The dungeons were still in the market for elves. Rubines did not find it difficult to get himself captured.

He came upon the monsters as they searched the remnants of the town, dragging limp bodies from the wreckage.

There was no pattern to the beasts, no sanity.

Some resembled forest creatures, twisted and wrong in a way that pained Rubines to the soul: a bear with a rat's tail and a stag's head, a wolf with red-glowing gashes along its side leaking purple liquid.

Most were utterly foreign, creatures with disjointed parts or things that shouldn't be mobile at all. A heap of stones that oozed with blood, something like a bat-winged elf but made entirely of gleaming black shadow and too many teeth, a serpent with nine heads and eight legs. Everywhere he looked, he saw a new monstrosity.

It didn't take them long to see him in turn. Before he'd even recovered from the shock of seeing an army of horrors tearing apart a town he no longer recognized, they were upon him.

A spider with snakes for legs slithered suddenly from the shadow of a fallen building, fangs gleaming with venom and its many eyes all focused greedily on Rubines. Each of the snakes opened its mouth and spat strands of web, converging in the path before Rubines in a tangle he was unable to avoid.

His horse screamed in terror as it collided with the web, sticky strands binding it tighter as it thrashed and reared, the weight of it bouncing the web around but unable to break free. Rubines himself was thrown free of the horse, face-first into another strand. He tried to pull himself free, but the strand was so sticky it threatened to tear his flesh free of his face, bringing tears to his eyes and forcing him to relent and lie still, trembling.

He'd come here to be captured, he reminded himself. The mental admonishment did nothing to calm the wild panic rushing through his body, the certainty that he needed to run, to be anywhere but here.

The horse shrieked, shrill and tremulous as the snake-spider surged forward and nine pairs of fangs clamped down on the terrified beast.

It watched Rubines as it feasted, the horse slowly shriveling as its blood was rapidly drained by the unnatural monstrosity, yet its eyes never left the captive elf.

Rubines could not still his shaking. He was no warrior. This degree of violence and horror was beyond his experience, utterly foreign to him.

The spider finally released the drained carcass, slithering up and over the horse's body toward Rubines. His breath came fast and unsteady, the monstrous beast bearing down on him.

He hadn't thought it was possible to be any more afraid.

Then the snakes reared up, and struck out. Rubines jerked desperately, trying to tug himself free. To raise a hand, or to twist away. Anything to escape the death coming for him. But he was stuck fast. All he accomplished was to scream himself hoarse as he struggled in utter futility.

But the snakes didn't strike his flesh, instead targeting the strands of web binding him. Each head bit a single thread, their tongues parting the sturdy silk like acid poured over a snowflake.

Then he was dragged down, claws digging through his tunic and teeth clamped around his leg as something from behind him picked him up and carried him away.

The next amount of time was a blur of pain, one which he only partly escaped in unconsciousness. His city life never prepared him for the brutality of the dungeons. But he survived. They were careful, in all their rough handling as they carried him off, never to damage him beyond what he could recover.

He was carried through the forests, away from the town, then down into darkness, relayed from monster to monster by unspoken command. Then, in the end, he was dropped in a cold stone chamber lit only by the red gleam of mock moonlight.

He lay unmoving for a time, waiting while his connection slowly restored his strength and healed his injuries, though his heart counted out the moments wasted.

Step one was the easy part. Now he had to find the dungeon's heart.

He let out a shaky breath and raised his head, and only then saw that he was not alone. A dozen other elves lay about, some injured, others stirring. Survivors from the destruction of the town.

"Where are we?" Rubines asked, his voice coming out a hoarse croak. "This is the dungeon?"

"Yes, it is," answered a young woman with pearl-pale hair reminiscent of Delarin's. She was the least injured of those gathered here, sitting slumped against the wall in a posture of defeat, but her eyes were clear and focused. "I am Urimae. I regret that we meet in this manner."

"Rubines."

"I thought we were all from Moyetarsh, I don't recognize you. Scout?"

"Yes," Rubines mumbled, struggling to hide his embarrassment at the lie. "I came from Aelenhiegt. I saw what happened to your home. I'm so sorry."

"The Council is sending aid?" Urimae's voice lifted with hope, her eyes glistening, and Rubines couldn't bring himself to tell the truth.

"There is an extraction plan underway," he said, carefully avoiding any outright lies. He didn't trust himself to speak untruth right now. The fact that the extraction plan would do nothing for these poor souls would be of no use to anyone. "But before anyone can go anywhere, I must locate the dungeon's heart."

"That is simple." Urimae got to her feet, stretching her shoulders as though she had not moved in days, limping with injuries healed slightly askew. "I can show you."