“So, we all agree that going through ‘The Screaming Pass’ may not the the smartest idea, right?”

  The leader of the group was named Otto. He had broad shoulders under his forest green cloak, his face was clean-shaven, and ashen hair, a bit long, covered the right half of his face, right over an eye patch. He was looking at a heavily tanned young woman, dressed in a light purple blouse and red leather pants. Her name was Clare and she had spent the last hour waiting for any of Otto’s team to point a way to advance to their common objective only to shut it down. Otto agreed with some of her gripes, but at this point, it was clear to him that she had no intention of saying “yes” to any option.

  “Clare” he began, “I appreciate your input, as it is quite discerning, but you’re our charge, and even if you dislike it, we are still required to get there if we want to get paid.”

  She shot him a dirty look, and crossed her arms, looking away from him. He couldn’t see it, but he knew she was pouting like a petulant child. “Boss!” A soft voice came, excited, from the other side of the eating hall of the small inn. Soon, an Elven girl was by his side. Her name was Hil, and as many Elves, she was blonde, half a head taller than most tall men, and cute as a button. Her ears wiggled when she looked down towards his face. “Mister Yamesh has sent us another message through his eagle.”

  “Are you entirely sure, Hil?” He took the scroll from her hand, unrolling it and beginning to read. “You saw the coat of arms?”

  “Yes, boss, I saw the coat of arms…” She answered, absentmindedly. “Ocean blue, with a book on top, one with a drawing of a goat on the left and a tower on the right, and below a snake eating its own tail but crossed like it’s forming two circles.”

  “Vertical or horizontal?”

  “Vertical.”

  Clare looked at him, he had suddenly grown pale as he read the scroll. “What is it?” She asked, on behalf of the team itself.

  “New orders. Our schedule gets shortened, we have to report to Hemblem, at the border in three days, and then have three more to get back to the capital.”

  The team grumbled to each other, worried. It wasn’t that the mission was impossible, quite the opposite. While tight, the margin was perfectly doable if they re-framed things just a bit. No, what was worrying them, was just how pale Otto had grown.

  Then the chatting slowed and quickly stopped, he continued, “And in the way, we must enter in the Tomb of Crill, go to the third floor, and collect a box that has been left there.”

  The table fell silent for a moment, faces looking at each other with worrying expressions.

  After that, one hand rose at the other end. “So, are we getting more pay for this? Because if not, I’d vote to keep the original plan, this is clearly an unreasonable request.”

  Voices were heard in agreement.

  Otto looked up from the scroll, “It does say that we’d be properly rewarded.”

  He looked down at the scroll and then back up, anticipating the next question. “Yes, that’s the exact wording. He does not give any amounts.”

  Clare was the first to speak next, crossing her arms and locking eyes with Otto.

  “Then, what’s the plan? Because I am most definitely not going to a place that has the word ‘Tomb’ as its name.”

  “It’s just a dungeon, miss.”

  She looked at him dead in the eyes, staggering for a second. “A dungeon?”

  She looked at the faces of the rest of Otto’s team, most of them men about his age, somewhere between late thirties and early forties, well built and bearded. There was another woman, apart from the Elf, but she was a full head taller than her and could probably break Clare in two with arms that thick. It didn’t appear to her like there was much room to appeal to any of them. “Those are still a thing?”

  “It’s just a technical term, miss.” Otto responded, rolling back the scroll into its original shape and absentmindedly handing it to Hil. “Most dungeons nowadays have had all of their traps blocked or deactivated and much of the surrounding region had its share of monsters culled. As long as it is in the map,” He pointed to a small black rectangle labeled “Crill” on a mountainside. “We don’t really have to worry.”

  He turned towards a nearby window, noticing how dark the sky was. It was already morning, and they hadn’t slept at all that night, as they had been occupied inspecting their equipment and doing reparations in their carriage. The only one who had, mostly, a full night of sleep had been Clare, so the plan for what to do next was obvious. They would send her to buy food and drink for the whole team for the next three days, plus a new lighter and three new lamps for the carriage. Meanwhile, they’d sleep until noon. Then lunch and they’d be on the road again far before it gets dark.

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  Accounting the distance, they’d arrive at the Tomb of Crill just past midnight. And, if they’re properly careful, it will be a nice place to spend the night, at surely the rain wouldn’t stay for less than a day. On this time of the year, it will most likely be a rainy week, so under a ceiling is the best option. Afterwards, they’d get back on the road by morning and if they pull an all-nighter, they’d be at Hemblem by dawn of the next day. Just in time. Then, a train back to the capital and they’d receive their payment.

  The only problem was the dungeon, of course. While it was most likely already cleaned up of traps, it is sufficiently outside of the main roads that it is surely not maintained, therefore, there’s a high likeliness of monsters. But as long as they’re careful, it wouldn’t be a too much of an issue.

  He took a sip of his drink, it was a rather refreshing fruit juice, although he wasn’t familiar with which one, and explained the whole idea as calmly as he could. Once he had finished, most heads were nodding in agreement, except, of course, for Clare.

  “I’m your charge and you want me to work?”

  Otto shrugged. “You agree with my reasoning, don’t you?”

  She sighed. “I do. But I will complain about this to your employers and the guild once I arrive in Hemblem.”

  Otto shrugged again, and nodded.

  That was fine by him, at most, if she won, they’d only deduct a percentage of the total payment, which most likely would coincide with the extra margin of the reward, meaning that they’d still get paid decently enough for the job.

  “Suit yourself.” He answered.

  The team rose from the table, and one by one went upstairs to the various rooms of the inn, except for Hil, who went up to Clare, and, much like she had done every day of the previous week, apologized on behalf of the group. Until the previous day, Clare had thought that the Elf was far too sweet to hang around with those animals. Then she pulled out her sword and sliced an attacking hornbear in half, in mid-air. Since that moment, Clare was a bit scared of her.

  She looked on a nearby mirror and tidied her hair into a high braid before going out. It was quite gray, too cool for her current clothing, and she couldn’t get out of her mind the sensation that this might be a complete disaster. Two streets away from the inn, she shook her head and decided to keep her mind empty, and to only keep in the list of things they had told her to buy, since they hadn’t thought about writing it down.

  Clare didn’t like the idea of going to a dungeon, she didn’t like it one bit. Not only because it was going out of her way from her mission, and thus felt like she was losing time, but because dungeons had a bit of a reputation. Of course, one could argue that most of it was just a reflected shadow over the walls of what was called public knowledge, as the era after the dark ages in which those that called themselves adventurers and explored the dungeons in search for fortune, discovering traps and killing terrible monsters was long past.

  Then, passing by a newspaper stand, probably the only one in that mountainside village, she noticed the headlines in every single one of the papers. Apparently the Regent had broken up with his fiancee right the previous night, publicly, and had accused her of a number of crimes. Clare’s mind raced for a brief moment and she quickly purchased one of the broadsheets, random one.

  The writing of the article was full of the journalist’s political standing, against the prince, whom they perceived as being far too hands off with the government, but actually praised the breaking, claiming that it was a sign that the prince was finally interested in marrying another royal, or maybe a much more high-ranking noble, as it was proper, rather than some girl from the provinces whose family doesn’t even really have any actual title.

  Clare weighed the news as she went on with her purchases. If everything reported was indeed the case, this could easily spell doom for both her and her personal employer. Having the Wynthart girl on the throne was a central part of their plans. In fact, the message she was carrying with herself was part of the whole plot.

  She decided that still going to Hemblem was probably a good plan for herself. And then she’d feign not knowing, would be paid, and then she can just leave before they want to retain her services. That would be the smartest way of going along with this development.

  Merely three hours later, she had bought everything needed for the mission and a few more newspapers. She sat at her room in the inn, studying them for possible clues; after all, being accused by of crimes didn’t necessarily meant that the lady had actually done anything wrong. And if it comes out that she didn’t and the prince was lying, that could easily be bad for both him and the kingdom in general. While the Regent was famously, or infamously depending on the alignment of who you asked, not involved in matters of government, much of the citizenry could lose faith on it if the man who wears the crown, at least temporarily, is found to have slandered an innocent in such a way.

  Certainly, having done what she was accused of seemed out of character for Lady Wynthart.

  Come noon, as she was thinking, there was a knock on her door. Probably Otto. Clare hid the newspapers to dispose of them and went out along with him, helping the group ready their carriage as according to plan. Her last thought before leaving the village for the mountains was that while she understood the rationale in having these ‘adventurers’, more glorified mercenaries than anything, not know about her mission, it unfortunately made being, technically, a spy, much more troublesome than she ever wants. Maybe a career change after this would be adequate. Clare was sitting on the back of the carriage, looking at how the landscape change from the fields outside the village, to the mountain’s forest and finally the rockier landscape once they were rolling up into the mountain pass, when, right after passing a traveler’s marker, that she once again got the feeling that things were going to go poorly.

  No one actually noticed when something hiding behind the marker jumped to the top of the carriage.