"I said I was only paying for four men," Solomon growled, shivering in the night wind.

"And you are," Phyr replied. "Four men and one woman. Or four humans and one drow."

"I thought you said the girl was a half-elf?" Solomon protested

"Look at it how you will." Phyr trudged gamely along the road to Dour Garrison. "We'll likely be glad we have her."

"I don't like it," The grizzled human said for what seemed like the hundredth time. "No matter how I look at it, I'm paying for an extra head, and I still somehow have to play the lead role in this farce of yours."

"Well which of us looks more like a Coronian guardsman, and which like a prisoner?" Phyr snapped. He fluttered the limp right sleeve of his raggedy jacket for emphasis. "And we couldn't have any of the brothers play the part, they're far too recognizable with that red hair. You're a good, nondescript human. Here." He pulled the flask from beneath his jacket, where he had the daggers stashed, and passed it to Solomon. "Have a swig of that. It'll put you in the right mood. Just stick to the plan, and if anything goes wrong, whack me with that truncheon and swear a lot."

"Why don't you walk me through the plan again?" The human said. "Since you're so confident in it, you should know it backwards and forwards."

"I should hope so," Phyr said, "it's rather short and simple. You, dressed in that uniform that your questionable contacts so graciously procured, will escort me, clad in this prisoner's attire, into Dour. Once there we'll disable any resistance we meet and bring out the prisoner. The brothers will guard the road and the cliff approach from this side, while the half-breed girl covers the rear. If there’s any trouble, all we have to do is get noisy, and she’ll rush in to rescue us.”

“Don’t know how I feel about putting my life in the hands of a slip of a girl,” Solomon muttered. “No matter what sort of powers she says she has.”

“If things go wrong, we’ll be glad we have her.” Phyr repeated. “Don’t fret, you made a wise investment with your coin. I used to be financial advisor to the Baron of Serenti, you know.”

As they rounded a bend that hugged the corner of the cliffs, Dour Garrison came into sight. Phyr felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He still wasn’t certain that all the gold in Corone was worth stepping into a prison voluntarily. His time spent in Devil’s Keep had cost him an arm. The missing limb throbbed distantly, a phantom pain he had felt many times before. Phyr put his lone hand on Solomon’s shoulder and they stopped. One of the shadows alongside the road separated itself from the others, and the youngest of the red haired brothers became visible.

“We’ve got the road and the cliff face locked down,” he whispered, “no one’s getting in or out except you two.”

Phyr made a sharp gesture which sent the lad back to his hiding place. He and Solomon continued along their path, approaching the flickering torches that stood sentinel either side of the garrison’s gate. Two men in chainmail and Dour uniforms hailed them from the guardhouse as they approached, Solomon shoving Phyr ahead of him. The guards were crowded around a small pot-bellied stove, barely bothering to look out the barred window as they called to Solomon.

“Hoi, yew ‘aint Judd!” One of the guards called after an initial greeting was not returned. “What’s goin’ on then? Why ‘aint that prisoner in irons?”

“Errr,” Solomon stammered.

Phyr gritted his teeth and half-turned toward the man. Solomon suddenly remembered his instructions and lifted his heavy truncheon, thrusting its blunt end into the drow’s gut.

Winded, Phyr doubled over. As he gasped for air he heard Solomon calling to the guards.

“Couldn’t put the irons on this fucker, boys, he’s only got one arm! I had to fill in for Judd, the stupid bastard’s got the shits. Now let me in before I freeze my damn tits off!”

By the time Phyr managed to stand up straight, the guards had already activated the winch that opened the gate. Solomon gave them a wave with the truncheon and shoved his charge forwards. A dark note of foreboding replaced the pain in Phyr’s stomach as they stepped through the gateway into Dour Garrison.