There were many beasts in Pinedon. Some were more frightening than others, especially those that hid out in the forests. The giants, wraiths, and rootbeaks, for example. No one ever witnessed their presence in cities, not during the night or the brightest light of day. Trees were their accompanying family, as was loneliness and the dark.

Only so many beasts were docile enough to live in the cities and maintain a disgusted standard of being the ugliest creatures to walk the land. Ogres fit into that category. And for Faine and any other sane person in Pinedon, there weren't many sights more frightening than watching an ogre barrel down the stairs. Directly for her.

Ogres didn't need weapons. Their bare hands, thick fingers, and scarred palms were better than any blade could cut. They twisted and grabbed and crushed. An entire shop filled with an array of weapons wasn't necessary; the value didn't compare to what an ogre could do with their bodies.

Faine flicked both wrists, and the hidden blades broke free from the bracers on her forearms. An ogre's arms were long and thick, like tree trunks, and Glugark had the opportunity to reach Faine before she could even think of slicing for any part of his body. She looked around quickly, eyes searching, and discovered a wooden beam over her head.

The iron bars were perfect pivot points and Faine latched on to either side, hoisting herself high just as Glugark reached the bottom step. Loose stone kicked up underneath his bare feet when he took off towards her, leaping into the air.

Faine tucked her legs against her chest and placed her palms flat against the top of the wooden beam over her head. The ogre stumbled, falling forward where his weight took him, and the entire dungeon shook against his drum for a stomach hitting the ground. Faine was too distracted on getting back down and finding a way to disable the maddened beast that she didn't notice Ilian running for them.

When she came down, legs falling into thin air, Ilian smashed directly into her body. Faine's hands slipped off the wooden beam, and she crashed to the floor, the foolish mortal tripping over her and nearly finding his way into the ogre's reach.

"Work with me, Ilian," she grunted, pivoting to face Glugark.

"How was I supposed to know you were dropping?" snapped Ilian. There was no use for Faine to go after Glugark; the mortal was not completely foolish. He held a sword over the ogre's throat, his body crumbled and huddled against the wall. The beast huffed through his nose and glared up at the two members of Silver Willow above him and received no sympathetic looks in response.

Faine squatted down, not only to reach his eye level but to calm the pain burning through her legs after Ilian nearly broke them. Her ass hurt, too. The ground wasn't exactly the softest cushion to land on.

"You're going to cooperate," Faine demanded. "You'll tell us everything you know, understand?"

Glugark spit onto the floor and the acidic level caused the dirt to sizzle. Why did Pinedon have to be full of such disgust?

"Move, now," Ilian demanded. He pointed his sword towards the staircase and Faine led the way, taking them back up to the main level of the shop.

Surprisingly, Glugark didn't fight his way out, nor did he attempt at disabling either of them. The ground shook when he stumbled up the steps and his breath was heavy; each huff sounded no better than a bull. He cooperated when Ilian strapped him to a chair in his workroom and didn't cry out when the ropes tightened around his wrists and ankles. Ogres were strong enough to break through everything, but interrogations weren't held over tea.

Faine crossed her ankles together and folded her arms over her chest. This was her first test as a member of Silver Willow, and it was only natural for her to conduct the interrogation to reveal what she had up her sleeve. More than what Ilian believed.

The workroom was too dark for the mortal to see anything beyond the flickering flame of the torch on the wall, but Ilian didn't reveal the lack of convenience for his kind. He twisted the blade back and forth in his hand, one with a dragon's pommel and scaled handle. The blade was long and lean, and if Faine had to guess, was one of the most expensive weapons in the shop, nearly as much as she had paid. The coins Glugark still had in his pocket.

"You are fond of weapons," Faine began.

The ogre creased his brows and the corner of his lip curdled into a snarl. "I suppose felirams are stupid enough to not see what's right in front of them. Of course, I'm fond of weapons. I'm fond of selling them and using them on invaders. Your kind," Glugark threatened.

"You see, whenever I walk into a shop like this, I expect to only find weapons and shields and other pointy things I don't care to elaborate on." Faine waved her hand around, bored. "The last thing I expect to find is an underground operation that houses weak, ill, and dead mortals. I understand you're fond of selling weapons, but in case you haven't noticed, those lives aren't weapons."

Ilian's stare dropped to the floor of the workroom. The flame shadowed half his face, and the rest held the simple truth to his ire. The mortals were his people; he was supposed to protect them from the terrors of Pinedon. Faine remembered the young girl's face, cold and nude in the underground dungeon. Did she realize her fate would be death? Did she have any hope that someone would come to find her?

"I want you to tell me what you planned to do with those mortals," Faine demanded. "Cooperate, and you face no pain."

Ilian wasn't the only one staring at the floorboards. The ogre took that moment as his chance to do the same to avoid answering such a simple question. They always balked to test the patience of their interrogators, and Faine, over so much experience in this situation, knew how to get answers out of those that didn't wish to give them.

She put one foot in front of the other and stopped halfway between where she had stood before and where Glugark sat, hunched in the chair. His stomach folded over his hips; likely bruised from slamming into the floor of the dungeon. Faine avoided thinking about the sickly color of his skin and regained her focus.

"When I was looking around your shop, I didn't see much else other than swords. Daggers, yes. Knives, certainly. Shields, of course." She shrugged dramatically and squatted before the chair to meet the ogre's eye line. He wouldn't look at her otherwise. "But what I didn't see was the availability of hidden weapons. Don't get me wrong; not everyone specializes in such an available weapon, but I do."

Faine stuck out her right arm and flicked her wrist. Metal whined, and the hidden blade ripped free, inches away from pressing against the inside of her wrist. She revealed that truth to Glugark, and he looked at the blade for a second, then forced his eyes to drop to his lap. A place Faine would never venture, no matter how hard his attention was to grasp.

"I don't like when I don't get what I want," she went on. Faine ran her finger over the pointed tip of the blade, crafted by one of the finest blacksmiths in Isflean. "I know how to be patient, but who has time for patience? Now, I won't ask this again—what did you plan to do with those mortals?"

Ilian shifted on his feet. She ignored him.

When not a single word melted into the dark, Glugark tightening his mouth instead, Faine braced her hands against her knees and pushed herself back to a standing position. The ogre reeked the closer she got to him and she held her breath, all the while sticking the hidden blade against the rounded, hair-covered hole of his nostril.

Glugark tipped his head back until it pressed against the chair. He had nowhere to go and nowhere to hide. As Faine had been only minutes ago.

"Tell me what you planned to do with those mortals and I won't give you a piercing you didn't ask for," she hissed. Faine's patience wasn't faltering, but she imagined herself killing the beast in front of her. Some terrible acts were dreams, but when lives were at stake, anyone with a heart reached drastic measures for a victim.

The ogre had probably faced tougher battles than this. He tightened his jaw and clenched the end of the armrests in preparation. He wasn't going to mutter a word about the many lives downstairs. They only had so much time before another died or fell to illness. 

For the mortals, for Ilian, for everything Faine had witnessed over these years, she thrust the blade up and through the thick skin of the ogre's nose. Glugark cried out in pain and black blood pooled down his face, over his lips, and down his chin. She quickly removed the blade, only to press it to his other nostril.

"Bitch," Glugark growled.

Faine pouted, then grinned wide to reveal her fangs to the ogre now brave enough to stare back at her. "You men use that term as if it'll hurt us. I suggest you come up with new insults; everyone is a bitch nowadays." Just to shock him, she thrust the blade up again and pierced another hole in his other nostril.

He thrashed in the chair and cried out. It pleased Faine enough that she distanced herself to keep from taking out one of his eyes. Glugark spit onto the floor. "The mortals aren't my business. I'm holding them for someone else; they should be sitting in this chair."

"We found them in your shop," Ilian snapped, stepping forward to stand at Faine's side. It was strange for her to look over and not find Kaspar there, instead it was the young and hard features of a mortal that faced too much beyond his years. He was young, though his face held the years of a man far, far older. "Believe it or not, we're willing to end this interrogation much quicker than you'd like."

Glugark glared at them both. The hidden battle in his thoughts remained private. "I'm telling the truth when I say the mortals are not mine," Glugark said. Blood continued to drip onto his tattered apron. "They belong to another. I'm paid handsomely for storing them."

"Tell us who it is and we'll let you have your life," offered Faine. It was a quick decision to make, and a promise molded between strangers. Promises weren't always kept. "Either give us a name, or you lose an eye."

If it was possible for an ogre to pale, Glugark did. Faine was losing her sanity, quickly, and she stomped forward, grabbed the back of his head, and thrust it back. She held the tip of the blade to one of his fogged, disgusting eyes and waited. Ilian didn't move or attempt to stop her. Too risky. She might've stabbed him instead.

Glugark was shaking now. He stared at that blade and waited for his fate that Faine was more than happy to deliver. She thrust the blade back, far, and shoved it forward again. The ogre screamed at the top of his lungs and Ilian stepped forward to hold the chair to keep it from falling back. His grimace was one that Faine ignored.

Without piercing the brain and without making it too quick, Faine yanked Glugark's eye out and tossed it onto the floor. Her hand streamed with black blood; it poured down her arm and into her sleeve. The empty socket curdled her guts, but she braced her hands against her knees and forced him to stare at her with his one good eye. Half his face was black.

Glugark whimpered through his rotten teeth. "It's not me," he cried out. "I'm not the owner of the mortals."

"You said that already," Faine growled. She pressed the blade against his clean cheek and waited. "Give me a name and you get to keep the other eye. A generous gift from me to you."

Ilian watched her carefully as if he wasn't quite believing what was before him. The confidence of someone willing to rip out an eye...it was clear Faine had done this before. She had, and remembered each one just for the pure disgust of it. Taking out any body parts was one of her least favorite things to do, but when it had to occur—she didn't hesitate. And she didn't depend on her partner, whether Ilian or Kasper, to do it, either.

Live with the burden, as well as the outcome.

"They're bait," Glugark sobbed. He shook his head. Faine removed the blade. "They're bait for young sinwolves to practice on. The mortals are unleashed in the woods and the sinwolves chase them, catch them, and eat them alive. I'm only housing them. They're not mine."

Faine and Ilian exchanged a look.

"That's not a name," Ilian said with utter calm. "Give us a name and we'll leave this place now."

Silence.

Then, "Steelmaw."

The mortal swore underneath his breath and pushed his hands from where they'd rested against the spindled top of the chair. Faine didn't bother asking his association with Steelmaw, other than the woods on the way to both Silver Willow's base and Olhathas. It was a daring trip for anyone, especially mortals.

Many had to take the western route to avoid being stuck between Steelmaw Woods and the Goblin Traps to the south of Olhathas. They took the extra trip to avoid risking their lives, but many still didn't make it. Too many beasts, not enough protection. Mortals looked out for themselves with no one on their side.

"It's difficult to make weapons with one eye, isn't it?" Faine asked. She scrunched up her nose.

Glugark nodded in defeat and hung his head.

"Well, let me help you, then. Immortals have the power to give others an advantage. It would be wrong of me to not give you the same luxury."

Expectantly, the ogre met her eye. It was all she needed, enough space and enough room to slash the hidden blade along his throat. Black blood sprayed, and he gagged, causing Ilian to whirl, but it was too late. Glugark choked on his own insides and his face paled, his head hanging so it never rose again.

"Celestia won't be happy with that," he guttered. "We're not supposed to kill everyone we speak to."

Faine was already walking to the door. "I work differently than your guild. Besides, he knows our faces and our voices. He can reveal that to anyone."

When she opened the door, Ilian pressed his hand against it. "Eliphas is part of Steelmaw," he informed. "It's one of the most notorious sinwolf packs in Pinedon."

"Then he knows about the mortals." Faine shoved the door open and headed straight for the counter. She threw books, cloths, flint, weapons, and materials aside and searched for hidden compartments that might hold the keys to the dungeon rooms. "We'll reveal that to Celestia once we return to the base."

She reached as far back as she could. Her fingers grazed against a rough knob and she tugged open. The hidden compartment nearly tumbled out, including the keys and a single diamond. "Here," she said, holding it up to Ilian. "I'm already paying you back for the crown."

He showed no amusement, but pocketed the diamond and followed her down the stairs of the dungeon. Most had heard the commotion and were standing against the bars, gripping tight. Their faces were hollow, lifeless, and their bodies were thin enough that it made Faine sick. She hated the sight of them, near death, and looked back to the young girl near the end of the dungeons.

"If anyone has any information, I need to know now," Faine called out. "Does anyone know if there are other mortals in danger?"

"Some of us were taken," a deep voice informed to her right. Faine turned, and the older face of a man studied her lilac skin and large, coiled horns. She wondered how they saw her, whether a monster or a savior. They didn't trust, and she didn't blame them. "They took us here. Others disappeared elsewhere. We're spread through Olhathas so if anything happened to us as a group, there'd still be another."

"Do you know where?"

He shook his head. "I have no clue."

Everything they had gathered was too important to hold in for the next couple days. They had to get back to the base as soon as possible and relay the truth to Celestia. Too many lives were at stake, and if Eliphas was involved, he'd have no other choice but to hand over that information to his boss.

Faine handed half the keys off to Ilian. "Today, you've been rescued from the terrors of these dungeons. The ogre is dead, and you're free to go. I only ask that you don't share what happened to you, don't tell others what you saw here—specifically our faces—and stay hidden until this is buried. If you have nowhere to go, stick together with someone else that is in the same position. You are mortals, you need each other. All I can provide you is this freedom."

They unlocked the many cell doors, the hinges gasping and groaning with lack of use. Nude and cold mortals rushed out, attempting to cover themselves, but the body of a mortal did not differ from that of a beast. Faine couldn't count how many times the elves walked through the streets without a lick of clothes on their bodies—it was to flaunt their beauty, and no one thought twice about it.

Faine opened the last of her doors and turned towards Ilian. He was draping his spare cloak over the shoulders of the young woman and saying something too low for her to make out. Reassurance, possibly. Promising for a better life. He dropped a silver coin into her palm and pointed towards the stairway. She was too young and too frightened to share her gratitude, but watching her leave on her own power was enough for Faine.

There was nothing they could do about the many dead bodies in the cells. They didn't have enough time to alert their families or give them a proper burial. So Faine and Ilian departed into the street, didn't bother locking the door behind them, and set out to gathering their report for Celestia.

On the outskirts of Olhathas, Faine was so deep in her thoughts she didn't notice a huddled mass hidden within the pine trees. At the first second of her recognition and in response to Ilian's cry of warning, it leapt out, reaching for Faine, and its large paws slammed into her shoulders, pinning her to the dirt trail.