Page 43 of The Orc's Princess Bride
“I know firsthand what it’s like to live under his rule. We can’t let him win.”
“We won’t,” he vowed.
The approachto Kel’Vara was like watching a beautiful mask being slowly lowered over a rotting face. From a distance, the city gleamed—black marble and silver spires rising from the cliffs like a vision from a dream, and the Obsidian Keep, dark and elegant, looming over it all like a giant bird of prey.
But as they drew closer, following Egon through hidden ravines and forgotten goat paths, the illusion fractured. They passed hovels built into the rock, homes of the servants and laborers who weren’t permitted to soil the city proper with their presence. Thin, haunted faces peered from shadows, then quickly withdrew. Fear was the currency of Kel’Vara.
“Here,” Egon whispered, leading them to what appeared to be a natural fissure in the cliff face. He moved aside a carefully arranged pile of rocks to reveal a narrow tunnel. “This connects to the old sewer system. It’ll take us under the walls.”
They left the horses in the shallow cave created by the fissure. It was somewhat of a risk but he pitied anyone foolish enough to take on three Norhaven warhorses.
The passage was not intended for anyone of their size. They crawled more than walked, the stench of stagnant water and worse filling their nostrils. He felt the weight of the city pressingdown, but all he could think of was Jessamin. Was she afraid? Was she hurt? The questions drove him forward through the suffocating darkness.
After what felt like hours, the tunnel widened. Egon stopped, putting a finger to his lips, then pushed open a rusted grate. They emerged into a wider sewer tunnel, this one high enough to stand in.
“We’re inside the walls now,” Egon murmured. “The lower city is above us.”
They moved silently through the labyrinth of tunnels, Egon navigating with the confidence of one returning to a nightmare he’d never truly escaped. Occasionally, they heard voices from street level—commands, arguments, the mundane sounds of city life continuing oblivious to the predators moving beneath.
Finally, they emerged through a forgotten maintenance entrance into a narrow alley. The contrast between the dark, crumbling alley and the gleaming street beyond was stark. Here, the façade of Lasseran’s paradise was cracked and peeling. The buildings were finely wrought, but many of them were half-empty or boarded up, their façades crumbling. In the streets, people hurried along with their heads bowed. Children played, but their laughter was muted, cautious.
The scent of the place was wrong, too. The air was heavy with fear and resignation.
They remained in the alley long enough to strip out of the clothes they’d worn through the sewers and put on plain dark leathers.
“Keep your heads down,” Egon warned, handing each of them a cloak and pulling his down around his face. “Even here, orcs will draw attention.”
They moved through the lower city like ghosts, sticking to shadows and back alleys. The higher they climbed through the tiered districts, the more pronounced the disparity became. Lavish villas stood alongside the crumbling quarters of those who served them.
“We need information before we go any further,” Egon said, leading them to an old tavern in a back alley. He knocked on the door, a complex pattern of taps and pauses. After a moment, the door swung open and they stepped inside.
The interior was dimly lit, the windows boarded up. A small group of people turned to stare at them. Egon’s gaze swept over them, lingering on a scarred old human in the corner.
“Tolbrayth.”
“Egon,” the old human said gruffly. “Been a long time. Thought you’d escaped this place.”
“I did. But now I’m back and I need information.”
Tolbrayth studied him, then nodded. “What’s the question?”
“The Princess Jessamin. Where is he keeping her?”
Tolbrayth didn’t even blink. “The Obsidian Keep, of course.”
“Even if he planned to use her in a… ritual ceremony?” The question emerged before he could stop it. Tolbrayth gave him a penetrating look, then nodded.
“Yeah. Rumor has it there’s trouble between Lasseran and the Veilborn.” Several of the people nearby quickly sketched an X over their hearts at the mention of the priests. “Wouldn’t wanna bet on the outcome of that dispute.”
So Lasseran isn’t quite as all-powerful as he wanted people to believe. He pushed that thought aside to deal with later. Right now, all that mattered was Jessamin.
“What kind of resistance are we likely to meet at the keep?”
“Resistance? You plan to fight your way in there?” Tolbrayth stared at them disbelievingly. “They’ll cut you down before you make it within fifty feet of the walls.”
“There must be a way in.” He felt the first stirrings of desperation, the walls of the city closing in around him. “A secret passage, a sewer line, anything.”
“You think if there was a way to get to Lasseran, we wouldn’t have taken it? He’s our enemy too,” Tolbrayth said harshly. “He’s got his own private army and the Veilborn at his back. Until now anyway. But they’re not gonna help you,” he added before Ulric could suggest it.
