A hearty fire crackled above the large hearth that dominated a wall of the Motherlode’s common room. The room was large and packed with dwarves, humans and halflings. Most of them were miners fuelling up for the hard day’s labour ahead. The scent of hops and cooked meats permeated the air, and the room was alive with raucous conversation.

“You know, this is my kind of place,” Grimald said approvingly before his face disappeared into a frothy mug of beer.

“Are we meeting the new fellow here?” Sarah ventured as she looked around the room.

It was filled with rough-looking types. Many carried injuries, an eyepatch here, a limp there. One of the dwarves was sporting a prosthetic hand. Mining, it seemed, was a dangerous business. Their room was located at the far end of one of the inn’s two wings, as far as one could get from the common room, so the sheer volume of the place came as a surprise to her.

“Oh no, he’s not here,” Grimald said before letting off a contented belch, “we’ll be going to see him in a little bit.”

“What’s his name?” John asked, not taking his eyes off an argument at a nearby table that appeared to be on the brink of becoming violent.

“Udoriol the Excommunicated,” Grimald replied. He licked his lips before biting into a haunch of venison.

“That’s an… interesting name,” Sarah remarked as she poked at her gruel.

“Udoriol… that’s an elvish name, isn’t it?” John observed, struggling to keep his voice neutral.

“Aye, it is,” Grimald grinned.

“I thought only the Treton Church excommunicated people,” Sarah said in surprise.

“Aye, this Udoriol is a paladin,” Grimald replied, “or a former one, I think? At any rate, his skills should prove useful. I have the feeling we’ll need a healer.”

“Will it really be that dangerous?” John asked.

Grimald’s face remained jovial. “It could be, never hurts to have a healer around.”

“Can the excommunicated call upon Treto’s power?” Sarah asked, “or is that just a title he’s fashioned for himself?”

“He’s just excluded from participating in the Church,” Grimald grinned, “despite how desperately they want you to believe it, the Church does not get to decide who can call upon Treto’s power.”

“What was he excommunicated for?” Sarah wondered.

“An elf worshipping Treto? I thought they all worshipped Varuna,” John asked at almost the same time.

“Those are both very interesting questions that you can ask him when we meet him,” Grimald remarked, “all I want to know is if he’s interested in what we’re going to do.”

“And what is that, precisely?” Sarah asked.

Grimald winked at her before taking another swig of beer. “I’ll tell you that when we meet him. Saves me repeating myself, eh?”

“So let’s go meet him,” John said as a group of dwarves at the next table started shouting threats at another group of dwarves, “a fight’s about to break out and I want no part of it.”

“An argument between worshippers of Jord and Agni,” Grimald winced, “yes, we’d better make ourselves scarce.”

They hurried out of the common room as the first punch was thrown. As they hurriedly pulled on their cloaks there was a loud crash followed by more shouts. Hurriedly, they stepped out of the warmth of the inn and into the stinging sleet outside.

“Follow me,” Grimald said, shouting to be heard over the howling wind.

They passed a group of dwarves as they made their way out from the centre of town. It was another miserable day, and people hurried about their business, trying to spend as little time as possible outdoors. It seemed to Sarah that the population of the town was an equal mixture of human and dwarf with the occasional halfling thrown in, which made sense. They were close to the border with the dwarven kingdom of Vilnerg, which was where Grimald hailed from.

“Are we really going to see an elf?” John asked, trying to sound nonchalant as Grimald led them into an alley that took them out of the wind.

Sarah suppressed a smile. He had been obsessed with elves ever since he saw one in the flesh many years ago back in Golton. That had caused a bit of a stir. Elves were a rarity in human kingdoms, which was understandable, and half the town had turned out to gawk despite the history between the two races. The elf had been as cold and distant as their reputations described, but also almost ethereally beautiful. Sarah’s heart raced at the memory. She, like most of the others, had been taken in by the beauty of that particular elf who claimed to be a ranger out to see human lands and mend fences, though the second part was hard a little hard to believe, given the elf’s personality.

“Aye, if we can catch him,” Grimald said, “he lives out in the mountains and only comes down every so often for supplies. He’s meant to be in town today.”

“If we miss him, we’ll go out looking for him, won’t we?” John asked.

Sarah knew from the look in his eyes that John was envisioning some sort of mystical elf home carved out of a tree or something up in the mountains, like something out of a fairy tale. However, the stories surrounding elves were often unpleasant. It had been almost two thousand years since humanity freed themselves from elven slavery, and that history had been all but passed from human memory. The elves, though, had not forgotten. Many of them lived through those days and kept themselves aloof from humanity. Whether it was out of shame at their history, or resentment at the loss of their slaves, only the elves knew.

“I suppose we’ll have to,” Grimald conceded. He looked up at the mountains that towered above them. Their peaks were hidden by low clouds which told him that the weather was no better up there.

“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” he muttered.

He soon led them onto a potholed street that was lined with dilapidated buildings. One or two had collapsed outright. An abandoned broken down wagon sat outside one of the buildings, and a rat the size of a small dog darted across the street in front of them.

Sarah arched an eyebrow. “He’s here?”

Grimald smirked and made a beeline towards a rundown two-storey building. A faded sign identified the place as the Bottom Barrel Bar. The stench of rotting food mixed with vomit assaulted their nostrils as Grimald pushed the door open. Before Sarah could object, the dwarf disappeared inside. Sarah and John exchanged looks before reluctantly following him in.

The inside of the bar was dingy and filled with the scent of stale pipe smoke. It was cold and the floor was the exposed rock of the mountainside. It was a stark contrast to the lively tavern they had just left. A handful of tired-looking men and dwarves eyed the newcomers warily as they sat in rickety chairs around filthy, half-rotted tables. Sarah’s eyes scanned the room, wanting to leave this place as quickly as she could.

A pair of pointy ears caught her attention. They belonged to someone with long, unkempt blonde, hair who was sitting slouched over at the filthy bar. He wore a mottled collection of rags and a sword at his side. Nearby, a thin, surly man eyed polished a stained glass with a dirty rag, seemingly paying them no heed.

“Udoriol Andorel,” Grimald called as he approached the bar.

Sarah glanced at John, whose face was the embodiment of disappointment. “That can’t be an elf,” he muttered. Sarah couldn’t help but smile and nudged him towards the bar. She didn’t want to plunge deeper into the disgusting establishment but didn’t feel safe being far from Grimald.

“You’re Udoriol Andorel, aren’t you?” Grimald asked as he touched the elf on the shoulder.

The elf turned his head slowly until he faced the dwarf. His features could be described as noble, with an ageless grace were it not for his glossy eyes and lopsided grin.

“I’ve been disowned by my family. I have no right to,” the elf slurred his words. He paused as his body swayed, looking like he might topple at any moment. He lurched and caught himself before continuing, “don’t call me that. Just Udoriol.”

Sarah arched her eyebrow as Grimald looked in her direction. The dwarf shrugged and sighed. “Look,” he said, “we have work for you.”

Grimald paused and looked around at their surroundings before leaning in to whisper, “work that pays in gold.”

The elf practically leapt upright and smiled broadly, revealing two rows of flawlessly white teeth. “Does it now?” his voice was affable without a trace of drunkenness. Now that he had dropped the drunken act, there was an air of nobility to his ageless face.

“Being drunk was an act?” Grimald asked, looking relieved.

Udoriol made a face. “Getting asked what an elf is doing all the way out here gets pretty old. And then I have to deal with all sorts of questions like I’m supposed to be an expert on all things elvish.”

“Well I suppose you’d be more knowledgeable than most,” Sarah remarked.

“Yes, you’d suppose correctly,” Udoriol said quickly, feigning impatience, “but getting asked it…”

He paused and looked at the bartender, “twenty seven times, was it?”

The bartender gave the elf a sideways look before returning to his work.

“Twenty eight, right you are, Steve,” Udoriol continued without missing a beat, “times a day does wear a little thin.”

There was a silence as Sarah stared at the elf, not sure what to make of him. Grimald cleared his throat to help regain his composure. “At any rate, we have a job you might be interested in…”

Udoriol held up a hand revealing his long, slender fingers. “Excuse me, we should take this somewhere more private.”

He cocked his head at the bartender and said, “Steve here is the life of the party, as you can see, and he has a tendency to be a little loose-lipped when he’s had a few drinks in him.”

The bartender gave the elf a look before spitting on the floor and returning to his work.

“That winning attitude is the reason you have customers lining up out the door, Steve!” the elf laughed.

Before they knew what was going on, the elf had ushered them to the rear of the bar. A rat scurried out from under a table as they moved to a filthy corner.

“Seat?” he asked Sarah as he pulled out a chair.

“No, thank you,” Sarah said queasily. The chair was caked in dry vomit.

Udoriol winked. “Wise choice.”

“Excuse me,” Sarah said hesitantly as she glanced at John who had looked stunned from the moment he’d laid eyes on the elf, “but I expected your kind to be more…”

Sarah let her words trail off and the elf smiled mischievously. “Noble?” he offered.

“Sombre,” Sarah said.

The elf raised an eyebrow. “Do all humans share the same personality?”

“No, I suppose not,” she admitted.

Now that they were standing so close together, Sarah could see that the elf was tall and lithe, though there was a wiry strength. There had been a grace to how he had moved. Those stereotypes about the elves proved accurate, at least.

“Although truth be told, I am considered a bit of an odd duck by my people,” Udoriol admitted.

“A Treto worshipping elf,” Sarah scoffed. “that’s putting it lightly. You’re probably older than him. He lived two thousand years ago. That’s nothing to elves, is it?”

“I saw him, you know, when he was still human,” Udoriol replied with a twinkle in his pale blue eyes, “I witnessed many of his celebrated feats with my own eyes. I also saw his capture and torture. His defiance…”

He paused as he wiped a tear away as though recalling a moving memory, “his death… I was there at his death… and his ascension.”

John’s eyes widened. “Are you one of the Companions?”

Udoriol laughed and waved his hand. “No no… nothing so noble.”

“Anyway, who couldn’t help but be inspired after seeing all he had done to free his people from slavery?” Udoriol asked.

“Plenty of elves don’t worship Treto,” Sarah pointed out, “in fact, you’re the first I’ve heard of.”

“Perhaps it’s because I was young and impressionable at the time,” Udoriol smiled, “I was only a youth of three hundred and…”

The elf stuck his tongue out and looked at the ceiling as he tried to figure the precise number out, “and twelve in your years.”

Sarah’s eyebrows shot up. “I’d say that’s plenty old, even for a dwarf.”

“Isn’t that right?” she asked, nudging Grimald in the elbow.

The dwarf cleared his throat uncomfortably. “If we’re quite done getting to know one another,” he said, “the job.”

Udoriol shot Sarah an amused look. “He’s all business this one, isn’t he?”

Sarah smiled and looked at the floor upon seeing the irritation on Grimald’s face.

“I do apologize for getting side-tracked, good sir,” Udoriol declared, bowing formally to the dwarf, “please, continue. And be specific on the payment terms.”

Grimald took a deep breath to calm himself. “We’ve been called upon to investigate a sect of Ratri followers in Corrington.”

The humour was gone from Udoriol’s face. “They’re up to no good, no doubt. Go on,” he said.

Grimald lowered his voice, “you may not have heard, but the heretics are spreading the word, and worship of the Night Goddess is spreading rapidly throughout the kingdom.”

“This seems like work for the Church,” Udoriol remarked.

“I’ll get to that,” Grimald said.

Udoriol nodded and the dwarf continued, “we think they seek to elevate Her to the Pantheon.”

The elf’s eyes widened. “Is that possible?”

Grimald shrugged. “It worked for Treto. As you are well aware, he went from being a champion of the human slaves to the most powerful god in the Pantheon within a century.”

“That’s because humanity as a whole worshipped Him with all their hearts after He liberated them,” Udoriol pointed out, “and there are so very many of you.”

“We think Ratri seeks to emulate Her natural nemesis,” Grimald said, and Sarah felt the hairs on her neck stand on end. Did Roldo intend for them to get into a fight between gods?

“Saying they are natural nemeses because one is thought to represent the dark and the other the light seems a little farfetched,” the elf scoffed, “besides, the worship of Ratri may well be spreading, but I find it hard to believe the number of Her worshippers can rival that of any of the others in the Pantheon.”

“We fear the heretics may have found other means than sheer numbers,” Grimald said darkly.

“What are they?” Sarah blurted.

“That’s what we’ve been sent to find out,” Grimald remarked.

Udoriol nodded thoughtfully for a moment before asking quietly, “why me?”

“You have the skills we need,” the dwarf replied.

He paused before adding, “you can still call upon Treto’s power, can’t you?”

Udoriol muttered an incantation. The ground around them seemed to shimmer briefly, and Sarah felt power surge through her. She caught the elf staring at her eyes briefly and wondered if the spell had revealed her secret.

“That’s fine,” Grimald said.

Udoriol tore his gaze off Sarah and turned to the dwarf. “That doesn’t answer my question. Why me and not any one of the paladins in the Church’s service? I’m sure the Church would be more than willing to cooperate.”

Grimald broke into a sheepish grin and rubbed the back of his head. “The fact of the matter is the Church is the one who hired us.”

“What?” Sarah and John blurted in unison, attracting irritated glares from the other patrons.

“It seems they tried going after one of the bigger nests of worshippers they detected,” Grimald said, “there must have been hundreds of inquisitors, all in their gleaming armour and robes and righteous fury, but they were massacred to the last. The worshippers they were pursuing scattered to the wind, leaving terribly mutilated bodies on display for a horrified city to see.”

“I’m surprised we hadn’t heard of this,” John gasped, turning pale.

“I’m not,” Udoriol remarked, “the Church is quite adept at hushing things it deems harmful to the faith up.”

“Indeed,” Grimald agreed, “they’ve since come to realize they only know how to apply brute force to a problem and decided that this required more… subtlety… which is where we come in.”

“So they’re washing their hands of the matter?” Sarah asked incredulously, “that seems out of character for them.”

“Even though they were very good at covering their defeat up,” Grimald said, “rumours still persist. They cannot be seen openly pursuing the affair as it could lend credence to those rumours and embolden the heretics.”

“And besides,” Grimald continued, “the Church thinks skulking about in the shadows is something the followers of Ratri would do. Officially, they would never stoop to such things.”

The dwarf paused to lick his lips before adding, “the bottom line is they will not involve their own people for fear of being exposed if things go badly again.”

Udoriol nodded. “That makes sense.”

“So, what say you?” Grimald asked, “the pay is generous. The Church is bankrolling us… on the sly, of course. If we fail, they might burn as at the stake to cover their own behinds.”

“I would not put it past them,” Udoriol smiled grimly, “on the other hand, I do need the money. One cannot live off the land all the way up here, which as an outcast of both the Church and my people is the only place I can live.”

His voice trailed off and Grimald looked at him hopefully. The elf took a deep breath before continuing, “however, I will not be able to accompany you.”

The dwarf’s face fell. He was sure he had closed the deal. “Why not?” he choked.

To everyone’s astonishment, Udoriol drew his sword and swung it towards Sarah’s neck. Her instincts took over and she held out her hand. “Fire blast!” she gasped.

Blue fire shot out of her hand towards the elf, who raised his hand. The air around his hand shimmered brilliantly for an instant, and the fire was deflected onto the ground where it exploded with a crash, leaving a black scorch mark on the bare stone.

John was the next to act. A dagger appeared in his hand, and he slashed at Udoriol’s arm. The elf dodged deftly and leapt back with catlike grace.

“You are Agni’s Chosen,” Udoriol said as he lowered his sword, his tone accusatory “I had my suspicions when your eyes flashed blue briefly earlier.”

“The followers of Agni are no enemies of the Church,” John snarled. His eyes probed his opponent for an opening as he held his dagger at the fore.

“Agni is the most capricious and mindlessly violent of the Five,” Udoriol said, “she is likely to succumb to his call at any moment and turn everyone around her to ash.”

“You lie!” John cried as he lunged forward with his dagger.

The elf deflected his blow easily, and a well-timed kick swept the young man off his feet. John was about to attack with his fists when he was stopped by Udoriol’s blade at his throat.

“You have been hearing his call, haven’t you?” Udoriol continued, levelling his eyes on Sarah.

Sarah nodded feebly. “I have rejected him and will continue to do so.”

“I’m sorry, you seem like a nice enough young lady, but I would not bet on a mortal winning a battle of wills with a God,” Udoriol said gravely. He sheathed his sword and walked away, “I wish you good luck on your venture and must take my leave.”

“Wait,” Grimald called out, “we can work this out.”

“No we can’t,” Udoriol replied with finality. He then disappeared out the door without turning around.

“We’d better leave as well,” John warned as he picked himself up, furious at himself for being bested so thoroughly.

Sarah looked around and saw that the bar patrons were on their feet, staring at Sarah in a mixture of shock and fear. She couldn’t be sure, but it looked like there were one or two fewer than when they walked in.