The great hall of the manor was thick with tension. Baron Rothgard paced before the ornate fireplace, his usual commanding presence diminished by obvious anxiety. Sweat beaded on his balding head despite the cool night air, and his fingers kept worrying at the heavy gold rings on his hands.
"There's no need," he insisted for the third time, his voice carrying a hint of desperation. "The vault's location is secure. My personal guard can handle any threats." He waved dismissively, but his eyes darted nervously to the shadows.
After relaying the news of what happened, Baron told them that nothing happened here, or for that matter, no bandit was spotted near the manor.
Maena's further probing revealed that Baron's wealth was all in his vault. Then she suspected that bandits may have been aiming for that from the beginning. Maena's suspicions were confirmed when she noticed the subtle shift in Baron's demeanor
Lady Maena stood firm, her blood-stained armour a stark contrast to the baron's fine silk doublet. "Baron Rothgard, with respect, these were no common bandits. They were trained, organised, and knew exactly what they were after. If they know about the vault—"
"They don't!" the baron snapped, too quickly. "They couldn't possibly—" He cut himself off, tugging at his collar.
Jolthar watched from his position near the door, noting how the baron's eyes kept flicking toward a particular dark corridor. Something about the man's manner reminded him of a cornered animal.
Beside him, Eran shifted his weight, his hand resting casually on his sword pommel.
"My dear husband," a smooth voice cut through the tension like a blade through silk. "You're being rather... obvious."
All heads turned as Baroness emerged from the shadows. She moved with liquid grace, her deep burgundy gown whispering across the stone floor. In the firelight, her raven hair gleamed like fresh-spilled blood, and her amber eyes held an almost amused glint.
"Cleora," Baron Rothgard started, "there's no need to—"
"To what?" she interrupted, her smile sharp as a dagger. "To ensure the safety of our... investments?"
"I've had enough. I don't care about the wealth; I just need my son back."
She turned to Lady Maena. "I know the vault's location. I'll lead you there myself."
Jolthar noticed how the baron seemed to shrink under his wife's gaze.
The earlier conversation with Eran echoed in his mind—this was the woman who had risen from merchant to baroness. Under her gaze, the baron barely looked her in the eye. Though she barely spoke a few words, Baron didn't even raise his voice against her.
What other secrets lay behind those calculating eyes?
The company rode out again, torches cutting through the darkness.
Baroness Cleora led them, sitting sidesaddle with unnatural ease despite the rough terrain.
They rode northeast, away from the main roads and into increasingly wild country. The midnight moon cast everything in silver, making the landscape seem alien and threatening.
After two hours of hard riding, they came to the medow valley, the cave's mouth wide open in the plain terrain. There was no one present at the entrance, and Cleora's confusion started from there.
The entrance was larger than Jolthar expected, reinforced with heavy timber. The smell that wafted out—a mixture of dampness, human misery, and something worse—made his horse snort and back away.
"Follow me," Cleora commanded, dismounting gracefully. She took a torch from the walls and led the way into the darkness.
"The baron's great wealth," Cleora explained, her voice eerily pleasant, as if showing guests around a garden. "Did you really think it came just from trade?" She gestured to a particularly large tunnel. "The dratium ore here is exceptionally pure. Worth a fortune in the northern markets." She shrugged elegantly. Jolthar was watching her closely, her expression unreadable.
At first she seemed shocked, quickly masked by tensed curiousity.
Dratium ore, Jolthar was very familiar with the metal. It was one of the best metals for crafting weapons and armour, highly sought after by warriors and blacksmiths alike.
But something about her manner had changed. There was a tension in her shoulders, a tightness around her eyes. She kept glancing down certain tunnels with an intensity that suggested she was looking for something specific—or someone.
Then came the sound that made everyone freeze—a child's scream, echoing from deep within the mine. Cleora's composure cracked for just a moment, her eyes widening with what looked like genuine fear.
"What the hell are you doing in these mines?" Jolthar questioned, his voice hoarse. Even though it was dark, Jolthar could see the blood marks on the ground, and the faint smell of fresh blood lingered in the air. Every one of them realised this fact. Whatever this place was, their horror only started just now.
Jolthar and the other men dashed towards the source of the scream.