"A religion true to its nature must also be concerned about man's social conditions... Any religion that professes to be concerned with the souls of men and is not concerned with the slums that damn them, the economic conditions that strangle them, and the social conditions that cripple them is a dry-as-dust religion." - Martin Luther King, Jr.

We follow the winding roads deeper into Raven's Peak. The stone we pass bear witness to its history and point us towards our destination. The city near the market has buildings made of perfectly shaped stone bricks - the dark granite polished until perfection. We traverse the next few neighbourhoods, changing from sun-bleached slates, to moss-bedecked roofs, and ultimately to the slums that are a mixture of the characteristic tenebrous Hiraebav Mountains and an artificial ochre reinforced by shady wooden beams.

The stench of poorly removed human waste, rotting wood and decay is not dulled by pulling my mantle over my nose and mouth. Pools of stagnant water collect between potholes and up-turned stones. Insects buzz in circles around the water. I spot a dead rat floating in one of the pools and I am sure that the pools are not filled with water alone.

We pass a few wary figures glaring at us menacingly from the doorways of their crumbling shops. Their broken windows, barely transparent, hides their wares from our prying eyes. The buildings grow closer together and the streets are deserted. The wind picks up a crumpled paper and blows it against my ankles - staining my peach coloured dress with the dubious fluid from the potholes.

The same wind carries a young girl's heart-rending sobs to our ears. Turning towards the sound, I see an older woman in questionable attire pulling a younger in similar clothing towards a door with a sign confirming my suspicions - Braen's Brothel. Aedan's hand encloses my clenched fist as he tugs me forward.

The unseen eyes, glaring from the alleys and broken windows, can sense that we are elves, or at the most that our dignified attitude are unfamiliar to this run-down part of town. Our clothes, my bright peach dress and Aedan's forest green, are the only specks of colour in this cesspit. I can cut their hostility from the air and serve it to myself with a side dish of hatred. A shiver moves down my spine. This was not the best idea. It was not even a good idea, but we cannot go back.

"You should cover your ears," I whisper to Aedan - mine at least mostly hidden by my curls. He nods and pulls his cape over his head.

An old, sinewy and ratty man eyeballs us from the crumbling arch of his butchery. I walk to him fearlessly; definitely not intending to buy meat of questionable origin from his shop.

"May the sun shine brightly on you, friend," I say as friendly as I can muster.

He concentrates intensely on ignoring me, earning me a mocking smile from Aedan. "Sister, you will have to try a different approach."

I pull my dagger out and study it while keeping my distance. "Tell me where your filthy thieves gather."

He makes a show of pretending to see me for the first time and snorts - exposing his total of seven useless rotten teeth that might splinter at the slightest hint of a bite. "If you think that me are afraid of you dagger and you, lit' miss, you're wrong."

Aedan, as swift as a hawk, has his elegant sword on the man's gulping Adam's apple. "Your thieves' den, now."

I give Aedan an evil look: "My next step would have been the same. I was just trying to be polite - you can't go around holding weapons at everyone's throats."

The man points: "Two streets down and one to the right. The noise; you'll know 'em from the noise."

Aedan sheathes his sword and walks away.

"Thank you," I say as I generously hand the crook a coin.

"You coulda started with gold."

Aedan mutters something about human scum as we make our way to the noise. The hellish cacophony of squeals, arguing, clanging and something that is supposed to be music oozes from a bar marked The Inebriated Ebelin.

"Even Father and Faolan would want to burn this whole city to ash if they find out that these cockroaches insult us by saying we'd ever lose self-control, and even more by using that word," Aedan says with a rare scarlet colouring his face. "There are three ways to do this."

"What is option three?"

"I really hoped you would choose option one."

"Aedan, violence is rarely the solution, even if it is wholly justified, and they will outnumber us."

"Option two - your approach - is too polite for the likes of them."

"You may be right, but still, what is option three?"

"Only Atarah, Guardian of The Great Knowledge, knows! I just thought three options sounded grander than only two. They would never simply hand our horses back to us."

We turn our attention to the two buff men at the door - doing a most wondrous job of scaring people off. If I could then, without a speck of hesitation, I would, turn around and never glance upon this forsaken hole, but the possibility of Faolan torturing me looks less inviting than them, so Aedan and I approach the two oxen.

They block us by stepping in front of the door. "This is a private establishment."

Aedan holds out two golden coins.

"I'm sure we can come to a suitable arrangement."

The one ox holds two fingers up.

Aedan takes out two more coins. "You drive a hard bargain, my friend."

The ox nods and takes his share from Aedan. The other ox also takes his share. They step away and allow us to enter their domain.

I am hit by the stale smell of alcohol and vomit. Aylissa's voice rings in my ears: "This is why the humans are a lower race. We do not have filth like them." For the first time in my life, I even consider her opinion as having some sense of truth.

The room is dark - the windows boarded up with planks. The only light creeping reluctantly from outside through the cracks between the boards.

"Mother would die of shame if she were ever to find out that we have been in a place like this."

"I won't tell her if you don't," I don't whisper to him.

He smiles. "You better not tell her about the degrading elf-hating places you force me to visit." He changes the topic abruptly by pointing nonchalantly: "Those men in the corner are in charge."

"How can you possibly know that?"

"See how everyone else avoids their eyes and tiptoe around them?"

Our swiftness of foot allows us to approach the company unhindered until we are an arm's reach from them. Two vigilant oxen jump up and block us off. "You do not belong here. We suggest you turn around and go back to your merry lives."

"We wish to speak to the men in charge."

"They do not wish to speak to you."

Aedan looks at me sideways and smiles. As if we are one, we withdraw our daggers and hold them at the oxen's throats.

Hypocrite, I chide myself and look into one of the seated men's eyes, a crisp scar running along his cheek and jawline. "Now, as my brother pointed out, we have a business to discuss with you."

"You can come to join us. I admire a bit of pluck. You two certainly have that."

We sheath our daggers and join the men at the table. Someone brings us chairs. I notice that the whole room is quiet and watching us.

The man is dressed in expensive brown leather. His curls are drawn back and slick with grease. He regards us through wary and swift olive green eyes. "I am Vincenot Six-Fingers. These are my companions Martyn Three-Eyes, Vladislav the Fast and lastly Oto."

I study his companions. Martyn Three-Eyes, in truth, only has one, the other covered by a crimson patch has his charcoal curls tied at his nape and is dressed even more affluently than Six-Fingers. Clearly, the oldest of the company, Vladislav the Fast, is a scrawny man with black cornrows and harsh wrinkles. Oto is a mountain-mole of a man, bald, and dressed in a once-white shirt stained with something the colour of faded blood.

"We are just two guests who had their horses stolen earlier today," Aedan says with a honey-combed voice - sweet, but circled by bees.

Vincenot Six-Fingers taps on the table with the five fingers of his left hand. "Elvish horses - very valuable - worth a lot."

I wonder if he got his name because of literal reasons, or if it is meant figuratively.

"Not a thing you'd want to lose," Vladislav the Fast chimes in a guttural voice.

"So you do know something about our horses." Aedan also noticed that we never told them the breed of our horses.

"You have lost them. Lost things are available for everyone's gain," Six-Fingers replies nonchalantly.

"You have one chance to give our horses back," Aedan threatens.

"We don't know anything about your horses."

Aedan calls their bluff: "You are lying."

"I ask myself, what you can possibly do to convince me to share my information?"

"We will buy the horses at the price you are willing to sell them for."

Aedan nudges me with his elbow. "My companion is mistaken. As the horses are ours, we would be grateful if you could return them to us."

"I like your companion's suggestion more."

I don't know why Aedan can't just support me. We have enough gold with us to just buy the horses. It would be the more peaceful option and we have potentially exhausted Faolan's patience. He would be ready to tear us limb from limb by now, and I am sure Elorhim is doing all he can to further incite my brother's wrath and fury.

The tapping on the table continues. "We are not interested in your money."

The urge to smack his hand into silence is strong. "I do not think you understand the situation completely. We need our horses. We will do anything to get them back."

"No, you misunderstand the situation. Even if I wanted to help you, I could not. Your horses have already been sold. They are already on route to their destination."

"As my companion said, we will do anything to re-obtain our property."

Martyn Three-Eyes looks at Six-Fingers: "Well as delightful as this conversation has been, I think it is time for the ebelini to be escorted out."

"Samneln!"

Everything goes down very quickly after Aedan's justified insult. One of the oxen clenches my elbow and jerks me forcefully. I swing around and punch him in his face. He did not expect me to react and lets go, but immediately makes a grab for my other one. I duck as far as his grip allows me to and kick him, you know - there.

A glance sideways tells me Aedan is also defeating his assailant. After taking a step back, I bump into something. Having no idea how he managed to sneak up on me, I slowly turn around and face the entire pub staring at us. A moment of silence erupts into chaos as Aedan and I put up an excellent fight against the intoxicated masses, but our superior skills from centuries of training, cannot compete with their overwhelming numbers and brute strength.

A few minutes later finds us with swords to our throats and hearts, our arms pinched behind our backs and a whole room full of unhappy, staring eyes, that will, with the arrival of some hours, turn blue and bruised. A smile creeps onto my face as I see a guy limping onto a corner, with a shoulder hanging at a clearly unnatural and excruciating angle. His friends better pop that one right back before the muscles swell and stiffen.

Three-eyes walks to us. "You would have to excuse us if we also relieve you of your gold, weapons and jewellery."

"You have to understand that it is nothing personal, but we cannot let the opportunity pass," Vladislav the fast agrees.

Six-Fingers takes my wrist and inspects the bracelet for a way to take it off. Yet again it seems to have predicted the turn of events as he fails to slip the infinite bracelet from my wrist.

"How do you get this thing off?" he asks with a vicious tug.

"It was fitted to her arm many years ago. She hasn't been able to remove it in centuries."

Sometimes I am very grateful for Aedan's ability to lie unflinchingly.

"Leave it. We have gained unimaginable wealth already," Three-Eyes tells his companion as we are escorted out - escorted being the polite and diminutive term to describe it.