Chapter 8: Motivation

I'm much happier with a sword on my hip, even a short one fit for a hobgoblin, as we exit through the next door and into the tunnel beyond. No sleep, that would be pushing our luck, but at least food in our bellies and a hit of spirits to warm the blood has given me renewed energy.

Now that we're all at least reasonably armed, even Graldor hefting a small axe as though his dwarfish descent is more powerful than his wizard training, I feel some optimism we might actually make our way out of this prison, though I don't know that I'm as motivated to hunt down the Soulblade as the others. And yet, there's a pull forward I can't deny, an excitement that burns in my heart when I pace next to Damaris with my eyes scanning the way ahead, empty save for more torches and the roughhewn outline of the tunnel walls. I'm meant to keep going, driven by it. Amorphous and unexplained, but present. And while I can't remember why I'm here, surely their quest is my own? The voice that sent me through the light and into the cell talked of the Soulblade.

That must mean I'm heading in the right direction. I just wish I knew why. Emotional motivation might give me a boost when I need it most. I'll just have to trust that if the time comes I'm lucky enough to confront the Demon King-or unlucky as the case may be-I'll know what to do when I need to do it.

I can do little about my predicament, and so I instead allow myself to accept and move on. I observe my surroundings with a feeling of detached curiosity, senses tuned further ahead and whatever threats might be pending. Whoever built the passage to the

cells wanted to ensure prisoners held there have little option when it comes to escape. The tunnel curves vaguely upward, my thighs burning slightly from the increased elevation, Graldor puffing unhappily behind me while Blossom skips forward to hold my free hand.

Startled, I look down at her, see her wink and bat her lashes before she laughs and falls back again. I can't help but smile, though I wonder at her crush and if she knows I already feel protective of her as I might a little sister.

"How goes it, Graldor?" I glance over my shoulder where Vosh takes the rear, his head just brushing the ceiling. At least it's a little higher here so he's not hunching as he had been forced to do, though I wonder if his massive stature might, at some point, become a hindrance and not a help. Though it's good to have such a big friend around when I need him, if we are forced into any kind of tight places he may become a liability.

The BL marking on my arm burns briefly and I shake off that train of thought, the faint red of the FH turning the last letter faintly to an S before shifting back again. My mind quivers with a hint of information. From faithful hero to selfish in a flash of decision. I don't know what that means really, I know so little, but it troubles me nonetheless.

Graldor responds, the small rune stone in his hand. "I think I've tapped into the magic that allows it to trap those in its vicinity," he says, a certain level of excitement in his voice that's unfamiliar from him. But discussing magic seems to stir the passion in him and he goes on with a smile on his face. "I should be able to keep us out of it, now that I've keyed the spell to ignore our particular touch."

"Should bes make me nervous." Blossom tosses her head, topknot bouncing. "Just make sure you've got all of us covered. I'm not interested in slowing down at a time when I need speed on my side." Not like her to grumble, though I remember then she likely still carries animosity for the wizard's refusal to give her the stone.

"Maybe I should set it to trap you, halfling," Graldor says in a sweet tone that makes me grin. "And leave you here for the change of guard."

She snarls something in a language I don't recognize, though the meaning is as plain in any dialect and since he's used the same tactic on her I know it's a calculated choice. I

have a feeling our little halfling is much more intelligent than any of us give her credit for, including me.

"Temper, temper," Fleur says in her sing-song voice. "Shut up," Blossom snaps.

"If you're done entertaining yourselves," Damaris snarls at them in a low tone that vibrates with annoyance, "maybe you'd all like to be quiet so we don't walk into something we're unprepared for."

"Indeed," Vosh says, though when I turn to meet his blue eyes he's grinning, the padding of his big feet a little louder than needful. He's the only one of us without a weapon, nothing of use to him in the guard room. But he's hardly without protections of his own and those massive fists and big feet are formidable enough I don't doubt he'll be fine if it comes time to fight again.

When it comes time.

Despite the paladin's harsh criticism, we encounter nothing and no one, instead coming to a halt not long later at the foot of a set of spiral stairs. It's dark, no light reaching us, and I consider going back to liberate a torch when Blossom patters past me on her furry feet and scampers upward.

"Damn her." Damaris goes after her, hand on her sword to keep it from jingling in her scabbard and I do the same, Graldor openly complaining now in dwarfish and the troll sighing at the tight space.

Fleur practically floats upward, slipping past me when I pause to scoot aside for Graldor and wait for Vosh to maneuver his big bulk around the continuing curve.

"I'll be fine," he says, only the faintest trace of frustration in his eyes, though I could be reading him wrong. He's a troll, after all.

"I'm not leaving you," I say. And when he grins I know I'm reading him just fine, thank you.

It's not a long climb, but enough that Vosh is squeezed tight by the staircase's embrace by the time we reach the group. They've stopped, whispering among themselves, while I tap Fleur on the shoulder.

"What's wrong?" I peek around her, spot the door and the sight of Blossom and Damaris arguing in heated whispers. Graldor leans against the wall with a disgusted look on his face, turning to gesture to me.

"It appears they're having a terribly timed discussion about the halfling's impetuousness," Fleur says.

I slip past her as best I can without crushing her against the stone curve and frown at the wizard who tosses his hands.

"Listen," I say to the two unhappy souls who turn to glare at me like they don't welcome the interruption, "maybe you two would like to have this conversation somewhere we're not pinned down if we're discovered. And that our troll friend isn't a target unable to protect himself."

Damaris flinches, Blossom herself looking at least momentarily contrite. "After you," the halfling gestures at the door.

"No, please," Damaris grinds between clenched teeth. "You first. Maybe someone will kill you and save me the trouble."

The halfling rogue makes a rude gesture with her middle finger before pushing the door open and slipping around it like a shadow washed away by the sun. She moves so fast I blink, wondering for a moment if she was even there at all until she reappears, waves, disappears again.

"All clear, I'd guess," I say. "Shall we?"

"She's going to be a problem," Damaris says, eyes snapping with anger.

"Then she'll get herself killed, as you said," I shoot back. "And take care of the problem for you. But the more you try to stop her the worse it will get." That much is apparent. "Just let her do her thing and you do yours. And if she draws attention we don't want, we'll deal with it."

Damaris looks like she wants to argue, but Graldor grunts and pushes past her, out the door, Fleur following. I let the paladin go with them, waiting again for Vosh who sighs deeply, voice pitched low and quiet.

"I fear our halfling friend is less of an issue than Damaris herself." He sounds slightly guilty saying so.

I'm thinking the exact same thing, guilt free, however. But this isn't the time or place to fret over it. There's always the option to cut ties and move on myself, though I feel comfortable with this group of fellow adventurers. As if this is how I'm meant to proceed. And so, until I feel otherwise, I'll stick things out and see where their association takes me.

All the way to the Soulblade?

I pass through the door with that question on my mind, my arm aching as the tattoo glows faintly in answer.

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