They descended into a junction where four narrow tunnels met, the center bisected by a sluggish channel of dark water. The ceiling arched low, beaded with moisture that dripped steadily into the filth below. Slime coated the stones, a slick green sheen that clung to the floor and walls, catching what little light filtered through a rusted grate high above. That faint daylight danced across the chamber in broken patterns, revealing grime-caked bricks and ancient runoff stains that trailed like veins along the stone. The air here was thicker, almost tangible, pressing in with a damp weight that settled on Kharg’s skin like a second layer. The noise from above, boots on cobblestones, laughter, and the clang of metal, was muted here, a reminder of how close the bustling city lay despite the reeking isolation of the tunnels.

  The distant scratching sounds of tiny claws drew his attention to the water. Rats, some larger than he’d ever seen before, scurried along the edges, their beady eyes reflecting the dim light. The water itself wasn’t just sewage. It seemed alive with unpleasant ripples, hints of movement beneath its surface that suggested more than just waste was present. Spiders, too, made their mark, their webs crisscrossing small alcoves and chutes that dotted the walls, many leading up to houses above.

  Halidor’s voice broke through his disgust. “Ah, forgive me, Kharg,” he said with a chuckle, holding out a small tin box. “Take a bit of this and smear it under your nose. It’s an alchemical paste, blunts the worst of the smell.”

  Grateful but not entirely convinced, Kharg applied the paste. To his surprise, the overwhelming stench dulled to a tolerable level, allowing him to breathe a little easier. Halidor grinned approvingly. “Now, I trust you have your bearings?”

  Kharg nodded, steeling himself as he took the lead. The walkway started comfortably enough, the murky water staying nearly a foot below the ledge. But as they continued westward, the path angled downward and became slick with moss and grime. Before long, the walkway narrowed and eventually disappeared, forcing Kharg to press against the damp wall to avoid stepping into the sewage. Flies still gathered where the filth lay thickest, but they kept to the stone beyond arm’s reach, their low buzz never quite returning to the press it had been when they first descended.

  Casting a glance backward, he noticed Halidor strolling along casually, an amused expression on his face. At first, Kharg thought the man had found some hidden path, but then he realized with a start that Halidor was walking directly on the water, his boots leaving shallow ripples with each step as though the sewage were solid ground.

  “Of course he can,” Kharg muttered under his breath, grumbling as he edged carefully along the slimy wall.

  The first crossroads chamber they entered had a slightly larger pool of stagnant water, its surface disturbed by the occasional ripple. A metal ladder stretched up to a small, rusted grate in the ceiling, and several chutes along the walls suggested refuse disposal from above. From the grate came faint, distorted sounds—the bray of a vendor advertising his goods, the murmur of voices and someone arguing angrily. As Kharg peered cautiously down the adjoining passages, the sudden movement of shadows caught his eye. Two massive rats lunged from the darkness, their fur matted and their eyes glinting with feral hunger.

  Reacting instinctively, Kharg whispered a sharp incantation. The words of air magic left his lips in muted, hissing whispers, and two translucent spikes of air materialized before him. With a flick of his hand, they shot forward and struck the rats mid-leap. Both creatures hit the ground with sickening thuds, their bodies lying motionless. Kharg let out a slow breath, his heart pounding, as Halidor chuckled softly behind him.

  “Well handled,” the older mage said with an approving nod.

  The next crossroads chamber was even filthier. A massive blockage of waste and debris clogged the water channel, forcing the murky flow to pool and spread across the floor. Here the insects were bolder again, flies clustering thickly above the stagnant pools while mosquitoes hovered at the edge of the light, drifting aside only when they strayed too close. A pair of small rats darted from the shadows at their approach, skittering along the wall before vanishing into a gap in the stonework. Above, through another grate, came the muffled creak of cart wheels and the distant bark of a dog. These everyday sounds felt oddly foreign in the sewer’s clinging gloom. Kharg was forced to edge along the wall, his boots slipping slightly on the slimy surface. A welcome shaft of daylight streamed through a grate high above them, the only illumination in the oppressive gloom.

  The tunnel twisted slightly as they moved farther. The beams of light from overhead grates grew sparser and cast them into deeper shadows. Where there was no grate above, the noises of the city faded, leaving only the sluggish water and the plink of droplets falling from the ceiling. Kharg’s sharp eyes caught movement in the distance, a large shifting shape that vanished as quickly as it appeared. He froze momentarily and stared into the darkness. When he focused there was nothing but silence and the barely audible plinking of water dripping from the ceiling.

  Halidor noticed his hesitation and whispered, “Rats, most likely. But keep an eye out. You never know what’s lurking down here.”

  “Too large to be rats,” Kharg mumbled. “More man-sized…”

  Twice more he spotted fleeting shadows, always in peripheral passages or at the edge of his vision. The oppressive weight of the sewers and the sense of being watched made the journey all the more harrowing. Still, he forced himself onward while carefully noting their direction and distance. Occasionally he passed blockages where the flow of water was halted by clumps of rotting refuse tangled with strands of webbing and the occasional carcass of a rat or bird.

  By his earlier estimates, they had traveled about a hundred yards east and north from the Guild before descending into the sewers. If his calculations were correct, the house where they kept Caspian was nearly a thousand yards west, with perhaps some adjustments north or south depending on the twists of the tunnels.

  Clenching his jaw, he pressed forward, the weight of responsibility settling heavily on his shoulders. The distant skittering of claws and the occasional splash of water served as a grim reminder of the sewers’ ever-present dangers. Something glossy darted from a crack near his boot and vanished again with a dry rasp of legs on stone, too fast and too many-limbed to be a rat. Through the occasional grate above, muted snatches of the world reached them. Footsteps, laughter, and the rattle of a wooden cart drifted down, faint threads linking this hidden route to the streets of Varakar. Halidor, following silently behind, radiated a calm confidence, but Kharg knew the older mage was leaving this mission to him.

  This was his show, as Halidor had said. And the only way forward was through the filth and shadows of the Thieves’ Domain.

  As Kharg approached what he estimated to be the final stretch of their journey, a sudden realization struck him, and he cursed under his breath. Hrafun’s lessons had included the way of animalism, and yet, in his rush to tackle this task, he had entirely neglected to make use of that knowledge. Hrafun had taught him the true names of common animals like rats, birds, and others, and Kharg had even prepared tools for such eventualities.

  He retrieved the thick elk-horn Rod of Mastery from his pouch and ran his hand over the runes etched into it with painstaking care, feeling their subtle energy. With a firm grip on the rod, he murmured the incantation to invoke a shamanic pact. The words flowed smoothly as the natural energy of the runes combined with his deep connection to the spirits, a ripple of spiritual energy radiated outward and formed a protective ward around him. The ward was tied to the true names of rats and would repel the vermin without harming them. As the spell took hold, a comforting barrier surrounded him. He gave a small gesture of satisfaction. The oppressive skittering in the distance faded as the rats instinctively sensed the magic and kept their distance.

  Feeling a renewed sense of confidence, Kharg pressed onward down the passage. The quiet echoes of dripping water and his own careful footsteps were the only sounds now. Before long, he emerged into another chamber, its arched ceiling dripping with condensation. The water here was murkier, its flow almost stagnant, and the stench was heavier than ever despite the alchemical paste under his nose.

  Kharg paused, considering his next move. The oppressive darkness of the sewers made him hesitant to enter the dreamworld from such a location, but it was the logical next step. Before he could voice his thoughts, Halidor spoke.

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  “Did you use location spells earlier to find Caspian?” Halidor asked, his tone curious but calm.

  Kharg gave a brief motion of acknowledgment. “Yes, but the range was limited. That’s how I navigated us here.”

  A thoughtful expression crossed Halidor’s face. “I know spells to extend the range of others,” he said after a moment. “Perhaps that could enhance your efforts. Would you like to try?”

  Kharg thought about it. Halidor’s presence had already proved invaluable, and the offer was tempting. “That could work,” he said after a moment. “Let’s try it.”

  The tendrils of his spell extended much farther than before, slipping through the layers of the sewers with ease. To Kharg’s surprise, he sensed the echo of Caspian much closer than he had anticipated, less than a hundred yards away. The resonance was clear and strong, a spiritual beacon in the oppressive gloom.

  “Closer than I expected,” Kharg murmured, more to himself than to Halidor.

  Halidor raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips. “Impressive,” he said. “Your navigation has been more precise than most would expect down here. You’ve done well.”

  The praise caught Kharg slightly off guard, but he accepted it with a nod. He focused his thoughts on the next steps. Caspian was near and the culmination of their efforts was finally within reach. Led by the location spell, Kharg searched the nearby passages until he reached what he believed was the correct spot. He could sense Caspian only a dozen yards away now.

  Kharg tightened his grip on the elk-bone rod on his belt and felt its runes throbbing as he whispered the incantation for Spirit Sight. The world around him shifted as the veil between the prime plane and the spirit realm thinned to reveal the echoes of energy hidden within the sewers. The solid stone wall before him now flickered slightly in his altered vision and he spotted the barely perceptible outline of a passage that lay behind what appeared to be an ordinary section of the sewer wall.

  “There,” he muttered, more to himself than to Halidor, who waited nearby. Kharg’s eyes narrowed as he traced the edges of the hidden entrance. The veneer of stone was deceptively thin, concealing a wooden door beneath. Canceling the Spirit Sight again, he allowed his perception to return fully to the prime plane. The other realm faded and left him facing an unremarkable stretch of sewer wall.

  He ran his fingers along the surface, searching for the subtle edges he had seen moments before. The stone felt cool and damp beneath his touch but it did not take long for him to find the seam, a barely perceptible groove in the otherwise smooth wall. Kharg let out a small breath of satisfaction and reached for the steel dagger at his belt.

  The blade slipped into the seam with ease and its sharp edge gave him the leverage he needed to pry at the hidden door. It resisted at first, but with a soft groan, the concealed mechanism gave way. The door swung open just enough to reveal the narrow passage beyond. Kharg examined the hidden door closely. The outer surface was lined with thin plates of stone, skillfully affixed to mimic the surrounding sewer walls. From a distance, it was nearly impossible to distinguish from the real thing. He couldn’t help admiring the craftsmanship.

  “It’s wooden,” he murmured, brushing his fingers along the edge of the doorframe. “And whoever built this was clever. It’s no wonder it wasn’t discovered earlier.”

  Halidor stepped closer, his presence a steady reassurance in the dim light. “Good work,” he said, his tone calm but approving. “I trust you’ll take the lead from here?”

  Kharg gave a curt nod, peering into the narrow corridor revealed by the door. The air that wafted out was stale and carried a distinctly musty scent. The low, confined space would require him to crouch to pass through. Kharg tested it with cautious movements before glancing back at Halidor.

  Pausing for a moment, he steadied his breath before reaching out and calling on the power of elemental air. The magic responded readily, swirling around him as he whispered the aerial incantation. The sound in the immediate vicinity dulled, as though a thick blanket had been laid over the air itself. Only his voice would remain unaffected, all sounds emanating from below his head were muffled. This would allow him to use magic as needed while otherwise cloaking any sounds he would make.

  Gripping the narrow opening, he pulled himself into the cramped corridor. The damp air pressed against him as he crouched low, his knees brushing the uneven stone floor. Fafne let out a disgruntled chirp from his perch, clearly unimpressed by the arrangement. With a flick of his tail, the faerie dragon launched himself off Kharg’s shoulder and scrambled along the floor behind him.

  The passage was tight, barely more than a yard high and half that in width. The walls were rough and cold, slick with moisture from the sewers. Kharg moved carefully, his movements slow and deliberate as he crept forward. Every inch felt laborious in the confined space, but his focus was sharp, his mind fixed on the task ahead. After a few tense moments, he reached the inner door, a crude wooden hatch set into the stone. Kharg ran his fingers along its edges, testing its give. To his relief, it opened with surprising ease, the hinges emitting only the faintest creak under his careful touch.

  The room beyond the door was dimly lit by a flickering oil lamp. A guard sat slouched in a chair, his expression one of dull boredom. As the hatch began to open, the man blinked in surprise and his hand fumbled toward the blade at his side.

  Kharg acted swiftly. With a sharp, whispered chant, he summoned a spike of air. The magic coalesced into a shimmering, translucent projectile that hummed with deadly energy. He released it without hesitation, the spike streaking through the air and striking the guard squarely in the forehead. The man’s eyes widened in shock before he slumped forward, the blade falling from his grasp.

  The room fell silent once more, the only sound the muffled hiss of dissipating magic. Kharg drew in a steady breath before stepping inside.

  The basement’s oppressive atmosphere pressed down on Kharg as he stepped cautiously into the room, the wet squelch of his boots against the damp planks the only sound. The air was heavy with the smell of mold and mildew, the walls glistening with accumulated moisture that dripped into dark puddles on the floor. Compared to the sewers, it was an improvement, but only barely.

  The sparse furnishings added to the desolation. A rickety table with uneven legs leaned against one wall, the spilled contents of a tankard pooling on its surface and dripping onto the floorboards below. Nearby, a crooked wooden chair lay slightly askew, evidence of its recent occupant. Kharg looked upward, taking in the rough wooden stairs that led to a hatch in the ceiling. A quick glance confirmed what he had already sensed, no easy escape would be possible through there.

  His eyes landed on the heavy oak door at the back of the room. Its solid frame and thick crossbar told him it was meant to keep someone in, not out. Behind it, he could feel the unmistakable presence of Caspian, a spiritual resonance that tugged at his awareness.

  He moved toward the door, each step deliberate and silent. As his hand reached for the crossbar, a quiet rustle from behind made him pause. Turning his head, he saw Halidor emerge from the narrow corridor. The older man’s movements were fluid, almost unnaturally precise, as though he were gliding rather than stepping. His demeanor was calm, composed, and strangely regal, even in the dim confines of the basement. Halidor’s eyes met Kharg’s, and the barest hint of a smile touched his lips. He gave a subtle gesture for Kharg to continue, the message clear—this was his moment.

  * * *

  Halidor stood at the edge of the dim room, his attention on Kharg as the young man moved toward the heavy oak door. The resonance of Caspian’s presence lingered beyond, but Halidor’s focus remained on Kharg. The boy had performed admirably so far, surpassing the mage’s expectations in ways that were both surprising and gratifying.

  Halidor allowed himself a brief moment of amusement as he recalled Kharg’s earlier muttered complaints about wading through the sewers. There had been a twinge of envy in the young man’s voice as he half-joked about the ability to walk on water, a skill Halidor had used effortlessly to avoid the filth. It had been a challenge to keep a straight face, but Halidor’s role demanded composure. He was, after all, an esteemed Lord of the Adventurers’ Guild.

  Still, the boy’s fortitude in the face of the unsavory conditions was impressive. Many of the Guild’s more refined members would balk at the mere suggestion of traversing such an environment. But Kharg had not even hesitated, which spoke well of his character. This willingness to endure discomfort and filth for the sake of a friend was rare. That kind of resolve, Halidor mused, couldn’t be taught. It had to be innate. He had thought it likely, but had not known when he spoke to Kharg in the guild hall. Now the man had proven he was not just words, but action.

  And then there was the moment with the guard. The speed and resolve Kharg had shown in dispatching the man had been striking. Halidor had seen countless battles in his time, but there was something uniquely elegant about Kharg’s approach. The summoned projectile had struck with unerring precision, ending the threat in a single, decisive motion.

  “Elegant,” Halidor thought, a curl of approval on his lips. Kharg’s raw talent was clear. What set him apart, though, was his unshakable calm in tense moments—swift and decisive, without the slightest hesitation. The boy thought like a leader.

  But it wasn’t just skill that intrigued Halidor, it was the fire beneath it. Kharg wasn’t chasing glory. He moved with purpose, a quiet determination that grew stronger with every test. Halidor had seen that spark before, though rarely, and only in those destined for greatness.

  The rustle of movement drew Halidor’s attention back to the present. Kharg was examining the crossbar on the oak door, his fingers running along its edges with a quiet intensity. Fafne, the silvery faerie dragon, perched nearby, watching the proceedings with a keen, almost mischievous interest. Halidor eyed the creature for a moment, once again letting his thoughts run along the same lines as at the Guild. What he had seen so far had only served to reinforce his first impressions. The dragon’s presence spoke of a bond forged not through power or coercion but through trust and mutual respect.

  Halidor allowed himself a small smile as he watched Kharg prepare to lift the crossbar. The boy had more than proved himself tonight. He had demonstrated not only skill and resourcefulness but also a depth of character that few possessed. And as Halidor stood in the shadows, observing the quiet determination in Kharg’s every movement, he felt a flicker of satisfaction.