Later that same evening, a thousand people surged into the city, everyone gawking at the Godking on his palace. Velwrith watched from his tower apartment as they poured in. The isolation created plenty of time for plotting with Chalco over the daggers. So instead of galavanting, they made a simple but effective plan. 

 Three days passed with the prince locked in his room and people streaming into the city. Every day Chalco and Velwrith plotted. On the third day, Chalco was allowed to visit with his sister, bringing her into the plot. During the interlude, Velwrith had his servant girl collect some things. He needed rope, a three-foot wooden dowel, a wooden shield with a brass boss, and the thickest gambison she could find. 

When the time finally arrived, he deposited his regular weapons and armor within his room and wore his new non-metallic suit instead. He felt confident as street rabble bumped and jostled him as he went, most seemingly unaware of until the very last second.

On reaching his destination and seeing the mass of thirty Valdrath dressed in black metal, his stomach turned. Amidst the crowd, an expressive hand or moving body struck him several times.

It was clear from the expressions of those around him that he was being judged lowly.

Three distinct sets of eyes told different stories. Chalco’s were familiar, though somewhat judgemental. The woman next to him must have been Sheila, and her big brown eyes seemed somehow the most judgemental. 

The third set were those of a stranger who kept his distance, yet Velwrith swore he’d seen before. The black-clad man stared when not directly observed but always seemed to look elsewhere when checked.

The wildling waved his natural hand on his approach, and the beautiful girl beside him acknowledged him with a nod. Sheila’s gaze shifted from harsh judgment to sparkly intrigue.

She was short, even for a Valdrath, standing at perhaps four feet tall. Her frame was light but well-toned, with ample hips and small breasts. Her face was small with prominent features, eyes, nose, and ears seemed too large for such a dainty frame. Yet, despite a warm smile on her face, her gray eyes never changed from dull stones.

Chalco’s booming voice crashed over the crowd at his approach. “Aye, you came! Thought you might have shat out yer spine on us.”

“I’ve been called many things Chalco, but a coward has never been one of them. Are you both sure you’re ready to do this? You can still leave.”

Sheila snorted. “Except for Chalco here, there isn’t a man in this crowd. I’m not backing away from a pay-day like this for anything.” 

“You’d be our liability here, Firefly, ain't nothin' the two of us couldn’t take on. Sheila and me’ve been killing goblins and the like since we were nuthin but tots.”

Sheila’s ears twitched upwards, and she pointed towards the gloomy stranger with her nose. “He’s muttering to someone, talking about you, Velwrith… I don’t rightfully understand the rest.  Just meaningless jargon, maybe using some code?”

“I’m glad I thought to ask your help then. I'm not sure how I’d fare against an informed opponent.”

“Poorly. I think that’s Darkstar, the bloke who wanted to help catch you. I’d say you’d need more than just steel to best him, let alone you’re little twig.” Chalco said, frankly indicating the stick.

Velwrith offered the brown-haired girl a mithril dagger in a deliberate attempt to change the topic. “Sheila, this is for you. It’s our group badge and communication device.”  

A smile suddenly touched her eyes, and she poorly suppressed a squee. Then, like a viper, she took the blade and flashed it in the light immediately, examining the edge. “I’d be glad to, now that I’m free of the emperor’s thumb, I’ll be needing work.”

Smiling himself, Velwrith asked, “How could you tell what that guy was saying anyway?”

She glared at him over the dagger, her eyes shifting to cold gray storm clouds.“My mother was Teklem, and my father was a Greyson. Although I inherited a little bit of both their gifts, I have learned some unique tricks of my own too.”

Velwrith raised his eyebrow.“What do you mean?”

The woman lifted a hand, focused, plucked the wispy black motes around her, then snapped her fingers. All around, the lights flickered, many went out entirely. A dim gloom seeped into the chamber from nowhere. 

Startled, several people yelled or complained, but nobody reacted past words.

She smiled seductively. “Usually, people study for years to bend shadows, but I’ve never had much issue.”

Chalco chuckled.“In my opinion, her gray-daughter blood just got confused. She spent so much time skulkin about and stealin that her body just had to adapt to do somethin.”

Her gaze shifted, cutting a razor across the crowd. A bystander who caught her eye visibly stepped away.

Chalco didn’t seem to notice at all.

Finally, with a frustrated tone, she snapped.“An oaf like you is only good with metal! I’m simply far more unique a specimen than you are.”

Both of them burst into laughter at once—an inside joke between them.

Velwrith took the opportunity to cut in, “I’m not following here. I get you two were born here and share a father. But what baffles me is how one of you ended up working for the god-king, and the other ended up with the dwarves.”

Sheila smirked, her eyes sparkling again. “We went hunting goblins as children and managed to get aboard a sled to the deep. But, unfortunately, we got lost, and I sprained my ankle. Chalco went off to find an adult. Ironically an adult found me, and my oh so noble big brother got himself far more lost.”

Jerking a thumb towards her brother, she went on. “Not sure how the big dumbass here managed to lose the hand and most of his ears. Or how he ended up with the dwarves of all people. He says he doesn’t like to talk about it.”

She took a breath, shifting to lean on the wall. “ As for my previous employer. Our father was one of the Godking’s sons, a Greyson. Because of him, I received an education; Chalco would have too if he’d found his way back. After that, my skills spoke for themselves.” 

Velwrith's eyes shifted to Chalco, who stared at his steel hand, opening and closing it absently. Then, before the prince could open his mouth, the Wildling spoke. “The hand and the dwarves are related… might say it’s all down to a mutual hatred for goblins....” 

The crash of a gong interrupted their conversation, and a herald appeared. “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome. You have gathered to help our Emperor and deity select his next avatar. You will do so by being the first person to reach this threshold. You must use the steps and not the sleds, but there are no other rules. Many will die in this contest. Those who wish not to risk their lives may go. The rest of you, please board the sled.”

All the participants were silent and formed a messy line. Then, they boarded the huge rail-sled and descended into the deep one by one.