Chapter 10: Cleared ... But Not Clean
The silence in their chambers was a fragile thing, pregnant with the scent of cabbage and sweat. The reprieve was temporary, a thin crust over a pit of consequence. Ulrika Grimquim had arrived like a thunderclap of discipline just as the court was dispersing, her uniform severe, her expression carved from obsidian. She’d presented evidence—scraps of velvet-moss torn from a noble’s cloak found snagged on a reliquary hinge, a testimony from a spider who’d witnessed a ‘shadow with mournful eyes’ near the vault at the wrong hour. It was enough to cast reasonable doubt, to officially muddy the waters. It did not exonerate them. It merely made their guilt inconvenient to prove.
“The verdict is withheld,” Ulrika had stated, her whip coiled at her belt like a sleeping serpent. “But you remain under the pall of suspicion. The Matriarch’s… enjoyment of your performance has bought you a night. Use it to think of a way to make that suspicion vanish. Or you will find the next trial involves less cabbage and more flaying hooks.”
Now, back in the guest apartments, the adrenaline bled away, leaving them hollow and gritty. Tanna stood trembling, her skin coated in a fine, pungent dust. “I can smell it in my hair,” she murmured, her voice raw from shouting poetry.
“Right, that’s enough,” Brutehilde announced, her voice brooking no argument. She stomped towards the adjoining bathing chamber, a cave-like room with a sunken pool fed by a trickle of warm, mineral-heavy water. “Everyone. We need to think, and we can’t think while she’s pickled in brassica.”
They undressed her, not with lust, but with a rough, practical care. Polly unbuckled the last of the armour, her knuckles brushing the small of Tanna’s back. Tulip untied the soiled bindings. Minnie waddled in with a block of crude, herbal soap that smelled of pine and sulphur. Honeymuff flitted around, sprinkling dried petals that stuck to Tanna’s damp skin.
Tanna sank into the water with a groan that was half-pain, half-profound relief. The heat seeped into her muscles, unknotting the clench of constant dodging. The others stayed clothed, kneeling at the pool’s edge, hands working. Brutehilde took a coarse sponge to Tanna’s back, scrubbing away the arena grime. Polly focused on her hair, working the soap through the black silk, her fingers surprisingly gentle. Tulip massaged her shoulders.
“She enjoyed the poem,” Tulip said quietly, her green hair reflecting in the steamy water. “Specifically. Visibly.”
“Aye, she got her rocks off right there on the throne,” Polly snorted, rinsing suds. “Didn’t exactly hide it. But that’s not a not-guilty verdict. That’s just her being a horny tyrant. We need more.”
“We need to give her something she can’t get from anyone else,” Brutehilde rumbled, scrubbing a stubborn patch of green from Tanna’s shoulder blade. “Something that ties her pleasure to our freedom.”
“Bribery?” Minnie offered, handing over a rinse jug. “We’ve nae money.”
“Not money,” Tulip murmured, her druid’s mind turning over the nature of desire, of ownership. “Something more intimate. A token. A… shared experience.”
Tanna, who had been silent, languid under their ministrations, opened her clear blue eyes. She looked at Polly, a deep understanding passing between them. The plug in her ass—the source of her combat fury, the intimate proof of her debauchery—thrummed softly within her, a constant, private reminder.
“She loves arseholes,” Tanna said, her voice barely above a whisper in the humid air. “And piercing.”
Polly’s hands stilled in her hair. A slow, wicked smile spread across her face.
Tanna continued, turning her head to look at Brutehilde. “Remove the plug from me. Clean it. Offer it to her. Not to keep, but… as the blank canvas. Offer her the chance to pierce me. Like she did you, Polly. A permanent mark of her… appreciation. A gift only she can give, on flesh that fought for her entertainment.”
The room went very quiet except for the drip of water.
“Fuck,” Polly breathed, admiration colouring the word. “That’s disgustingly perfect. It’s not a bribe. It’s an invitation to defilement. She’ll fucking wet herself.”
Tulip’s hands tightened on Tanna’s shoulders. Her spring-gold skin flushed. “I’ll do it too.”
All eyes turned to her.
“Two offerings,” Tulip said, her voice gaining strength. “My arsehole as well. A matched set. It doubles the temptation. And it means…” She looked at Polly, then at Tanna, a flicker of dark heat in her eyes. “…it means all three of us can play with each other’s piercings. A closed circuit of her influence. She’d see that. She’d crave that control.”
Brutehilde sat back on her heels, assessing. It was bold. It was profoundly vulgar. It was exactly the kind of symbolic, visceral politics that this city understood. “You’re sure? It’s not a toy. It’s a hole in your body. Forever.”
Tanna nodded, decisive. “It’s a hole she owns. Which means she owns a piece of our safety.”
“Aye, alright,” Brutehilde said, standing. “But we do it right. We present it as a formal supplication. Minn, find some decent cloth. We make a presentation box. Polly, you’re on retrieval duty.”
Polly didn’t need telling twice. She kicked off her boots, stripped off her vest and skirt, and stepped into the pool in just her fishnets. The water lapped at her waist. “C’mere, knight. Assume the position.”
Tanna, her heart pounding with a new, sharp purpose, turned and bent forward, gripping the rough stone edge of the pool. Her pale, rounded arse broke the surface of the water. Polly moved behind her, one hand smoothing over the curve, finding the base of the ornate, jeweled plug where it nestled tight against Tanna’s roseate pucker.
“Deep breath,” Polly muttered, and pressed her thumbs against the flared base. With a firm, steady twist and pull, she began to extract it.
Tanna gasped, her knuckles white on the stone. The feeling was immense, a slow, stretching reversal of the plug’s insertion. The thickest part of the shaft dragged against her inner muscles, which clenched instinctively, trying to hold on. Polly kept up the pressure, pulling with relentless certainty until, with a soft, wet pop, the entire thing came free. Tanna shuddered, feeling suddenly empty, exposed. The water swirled faintly around the opened ring of muscle.
Polly held up the plug. It was a beautiful, obscene thing, slick with Tanna’s natural oils and the mineral water. The jewel at its base glinted. “One blank canvas,” she said, her voice rough. She handed it to Minnie, who began to clean it meticulously with a soft cloth and strong spirits.
“My turn,” Tulip said. She shed her druidic robes, her golden skin glowing in the chamber’s fungal light. She had no plug to remove, but her arsehole was a neat, pink pucker, untouched by metal. She bent over the pool edge beside Tanna, presenting herself. “Make it ready,” she said to Polly.
Polly didn’t need elaboration. She spat on her fingers, then pressed one, then two, into Tulip’s tight entrance, working her open with rough, efficient strokes. Tulip moaned, her head dropping, her green hair floating in the water. Polly fucked her with her fingers, scissoring them, stretching the muscular ring until it glistened and gave under her touch. “Ready,” Polly grunted, withdrawing her shiny fingers.
They dried off. Minnie had fashioned a small box from a carved wood fragment and lined it with dark velvet. The clean plug lay in the center. Next to it, Tulip placed a simple, polished silver ring—a placeholder, a promise of what was to be pierced.
The delegation to the Matriarch’s private chambers was small: Brutehilde, Polly, Tanna, and Tulip. They were admitted by guards whose eyes flickered with knowing contempt. Lady Araksia was in her solar, reclining on a divan, still looking sated and loose-limbed. Her eyes, however, were sharp as ever.
“You return so soon?” she purred. “To beg? It is unbecoming.”
“Not to beg, Your Magnificence,” Brutehilde said, her voice a study in forced deference. She opened the box, holding it forward. “To offer a… collaboration.”
Araksia’s gaze fell upon the plug. She recognized it. Her interest, faint at first, ignited. She sat up, leaning forward. “Explain.”
Tanna stepped forward, her face calm. “This artifact has been the source of my strength in your arena. It is now empty. We offer it to you not as a returned item, but as a vessel. We offer the flesh it occupied. My flesh.” She turned, bending at the waist, pulling apart the cheeks of her arse to expose the twitching, vulnerable hole to the room’s light. “I would be honoured if you would mark it as your own. With a piercing. A permanent testament to today’s… poetry.”
Araksia’s breath hitched. Her tongue touched her upper lip.
Tulip stepped up beside Tanna. She bent, mirroring the position, her druid’s arsehole, loosened and prepared, offered alongside her lover’s. “And mine. A pair. A set only you could create.”
The silence in the solar was thick, heavy with lust and power. Araksia stood. She approached them slowly, like a predator circling prey. She did not touch them with her hands. First, she leaned down to Tanna’s exposed rear, her nose almost brushing the sensitive skin. She inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of soap, mineral water, and the intimate musk of the knight. Then she did the same to Tulip, a low hum of pleasure vibrating in her throat.
“You are clever little beasts,” she whispered, her voice dripping with venomous approval. “You understand the currency here. Not gold. Not words. Ownership.” She straightened. “The offer is accepted. The verdict will be ‘inconclusive, with honours’. You will leave at first light with my blessing… and my marks.”
She clapped her hands. A servant scurried in, carrying a tray of polished surgical steel, needles, clamps, and an array of rings and bars. The tools glinted under the light.
“Now,” Araksia said, picking up a needle. “Stay very, very still.”
The piercing was swift, clinical, and intensely intimate. Araksia cleansed Tanna’s pucker with a stinging solution, then pinched the outer rim of the muscle with a clamp. The sharp, burning pain of the needle’s penetration made Tanna jolt, but Polly was there, a firm hand on her back, holding her down. “Take it,” Polly murmured. “It’s hers now.” The jewellery
The jewellery was a delicate silver ring, pierced through the very edge of her sphincter. Araksia fastened the clasp with a surgeon’s precision. A bead of blood welled and was wiped away. The cold metal felt foreign, a constant, tiny pressure in a place of profound vulnerability. Tanna breathed through the aftermath, the sharp pain softening into a deep, throbbing ache.
Tulip’s turn was next. The Matriarch repeated the process, her fingers deft on the druid’s golden skin. The clamp pinched. The needle slid through flesh with a sickening, wet pop. Tulip gasped, her back arching, but she held her position. A matching ring was secured. The twin piercings gleamed, wet and new, under the chamber's light.
Araksia stepped back, admiring her work. She set the tools aside and slowly, deliberately, unfastened the intricate clasps of her own gown. The fabric pooled at her feet, revealing her naked form. She was all sharp angles and dark, perfect skin, save for the intricate silver chains and rings that adorned her nipples and clit. She turned, presenting her own rear to the two bent women.
“Homage,” she commanded, her voice devoid of all warmth. “Each of you. Kiss the site of your devotion. Seal your offering with your mouth.”
The air grew thick. Tanna, her new ring burning, looked at the Matriarch’s exposed arsehole. It was neat, pierced with a tiny diamond stud, and meticulously clean. The order was a final, degrading test of submission. Tulip, beside her, gave a minute, resigned nod.
Tanna leaned forward first. She pressed her lips against the tight, dark pucker, the taste of exotic oils and salt on her tongue. She kissed it, a firm, closed-mouth press of fealty. Tulip followed, her green hair brushing Araksia’s thigh as she performed the same brief, solemn kiss.
“Good beasts,” Araksia sighed, a shiver of pure dominance running through her. She did not turn around immediately, letting the humiliation settle. Then she gathered her robe. “The verdict will be announced at first light. You are dismissed. Do not linger in my city after dawn.”
They were ushered out, the new metal in their bodies feeling heavier than any armour. Back in their chambers, the silence was different. It was the quiet of a gamble placed, not yet won or lost. The physical proof of their deal throbbed with every subtle movement.
Polly looked at them, at the subdued set of Tanna’s shoulders, the slight wince on Tulip’s face as she sat. Something hot and protective curdled with lust in her gut. They’d done that for the group. They’d taken that permanent mark. They needed to be claimed back, reminded who they really belonged to.
“Let me see,” Polly said, her voice rough. It wasn’t a question.
Tanna obeyed, bending over the edge of a low stone bench. Polly knelt behind her, spreading her cheeks. The silver ring was a stark, beautiful intrusion against the swollen, pink flesh. Polly didn’t ask if it hurt. She lowered her head and licked a slow, broad stripe from Tanna’s clit all the way up over her trembling hole, the ring cold against her tongue.
Tanna cried out, a sharp sound of pain and immediate, shocking arousal. The nerve endings, inflamed from the piercing, sang a chorus of raw sensation. Polly zeroed in on the metal, licking and sucking at the ring itself, then probing the tender entrance with the very tip of her tongue. She fucked Tanna’s ass with her tongue, shallow and relentless, the salty taste of blood and antiseptic mixing with Tanna’s essential musk.
“Mine,” Polly grunted against her wet flesh. “She put a fence around it, but the land is still mine.” She stood, shucking her fishnets and smalls. Her own cunt was soaked. “Tulip. Get over here. I want to see them together.”
Tulip, her eyes dark, came to kneel beside the bench, facing Tanna. They kissed, deep and hungry, as Polly positioned herself behind Tulip. Polly spat into her hand, slicked her cock—a rigid, pink strap-on harness she never traveled without—and without ceremony, drove it into Tulip’s newly pierced ass.
Tulip screamed into Tanna’s mouth, her body jolting forward. The penetration was brutal, the thick silicone stretching the fresh wound mercilessly. Polly set a punishing rhythm, each thrust jamming the metal ring against the inflexible toy, sending bolts of searing pleasure-pain through Tulip’s core. Tulip’s cries turned into ragged sobs of ecstasy.
Polly reached around Tulip’s trembling body, her fingers finding Tanna’s cunt, which was dripping. She shoved three fingers inside the knight, fucking her in time with the pounding she gave Tulip’s ass. The slap of synthetic flesh against skin, the wet squelch of Tanna’s pussy, the ragged breathing—it was a symphony of reclamation.
“Touch them,” Polly ordered Tanna, her voice a guttural command. “Touch your rings.”
Tanna broke the kiss, her hand slipping between her own body and Tulip’s. Her fingertips found the cool silver circle in Tulip’s clenched rear, then her own. She pinched them, twisted them gently, sending fresh shocks through them both. The pain was a bright, clarifying fire, burning away the shame of Araksia’s chamber, replacing it with a shared, defiant corruption.
Polly felt Tulip’s ass clamp down, a spasming vice around her cock. Tulip came with a silent, shuddering collapse, her juices flooding the bench beneath her. Polly pulled out, the toy glistening. She turned Tanna around, bent her over Tulip’s prone back, and entered her cunt instead, fucking her with the same possessed intensity. Tanna’s climax was a shout, torn from the depths of her lungs, her body clamping down on the invading length as if trying to fuse with it.
They collapsed in a heap of sweat, spent fluids, and throbbing flesh. The new piercings ached in the aftermath, a persistent reminder. No one spoke. The message was received, etched into them more permanently than any court verdict.
A tentative knock broke the silence. Brutehilde’s voice, low, came through the door. “Ulrika’s back. With… a companion.”
They cleaned up hastily, donning clothes. In the main chamber, Ulrika stood rigid. Beside her, looking mournful and elegant, was Lord Dravion. He wore traveling leathers and carried a slender pack.
“The Matriarch, in her wisdom, has decreed that your continued journey poses a risk to her realm’s reputation,” Ulrika stated, her lips a thin line of disapproval. “She insists you have an… escort. A native guide to ensure you cause no further incident and to attest to your conduct. Lord Dravion has volunteered.”
Dravion offered a tragic bow. “After the… misunderstandings… of the past days, I feel a moral obligation to see you safely to the North Gate and beyond. To correct the court’s poor impression of our hospitality.”
Honeymuff, perched on a bedpost, went very still. Her tiny wings gave a frantic shudder. The rest of them exchanged glances. The thief was inviting himself into their midst. The man who likely framed them was now their designated guardian.
They couldn’t refuse. Not without inviting immediate suspicion.
“How generous,” Brutehilde said, her voice flat.
“We depart at first light,” Ulrika said. “After the official verdict is declared. I suggest you rest.” Her eyes flicked to Tanna and Tulip, a knowing, almost imperceptible nod. She saw the deal that had been struck. She turned and left, leaving them with the smiling, penitent noble.
Dravion’s eyes swept the room, lingering on the discarded tea trolley, the scattered gear. “I shall await you at the North Gate dawn,” he said smoothly. “Travel lightly. The tunnels beyond the city are… unforgiving.” He bowed again and departed.
The door clicked shut. The trap, it seemed, was not sprung. It was simply coming along for the walk.
Wee Minnie finally let out a long breath. “Well,” she whispered, her cheerful voice subdued for the first time. “That’s us fucked.”
Polly stared at the closed door, her hand instinctively drifting to the brass knuckles in her pocket. “No,” she corrected, her voice a low promise. “That’s him fucked. He just doesn’t know it yet.”
The official announcement in the morning would be a formality. The real trial was just beginning, and it would be played out in the lightless tunnels, with a poet for a villain and their fresh piercings throbbing with every step.
The real trial was just beginning, and it would be played out in the lightless tunnels, with a poet for a villain and their fresh piercings throbbing with every step. The group moved in a weary, silent ballet of packing. Minnie polished her kettle. Brutehilde checked the straps on her wooden clogs. Tanna and Tulip moved carefully, the new silver rings in their arseholes a constant, burning whisper. Polly sharpened a stolen table knife against a whetstone, the scritch-scritch the only sound for a long while.
“He’s going to try something the moment we’re out of sight of the city,” Tanna said finally, her voice quiet. She tested the weight of her sword, her movements slightly stiff.
“Obviously,” Polly snapped, but there was no heat in it. She looked at Honeymuff, who was compulsively grooming her wings in a shaft of fungal light. The pixie hadn’t spoken since Dravion left. “You alright, mite?”
Honeymuff’s tiny shoulders hunched. “He smells like old perfume and new lies. And he likes my bum. I don’t want his hands on me.”
“He won’t get the chance,” Brutehilde stated, but it sounded hollow. Promises were fragile things here.
Two hours before the faint glow of dawn would seep through the cavern city’s ceiling, a sharp, coded knock came at the door. Ulrika entered, her presence slicing through the murky anxiety. Behind her loomed Scruffulus, the sorcerer's bony face beaming, his arm draped around a yawning, satiated-looking Elophelia. The vivacious minx's pretty red dress was misbuttoned. Jeremas the valet followed, clutching his scroll case and looking pale.
“You missed a fuckin’ riot,” Polly said by way of greeting.
“We were occupied,” Elophelia purred, stretching like a cat. A fresh love bite bloomed on her neck. “The acoustics in these stone rooms are divine for screaming.”
Scruffulus nodded eagerly. “She screams so prettily. Loud, too. We heard some banging and shouting from elsewhere, but we were… busy.”
Ulrika’s whip cracked once against her own thigh, a sound like splitting rock. “Enough. Sit. All of you. We have little time.” Her black eyes scanned them, missing nothing—the careful way Tulip sat, the defensive hunch of Honeymuff’s wings. “The verdict at dawn will be ‘inconclusive, with honours.’ You will be given supplies and ushered out with stern words. Dravion will be your shadow.”
Jeremas unrolled a map on the table, weighting its corners with mugs. “The North Gate leads to the Gloomspan Tunnels. They are unmapped beyond the first ten leagues. Patrols are thin. It’s perfect ambush territory.”
“He thinks we’re stupid, gullible surface-dwellers,” Ulrika said, her finger stabbing the map. “He believes his performance of tragic chivalry has fooled us. This is our advantage. He does not know that we know he is the thief.”
A collective breath was released, the tension in the room shifting, focusing. It was no longer a shapeless dread. It was a known quantity.
“We watch him,” Brutehilde said, her massive arms folding. “We let him make his move.”
“Precisely,” Ulrika said. “He will. He is desperate. The theft was an act of financial despair. He needs to convert that relic into coin, which means he hopes to make contacts outside the city. He will try to lead you into a trap, or slip away to meet them. Your job is to not be the victims in his pathetic play.”
Honeymuff fluttered up from the bedpost. “And what’s to stop him trying to grab me in the night? I’m bite-sized! He could just stuff me in a purse!”
A rare, grim smile touched Ulrika’s lips. She pulled a small, crystalline vial from her belt pouch. It contained a fine, dull powder. “Bromide. It suppresses… ardour. It will be added to his tea at every meal. He will find his thoughts of your pert posterior, or anyone else’s, curiously difficult to sustain. Physically impossible, in fact.”
Minnie’s face lit up with genuine delight. “Och, a chemical solution! I’ll handle the brew, nae bother. A man that weepy takes his tea sweet. He’ll never taste a thing.”
The plan was simple. It was a relief. They would march into his trap with their eyes wide open, their own knives ready. The meeting broke up. Scruffulus and Elophelia returned to their room to “pack,” though the sounds that soon echoed through the stone suggested otherwise. Jeremas began carefully copying the relevant map sections onto smaller, tougher parchment.
In the corner, Polly pulled Tanna and Tulip close. The formal strategy was set, but her own need was a raw, separate thing. The sight of Ulrika taking control had ignited her own predatory instincts. She needed to feel her own dominance, to stamp their recent submission to Araksia beneath something more primal, more theirs.
“You two,” she growled, her voice low. “On the bed. Now.”
Tulip’s golden skin flushed. Tanna’s clear blue eyes darkened. They obeyed, shedding their travel clothes. The silver rings gleamed against their skin, foreign jewellery in their most intimate flesh. Polly stripped, her lean body a map of old scars and lean muscle. She didn’t reach for her strap-on. This was about her, her mouth, her hands, her claim.
“Get on your hands and knees. Arses in the air. I want to see her gifts up close.”
They assumed the position, side by side. The twin piercings were still inflamed, the flesh around the silver slightly swollen and red. Polly knelt behind them. She didn’t gentle her touch. She grabbed Tulip’s arse cheeks in both hands and spread them wide, then leaned in and licked a brutal, flat stripe over the druid’s hole, the ring cold against her tongue.
Tulip jerked and moaned, her back arching. Polly focused on the piercing, sucking the metal itself into her mouth, tonguing the tender flesh it pierced. Then she bit down, not hard enough to break skin, but with enough pressure to make Tulip cry out. “Mine,” Polly snarled, her words vibrating against the wet flesh. “She just decorated my property.”
She turned to Tanna, repeating the act, but slower, more obscene. She pressed her tongue inside, past the ring, fucking the knight’s ass with it, deep and dirty. Tanna shuddered, a low whine escaping her. “You took this for us,” Polly muttered, pulling back, her chin slick. “Now I’m christening it.”
She pushed them down onto their stomachs. She lay atop Tulip, her cunt grinding against the druid’s lower back. She reached beneath Tanna, her fingers finding the knight's wet slit. She fucked Tanna with two fingers, hard and fast, while her mouth found Tulip’s ear.
“Touch yourself,” she ordered Tulip. “Get your fingers in your cunt and think about my tongue on that ring.”
Tulip’s hand slid underneath her own body, her fingers plunging into her soaked pussy with a wet, slapping sound. Polly increased her rhythm on Tanna, crooking her fingers, feeling the knight’s inner muscles fluttering. The room filled with the sounds of their sex: ragged breathing, the slick, rhythmic noise of penetration, the creak of the bed.
“I’m going to come,” Tanna gasped, her face pressed into the bedding.
“Do it,” Polly commanded, biting Tulip’s shoulder. “Come on her ring. Let her feel it.”
Tanna’s body seized, a silent, powerful convulsion that clamped down on Polly’s fingers. Her juices flooded Polly’s hand. The clenching of her muscles made her new piercing shift, and she let out a sharp, pained gasp that tipped into a second, deeper wave of pleasure.
Polly rolled off Tulip, her own need a burning knot. “Sit on my face,” she told the druid, her voice hoarse. “I want to drink you while I finish with my knight.”
Tulip scrambled up, straddling Polly’s head, lowering her dripping cunt onto Polly’s waiting mouth. Polly ate her with a furious, starving intensity, her tongue spearing deep. At the same time, she dragged Tanna down by the hip, positioning the knight’s swollen, sensitive cunt over her own. Tanna understood, sinking down, scissoring Polly's lean, hard body in one smooth, wet slide.
Polly was surrounded, consumed. Tulip’s taste flooded her mouth, Tanna’s tight heat rubbed slickly against her. She thrust upward against Tanna, her hips pistoning, while her tongue lashed Tulip’s clit. The world narrowed to sweat-slick skin, muffled cries, and the metallic tang of their new piercings brushing against her skin. Her orgasm ripped through her, a raw, blinding explosion that made her scream into Tulip’s cunt, her body bucking violently beneath them both.
They collapsed in a tangle of limbs, the smell of sex and sweat thick in the air. The piercings ached fiercely, a persistent, throbbing reminder of the day’s transactions. No one spoke. Outside, the city’s fungal light began its slow, counterfeit brightening towards dawn.
An hour later, they stood at the North Gate. The official read the verdict in a bored monotone. Dravion stood beside them, the picture of noble contrition, a subtle, unplaceable anxiety in his eyes. Minnie handed him a steaming travel mug. “For the road, yer lordship. Sweetened just how ye like it.”
He accepted it with a grateful smile, sipping deeply. “Your kindness is a balm, good woman.”
The massive, rune-carved gates groaned open, revealing a yawning tunnel mouth of absolute black. Cold, damp air sighed out, carrying the scent of wet stone and forgotten things.
Brutehilde adjusted the pack on her shoulders, the iron balls in her plaits clinking softly. She looked at Dravion, then into the consuming darkness. “Right then,” she said, her voice carrying no fear, only a formidable resolve. “Let’s go for a walk.”