want from you?”
And what are ye? Thraik held himself back from asking this question for the time being. He was more concerned about other things. Judging by the girl’s bruised wrists, she must’ve been chained up recently. There was no doubt in his mind the word “slave” would pop up if or when she was to elaborate on her story. Naturally, it would’ve angered him to the core, but knowing that her pursuers were dealt with made room for his empathy toward her.
The dwarf kept one eye aimed at their silent prisoner. They searched him for hidden weapons, then tied the bandit, with his hands behind his back, around the trunk of a medium-sized tree. At first glance, he wouldn’t seem more than a common thug, yet Thraik suspected otherwise. After throwing a disgusted look at him, his focus shifted back to Elarin as she started to slowly fill everyone in with her tale.
“In my native tongue, we call ourselves Lu’Derai. I think your people know us as moon elves. Through some circumstances that I prefer not to say, for now, I ended up here, in your world. As soon as I arrived, I was — ambushed — I think.” She paused for another moment as she rubbed the back of her head. “I was left unconscious, and by the time I woke up, I was already chained and forced to mine some strange minerals in a series of caverns not too far away from here.”
Our world? Aramant was confused by her choice of words. While Thaidren and Thraik were more educated with regard to the concept of otherworldly travel, he was a stranger to this notion. Up to this point in his life, he barely had visited the entire country, let alone this world as a whole. Are there other worlds? He’d never asked himself that in the past. He had no need of such knowledge before. And now, his first encounter both conceptually and physically came in the form of this alien being, standing next to him. He was not scared. Instead, he was intrigued by the possibilities that this new information could offer. What other worlds lie there? Are they like ours? The answer to these questions would have to wait. For now, the focus was on Elarin’s tale. And the alleged slave operation in the nearby mines.
“How long have you been imprisoned there?” asked the young paladin.
“I am not sure. Most of the time was spent inside the caves. The only source of light came from torches placed in the tunnels, making it difficult to tell. It could have been weeks, maybe more.”
Thaidren clenched his fist. The thought of any person being treated like nothing more than a tool made him sick. Robbing them of their freedom; of their time.
“Are there others that escaped with you?”
“No… Many of us sought to escape, yet only I managed to evade their search parties. And that was thanks to you. Others were captured and are most probably back in chains by now.” A swift shiver swept down her spine, and she paused. “Or worse…”
Thaidren closed in on Elarin. He bent toward her as he sat down. “It may be too much of me to ask, but can you show us where these mines are?” There was a certain vengeful look in his eyes, yet Elarin did not perceive it as being meant for her.
She shook her head. “I’m afraid these woods are confusing for me. And with all the time spent underground, it seems to have dulled my sense of direction. I would not know how to get back there even if I wanted to.” The elf tightened her grip on the cloak with both hands as she squatted. “I wish to get as far away from that place as possible.”
After their series of questions, the group had enough information to paint the gruesome image of slave camps and human trafficking. There was, however, one last question that they were reluctant to ask. Ultimately, Aramant took a deep breath and stepped up.
“Your clothes,” he whispered hesitantly, “did they… do anything to you?”
“No,” she responded after a short moment of silence, “but other slaves… there… were… incidents. Sometimes more than once a day.” She touched her chest through the cloak. “We covered ourselves with dust and, if we got lucky, mud… to make us look less appealing to our oversee — ”
“I’ve heard enough!” shouted Thraik.
That makes two of us. Thaidren stood and wrapped his arms around his chest.
The dwarf rose and walked toward the prisoner.
The bandit raised his shrouded head enough to see Thraik’s legs advancing toward him. His body shook, but he remained silent.
“Well, lad, time ta spill yer beans.”
Threats from a dwarf didn’t seem to scare the bandit into submission. He stared at Elarin, with an ominous grin.
“Where’s da slave camp?” Thraik asked, with a threatening stare in his dark green eyes.
Seeing Thraik’s interrogation had led to no avail, Thaidren decided to step in. Once again, the prisoner remained silent, yet his face betrayed a subtle hint of fright. After all, the second interrogator was bigger than a regular human, even more so than most of the slaves he was used to. All of that was further amplified by his armor, enhancing Thaidren’s height and bulkiness even more. Yet, judging by the same attire that denoted his status, the bandit figured paladins the likes of him would not lower themselves to such primitive methods as torture or violence.
He was wrong. Without warning, Thaidren unsheathed his sword and plunged it into one of the bandit’s feet.
Upon seeing that, Elarin’s initial reaction was that of shock. She was not expecting one of her saviors to do such a thing.
Aramant was just as shocked as the elf. In all the years he and Thaidren shared the same home, he didn’t recall ever seeing him be cruel. Granted, the person to whom he revealed that side was a degenerate with no compassion for someone else’s life.
The bandit’s agonizing screams echoed in the camp’s silence. As he panted uncontrollably from the pain, Thaidren grabbed him by the chest armor and lifted him upward, forcing the prisoner into a standing position that only added more pain to his injured leg. With the bandit’s hands still tied around the tree, his leathery sleeves ended up grazed by the trunk.
“I am going to say this only once,” Thaidren whispered in a threatening tone. “I’ll give you one chance, and one only, to start talking about the slave camp. I want you to tell me everything. How many are you, where is the camp located, how many slaves are there, what do you plan to do with whatever mineral you’re excavating, ALL of it. I want to know all there is to know about every aspect of this despicable operation, or else…”
He stopped for a moment. With his other hand, Thaidren grabbed the sword that pierced the bandit’s foot and twisted it. He used a small portion of his energy to freeze the tip of the blade, making the twist even more excruciating. Once again, the bandit screamed in pain.
Aramant and the dwarf threw each other a surprised and worried look. Nevertheless, they did not intervene.
These displays of fury revealed to Thraik something: he was just like his father used to be. A noble, caring, and gentle soul, yet press da wrong buttons, and he’ll turn into a monster that can compete with da devils of da underworld in terms of cruelty.
Thaidren abruptly let go of the bandit. He fell back on his bottom and grazed his hands on the bark of the tree. Before he had a chance to start talking, the young warrior turned around and moved away from him.
At this point, the bandit’s stare shifted from fear to confusion. What was the purpose of all that if he simply walked away? He then saw his fierce interrogator close in on Aramant and grab him by the shoulder.
“Play along,” Thaidren whispered.
They both turned with a menacing stare at the bandit and started to slowly advance on him. Aramant pulled the hammer from his back while Thaidren was holding his other sword, imbuing it with ice magic as he closed in. The bandit was faced with the image of two hulking warriors closing in on him with the intent of squeezing out all the information he had. And at least one of them proved prone to use whatever means necessary. Thaidren focused his gaze on the bandit’s stabbed foot.
“That foot, it will end up being your good one.”
Aramant remained silent at first. As soon as they closed in, the young paladin raised his hammer into the air and aimed at the bandit’s other leg. “One swing, then it’s your arm’s turn.”
After hearing this, the bandit immediately succumbed and caved in. “All right! All right!” he shouted as he kept panting. Thaidren grabbed the bandit by the chest armor once again, raising him back to his feet.
“Speak! Or I’m letting the quiet one have his way with you before I rip your teeth out myself,” he said.
“Th… The camp is south of here. It’s a cave known on most maps as Berriva Mine. It was abandoned a few years ago when people thought there were no more minerals to be extracted from there.”
The young warrior was far more concerned about the encampment’s present rather than its past. “How many?”
“Around fifty men.”
“How many slaves?”
“A bit over a hundred,” said the bandit, avoiding eye contact with Aramant.
“What are you after?”
The bandit was hesitant to answer the question. He struggled and shook his head in denial. “P… please… no more.”
Thaidren’s hands immediately started to emanate a chilling mist, and the bandit’s armor plates whitened in freezing glass. The leather hardened, and its upper layers started to peel off. The chains and other metallic parts of the armor began to crack, ready to shatter at a moment’s notice. The same infectious effect had slowly spread to the rest of the bandit’s body, reaching out to his skin, making him shiver as he was clearly trying to prevent his jaws from clicking together.
“Pass me the hammer,” said Thaidren while reaching one hand toward Aramant. He was well aware that the hammer’s selective nature would not react well to someone other than its chosen wielder. However, the bandit did not know this, and Aramant, while proving himself intimidating, did not offer the same vibe as Thaidren. “You’ve outlived your usefulness.”
The bandit gazed deeply into his interrogator’s eyes. There was no mercy, no remorse, no warmth in them. For a split second, he thought he saw his eyes turning into a brighter shade of blue as if they flickered once. “WAIT!” he shouted before erupting into a violent cough. He barely managed to snap out of it in time, before Thaidren’s icy grip reached his body. “I don’t know, I swear. We… we were hired. T… to dig up those mines for some strange crystals. Our boss… he knows more about it, but we were provided with a very hefty sum of gold as well as the slaves themselves in exchange for not asking any questions. I don’t know anything else; I swear it. No names, nor anything else. I don’t even know what our contractor looks like. I… I beg of you, have mercy.”
Thaidren let go of the bandit, after which he removed the blade rooted in his foot.
Behind him, Thraik was already checking their map of the surrounding area. “Berriva Mine, hmm.” He dragged his finger over the map. “Aha, found it. T’is south of her’, lads. Like da bastard said.”
“Good,” replied Thaidren and Aramant in unison.
Judging by their response, Thraik figured that the boys wanted to enact justice on the bandits as soon as possible. However, he was aware that the odds were not in their favor and needed to hold their reins in check.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, lads!” he shouted.
“Listen to your dwarf,” added the bandit. “You can’t go there alone and not end up dead.”
Thraik walked toward the bandit and punched him in the face. His groans of pain irritated him. “Blast. I was hopin’ I would knock da bastard senseless in one go.” He hit him a second time and a third time after that. As soon as he had knocked him out cold, Thraik reassembled his thoughts back together and continued.
“Hate ta say it, though, but da bandit’s right. We can’t just get into a camp full o’ armed men with nothin’ but our muscles flexed. We need a plan. And reinforcements.”
“Well, we don’t have any,” replied Thaidren, “and every minute we hesitate is another minute of suffering for the prisoners.”
Thraik’s voice softened. “Lad, trust me, I understand how ye’r feelin’. But ya got ta understand as well. We can’t fight fifty armed misfits alone. At best, we’ll probably take down around half of them before they overwhelm us.”
“We can’t abandon them either,” intervened Aramant.
“Nobody’s abandonin’ anyone. Listen. Da first thing we’ll do at sunrise is ta go to da nearest village and see if we can get any help from there, all right?”
While both Aramant and Thaidren wanted to rush to the mines and free the captives as soon as possible, they knew Thraik had a solid argument. Such an endeavor would require a greater deal than sheer force and strength alone. The thought made them feel powerless. It appalled them both as they refused to accept the situation.
“I agree,” said Elarin with a saddened tone while gazing at Thraik. “As much as I wish to free the other slaves, we lack the means to do so right now. We should rest for now. By tomorrow morning, I should be well enough to offer some assistance in fighting them. I want to see all of them pay for what they did.”
Hearing her opinion, and thinking it through made the two of them agree with the dwarf’s idea. It seemed like the only feasible option.
“Now then, the night is still young, lads. Since we got a bandit camp ta worry about now, we need ta sleep in turns. Any volunteers for da first shift?”
“I’ll stay up,” said Thaidren.
“I’ll be the next in line,” continued Aramant.
“Fine. I’ll wake you when it’s your turn.”
With everything settled, Thraik, Aramant, and Elarin went to sleep. Thaidren found himself a warm seat on a trunk they used as a bench near the campfire. His morality was still itching at the prospect of having to wait. Curses, he thought as he sighed softly.