Page 2 of Taken By The Dark Three
Her lips twist. “The old mill’s always unsafe. The elves root out trouble there. If you’re looking to sleep indoors, it’ll cost you two coppers. If you’re fishing for rumors—” She lowers her tone— “I’d advise caution.”
“Two coppers is fine.” I pass her the money and lean in. “I heard about a girl. Came here, maybe?”
The innkeeper presses her lips together, as if waging an internal battle. At last, she jerks her chin toward a hallway. “Down the back corridor, second door. The occupant was here two nights ago. She left in a hurry. I wasn’t paid enough to ask questions.”
A flicker of relief loosens the knot in my stomach. “Thank you.”
I take the worn key she offers and head down the corridor. It’s narrow, the walls stained with uncertain smears. A faintmusty scent lingers in the air. The second door squeaks open under my gentle push. I step inside, adjusting my eyes to the gloom. An unlit lamp rests on a rickety table, and the single window is shuttered tight.
I allow myself a moment to examine the modest space. A straw-filled mattress on the floor, a broken chair, a small chest. No personal items remain, no clothing or scraps of fabric. If Ai truly stayed here, she left in haste. The adrenaline that’s been simmering in my veins spikes. The elves might have forced her out, or she fled on her own.
I crouch near the mattress, running my fingertips over the dingy blankets. A faint prickle of energy sparks under my skin—residual magic, like a fading echo. Ai’s presence lingers here, fleeting but unmistakable. She must be scared. Possibly wounded. I shut my eyes, allowing my psionic senses to expand. Nothing concrete emerges, only the sensation of fear woven into these sheets.
I stand and pace to the window, unlatching the shutter to peer outside. The alley behind the inn is deserted, except for a stray cat rummaging in a refuse pile. Not a single human or dark elf in sight, at least for now. My heart beats louder. I’m close but not close enough.
Footsteps scuffle in the corridor behind me. I stiffen. My hand curls around the hilt of my dagger.
A soft rap on the door, then the innkeeper’s voice trickles in. “Thought you might want this.” She slides a cracked lantern through the gap. “No extra charge, just don’t set my place on fire.”
I release a controlled exhale, accepting the lantern. “I appreciate it.”
She hesitates. “Look, I don’t want trouble. If you’re tangled up in this, do what you must and leave before you bring the elves to my doorstep.”
She’s worried. Rightly so. I give a curt nod. “I’ll be gone soon.”
She retreats, and the corridor falls silent once more. I lift the lantern, illuminating corners of the room. My gaze catches on the chest—old, chipped wood with a rusting lock. Something about it makes me curious. Perhaps Ai left a clue.
The lock yields to a bit of effort with a small pry-tool. Inside, I discover a tattered scrap of parchment and an empty pouch. The parchment bears a jagged symbol: the faint outline of a partial sun, or maybe a stylized crest. Beneath it, scribbled words read: “Under the water wheel. Aiseth. R.”
R. That must stand for the Red Purna contact, or so I assume. My breath stirs. Under the water wheel likely refers to the old mill’s water wheel, which stands on the outskirts of Lowtown, half-broken near a small canal. This clue is enough. Ai must’ve hidden there or planned to meet someone.
I burn with curiosity and apprehension. Why leave a coded note in a place so obvious? Everything about this mission reeks of a trap. But if Ai’s in danger, I have no choice except to proceed.
Lantern in hand, I slip from the room. Once I reach the inn’s main area, I nod at the innkeeper and hurry out. The street outside is quieter than before. A group of bleary-eyed humans leans against a wall, muttering about the next day’s labor quotas. On the horizon, the moon hangs low, painting the rooftops in silver.
I set my course toward the old mill. The path takes me through a winding sequence of narrower alleys. A cluster of half-collapsed stalls lines the route, remnants of a market that probably thrived decades ago. Now only splinters remain. My footsteps make almost no sound on the uneven stones—I’ve trained my entire life for stealth like this.
A flicker of movement at the side of my eyes puts me on edge. I pause behind a stack of rotting crates, focusing my senses. Two silhouettes appear near a lamppost across the way. A pair of dark elves, from their height and bearing. One has a curved blade at his hip, the other extends an elegant staff. They’re speaking in low tones, scanning the shadows as if searching for something.
My pulse pounds. If these are Orthani soldiers, I’m an instant away from discovery. Quietly, I reduce the light from my lantern, covering it with my cloak. From behind the crates, I can make out fragments of their conversation.
“—told the purna may be prowling these streets. If we find her?—”
“We bring her to the commander. He wants her alive. The others demand a demonstration of loyalty.”
A demonstration of loyalty. My teeth clench. That means they’re working on orders from someone in Orthani’s chain of command, maybe a high-ranking officer or noble. Could it be Vaelith, or another figure with enough influence? I wrestle with the urge to vanish into the night, but I have to get Ai. This complicates everything.
I wait for them to move on, breath held tight, then slip down a sidestreet. The buildings become more dilapidated, their walls riddled with cracks and scorch marks. Evidently, Lowtown has endured brutal incidents. Possibly riots or forced relocations. My boots crunch over broken pottery. I keep my gaze sharp for any sign of watchers.
Eventually, I spot a squat structure looming at the far edge. The old mill stands silent, its once-mighty water wheel half-submerged in the stagnant canal. A rotted walkway stretches toward the wheel’s base. The entire scene exudes decay, from the slick algae clinging to the wood to the faint smell of mildew saturating the air.
I approach warily, each step on the walkway eliciting a groan from the boards. A single moonstruck reflection glistens off the canal’s murky surface, revealing the slow swirl of debris below. I pause at the spot where water spills lazily over broken sluices. The wheel sags, creaking with each erratic rotation.
Something moves beneath the water wheel—a flicker of motion. My heart stutters. I edge closer, careful not to let my boots slip. The stench of wet rot intensifies, but I push beyond it. If Ai’s hiding here, I need to confirm she’s alive.
Leaning over the railing, I see a small figure crouched on a ledge just above the waterline. Too dark to discern details, but I sense a presence that sparks faint ripples in my psionic awareness—like a muffled echo that calls to me. It must be Ai.
“Hey,” I whisper, voice as soft as I can manage.
