Night had come once more, Knights of Illisea had arrived in the town of Parcielle in their desperate search for their Princess. Chester felt his stomach knot on itself with worry, resolve remained in his eyes as he kept his helmet on, and his armor clinked with each step down the cobblestone street. He recalled confronting Governor Gustav of Saha’dryr after the Princess’ disappearance and the Governor put forth the effort of the city guards to search every nook and cranny of the Lake and its perimeter. Clues were abysmal until he received a tip from a strange merchant; an older woman with a pygmy cyclops pulling her wagon who had just entered the city on the lake. She detailed a coach that seemed to be rushing from Saha’dryr in the direction of Domon Valley.

  Chester left most of his men behind in Saha’dryr and only brought four soldiers with him counting Tohmath, but they were at the inn now with him alone walking the street. The town had dwarven guards clad in heavy, studded leather armor that walked in trios down each street paved in reddish cobblestone. The buildings were of fine wood frames and stone walls while each building had a small garden in front of it for the most part. The town of Parcielle was home to almost thirty-five hundred people, wagons and coaches were commonplace to come and go here but rarely stayed beyond a few days whether it would be traveling or trading.

  Chester strode to the end of a street, an item shop to his left and Paryl Pond to his right with the majestic waterfall dropping into it from the cliffside wall high above, nearly a thousand feet or more. The night gave the pond a majestic aura, as the scent of fresh water and flowers wafted over the rippling waters, but Chester couldn’t bring himself to enjoy the serenity of it. I have to find her Highness. She must be in this damn valley somewhere! Damn these Low Landers, none of them seem to care the Princess is missing despite it could bring the King’s wrath down upon them. If it comes to it, I shall happily lead men to battle and glory. Princess Eril, you must be safe.

  A hobbled man stumbled drunkenly from an alleyway, covered in light brown fur and a hairless tail; a raxen if Chester saw them correctly. If the man stood upright fully, he would perhaps be up to the bottom of his breastplate as they approached him.

  “Identify yourself,” Chester said.

  The rat-faced man bobbed his head as he replied, “Ah, are you…” the man’s words were cut off as he let out a hiccup, “You…are the one seeking a maiden?”

  Chester’s eyes widened within his helmet, “What if I am?”

  The raxen stepped a little closer, “For some money─” another hiccup. “some money in exchange, I may have information for you.”

  Chester’s hand found the hilt of his sword, “If you are withholding information regarding the one I seek, I will cut you down, sir. Tell me what you know, and I may consider your toll.”

  The rat-man shook his head. “Not how it works…You are not from Parcielle.” his hiccups wouldn’t stop; the stench of his breath was a concoction of unpleasant scents, it smelled like a stew left out for a week with a film of mold over it and old cheese. The man looked as if that food came up where it once entered. He has to be quite drunk; would he yield any useful information even if it all spilled off his tongue? “Perhaps, you should rest a little and consider what is useful and isn’t.” Chester gave a slight bow respectfully with his right hand.

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  The rat-man darted low, two small black daggers in hand ready for Chester’s sides. The armored knight gripped the hilt at his hip and before the rat man could deliver his double set of deathblows, Chester’s sword impaled through his skull.

  “A common thief?” Chester asked aloud as the short, furry man slumped over in a heap.

  Suddenly, two more men emerged from the alleyway, “Death to Illiseans!” they both cried out, one with a clawed gauntlet and the other with a hooked dagger.

  Chester’s blade barely deflected the clawed gauntlet, and his left hand was on the wrist holding the dagger. “Damn you!” he cried.

  “You’re one of the soldiers searching for the noble from Illisea! Die!”

  “What have you done with her?!” Chester screamed in the furry man’s face. Shoving them both off, the one with gauntlet went low while the dagger wielder jumped toward him. Chester gave a leap backwards flinging his blade wildly to counter both.

  “He’s a bit more skilled than we expected,” the dagger wielding raxen said to the other.

  The gauntlet wielding man nodded, “We’re going to let you off easy this time Illisean but you won’t find your lady.” They began chuckling as they fled.

  “Bastards!” Chester’s temper was flared as he darted for them, but the two men dashed into the alley and began wall-jumping out of his reach. Instinctively, Chester sheathed his blade and drew his longbow and launched an arrow as quickly as he could nock it, barely missing one of the thug’s ankles as they disappeared over the rooftop. “I don’t care what it takes, I will take Her Highness back!”

  He stood in the alley alone, it was silent aside from the stirring wind that blew through, and rustled trash and debris discarded by the homeless. Slinging the bow over his shoulder after biting back curses for his own incompetence he attempted to trail the pair of men but there was no sign left of them. I must return to the inn. The thought nibbled at him. She has to be in or near this town, but where?

  ***

  Returning to the Falling Leaf Inn, Chester opened the double doors of the front room and standing at the counter, there were four people, and a reptilian monster coiled up on the floor. He gave a short jump in surprise. The innkeeper was a robust dwarven man with a short beard barely reaching his collar bone and dressed in a light blue shirt and tan trousers.

  “Ah, Master Atellis, welcome back,” the dwarven innkeeper greeted as he looked through his current prospective patrons.

  The four at the counter turned their heads, an elf man with red hair held upward in a green headband, a bald robust human man only a head taller than the dwarf but just as wide donning yellow robes. Then Chester recognized the two at the forefront, a black-haired elf woman and then the black furred kobold man wearing a blue kamishimo.

  The innkeeper focused back on his customers in front of him after counting out their fare for the night. “Your room will be on the second floor, second doors from the stairs.”

  “Thank you much,” the black-haired elf woman told him and the group slowly went to move on.

  “Wait,” Chester said. The kobold stopped with his back to Chester and the others turned to face him.

  “Is there a problem sir?” the bald man asked with a gentle smile, the purple scaled reptile at his side gazing at the armored knight.

  “I have seen two of you before,” Chester said. “The kobold and the elf woman, back in Saha’dryr.”

  The elf woman gazed at him a moment, “Oh, you were with that carriage before we left the city.”

  Chester gave a nod. “I feel you may be familiar in a way, friend,” he said to the silent kobold who refused to turn toward him. A silent moment passed. “What’s with your friend?” Chester asked the pair of elves, hinting at the kobold who still had his back turned to him.

  “Are you ok, Gunnolf?” the red haired elf man asked.

  Chester eyes went wide within the helmet on his head, but no words would come. Gunnolf? Why is that name familiar?

  The kobold glanced over his shoulder at the armored human and then passed through the swinging half doors to the common room with no words to exchange.