The nation of Yendell did not move with the haste one would expect of a people on the verge of being overtaken by the wrathful sorceress Harnen Brokenshield.  After accompanying the Rude Rubies to Yendell, Lt. Chrincha and Prefect Senaria left the adventurers to rot in the Narrows while preparations were made.   Not that Bonnelle minded having a paid-for holiday near Yendell.  It was after all the Golden Vein, and not the dirty, spirit-crushing slum as the rest of the Narrows.  

Now a denizen of a lovely bed-and-breakfast named Inn & Imposition—a reference to Yendell’s origin as a place for traders to sell their wares—Bonnelle had the opportunity to connect with fellow dwarves in a way she hadn’t enjoyed for many years.   She had gotten along with them well enough she was tempted to contact her family in the Deep Shine to formalize new business connections.

Sitting in the inn’s tavern, as she’d done for most of her meals the past few days, Bonnelle knocked back a tankard of ale.  The drink, named Midnight Dew, was cloudy and bitter due to an infusion of tea.   Elves loved their teas.  Nobody in the Deep Shine or Rough Bottom would dare to brew something so disgusting.  She gulped another swig; grateful her hosts were so generous with their expenses.  The tankard empty, Bonnelle slammed it on the table to announce the need for a refill.

And elf at a nearby table cast a sidelong glance and scoffed.  She could tell he wanted to advise the red-haired dwarf that drinking was a silent activity, which was true of the prissiest of elves.   Considering this one was slumming in the Narrows she doubted he possessed those rarified Yendellian sensibilities.

The Inn & Imposition served a clientele of mostly dwarves. Seeing her fellow dwarves mingling with elves for business filled here with an urge to do something more productive than biding time.  Perhaps she should have sent word to her family the moment she arrived to be advised of business prospects? She vigorously shook her head in the negative, drunkenness making the action nauseating. When she stilled her head she saw an orc waitress standing before her, upper lip curled up in confusion, revealing her tusks.

“Did you want more,” the orc asked, pointing to the empty tankard.  She’d waited on Bonnelle several times already, her name was Ostar.

“Oh, yes please,” Bonnelle said as she nodded enthusiastically.  She winced, as nodding made the room spin as much as shaking.  The orc took the tankard, having to pull it from Bonnelle’s unnecessarily strong grip.

It was best not to entangle herself with the family’s dealings, Bonnelle decided as she watched the waitress retreat with the empty tankard. Bonnelle was here on her own business and was vacationing under contract.  At least this had given her the opportunity to catch up on her reading.  If this holiday dragged on longer, she might even venture into Yendell to browse its bookstores.  Now there was some treasure to be plundered! 

Although these had been languid days of reading, Bonnelle hadn’t lost track of her company.  The sprites, Henri and Renaut, did their usual scavenging and dealing in spritely concoctions. Every couple of nights the pair came knocking at Bonnelle’s window with bundles of smelly, oozing, and unusually warm items for her to stash.  It had gotten to a point that she needed to leave a note on her bags for maids to ignore the odors and not disturb her luggage. 

Most afternoons, Bonnelle and Kornin met in a nearby park to spar.  They occasionally drew crowds of onlookers who would toss coins their way, thinking the pair were performers.  At Ayara’s insistence they distributed those pittances to vagabond goblins and destitute trolls.  Otherwise, she kept to herself as she studied runes and crystals to further develop her glove weapons.  When the couple were in their room, which unfortunately shared a wall with Bonnelle’s suite, they were in the habit of making very enthusiastic—bordering on violent—love.

The dwarf looked to the stairway; her attention drawn by Kornin’s heavy footfalls.  It was colder in Yendell than Fairlaigh, especially in the heart of its shadow as the Narrows was, but Kornin still refused to properly cover himself.  Bonnelle didn’t mind him showing off so much of his orange skin—common of someone from Fairlaigh—as she admired his muscular, barrel chest.  Knowing him, he did it specifically to scandalize uptight Yendell.

Following close behind, her steps dainty in comparison, was Ayara.  While Kornin sauntered with a golden robe, provided by the inn, hanging off his waist to cover his privates but not his torso, Ayara’s was fully on and tightly cinched to expose as little as possible.  She tucked her blue hair beneath a loose headscarf.  Unlike Kornin, her pink skin placed her as being right at home. 

After descending the stairs, they stood together a moment, Kornin keeping a hand on Ayara’s hip as she finished tying her headscarf. He bent down and ran the tip of his nose along her neck, his lips murmuring a sweet nothing.   As she bit her lip with exhilaration, Ayara spotted Bonnelle.   Her demeanor with the swiftness of a lightning strike.  She locked eyes with her boss and clasped her hands together, rolling her hips to toss off Kornin’s hand. Her post coital giddiness extinguished in a gasp Ayara strode to Bonnelle with elegant assurance of a Yendell elf.  Kornin followed.

Ayara slipped into a seat at Bonnelle’s table while staring at the bustle of the city street through the window behind the dwarf. “Good evening,” Ayara greeted Bonnelle.    

“I see it’s been quite an evening already,” Bonnelle commented with a lurid grin.  Kornin blushed and looked away while Ayara rolled her eyes with apparent annoyance.  They both snatched up menus from the table.

Ostar returned and set a fresh drink down before the dwarf.  Over the years, Bonnelle had laid waste to many of her kind.  Occasionally she’s supped with Dread Lords and been waited on by a goblin or orc.  She’d never once considered the possibility of them serving in the World of Light.   

“Ayara and Kornin from room one-eighteen,” the orc asked the elves. 

“Yes. Uhm, please give us a moment,” Ayara responded as she continued to peruse the parchment.  The menu had not changed over the past two weeks and neither had Ayara’s hesitance to look upon Ostar.

“Anything for you, miss,” Ostar asked Bonnelle.

“No, thank you, Ostar,” Bonnelle said.  She grabbed up her drink and took a sip. 

The orc departed.  Her dress, fraying along its soiled hem, dragged along the floor.  Bonnelle suspected that when the proprietors of the Inn & Imposition bought these uniforms for their orc servers they simply instructed the tailor to make a dress for someone broader than an elf, but neglected to specify shorter than an elf, leaving Ostar with her ill-fitting gown.

“No news from Lieutenant Chrincha,” Kornin asked, still reading the menu.

“No.  But I’ve gotten some insight into why we’re stuck here,” Bonnelle said.  “A fellow dwarf with some tertiary connection to my family’s business brought a large shipment of iron filings into the Narrows a couple of days ago.”

“Iron filings?” Ayara put down her menu.  She looked up at the ceiling as she thought aloud.  “Iron doesn’t hold enchantments well but if you want to place large runes it’s the most cost-effective option.” She stretched out her arms to illustrate largeness.

“Maybe they’re setting up some defense against the Sorceress Harnen Brokenshield?” Kornin shrugged.

“Or it’s to mark a large area for a translocation spell.” Bonnelle guzzled her ale as the employees pondered her revelation.

Ayara gasped in shock.  “Teleportation?”

“It would remove the risk and time of actually traveling to and from the Dread Lord Withering Sorrows’ domain.  If they’re going to go through the trouble of rescuing your uncle, it would be a shame to lose him on the way home in the belly of a bearwulv or sea serpent.

“Which would also explain the delay.  There are mages aplenty to in Yendell, so getting a spell cast to send us there is easy.  If you wanted to get us back, though, you’d need to find mages willing to spend time in the Dark Lands, which means supplies to keep them fed while there along with a force to keep them safe. In addition, you would have to bring along enough reagents to cast the spell from that side.” Bonnelle was no stranger to logistics; being the head of an adventuring company meant managing the team’s coffers and supplies.  Some people thought that leading a company was just glamour and action, but there was a fair bit of book balancing, negotiation, and under-the-table bribery involved to ensure that operations went smoothly. 

“This is a bigger deal than I would have thought,” Ayara said.

“Big enough for them to put us up in this fine establishment while they finalize things.  Big enough for them to think sending Toran’s niece to rescue him would be necessary.  They need this mission to be a success.”

Ostar returned. Her arms were laden with dishes.  “Will you need more time,” she asked, annoyance thinly veiled with practiced sweetness.  Despite the conversation distracting them,  Ayara and Kornin made hasty orders and Ostar left the table again.

“Does this mean we can ask for more money?” Ayara watched the orc disappear into the kitchen, biting her lower lip in regret.  That fussy elf always had trouble committing to an order!

 “I already signed the contract.  It would look bad to ask for more money just because we think we can wring it from them.  However, should anything come up that seems to complicate the job, we could ask for additional compensation.” Bonnelle leaned back and rapped her knuckles on the window.  “Maybe something non-monetary, like reinstating your citizenship?”

Ayara leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest.  Ayara let off a contemptable sniff.  “That’s the last thing I’d want!”

“Sure, sure, they’re the worst the elves have to offer.  But you do have family left in there, don’t you?”  Bonnelle’s smiled at Ayara.  If they were near the Deep Shine or Sunrise Refinery, she’d feel compelled to visit her family.

Her expression wavering, Ayara settled on a look of contempt.  “Just my mother,” she said with angry curtness.

“I see,” Bonnelle said.  She and Kornin exchanged worried looks; it seems this was a matter the two had already broached.

“She left us.  Couldn’t stand being an exile.” Ayara’s lower lip trembled.

Kornin lay his hand on Ayara’s shoulder.  “Maybe if you got into the city …”

“No!” The crack of Ayara’s response as she shrugged off Kornin’s touch drew looks from the surrounding tables. 

Ostar arrived with the elves’ food and drinks.   It was a trivial thing for her, with her big orc arms, to manage the elves’ servings.  In dwarf taverns, you might need more than one server for a single patron’s appetite.

As the trio began to eat, they chit-chatted about the quality of the food and the pleasant weather.  Bonnelle considered pressing Ayara about her mother or uncle but decided against the timing.  She was sure anything particularly pertinent about Toran when come up timely. 

Chrincha entered the tavern just as Bonnelle worried she might waver in her resolve.  Flanked by soldiers clad in red-tinted armor with golden accents the lieutenant spotted the trio and stormed towards them with impatient pomp.

“Wipe your mouth,” Bonnelle muttered to Kornin.  Kornin, who ate more like a human than an elf, choked down a mouthful of food and wiped the edge of his robe across his face. Bonnelle stood, holding out her free hand. “Good evening, Lieutenant. Do you bring news?”

Although looking to Ayara, the officer spoke to Bonnelle. “Gather your companions, Lady Bonnelle. We are prepared to embark for the Dark Lands.”

“Got that translocation spell up and running, did you?” Bonnelle batted her eyes at him.

“I can neither confirm nor deny our mode of transportation.  We must leave now.”

“If we’re going the traditional way then we’ve got a journey of several months ahead of us; a night’s delay doesn’t really matter.  Nor should it if we’ve a more … exotic … means of travel.” Bonnelle took a swig of her ale

“I’m here for you now,” Chrincha’s in a stern growl.

“That’s all well and good, Lieutenant, but the sprites are away. They won’t return until nightfall.  Even then, we’d need to gather our things from our rooms and settle the accounts although …” Bonnelle tipped her drink at the officer. “I do believe that last item is your responsibility.”

Chrincha turned his head toward one of the flanking soldiers. “Corporal Yalcha, handle their bills immediately.”  A long-nosed and endearingly buck-toothed elf nodded his head and then darted off. 

Bonnelle dropped to her seat.  “Would have liked to order a dessert,” she mumbled.

Ostar arrived and flashed a strained smile.  “Bonnie, would you care for a larger table?”

“Oh, no Ostar, that won’t be necessary,” Bonnelle answered with an equally big, but genuine, smile.

“Leave us,” Chrincha snarled. After the waitress scurried away, he addressed the table. “The sun will be furthest from here at half past three tonight.  Should one be attempting a spell of that sort, that would be the best time to do so.  You should be at the offices a half hour prior. I trust the sprites will have rejoined you by then?”

“Yes.” Kornin answered. “They always return once the late shift has gotten out at the factory.  Something about collecting fresh dark soot.  That’s usually around midnight.”

“Excellent.  I trust you can find your way back to the offices? Should I provide an escort?”

“Mister Chrincha—” Bonnelle began.

“Lieutenant,” Kornin corrected her before the officer had the chance.

“I can navigate a mine without a map or a lantern to read it with! We’ll be there … and ahead of time at that!”

“Very well.” Chrincha left the tavern along with his soldiers save for Corporal Yalcha, still settling the tab.

“The nerve of that man!” Kornin raised his arm in mock salute. “Thinking he can order us around like we’re a part of his army.”

“We are under contract, though,” Bonnelle said.  Although the “no later” had been a ridiculous inclusion; was he threatening to go to the Lands of Darkness without the Rude Rubies?  “Ayara, you were oddly silent during all that.”

“I just don’t like the way he looks at me,” Ayara said.

“Maybe he just appreciates your beauty.” Kornin moved to kiss Ayara on the cheek.  Smiling, she gently pushed him away. 

“No, you oaf. I just feel like he’s angry at me or something.”

While chugging the rest of her beer, Bonnelle mused.   “He’s disgusted by you, Ayara.  You openly despise the place he’s devoted to and are related to its biggest traitor in generations.”

“Elven generations can last a long time,” Kornin added, nodding.

Ayara leaned closer to Bonnelle. “If he’s such a traitor, are we going there to capture him for prison or … execution,” her voice cracked.

Bonnelle shook her wild hair, wincing as she did. “If they wanted him hurt, they wouldn’t be sending you along. Too much of a gamble to bring in somebody whose loyalties would lie with the prey instead of the hunter.” She reached across the table and clasped Ayara’s hands in hers.  Elven hands always felt so frail and cold.  “But I’m telling you now if you choose the prey, just say the word and we’ll … open rengotiations,” she said with a grin.

Ayara looked away, hiding her smile.  “What kind of reputation would that leave us with?”

“One that means we’ll never get another contract in Yendell, but they’d have it coming.  You don’t send someone against their family unless you’re certain there’s enough bad blood to ink the contract.”