The Crowned Captive

Rowan dragged Morana off to the side once they reached the town square, away from the people milling about the stunning fountain that adorned the town’s centre. She repressed a yelp of protest, not wanting to push the boundaries of her captor’s kindness after he had just brought her such lovely treats. Then they reached a quiet shop to the side of the square, windows lined with simple tunics and trousers for men and women. As Rowan shoved her through the door unceremoniously, she blinked against the sudden dimness.

“And what would you want?” Someone called from the back of the shop. Peering through the shadows, she saw a short man with lustreless and close-cut black hair and a large hooked nose. A scowl covered his face, making his already plain appearance rather unseemly.

“I would expect a warmer welcome from you, Gallen. I know it has been some time but I doubt you have forgotten quite so quickly,” Rowan replied. Morana was shocked that genuine affection seemed to play across his face, mixed with the usual mischief and cunning.

“I remember people who give me coin, and you and yer king are well behind on dues, pretty boy,” Gallen barked. Morana quickly decided that his temper matched his looks. The little man looked over and pulled his lip back at her, as if her presence disgusted him, revealing teeth filed to points. Possibly naturally like points, she decided, as she saw the feint sheen of green his parlour held.

Rowan took that moment to roll his eyes exaggeratedly, pulling a clinking bag from the pocket of his trousers. Morana swallowed as he threw it to the other man, realising just how much coin it held. That bag alone had more gold in it than she had possessed in her entire life, or was likely to. Her eyes nearly fell from their sockets when Rowan pulled out a smaller one and threw that to him as well.

“There are your dues and some, warty. The rest is to pay for new clothes for myself and my companion, everything we may need, and an extra horse. Do you think you can manage that?”

They stood silently for a long minute as the man, who by some miracle did not flinch at being called names, sifted through the gold, biting those he felt like. Finally, he nodded, an unsettling yet supposedly friendly grin settling over his face.

“I apologise for my memory, Rowan. You know how it is these days, living amongst humans. So long between charitable visitors like you and my brain turns to mush! Now, do you need use of the warrens, or just looking to stay a night? And what are you and your companion requiring clothes for?”

Morana followed begrudgingly as the pair stalked through the store in front of her, Rowan occasionally glancing back to ensure she was following. Their hushed voices barely reached back to her, except for the occasional disgruntled grunt or groan coming from Gallen.

At the back of the store, she was quickly ushered through a door to a back storeroom. With Rowan’s hand on her back, she followed Gallen to a dark corner. With a push on some hidden lever, a panel gave way and stairs opened up in front of them. Dim torchlight flickered up at them from the hole in the floor, both inviting and ominous.

With Rowan behind her urging her forward, Morana had no choice but to travel down. Their footsteps echoed back at them on the stairs, not another sound to be heard. She peered forward into the warm light, seeing only a brick wall and more stairs in front of her. Down and down they traversed until finally, they were all standing in a long and narrow passage. She peered both ways, slightly breathless at the sheer vastness of the halls beyond. She saw doors upon doors, patches of shadows that most likely led to more twists and turns, and torches lining them as far as the eye could see. She turned to one now, realising it was not fire that lit them, but rather glowing balls of light that seemed to never want to go out.

“We will have time to investigate another time,” Rowan grumbled behind her, grabbing her arm gently.

“What is this place?” She asked him as he led her away. She frowned but did not protest as she was shoved into a dark room. Light burst forth around them as the door closed with a thud and a lock slid into place. And then Morana was once again alone with her captor.

“They are tunnels older than anything else I know, likely made by the gods themselves. Those we have managed to maintain can take you under the Scar and through to some of our underground cities but are unsafe at the best of times. Those that remain untamed are little more than a path to certain death,” Rowan explained as they entered.

“That does not give me a good feeling about being down here,” Morana countered, peering around.

“It is a good thing then that your feelings do not matter,” Rowan said with a mocking laugh. Morana frowned and decided to ignore him.

The room was plain and boring, with a packed earthen floor and stone walls. A lantern sat in each corner of the room, leaving little space for shadows to hide. There was a cordoned-off corner with a bucket that she supposed sufficed for a chamber pot, a narrow bench that could barely hold a pack let alone a person, and a mound of furs in the centre of the floor. She turned to study the door, which was heavy wood and wrought iron.

“Iron repels magic,” Rowan suddenly said, flopping onto the furs unceremoniously. “Nobody can come in or out without knowing the mechanism of the room, which only I and Gallen do. Nobody can spell the door open, blow a hole in it, or try and pry it open. Meaning, there is no point in trying to escape.”

“That wasn’t what I was contemplating,” Morana replied, knowing it was a blatant lie. Instead of deigning to occupy the elf any longer, she moved over to the nearest corner, instead studying the lamp. She lifted her hand to it, surprised to find it completely cool to the touch. The light flared frighteningly bright beneath her touch, causing her to pull back and turn away.

“You truly have never been exposed to magic?” Rowan asked seemingly innocently. She glared at him.

“I said that I had no magic, not that I had never been exposed to it. Mama could absolutely heal with true magic, though she did so rarely. Her potions were true to their effect too.”

“And yet you are certain she was human?”

“I am certain, Rowan. And as you don’t like me investigating things, I don’t like chit-chatting with my captor.”

Rowan laughed then, laying back into the furs with little care for her irritation. She stood there, once again unsure of how to act around the strange man and unsure of what he expected of her. There was nothing to do in the room but sit or lay on the floor.

“For the God’s sake, Morana, get comfortable. Gallen will bring us food when it is ready, and then we will sleep. There is little left to do, and I am tired. You standing over me watching me like that is not going to help me rest.”

Morana swallowed, then stalked forward and stole a large fur from the edge of the pile. It was luxuriously soft and dappled as if from some sort of big cat. With a sigh, she made her way to the far side of the room away from Rowan and sat down, using the fur to cover herself. Immediately the room began to dim, and she tried to relax.