The guards could still be heard searching the city as Caledorn and Dalen leapt over the wall into the forest outside. The underbrush was thick, and although the town watch sent search parties out, the two escapees soon evaded the guards completely. Caledorn seemed to know the land well, weaving in and out of the brush like a forest creature. Dalen attempted to keep up, but after Caledorn sent what seemed to be the thousandth branch flying back into his face he soon gave up altogether.

"Stupid elf," he grumbled as he wiped the blood from a small cut on his cheek that had been caused by an aforementioned branch.

"What was that?" Caledorn replied, stopping momentarily and shooting the elf an annoyed expression.

"Oh nothing, nothing at all! I um... I just said 'stupid self', because I stumbled on a twig!" Dalen stammered, running a hand through his dark hair nervously. As much as the elf was beginning to get on his nerves, he needed his help. He was on the run now, and there would surely be people hunting for him. He would need allies.

Caledorn rolled his eyes. "You should probably be aware that we elves have quite keen hearing. I heard you."

"Oh... Well that's awkward." Dalen looked down at the ground and pretended to be studying his feet until Caledorn turned and continued onward.

They moved on until they reached a small, well-concealed campsite in the middle of the forest. Aside from a forest-green tent and a barely-visible fire pit, there was nothing there that would even distinguish it as a campsite at all.

Caledorn immediately set about securing the area, scouring every bush and tree for possible enemies. Dalen, exhausted from their frantic flight from the city, fell onto the ground, letting out a loud, dramatic sigh.

"Ah, cruel world!" He said, tracing the clouds overhead with his finger. "I've done some admittedly foul things in my life, but my head was nearly separated from my shoulders for a crime I did not commit."

Caledorn, after being satisfied that the bushes weren't filled to the brim with bow-wielding Gondorians, returned to the campfire and took a seat beside Dalen. "Your fate at the headsman's blade was merely delayed. Your kind eventually all die violent deaths."

"Such optimism from my rescuer is greatly appreciated," the thief replied, voice heavy with sarcasm. He sat up slowly, eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Why did you rescue me, anyhow? I'm a man of little worth with little to offer."

Caledorn drew a dagger, almost casually, and began to etch designs into the ground with it. As Dalen studied the smooth ebony blade, the white elvish symbols etched into it appeared to dance and transform before his eyes, undulating like ivory flames.

"I rescued you," he began, focused on his sketch in the dirt. "Because I need someone with your... talents. And talents of your particular variety are quite difficult to find among reputable folk."

Dalen's eyes locked on the elf's. "So you need someone to do your dirty work?"

"In a word, yes. Though in practice the work required will be far more 'clean' than what you are accustomed to. For what I require you to steal is something of great value, and it is being held by evil people in an exotic land far from here."

"What exactly am I stealing?" Dalen asked. He found it odd that an elf, of all people, was asking him to steal something. It seemed like a distinctly un-elvish thing to do.

The mysterious warrior glanced around furtively, almost as though he expected the trees themselves to start listening in on their conversation. "Not here. I have an encampment close by that will be a more secure place to conduct business."

"Why should I go?" Dalen asked, lifting his chin defiantly. "I'm free now. There's nothing to prevent me from walking away and never turning back."

The elf merely raised his coal-black brows with what appeared to be amusement. "Where exactly would you go? Every city in Gondor has a bounty on your head, and your reputation fares little better in the northlands. You have nothing aside from the clothes on your back, with no gold to secure your passage and no weapons to protect yourself from brigands and bandits. You need me. For now, at least. And besides," he said as he patted the pouch at his side. "Such a venture as what I am proposing would be most beneficial to you and is exactly the kind of work you'd seek regardless, if I'm not mistaken."

He had Dalen there, without a doubt. Despite that short, uncomfortable stay in the dungeon and the near scrape with death that followed, the plucky thief had no intentions of turning away from his path of lawlessness. Still, it didn't pay to be too eager about a job. "Perhaps you're right," he said, feigning an expression of disinterest. "I suppose I'll at least listen to your offer. You've earned that much."

"That much and more besides, I should think," the elf said, clearly savoring his position as savior. "But enough talk. My hideout is nearly a day's walk through rough terrain."

"I thought you said it was nearby," Dalen said with a sigh, letting his shoulders sag in disappointment.

"I might have been slightly more nebulous with my wording than I intended," Caledorn replied. He turned, though as he did Dalen thought he caught the slightest hint of a smile tugging at the stoic elf's lips. "Nevertheless, the road lies ahead. Prepare yourself."

=======================

It indeed took all day to reach the encampment, and then some. First, the warrior elf had led Dalen through thick, nearly untraversible forests, and following that they entered a swamp that was rank with blackflies and biting insects of a most unpleasant sort. And then, just when Dalen thought it couldn't possibly get worse, they came upon a canyon with sheer cliffs of cloven stone on either side.

Dalen put his hands on his hips, studying the incline with mock interest. "I suppose you failed to remember that this was here, eh?"

Though Caledorn's expression hardly changed, it was the equivalent of an eye roll among less stoic folk. "Of course I knew it was here. There is a way through, a narrow path that weaves up the cliff. Our destination lies at the top."

Dalen cast a doubtful glance upward, noting the steep rock and seemingly featureless land above. "You sure?"

"Yes, I am certain," The elf replied, a hint of a growl rising in his voice. "Follow me, thief."

As the elf had said with confidence, there was indeed an almost invisible path carved into the cliff face. Caledorn set a brisk pace upward, casting an occasional glance at the thief; It seemed to Dalen as if the elf expected him to be fearful of the fall.

"I'm not afraid of heights, you know," He said as he dangled his foot out over the emptiness, as if tempting it to claim him. "Rooftops are my preferred method of home invasion, after all."

Caledorn gave a signature eyebrow raise before turning back to the path ahead. "There are none who fear heights," he retorted. "Just those who fear falling."

Not allowing his spirit to be dampened by his companion, Dalen caught up with him and dropped down over the ledge, pulling himself along by his hands as his feet clung to the rocks below like a spider. "That is untrue. People fear hitting the ground and painting it with their entrai-"

Caledorn silenced him, pulling him back onto the ledge and covering his mouth with one swift motion. Dalen attempted to speak through the elf's gloved hand but the serious expression on Caledorn's face made him think better of it. Instead, he followed Caledorn's gaze to the precipice of the cliff. At first, the object of the keen elf's gaze seemed to be little more than a rock obscured in shadow, but after a moment of studying it intently, it moved! Crouched mere inches from the edge, what now appeared to be a cloaked figure seemed to be testing the dirt, rubbing it between gloved fingers and bringing it close to its cowled head. Its movements were almost unnatural, jerking abruptly like a clockwork puppet. Dalen thought he caught a glint of steel from beneath the folds of its cloak; likely a weapon of some sort. Beyond that, though, it seemed to exude an aura of fear. Dalen instinctively pressed himself against the craggy rocks, drawing his cloak about himself for comfort.

"What is that?" He hissed at Caledorn. The elf merely pressed a finger to his lips, nodding toward the newcomer. Though the elf was quite good at hiding his thoughts, a lone bead of sweat trickled down his forehead unnoticed. He's scared too, Dalen realized, the thought doing little to assuage his fear.

As if reading his mind, the stranger's head whipped up, revealing nothing but a black emptiness under the hood. A faint sound emanated from beneath the cowl, a sound akin to the grinding of cogs. Dalen could hear his heartbeat thundering in his ears, dread filling him at the thought of being discovered by this intruder. It stood stock still for a long moment, its dark maw of a face looking straight ahead. And then, as if called away by some unheard voice, it stood, spinning on one heel and sprinting out of sight over the lip of the cliff.

"An assassin," Caledorn said before Dalen had a chance to ask. "They've been following me for some time, now."

"Oh really??" Dalen sputtered, pushing away from the cliff wall with some indignation. "I suppose you didn't find it pertinent to mention the fact that you were pursued by hired killers to your traveling companion."

"All in good time," Caledorn replied, hurrying ahead on the path once more. "All of your inquiries will be answered, and more besides, when we arrive at our destination. Once you know the urgency of our quest, you will understand why I act with such secrecy. For now, though, trusting the individual who rescued you from certain death with suffice."

"Ah yes," Dalen said, rolling his eyes. "I suppose I'll never hear the end of that, then."

"Not until I tire of it," the elf replied. Dalen laughed, but when Caledorn did not, he wondered if the elf hadn't been joking.

It took another hour before they reached their destination, a place that, at first, appeared to be little more than an abandoned cabin. When they entered, however, Caledorn went straight for a large bearskin rug in front of the now-dusty fireplace, pulling it aside to reveal a trapdoor that was almost indistinguishable from the surrounding floor. 

"You first," he said, motioning to the rather precarious ladder that led down into the murky darkness below.

"I'd rather not," the thief replied, taking a step backward. The warrior elf glowered at him before lowering his own lithe frame into the porthole, soon disappearing into the shadowy nothingness.

Reluctantly, Dalen followed suit, testing the first rung of the ladder before trusting it fully with his weight. He was a slender man, but he had heard tales that elves were weightless, and he'd rather be cautious than meet an untimely end in some glorified hidden basement.

By the time he reached the bottom, Caledorn had already lit a torch, placing it in a sconce over a strange table covered in runes he did not recognize. Sorcery, most likely, the thief told himself with a nod. He knew something was off about this elf.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light he observed more of his surroundings. Nearest him, beside the strange table, was a large weapon rack filled with a dizzying variety of weaponry. There were swords and daggers, of course, but there were also throwing stars and axes, along with several bladed weapons that even Dalen failed to identify.

Further into the room were two training dummies. One looked like a porcupine, as it was filled with long, black arrows identical to the ones in Caledorn's quiver. The other's filling was spilling out of its midsection like wooly entrails, some of it already piled on the floor beneath.

Dalen's attention was soon drawn away from these, however. In the furthest corner of the room, obscured by shadows and dust, was a humanlike figure.

"Caledorn, look out!" He exclaimed, diving for the nearest cover, which was the rune-covered table. When the elf didn't immediately follow suit, he peeked out from behind the table.

"Nonsense, Avernon," Caledorn merely said, his voice betraying no hint of alarm. "Come out from behind there."

As he did, Caledorn pulled the torch from its sconce and strode over to the figure. As it became bathed in light, it quickly became clear that it was no more than a mannequin, upon which a suit of dark leather armor sat.

Dalen, attempting to recover some slight shred of dignity, began to clap slowly and meaningfully. "Congratulations, you passed my test. I was merely testing your reflexes and clearly, they're quite good!"

Caledorn waited for him to stop clapping before replying. "When you're done attempting to amuse me, we can begin discussing our mission. Come, take a seat. It will take some time to explain..."