Adventure of Thir the masked

Caelan leads into the narrow gladiators’ passage, one hand closed around his broken gold torque. Behind him, the altar chamber and its fallen captors remain swallowed by darkness.

Thir still grips the broad iron sword. The gathered hooked blades and skinning knife knock softly against his gear as bells shudder dust from the cramped ceiling.

Ahead, torchlight wavers across the stone. Armored figures advance through the dust, their boots measured and numerous, steel scraping softly as they descend.

The passage offers no cover except a collapsed niche to the left and a steep stair behind Caelan. Guardlight grows brighter, while the bells continue their iron warning.

Thir lowers the broad iron sword and hooks the gathered blades tight against his belt, their weight settling without a clatter. Caelan presses into the collapsed niche as torchlight nears.

He murmurs a brief prayer to Algethor. Divine favor answers: his outline vanishes, leaving only a faint stir in the dusty air.

Wanted criminal marks cling to the guards’ suspicion, and one torch swings toward the hidden recess. Thir slips past their searching light, invisible, while the broad sword’s dark scabbard and hooked blades remain secured against his body.

A guard reaches into the niche, fingers brushing empty stone. Thir crosses behind the patrol with silent, measured steps, then reaches the steep stair beneath the palace kitchens.

At the stairhead, Thir waits until the patrol’s boots turn away. Caelan emerges from concealment and joins him, clutching his broken torque, while the guards remain below.