You Traitor

I had changed into my borrowed royal soldier's uniform, and the set of keys which Devon had given me was clasped in my hand. The cold bite of the metal seeped into my palm. With every step I took, the clanking of the keys against each other echoed like a hammer against my heart. The mine storehouse was built into the side of the mountain, its walls of heavy, rough-hewn stone, perpetually smelling of ore and damp decay, and the entrance to the cellar was hidden behind a heap of discarded crates and sacks in the deepest corner of the storehouse. Lifting the worn, greasy tarpaulin that covered it released a wave of air so thick with moisture, sweat, rust, and decay that it nearly choked me and forced me to choke back a cough. The narrow stone steps were slippery with moisture and moss, and each required careful tread. A single oil lamp sputtered on the wall, and its flickering light stretched and distorted my shadow into monstrous, writhing shapes on the damp stones. "Who's there?" The w