A couple of spear-tips nudged Rum’s side, forcing him to start walking. “What?” Amez stood left behind, looking dumbfounded as dozens of spears forcibly marched his big brother across the stone square. “Hey!” he shouted, and his feet sprung into action. He stalked the pride of gnomes from behind, an agitation rapidly growing inside him. “Hey, where are you taking him!?” As his stalk picked up pace he transitioned into a speed-walk, and soon Amez passed the whole group of spears, heading for the front. “Where are you going with him!? TELL ME!” His fury burst out, prompting the official to snap his head and for the gnomes all over the square to go from casually glancing in their direction, to outright staring at the unfolding spectacle.

  The official halted, cascading the rest to stop. He stared up into the reddening face of Amez. Half a dozen spear-gnomes spilled out from the pride and surrounded the tattoo artist, lowering their threatening spear tips against this new disturbance of duty.

  “Who are you?” the gnome asked calmly. “What is your relation to the suspect?”

  “I’m his brother!” Amez gestured at his chest, his face an expression of defiance.

  “I cannot tell you anything about the fate of the suspect. You are not privy to that information, even as his brother. But, I will tell you this, Amez Warmhud – for I know of you – you too will be found in due time, and questioned. After all, the crimes of Rum Warmhud casts quite the suspicious light on you as well.”

  Amez’ face drained of color, and Rum saw that for a moment, his little brother was afraid, realizing that it was not just his big brother, but that he himself was also under threat from authorities.

  “And irregardless if you are innocent, you will still need to be questioned as witness to your brother’s crimes. Given that you chose to meet him here though, and from other testimonies we’ve heard, it is clear that you two have a close relationship. That means you must have knowledge essential to uncovering these crimes, and in my eyes at least, that points to likely culpability.” The official stared Amez up for a long unpleasant moment, across the wall of spears separating them. Then he turned away. “We do show leniency towards good informants though. So, maybe you’ll think about that, Amez Warmhud. Now bye.”

  The pride started marching again, and Amez remained, standing still even as the spears retracted from him, and the gnomes retreated to jog off after their fellow soldiers.

  Rum looked back towards Amez’ face as he was forced away. Never did the big brother say anything though. For what was there to say? He didn’t know anything either, he didn’t know what they had on him, or where they were taking him, and he was as shocked as Amez at the idea that his brother could be made a suspect too. In truth, Rum’s mind was very much a blank, a slow processing of what was unfolding. It was not before they’d marched out the square and into a new street that he felt the urge to ask at least one question.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  The official didn’t answer at first. Rum hadn’t spoken loud, but he hesitated to repeat himself, seeing as he wasn’t quite sure how to deal with the situation. After a silence, the official eventually answered.

  “Prison.”

  “Prison where?” Rum blurted, grasping onto the one word of information.

  “There is only one prison for rogue mages, Mr. Warmhud.” The official glanced briefly back at him. “Don’t you know its name?”

  Rum did not immediately reply. Not because he didn’t know. No, he knew the name. He’d been told of that place. The elves had spoken of it. It was why he’d taken responsibility for Veish. He waited to speak because he did not fully want to believe it. Not him, not now.

  “Andertun” he whispered, and the bizarre discomforting situation suddenly achieved a dark reality, sending a shiver down Rum's spine. I'm going to Andertun.

  The gnomes marched him across The Iron City, along stone streets, and alleys, finally into a broad street at whose end The Little Mountain was no longer a smudge on the horizon, but countless cut facades on the surfaces of rock, with large open gates in the surrounding soil, and dwarves walking in and out under the lowering sun.

  Before the mountain at its base, a broad street went away from it and towards The Iron City. Right in the middle between the two quarters of the city, a large overhanging double-sided sign announced the transition between the areas. On the dwarven side it read: “Entering The Iron City”, while on the gnomish side where Rum was approaching it was: “To The Little Mountains”. It was down this street towards the mountain, that Rum saw countless shops made of thick fungi-grown bricks that were mixed with coarse grains of stone and painted like the brownish gneiss of the mountain. Inside these shops were crafters of all sorts: a weapon smith heating an axe blade, an armor smith hammering a breastplate, a bowyer attaching string to a crossbow, a jeweler chipping at a tiny gem, a carpenter carving ornamental patterns along the edges of a chair, and lastly, Rum saw a tailor behind a barely frosted window, sewing thick thread into leather gloves. In his unwilling procession Rum passed by them all, and looked at them, not so much with interest, as with an anxious gaze longing to find a resting distraction while his mind processed the situation.

  They continued on though. When they'd crossed about halfway into the base of The Little Mountain, the gnomes suddenly took a turn towards a side-alley, at whose end, in the middle of the street as opposed to the sides of the alley, there was a tiny building seeming to go straight into the ground. The gnomes marched determined towards it. It looked vaguely like a bigger version of one of those entrances going into Tunnel City from The Iron City. However, this clearly wasn't a passage to Tunnel City. The tiny building was made of huge, thick, cut pieces of stone, with powerful rune enchantments along a front-facing frame, and an equally well-runed pair of metal doors in gold which sealed its entrance. The alley ended just behind it, and Rum noticed that only two other buildings, from among a number of them on the sides, actually had doors going here. One of these buildings Rum guessed to be some kind of barracks, as a shirtless dwarf with military pants rested on the railings of a balcony above. The other building appeared to be some sort of lounge and cafeteria for the same guards. As the door into that building were wide open, Rum was able to look inside it as he passed by, and what he saw were Dwarves and gnomes dressed in military uniform, with some of them enjoying food at a table, while others rested and chatted on a couch in the back. Glancing away and over to the golden doors upon which they were fast closing, he saw above it a large-letter inscription. "Andertun – where time erodes evil".

  There were no permanent guards standing right at the door, but there were guards, and many of them. Perhaps a couple of dozen, both dwarves and mecha-gnomes alike, wielding axes, swords, spears, wands, and staffs. They were scattered around the double doors, leaning against walls, sitting on benches looking bored. A couple were playing a game on a table while others looked on. All of them sooner or later glanced at Rum and his captors. Not overly curious, but attentive towards a new prisoner.

  Rum's procession stopped. A dwarf came up to the door and looked at the official. The official handed him a rolled sheet of paper, which the dwarf unrolled and read. A moment of silent reading passed, before the dwarf rolled the paper back up, whistled, and waved for another dwarf to come.

  "New prisoner" said the first dwarf, "let them descend." The other dwarf, a long white beard giving him the look of a veteran, stood up almost with a strain, before lumbering over to the golden doors. Rum glanced down at the dwarf’s belt. It consisted of a series of mechanically connected steel sheets. However, the interesting thing wasn’t the belt, but a large key attached to it by a thick string. As the white-bearded dwarf arrived at the door, he didn't immediately grab for the key. Instead he turned to the official, and reached out his hand, palm pointed at the gnomes' face. A large runic body enchantment tattooed into the top of the man's hand, began to glow with white magical lights.

  POH! A spell flashed over the alley. Rum was blinded, his hands coming up to protect his face. After a moment of covering himself, he peeked through fingers. The light had blinded several of the gnomes as well, and many of them were murmering complaints.

  "Mmm, you may pass" the dwarf murmured at his hand, and turned back to the keyhole. He grabbed his key, and unlocked the door with a loud CLACK! Not a CLICK! as Rum would've expected, but the more powerful CLACK!, the noise of a heavy mechanism forcibly displaced. The white-bearded dwarf pushed at one of the doors, while another dwarf quickly sprung forward to push the other. When they were both open, Rum and his procession descended into Andertun – prison of mages.

  A dark stairway lit by blue magical torches on either side sent them down, and down, and deeper still. They walked for perhaps ten minutes in an orderly slow fashion, before an archway revealed the beginnings of a large room. With each step thereafter, there emerged the details of a designed killing field, and at its end, a huge double-door. Rum saw corridors to their right and left as they descended the last dozen or so steps. As they came even further down, he noticed from inside the room that it was hexagonal, and with viewing points and murder holes all around, most likely connected with the corridors some few steps above. Dwarves and gnomes were stationed all over the killing field. In the corridors he'd seen them, and on the stone floor before the doors he saw them. Like above ground, there were a few benches were some of the guards rested. Unlike above though, these benches were only along the walls, and made of stone as well. Here, the dwarves and gnomes were also much more alert, especially when Rum came passing by. Most of them just stared at him, but a few eager members of the guards pointed loaded crossbows and magic wands in his general direction, as if expecting him to put up resistance. Rum didn't, he had still not come to grips with the situation in its entirety, and he was as much curious as fearful of the place he was going to.

  A mecha-gnome guard in leather armor, with magical rings along her fingers, and a richly decorated curved blade at her back, walked up to the official.

  "New prisoner?" she asked, somewhat rhethorically. "Take cell 142, to the right. Old age took the previous occupant, and it's less of a walk."

  With many eyes at his back, Rum followed the official next beyond the doors and into a short passageway, at whose end they came into a corridor stretching far both left and right. A number of openings could be seen along the length of it. One of these openings was right in front of him, and he saw there what he guessed every such opening must contain: another corridor, filled with prison cells one after another and on both sides. Looking at the cells, he saw reinforced steel bars covering the front of each one, allowing easy viewing into as well as out of the cell. In contrast, the three other walls of the cells were made of heavy-looking stone bricks, disallowed physical contact between neighbouring inmates. They want prisoners seen, but not socializing. As if emphasizing this feature of design, magical white light shot from the ceiling along the prison corridors and into the prison cells, casting spotlights on the people inside. These bright lights left the middle of the corridors in stark contrasting shadows, allowing half a dozen hooded mages with wands and staffs to patrol there anonymously.

  The official turned right and away from the first line of prison cells, and Rum quickly realized why. At the beginning of the first cell was a sign, reading "Cells 1-100". So the gnomes led him over to the second corridor of prisons, where the sign stated "Cells 101-200". Down that corridor the gnomes marched Rum, through the darkness of the middle, from where he could get a good look at the other inmates. They all had grey woolen robes and bare feet. A select few of them also had identical steel collars around their necks, engraved with magical runes. All the prisoners Rum passed looked old and grey, with wrinkled faces, white hair or baldness, and long bushy white beards on the men. Above each of their cells read the smaller signs of "136, 138, 140".

  Inside the cell, against the stone brick end wall, Rum was forced to dress naked and surrender any items on him, which included his conjured attire – ultimately disposable – but also The Puppy-Sleep Bracelet, which he knew he’d miss for the blizz of true sleep.

  "AN ARTIFACT!" One of the gnome mages stared with wonder at the item in his hands. "This is an ARTIFACT! The power within is immense, I can sense it. The most powerful artifact I have ever held. It must be something special for sure."

  The offical strode over to the mage. "I'll note this in my report." He did not grab the item from the mage, but looked at it curiously as it was rotated between them. "Find someone at the university who can study it. We'll have them verify what the suspect has to say about it – and what he leaves out."

  A bald dwarf man from the prison complex, came over after a while to measure Rum's dimensions. Rum was forced to stand butt naked with spears and wands pointed at him while he was measured, and also when the same dwarf left to find appropriately sized standard robes for him. It took at least a dozen minutes. Given that Rum had been walking all day long, he decided to squat where he was as he was starting to feel physical fatigue on top of a mental one. When the dwarf finally returned Rum took on the robe, and luckily wasn't forced to wear any collar. Instead the gnomes retreated from the cell, and the dwarf locked him inside with a CLICK!

  "Your first interrogation is due to occur within three days from now. I suggest you use the time in-between to reflect upon your situation, and know that cooperation is rewarded, while defiance is punished."

  When the gnomes and the dwarf all left the front of his cell, Rum saw little but light ahead of him, cast as it was in his own spotlight. Behind him though, a thin mattress of sorts lay on the solid ground. An equally thin pillow and blanket were included. Rum shuffled up to the bed and sat down. What do I do now?

  The wizard did not discover any immediate answers, so instead he rested, until the next day when he was fed porridge for breakfast, a glass of water, and an overly mature orange.

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  "Here" said the dwarf, the same one who'd measured and given Rum clothes the day prior. He handed him a bucket through a momentary gap opened in the prison door. "I forgot about it. It's for when the breakfast comes out again." The dwarf grinned a little. Rum took the bucket, and the door was closed again. He thought about how the dwarf didn't know he'd voluntarily filled buckets of his own refuse not long ago, and made wonders out of it. Maybe I'll just keep this bucket, together with its future contents. I could make another magic tree perhaps? But I would need more than one bucket for that though. Hmm. Maybe I could trick them into giving me more buckets? "Also, I have a message for you" the dwarf continued through the bars. "You're getting a visit tomorrow." Rum broke out of his own thoughts.

  "What?"

  "I said" the dwarf enunciated, "you're getting a visit tomorrow. Now, I see you've eaten. Good, I will need that bowl and cup back, or else you won't have a next meal." Rum picked up the items and handed them over through a different, horizontal small gap in the bars.

  "Is it the interrogation?" Rum asked.

  "No" the dwarf replied, "but good guess." The man's smile didn't offer anything more as he troded off, and so Rum spent the whole day again thinking. Thinking and resting on a hard mattress. 50 years of this boring existence and I must eventually go mad. The light was unrelenting, even in his sleep, which was made difficult by the lack of any darkness besides his own cast shadow.

  Rum pondered about magic. Am I completely forbidden from using magic here? Probably. But the way nobody have warned me about magic use makes me think they have some way of nullifying it regardless. Rum got up from the bed and walked over to the bars. Using his own hand as a blocker against the light, he looked for one of the shadowy patrols. Seeing one coming down towards him, and likely a dwarf by the size of it, he called out: "Hey, you, mage! You mage guard!" The patrol glanced his hood at him. "Yes, you. I'm wondering about the rules for magic here. Can I, like, make myself some magic shoes if I wanted? Or is all magic forbidden?"

  The dwarf stared at him for a second, then from under the hood a man’s voice laughed. "Ha ha, you think we're worried about your magic, little dungeon lackey? Try. Try to use magic, and see what happens."

  "Is – is that a threat from you, or?" Rum was genuinely confused.

  "Not a threat little dungeon lackey. An invitation. We won't harm you while you stay in your cell. But I can't promise you'll like the spells you cast."

  Rum saw the tips of a beard from under the hood of the dwarf, but nothing more. Still, he imagined the dwarf smile at him, as the former turned to continue his patrol.

  "I won't like my own spells?" Rum mumbled to himself, considering the words. What's the worst thing that can happen? They fizzle out? No. Probably something more than that. He thought about it, for a long while. In the end though, I can only, as the dwarf said: try. I just start with my least demanding spell, that should reduce the risks somewhat.

  Rum put his hand up in front of him, pointing his palm up, and curling his fingers partially. He whispered: "Channel Bio-Energy".

  POFF! a small flame erupted at his palm. It looks normal, Rum thought looking at it, and put some more magic into it. The flame grew at first, and then grew some more.

  ZAP! An arc of magic connected his body with the prison cell, and in the briefest of moments a massive headache burst throughout his brain. His free hand came up instinctively, grabbing his forehead as his body bent over in pain. WHAT IS THIS!? The pain subsided quickly. He looked at his right hand, and saw the spell had fizzled out. But did the cell’s triggered effect do that? No. It could just as well have been my disrupted concentration. I stopped sending mana into it. He pondered the possibilities. That enchantment, it did something to me. But what? Rum let go of his forehead and stared at his right hand.

  "Interesting" he stated.

  "Ye, it's interesting alright" a voice answered from across the corridor. Rum looked up. He couldn't see who'd been talking, so he walked up to the bars and once more used his hand to block the light. Peering, he caught sight of the other prisoner opposite of him. Old tired eyes stared at him. The eyes had a body too, a scrawny and wrinkled one, with a white beard all the way down to a man’s waist.

  "You talking to me?" Rum asked, and checked left and right to look for patrols. The closest guard was a couple of cells down, and turned their head to glance at the exchange. The guard didn’t seem motivated to come over to them though, and there were no other mage guards nearby.

  "Yeah, I am. I must be talking to you. I can't be talking to Aduzar after all, unless you got his ghost in there?"

  Rum glanced around as if to check. "No, don't see any ghost. Who's Aduzar?"

  The scrawny old man sighed, and for a moment, twiddled his beard. "My only mate for 33 years. He actually did become a ghost some five days ago, after he died. But some ghosthunters came here, and now I have no friends. Not even dead ones." The old man hung his head.

  Rum pitied him. "What's your name?" Rum asked with a quiet voice. "What are you here for?"

  The old man looked up at him. His mouth still hung sad, but his lips parted to speak, and he sounded reminiscent. "40 years ago, or more, I can never tell time in this place.” The old timer leaned in against the bars. “At least 40 years ago, then I was a mage. Trained by a dungeon lord and in her service. I served that woman, I served her well. Yes” his eyes looked back in time, into some glorious age, some magnificent series of events, “for over a decade. Loyal like few others I was. Reliable too. Mighty, for my role. She wanted to join together with some other dungeon lords in the war against Olam, to shatter the elven rule there. But, you know the history, you look like you’d know. You know what happened. We won, at least by the measure of our objective. Though the lands... Ermos got the lands now. I was caught near the end of it, of the war, when my dungeon lord was killed in battle, our armies broken by the arrival of Ermos and the guilds." He paused for a while, his eyes lingering on the dark stone floors between them. His gaze seemed to dwindle, as if returning back to the present. "So that is who I am. Just another broken soldier in a century of war. And so too was Aduzar."

  "And, your name?" Rum repeated politely.

  "Trym."

  Rum joined Trym in looking into the stone floors. That seemed to be what the somber mood in the air asked for. At least for a while.

  "What of you?" The old man raised his head speaking. "If you're going to stay here, I might as well get to know who this new youngster is. In here, we might become each other’s only company, after all."

  "Rum"

  "Rum?"

  "Rum" Rum repeated.

  "That's your name?" The old man’s lips broke into a tooth-missing smile. A smile that made him momentarily resemble Adalas, from The Raven’s Slum.

  "Yes" Rum said.

  "Unusual. Not exactly fit to inspire fear and trembling." Trym, despite his smile, looked to be thinking seriously about his own words rather than ridiculing Rum. "It makes me curious. What are you here for, Rum?" He stared expectantly across the corridor, raising his wrinkled weak hand to block the light, just like Rum had done.

  "They think I'm an agent of the dungeon lords" Rum replied with a displeased grimace.

  "And? Aren't you?"

  "Of course not!"

  The old man’s smile widened, and he winked at Rum. "Neither am I boy. Neither am I." He lowered his hand and retreated back in his cell. Thus he could be seen by Rum, but was himself unable to look at Rum, due to the bright light. He appeared to have nothing more to say. Rum retreated back in his own cell, thereby making them both blind to the other. If I end up here, we’ll have all the time in the world to converse I suppose.

  The next day arrived, and as promised, Rum received visitors.

  “Oh my boy!”

  Rum sighed mentally. Not HER. He rolled over on his mattress, and sighed again, this time outwardly, but disguised in the form of a breath. He stood up, slowly, and wandered over to the bars.

  “My boyyy!”

  Rum’s mother was here. She looked at him, her face appropriately concerned and also full of pity. “My boyyy! What have you gotten yourself into? And WHY–” her eyebrows shot up, “–haven’t we heard from you!” Her cheeks flared red with abrupt anger. As Rum stayed silent though, her eyes fell again, and she looked concerned and pitiful. “My boyyy...” They stood there for second, looking at each other. Then she snapped around and shouted at someone. “Come here and say hello!”

  CLINK! CLINK! CLINK! A man in full-body, plated, ornamental steel and silver armor, but without a helmet on, looked over at Rum. “Hi son” his father said. The man spoke from below a thick moustache, his long hair being wrapped behind in a ponytail.

  “Hi dad” Rum reciprocated.

  “Heeey!” a voice called from across the room. “Your father is a knight!”

  It was the old man’s voice. Rum’s mother and father both took a step away from the bars to turn half around and glance at the source of the words.

  “Hey!” Trym repeated, his wrinkled old hand held up to block the light. He stared Rum’s dad up and down. “You some sort of guild warrior?”

  Rum’s dad was about to speak but Rum cut him off. “No, my dad likes knights, so he dresses like one. But he isn’t a member of any guild.”

  “Actually son”, Rum’s father turned back to him, “I have in fact been adventuring for the guilds. They accepted my request to join.”

  “You have?” Rum’s eyes widened slightly. “When did this happen? Who did you join?”

  “It was three years ago. I tried out for Ermos’ Finest Adventurers. I got to destroy a skeleton you know, two actually.”

  “Where?”

  “Near The Necropolis, Old Mane. The novice necromancers sometimes lose track of their skeletons there. So the skeletons end up roaming the countryside. Good practice for beginners.”

  “So you’ve been an adventurer for three years now...” Rum looked at his dad with a new amazement. He’s more experienced than me now – my dad’s a veteran adventurer!

  “Aaah, weeell” his father began, his eyes suddenly finding the floor very interesting.

  “Your father got kicked out after two weeks in the field” his mom explained.

  “I wasn’t kicked out” he defended himself. “It was a mutual understanding. My talents were wasted there.”

  “And what better place have you found to invest your talents in now, husband?” She looked up at him, clearly knowing the answer, yet still managing to appear mildly disappointed. “Please share with our son.”

  “Ehm. I’ve been practising my swordsmanship, and I’ve become quite good, actually. Won many duels in fact.”

  “Your father is a duelist!?” The exclamation came from across the corridor. “And he’s still standing here, healthy and without visible scars.” Trym stared at the armored man with mild wonder in his eyes. “Your father must be a mighty swordsman!”

  “No” Rum said from his cell, “it’s not like that. Or, unless anything’s changed while I’m gone, it’s not like that. I believe my father is referring to blunted blade duels. He’d just started that last time I saw him, years ago.”

  “Blunted blade?” Trym’s wrinkled expression contracted like he’d just eaten a sour lemon.

  “Yes”

  “Blunted blades? How does that even work? How does someone win if they can’t – do they use the swords like really long thin hammers or something?” He looked genuinely confused.

  “No” Rum shook his head. “The first person to scream AUH! loses.”

  “Yes” Rum’s father confirmed, “and I have AUH-ed more than most. AUH-ed other swordsfolk, I mean. Aaand” he put up a finger as if to catch their attention, “I also train the youth how to swing a sword these days. The ones who dream of being adventurers! Aw, I love those kids. Almost as much as my own!” He raised his hand to caress his moustache, his mood seeming to get dreamy with happiness. “But more importantly: the neighbour and I have formed a party, and we’ve been preparing. Training even. And preparing – we just need another member. Someone from the university would be nice, some magic in our arsenal you know.” He glanced at Rum’s robes. “Of course you do.” He smiled. “And then I’ll be ready to sign up again!”

  Rum’s mother did not roll her eyes exactly, but she looked over at Rum as if to say: “He’s never going to get anywhere, you see that, right?” Instead of saying that though, what she did say was: “Your father and I do not quite agree on the virtues of investing in expensive armor that rarely sees use.” She sighed lightly. “But” and she turned, lightly slamming a palm to her husband’s breastplate, smiling, “if he’s going to be a knight, at least he’s my knight. And not one of those noblewomens’. Now YOU” she swiftly turned to Rum, a stern look on her face. “WHY are you in here! You’re no dungeon lord’s agent.” She calmed down, the concerned look returning. “You’re my good boy. I know that. You wouldn’t hurt a fly, you rarely ever did while you were young, except maybe when you were seven and you hit that girl you never could get along with. But not after that! No, you’ve always been my good boy. And the thought of you joining the forces of evil? Lies! I know it! I know my son! Somebody must’ve been smearing my son’s good name.”

  “Hah!” came the interruption from the other side, “good name.”

  His mother swung around, glaring menacingly at the other cell, but said nothing, instead returning slowly to look at her son. “Tell me. What happened? I always thought it would be Amez ending up in prison. Not his brother that we sacrificed so much to send to the university. Because you wanted to be a mage, remember? Then we hear you quit, and just left.”

  “I am a mage, mom.” His eyes went to his father, and as if afraid that she’d think the same of Rum as she thought of his father, added: “Maybe too good of a mage, in fact.”

  “What does that mean?” She raised an eyebrow. “Is there any truth to what they’re telling us about you? Any at all? Did someone lure you away with the promise of a special book maybe? I know we couldn’t afford that big library you always wanted, but that is no reason to – I don’t know. What did you do, Rum, my boy?”

  “Eeeh...” Rum didn’t quite know what to say. For a long time both of his parents stared at him. Over at the other end of the corridor, Trym looked just as interested. “I can’t tell you. I don’t know. They might have objected to some things that I did, or maybe there was some misunderstanding, or both. But mom, I did not join dungeon lords to get books – actually, scratch that! I didn’t join anyone. Except for my party, and The Mecha-Gnomes Revenge, but if anything, I’ve been fighting the dungeon lords. I’m an adventurer now.”

  Rum didn’t offer his parents any details of what his crimes might’ve been. Rum had an idea, of course, of what they might involve. But sharing his thoughts while in Andertun somehow didn’t seem safe. Rum’s mother continued to press. Rum continued to be unhelpful. She asked what food they served in the cell and whether she should bring him some homecooking.

  “Yes mom, that would be nice” he said, “thank you.”

  Eventually, enough drama and tragedy had played outside his cell, that his mother started to get tired and Rum let himself be uncomfortably hugged across the bars. His mother left, trailed by the vanishing CLINK! CLINK! CLINK! of his father.

  “Interesting parents that” Trym commented. “What does your parents do, may I ask? I mean, your father ain’t an adventurer I understand, so – what is he?”

  “My father’s a farrier” Rum pushed away from the bars and walked over to his mattress, sitting down on it, tired and moody. He wasn’t happy about seeing his parents, not in this situation at least. It only made him feel bad. He knew he’d disappointed them once, and right now, it seemed like every conceivable disappointment had somehow bundled together to make him depressed. “Dad puts shoes on horses. Forges the shoes himself, actually. Probably how he managed to get metal for his armor.” Rum thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “No way he made that one himself though. He used to wear something much simpler, y’know. My father’s a good enough farrier, but he ain’t that good as a smith. He must’ve had help from a real armorsmith. My mother? She’s a riding instructor. They usually work at their potatoe farm, a small one just outside the city. It’s when they don’t work the fields that they go to the city to find work. Wealthy people. The army. My mother’s taught cavalry recruits as well as merchants’ kids. And dad? He usually goes where she goes. His clients are all horses after all.”

  Finally, some time later in that day, Rum got a visit from Amez as well. His little brother did not look good though. He was sweaty and deeply concerned, not for Rum in particular, but generally so. For himself, as well as for everyone else involved, Rum thought. It’s a stressful situation for all of us.

  “What are we going to do, brother?” Amez’ face and tone revealed his feelings. “I don’t even know what they think you did. Have they said anything?”

  “Nothing yet” Rum replied, solemly.

  “Is there anything I should know? Anything you can tell me?”

  Rum shook his head.

  “What about–” Amez leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “–my visitors.”

  “Ah. Yeah.” Rum thought about the witches.

  “I’d nearly forgotten they were here” Amez added.

  “Well” Rum began. “Feed them, that is what a good host should do.” Rum thought some more about the people in their closet. “Ah, I suppose I need to tell you this” he leaned in to whisper, putting his mouth near Amez’ ear. “The door to our visitors is guarded by a passphrase. It is: mesh’thoo.” A pause followed, as the brothers stared into each others’ eyes. “Take care of them for me, will you? All of them.”