Alaric froze inches from Aldrin. A chorus of vicious laughter echoed through the jail, sending ice through his veins. Both guards had returned to gaze gleefully upon their prisoners. The stocky guard double over, once again consumed by laughter. Beside him, his smaller and more youthful colleague shook with mirth, sending his thick, blonde hair bouncing about his hazel eyes, now freed from his helmet.

"You ought to learn to get along, especially considerin' what Marcus has in store for ya," Rick, the larger guard said.

"But we-," Gwenestra started frantically.

"Yes, yes, you only fought in self defense," the younger guard, Marcus, said dryly. "The witness statements confirm as much."

They fell silent. Every pair of eyes focused on the young guard. The air thickened with anticipation. This was it. Alaric held his breath and braced for the worst.

"And to be honest, I couldn't care less about The Broken Bottle," the guard continued. "It always has attracted the wrong sort. Most of tonight's guests in the inn had camping equipment so even if Solëir had not been able to repair the tavern, a housing crisis would have been averted. It almost would have been better if his efforts had failed. Then I could have sent them packing to camp at the edge of town.

Alaric felt his heart stop. Hardly daring to believe his luck, he backed away from Aldrin. Their release would likely be contingent upon a bribe. In a small town such as this one, it seemed unlikely such a donation to the local economy would need to be significant. Even if it required every coin in his pouch, he would gladly pay it.

"This one has the right idea," Marcus pointed at Alaric as though he had read his thoughts.

The confirmation should have come as a relief to Alaric, but something about the way he held himself was off. He crossed his arms over his chest defensively and he spoke stiffly. His colleague smirked as though he knew something Alaric did not, sending the hair on the back of his neck on end. A knot started to form in the pit of his stomach. There would be more to securing his freedom than a simple bribe, of that he was certain.

"But money is not what I want," the guard continued. "Let me tell you a few things about Arborville. This conversation would go better over dinner but we regretably our stores have run out. Our resupply was delayed until morning and I couldn't be bothered to buy anything in town for Holvic and his gang."

"On the subject of Holvic," the guard paused for effect, "he and his thugs are one of only two major problems plagueing this wretched town. Every night for the last couple of months they have started altercations at The Broken Bottle. They accost people outside their homes and shops. They pillage trade wagons and leave foreigners beaten on the side of the road."

He tutted to himself.

"If he were anyone else I would drag him into this cell every night until his maners improved or he decided to move on. As it happens, he has use necessitating his freedom, at least for the time being. See, Holvic is in the Clawleaf smuggling business."

Alaric groaned. Clawleaf had originally found popularity across the kingdom in minute quantities as a sedative added to tea. In recent years, intriguing experimentation had revealed another potential use and surprising demand as a psychadelic. Herb usage had never appealed to Alaric and even if it had, he found the thought of achieving such results through the insertion of a spiked plant nothing short of repulsive. The crown and chief legislators across the kingdom agreed, instituting a kingdom wide ban of all uses of the herb shortly after its abusable properties were discovered. Despite the ban, small towns and dark alleys of large cities often found citizens making using of the herb. Supplies were kept full by middlemen, travelling from town to town, distributing the herb at a premium.

"As you may have guessed," Marcus continued, "Holvic is a middleman for a large supplier operating somewhere in the north-eastern reaches of the kingdom. Earlier today an informant told me he took possession of several wagon loads of clawleaf. I have been waiting for this moment for months and if the informant knew where the stuff was hidden I would have seized the lot. Unfortunately he did not. So I decided to grab the entire gang once they were sufficiently in their cups. With all of them in my custody it would have been easy to persuade one of them to give up the location of the clawleaf."

A thin, cruel smile twitched at the corner of the guard's mouth sending a shiver through Alaric.

"With every in jail it would have been impossible for anyone to move the shipment before I seized it. Then Holvic would have to give up his supplier or face his or her wrath which, I am told is not an option. In light of this accomplishment, I would have been asked to take up a cozy position in the capitol, thus ending my time in the wretched town of Arborville. At the time of your fight, one member of Holvic's gang had yet to arrive. So instead of putting an end to the largest clawleaf business in the kingdom, I have you lot."

Marcus glared down at them. For the first time since he had arrested them, Alaric saw the anger blaze in his eyes. The knot in his stomach tightened. Such a high profile arrest would have made him a legend throughout the kingdom. He would have been showered in prestige and maybe even received a royal commendation. Alaric adjusted the neck of his shirt hoping it would aleviate the lump forming in his throat. Retribution would be lengthy and unpleasant. Various possibilities flew through his mind, each more painful than the last. Behind him, the fiends echoed his sentiments with several low, gutteral swears in their native tongue.

"No need for such language," the guard said far too evenly for someone who had just seen months of work go up in flames. "I told you there is something you can do for me, a solution for all of us."

A sneer stretched across his face, doing little to settle the knot in Alaric's stomach.

"The second problem facing this miserable town comes from a group of bandits a few miles north. We believe they are some sort of religious cult, dragon worshippers who want to see those beasts restored to power. To fund their efforts and punish nonbelievers, they have pilaged and raided Arborville for several months. They steal wagons of grain from farmers, raid the blacksmith's shop in the night, chase away the few trade caravans Holvic left alone, and so on."

"Normally, I would deal with them myself, but with Holvic and his gang in town I can't leave long enough to see the cult off. The crown has also refused to send additional guards to dispense of the problem. They claim the soldiers are needed for a 'priority task'."

The guard snorted.

"This presents you lot with a rare opportunity. Resolve this little problem and the arson charges will be dropped. You might even get to collect a little reward money."

"Re- resolve as in k- kill?" Gwenestra stammered.

"Kill, chase off, enslave and sell," Marcus said. "I don't care what you do with them as long as they never come back."

"And if we refuse?" Alaric said coolly. "We take our chances at trial and tell the judge you tried blackmail us into becoming your mercenaries."

"Ah," the guard said, voice dripping with mock concern. "Did I forget to mention there is no judge in Arborville and I am the sheriff of this miserable little town?"

Now it was Alaric's turn to issue swears aside several choice insults, though he doubted much could be heard over the booming laughter of the sheriff's deputy. He hated being forced to do someone else's bidding, especially for free. His only solace came from the wrinkling of the sheriff's nose, indicating his most offensive insult had landed. The sheriff silenced his deputy with a raised hand.

"Be that as it may, your fate rests with me," he leaned toward the cell, his voice dropping to low growl. "The charges are arson and interfering with a sheriff's investigation, the punishment for which is the removal of both hands by a dull blade."

Gwenestra gasped, but the sheriff continued.

"Should you take the deal but attempt to flee your punishment will be even more life altering. I charmed this cell and the magic detector myself, so think twice before testing my tracking skills."

The sheriff straightened.

"You have until morning to think it over. Consider it community service. If you still have any misgivings, you would do well to remember you don't really have a choice."

With that last dark utterence, the sheriff and his deputy left them to consider their fate. Alaric glared at the pair with as much malice as he could muster until they disappeared into the back room again. All things considered, their situation could be much worse. Mobs bearing pitchforks and torches had been known to form in small towns in response to events such as those preceeding their arrest. There was little doubt the sheriff had kept the town at bay. And Alaric did not take issue with the 'community service' the sheriff had sentenced them to. Common bandits and thugs had given him considerable grief over the years, forcing cities to increase their guard, looting towns on his route, and even mugging him once near the capitol. Nor did Alaric believe the job would prove difficult or morally repugnant. Killing the bandits would likely prove unnecessary. Most scattered like leaves in the Halrun gales when confronted. He had taken similar jobs in the past at the behest of small towns in the northwest.

But those had been paying jobs he had chosen to take on, not something forced onto him. The injustice of it made his blood boil. Never, in all his life had the long arm of The Law served him. Not even when he was a small boy abandoned-.

No. Alaric sunk to the floor. Long ago, he had sworn he would not dwell on those days ever again. He pushed the memories back into the abyss from which they came. The issue at hand was what he needed to ponder, nothing else. Running after being set free was not an option. There was no chance he could evade the sheriff. Escaping the cell had proven equally unfeasible. Between the sheriff and his spells there was no way out except to take the deal, no matter how much he wanted to reject it out of spite. All because he had to be the hero and save the only elf in all of Acroteri, perhaps even all of Eromír, who needed a casting ring to cast spells. How could he be so-.

"I am sorry."

The voice made him jump.

"Sorry," Gwenestra said again, her voice as smooth and soothing as the waves of Thoruns Bay. She floated to the floor beside him.

"It is my fault you are stuck here."

Alaric knew he should accept the apology and discuss the sheriff's offer but his temper got the better of him.

"What kind of elf can't summon a shovel, or blast a hole in a wall, or fend off a drunken thug without help?"

"I said I was sorry," Gwenestra said, lip quivering. "What more do you want from me?"

"Get us out of here!"

"I can't."

"What are you, the weakest elf in all of Eromír?"

"No, I-".

"Then why are we still here?"

"I can't cast such a spell without my ring-".

"Can you do anything without your ring?"

"Yes, but-".

"Then why can't you get us out!"

"I-".

"Magic is the one thing elves are known for, but you can't use it. WHY?"

"BECAUSE I AM ONLY A CHILD!" she shouted. Her voice suddenly dropped to little more than a whisper. "I am only sixteen."

Alaric gapped at her, unable to find any words. In the flickering torchlight, Gwenestra's pale checks suddenly flushed with color. She gaped soundlessly, as though surprised by her own admission. It was said elves never aged, but Alaric had never considered what this meant for their young. Now that he looked for it, the signs of her youth were abundant. Her composure was too stiff and her use of the common tongue was too perfect, free from the mars of slang and shorthand used by more experienced travellers. And when he met her emerald eyes, instead of confidently returning his gaze with the shrewdness of her kind, she dropped her head to the ground.

A metalic ding quickly followed by the screaching wail of bone against steal echoed from the corner of the cell, tearing him from his thoughts. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Ignatius attempting free Fernae from the cell bars where his horns had become stuck facing suspiciously in their direction. Aldrin awkwardly glanced between Alaric and the elf, forgoing subtlety. Eventually, he turned to help the fiends in the corner leaving Alaric free to contemplate this new revelation. He had assumed Gwenestra, like every other elf he had encountered, was hundreds of years old. The cell felt uncomfortably hot in the wake of his error.

"I really am sorry," she said softly. "And thank you."

"It is what it is," he said bitterly. "We will have to go along with the sheriff. Unless anyone else has any bright ideas?"

Another scuffle echoed through the jail. Fernae popped free from the bars sending him tumbling backward into Ignatius. It was another moment before the pair regained their composure.

"Sorry, wasn't listening," Fernae said.

"Me either," Ignatius said.

"Nope," Aldrin answered, earning him disapproving looks from the fiends.

"That's what I thought," Alaric huffed, stretching out along the hard floor. "Best to get some sleep before we face whatever is in store for us tomorrow."

Alaric made a point to avoid Gwenestra's gaze but was unable to deafen himself to her muffled sobs.