SIMPKINS ROUSED TO Mya and the conjured wind sprites that still endured tugging his hair and clothing to wake him. He pushed himself up, coughing as a thick layer of dust slid off him. He squinted at the growing brightness in illumination and squinted upwards, blinking in shock to see several large crystalline stalactite structures glowing softly, a clinging blackness dissipating in a thin cloud of black motes as whatever coated the ceiling and walls sloughed off. The ogre counted heads as the others began to rouse. He did not see Tiwaz and felt his stomach knot.

“Mya, where is she?” he asked in a low voice, trying to keep the others from noticing his worried urgency, but his voice carried in the vacant cavern. The wind sprites winged away in a cloud of glowing spots towards a form crumpled against the wall near another, smaller door. The newly conjured sprites faded as they used their remaining energy to help Mya blow the dust off and away from Tiwaz.

“Cat-Sister lives,” Tracker assured Doom as the gromek gathered her into his arms. “Tracker hear heartbeat. Slow, but strong.”

“She’s going to have a helluva headache,” Gareth observed as he walked over carrying Ghalnecha across the flats of his palms. The blade appeared duller than before. “I think whatever they did took its toll on them both. Only thing I hope is that was the only one in here. Looks like it might have been a leftover from the years after the world fractured and the planes were still bleeding into each other.”

Doom gently brushed an errant tendril of hair from his friend’s face, running the back of his fingers along her cheek. “I can carry her,” the ogre offered. He looked up at Simpkins. The magic user gestured towards the door. “It’s locked. I thought you might like to…‘unlock’ it.”

The gromek’s expression shifted from puzzlement to appreciation as he stood with Tiwaz, carefully transferring her into the ogre’s arms. He turned towards the door and with a bellow, rammed his shoulder into it. Wood exploded in a shower of splinters. With an air of aristocracy, he brushed himself off to the other’s quiet laughter. “Crude,” he admitted. “But effective. And utterly satisfying.”

Mya flew through the door first, intending to light the way, but stopped abruptly, hovering. She put her hands on tiny hips in indignation as more of the light-producing stalactites populated the ceiling in next chamber. The clarity of the giant crystals hinted at blue sky and clouds above. “Interesting,” Simpkins mused, Mya fluttering to his shoulder to sulk. “It looks like the crystals are bringing sunlight from above down into this place.”

Gareth peered up, shading his eyes. “If that’s true, given the color of the sky, it means we should find somewhere secure to make camp, and save exploring the rest of this place for tomorrow.” He considered the large chamber, his eyes drawn to a massive throne with a sword impaled through its back. “It looks like whatever happened here did during some sort of banquet.” He started to reach out to touch the sword in the throne when Tracker grabbed his wrist.

“Chair look like wood.” The wolflen knocked on the seat. “Not wood. Stone.”

Gareth blinked and looked at the sword in the throne. “You think the sword turned whomever was in this chair into stone? Eesh. That’s a horrible way to go.”

“There’s fresh air coming in,” Doom said, pointing out the movement of the long, elegant drapery behind the throne. “With the amount of dust in here, I would have thought anything made of cloth or leather would have rotted by now.”

“There are various runes and glyphs that are used to preserve such things,” Simpkins informed them. “Or put on containers to preserve their contents.” He looked down at Tiwaz, frowning at the memory that she had borne such magic and shook his head. “Camping near a sure source of fresh air in these caverns is probably the wisest course of action.”

A sliding door moved at a light touch and opened into pitch-blackness. Delighted to be able to help again, Mya flew upwards, brightening to reveal a large, yet cozy, apartment that seemed to be furnished for giants taller than Simpkins. Tracker spread Tiwaz’s cloak on the bed-like couch, stepping away so Simpkins could lay her on it. While Doom examined the hearth and prepared a fire, she roused with a groan. Simpkins smiled at her reassuringly when her eyes fluttered open. “Welcome back to the land of the living.” The gromek paused to glance over, tension in his shoulders easing in relief.

“I’m still alive?” she croaked, reaching up to put her hand on her head, closing her eyes again.

Leaning over the back of the couch, Gareth smiled down at her. “The amount of hurt you’re in should have told you that.”

She managed a weak smirk. “My luck, death would not be any different than life.” Her smile faded as she brought her other hand up, holding her head. “Why does it feel like everything’s moving? I have never felt so exhausted.”

“My guess is Ghalnecha had to draw on you to do whatever she did to the magget. Given your inexperience using your…using magic, it’s like a scholar suddenly having to get off his ass and do more than move from the dining hall to the tower. Except you’re too strong to keel over from heart failure from the exertion.”

One eye slit open. “You really don’t like your own kind, do you?”

“I don’t like wasted potential,” Simpkins told her. “What point is there in training to do anything if it isn’t used for some purpose more than studying?” He snorted derisively then patted her hand. “If I haven’t mentioned it, I am extremely grateful you stayed with us. I’d try to hire you all onto my crew if I didn’t know the risk leaving this fracture posed to you and Doom.”

Doom looked over sharply from the hearth, pausing in moving the pieces of meat to cook evenly. “'Crew?’ What crew?”

“Oh, I don’t usually work alone. I’m captain of a ship that’s ported at Crossroads right now. My helmsman keeps the boys and girls in line when I’m gone, else we’d never be able to port around civilized lands.” He smiled toothily. “My baby is known as the Stone Dragon.”

Gareth looked over at him, pausing in rooting around the wardrobe with intense curiosity. “The pirate ship?”

“We’re not pirates! We’re…associates specializing in random item recovery,” he retorted, though he could hardly remain bristled when Tiwaz chuckled.

“Uh huh,” Gareth replied drolly. He pulled out a thin journal, blinking as he thumbed through it. “Hey, Simpkins, what was this book of yours supposed to look like?”

“Look like? I don’t know. I do know that if you know more than one written language, it would be confusing to look at until it settled on a tongue.” Tracker took Simpkin’s place beside Tiwaz as he joined the bard. He took the book and blinked as he paged through it, then sat down abruptly on the stool nearby, staring at the book for several minutes. He started chuckling, then laughing, then guffawing so hard, tears streamed down his cheeks. “All that effort. All the money he’s paying me and just for…this pitifully thin thing. I thought this would be a glorious, massive tome to awe even the most illiterate.” He wiped his face and sighed, looking at it ruefully. “Ah, well. A job is a job.”

“There’s a bedroom back there,” the bard noted to Doom and Tracker. “After we eat, you two go make sure Tiwaz gets rest.”

The woman frowned, struggling to sit up. “I don’t need coddling—!” She sighed heavily as Tracker pushed her back onto the couch with firm gentility.

“Not coddling,” the wolflen pointed out. “Cat-Sister too stubborn. Won’t stay put and rest without us making sure. Tracker and Doom-Not-Demon won’t leave Cat-Sister alone.”

“He knows you too well, Ti,” Doom teased, his back to her, but smiling wider as if he could see her stick her tongue out at him. “Two against one. This time, no arguments. You have no reason to push yourself.” He looked back at her. “Understand?”

“I suppose,” she agreed with great reluctance. She remained silent while they discussed whether or not they needed a camp guard and what to do with the stash of coins and jewels hidden under the bed in the next room. Covering her eyes with her arm, she murmured with great weariness. “I just wish I could stop feeling alone even when I’m with all of you.”