The Raven's Blade

Adventures of Adamo and Ilsa

Ilsa

Despite her exhaustion, Ilsa felt the strange urge to sprint the last few steps to the bridge. The map that Pascal had shoved into her hands was worn and damaged in some areas but Adamo had still managed to make enough sense of it to lead them to the city of Dasvale. They'd made good time, Dasvale being past the border of Aprirsa. They just needed to stop for a quick break and replace their supplies then they could continue.

The bridge Ilsa now crossed seemed well-travelled, the city possibly once was a great resource for trading or military of some kind but now, as they passed through the gate and into the grey walls, Dasvale's glory days must have been a while ago. No guard was present at the gate, apart from a bored looking woman in a rusted breastplate, spear forgotten on the ground next to her. She spared a half-hearted salute aimed vaguely in Ilsa's direction.

Boots clicked on cobblestone as they two of them made their way through the winding streets. Ilsa noticed a fog had settled upon the city as she squinted through the darkness. She only spared a passing glance to the pub they walked by, drunk men playing a crude form of cards of some kind but with scratched stones.

"Pretty difficult to find supplies here. Figured big city, lots of resources." Adamo mused, almost to himself. Ilsa hummed in agreement, she'd also thought they'd be in and out with maybe a night at an inn and a quick re-stock of supplies to last them to Aspgate, the capital city of Asprirsa. They had to make quick time to fix this mess. Ilsa had caused it and it weighed on her with every step she took. The only thing she could do now was make sure that she fixed it and saved Rosina.

"Maybe it runs on a sort of underground market. You know, with criminals and you have to know someone to get in."

"Really? How do we find it?"

She shot him a withering glare, "I'm a librarian, genius. Do I look like I know where to find an undercover market run by a criminal syndicate?"

They turned another corner into yet another dark alley.

"Fair point," Adamo grumbled.

A pebble skittered up ahead. The two of them stopped in their tracks as Ilsa peered through the darkness but couldn't see what made the noise.

"Criminal syndicate you say?"

Ilsa spun around, the speaker was an unruly-looking man brandishing a curved knife. What was it with people and knives? A quick glance over her shoulder told Ilsa that another, younger man was threatening Adamo.

The man facing Ilsa grinned harshly, revealing two missing teeth. "C'mon sweetheart, word of advice? Lower ya voice. You lot got money. Give it or I'll knife ya."

Slowly, carefully, Ilsa reached for her dagger, the man slashed his knife over her arm quicker than Ilsa could move. She let out a pained gasp, hand retracting from the dagger's handle.

"Ah, none of that. Like I said, or I'll knife ya." The man stabbed the air for effect, the edge of the blade now had the slight splatter
" of blood on it.

"Yeah we heard the first time," she grimaced.

"I'm still not seeing any coins." The younger man grunted from behind Ilsa. She heard a slight jingle from what she assumed was Adamo reaching for his coin purse.

"Adamo, don't."

He let out a very stressed sigh, "It's either that or be 'knifed'"

Couldn't argue with that logic. But they needed money to reach Aspgate, Rosina's life was in their hands.

The man approached Ilsa again, knife ready. She braced herself but his hand stopped suddenly, midair. Confused, Ilsa took a step back. Though the gloom and fog she could see his face contorted in a pained scowl and he dropped to the ground, a poleaxe sticking out of his back. Where he stood was a woman who yanked the axe out of his back.

"Fuck." The younger man turned suddenly and dashed down the street, the woman hot on his tail. She caught him quickly and with a slash of her axe, the man's body dropped to the left, his head to the right.

The woman turned and made her way back towards Ilsa and Adamo.

"Hi. Sorry 'bout all that."

Ilsa couldn't do much but gape. Blood was still dripping from the axe's blade. The woman ran a grimy hand through her short, light-brown hair.

"Uh well I'm Dvorah and welcome to Dasvale I suppose," she sheathed her axe.

"Thank you?" Adamo said cautiously. "Why did you help us? Not that I'm not incredibly grateful."

"Well for one, I'm a nice person. Yeah and my leader would be in so much fucking trouble if the prince of Aprirsa was murdered in our city."

"Your leader knows who I am?" Adamo questioned.

"Yes, they'd want to talk to you, I reckon. Dasvale used to be a large military city for training soldiers and producing excellent warriors. Of course we know who you are but we can't talk about this here. Come with me and you can talk to my leader." With that, Dvorah turned and walked back through the street, and with a flick of her hand she gestured for Ilsa and Adamo to follow.

Dvorah finally slowed down when she reached what looked like an old, crumbled cattlebarn. She slipped through a hole in the wall, Ilsa and Adamo soon to follow after. Inside it looked like a makeshift home, a few sacks seemed to serve as a bed, a few planks of wood as a table. Dvorah shoved aside the sacks, underneath was a plank of wood that was tossed aside to reveal a hole in the floor with a ladder leading down into the darkness.

Ilsa shared a glance with Adamo, both clearly concerned and weirded out. Should they follow this weird axe-wielding woman into a dark hole in the floor? Adamo just gave an exhausted shrug and descended down the ladder after Dvorah, Ilsa close behind.

They ended up in a dark corridor only lit by a couple of torches. Ilsa peered through the darkness to see a wooden door with a man guarding it, sword in hand. He walked up to Dvorah and they exchanged a harshly whispered conversation.

Ilsa didn't get much but slivers of sentences: "can't be here"..."Prince"..."they are preparing"...and, "what if you're wrong?"

Finally the man stepped back with a sigh and gestured for Ilsa and Adamo to follow him through the door.

They were shoved into what appeared to be some sort of meeting room. As she got her bearings in the dark area, illuminated by a lamp hung on a chain above the table, Ilsa noticed someone sitting in the wooden chair at the back of the room. Dark curls formed a halo around a tarnished crown placed on top of their head. They sat in dented armour, but a bronze hand rested on the hilt of a sharp, well-cared for sword that rested against the side of the chair gave Ilsa the sense that they had been in more than a few battles. Despite the dirt and grim conditions, Ilsa had the strange urge to bow and even though the person was seated on a wooden chair, in their presence it seemed more like a throne. This was a person of power and authority.