The darkness was comforting, and in a way, Quelana felt closer to home than she'd been in a long time. The tunnels burrowing through, what she assumed was, the Duke's Archives were a black tangle of passages, some leading up slopes, some curving around bends and twists, some coming to dead ends, and yet others opening up to branch off to even more tunnels. If if wasn't for her pyromancy, the way would be as black as charred rock, and she would likely never find her way out, but her flames provided enough light to guide her feet. She held her hand outstretched before her, commanding her fire to leap from the tips of her fingers and show her the way as she walked; ever deeper into whatever strange passage the men she'd burned had brought her to.

They had given pursuit for a while, but they were many and she was one and soon enough she outpaced them, listening as their voices became distant chatter fading away behind her and then it was only her and the darkness and the quiet hum of her pyromancy's burning flames. She had had enough time to consider why, exactly, they had taken her in the first place, deciding that it must have been to remove her from Abby. She could only hope now that the girl was safe, and that Quelana would find her way back to her. Before it's too late, she thought, stepping carefully around a sharp turn in the tunnel.

She came to a short bridge, cool water gushing down from the vented walls, around it and a 'T' intersection on the far side. Quelana crossed, letting her fingers graze the water beside her, and halted. She surveyed the two paths. Where were they taking me? She wondered. Clearly they wanted me alive or they would have cut my throat as I slept. So where did they want to stash me? The two passages, as many of the passages had before them, looked identical. Quelana shook the sleeve from her wrist and held up a hand, commanding a thin stream of flame straight up from her index finger. It rose and wavered, shuddering to the left. She quelled it and went right, tracing the origin of the faint wind that carried through the dark.

Quelana walked on like that for quite a while, repeating her small pillar of flame at every intersection she came across. The tunnels were markedly the same, save for the flow of air that pushed her fire more severely in one direction at each crossing, and after a half dozen more turns, she was convinced she was nearing the end of... well, whatever the tunnel ended in.

The end turned out to be a steep drop into a black, gaping, hole that came so abruptly after one final turn, Quelana nearly walked right into it. She gasped and pulled her foot back at the last moment, her heel sliding out on a smattering of pebbles. They rolled off the edge and plummeted into the hole, clicking and clacking off the curved walls as they fell. If there was a bottom, she did not hear them land against it. She sighed and ignited her pyromancy just enough to cast the upper rim of the hole aglow. She leaned forth and peered into it, then raised her gaze upwards. There, protruding from the wall and shining against her fire, a ladder rung awaited. Quelana frowned and sent a lick of flame upwards. It rose, revealing a whole row of rungs leading upwards.

What madness is this? she thought as the flames dyed away and the blackness returned. Who would set a ladder above such a drop? It would be suicide to... That's when she had it. The ladder was never meant to be taken in descent. It was a trap. The only safe passage was to climb it from where she stood. Quelana took a breath, lit a flame to light the way once more, and reached forth. Her hand found the rung, the pale knuckles fading to an ever fairer shade as she gripped it tightly, and pushed off the ground.

For one, dizzying, moment she hovered there suspended above a drop that could very well drop for an eternity. Then her free hand found the rung beside her first and she took a firm hold of it. Her legs and feet dangled beneath her until she planted them into the wall and wrestled her way upwards, grasping at the next higher rung above. Soon enough, her boots landed on the first rung, and then the ascent was easy-going.

She climbed in the darkness, too afraid to loose a hand and cast a flame to light her path, for a long time, and as she rose, she could feel a cool air pressing against her brow, and the distant sounds of thumping rumbling into the walls. Her hands moistened with a cold sweat and her breath grew shallow and Quelana realized she was terrified of whatever awaited her. The dark had slipped around her like an old friend, and it would be difficult to cast it aside one again. You will not flee, she told herself. You will not abandon Abby as you did your sisters. Not ever.

Her hand reached upwards and the knuckles rapped against something cold and smooth and Quelana halted: she'd come to the end. She got a firm stance on the ladder and leaned her back against the wall behind her before removing her other hand and planting it beside the first. She shoved upwards, grunting with exertion. For a moment, nothing happened and Quelana's heart fluttered madly in her chest at the thought of another dead end, then something clicked loose, like a stiff joint freeing in its socket, and the stone beneath her hands shifted.

A rush of cold, but wonderfully fresh, air raked past her and Quelana pulled a deep breath of it, closing her eyes and forcing herself calm. The stone above slid back on its own, as if pulled by some hidden mechanism, and Quelana cast her gaze upwards, where a pale blue light was bathing whatever room awaited in a soft, cool, glow. With little else left to do, and a stubborn determination not to turn back, she climbed out.

The room above was small and unused, chipped stone walls, a low-hanging and undecorated ceiling, and a stack of barrels all around the secret hatch she'd climbed out of were all that greeted her. Quelana wrapped her arms around her body, settling in to the new, much more open, surroundings, and glanced back to the hatch. She knelt to slide it close, but as her hand grazed it, it slid shut on its own, the ground around it growling with the effort. It closed with a definitive slam, and Quelana felt another wave of trepidation come across her; she doubted she could go back now. I am a strong flame, she told herself, a saying her sisters had taught her when she was very young. A strong flame does not waver.

The first thing Quelana did was strip herself free from the cumbersome human clothing the knight Lautrec had forced upon her. It was heavy and restrictive, the boots loud and clumsy, and she was happy to rid herself of them, stashing them neatly behind one of the barrels. She had kept her robes, the thin, loose things that they were, tucked away beneath the lace of one of the boots, and slipping it back around her slender frame and flipping the hood over her head was even more comforting than the darkness below had been.

She stalked forth towards the bend in the small room, her bare feet pressing as silently as raindrops on the cool stone floor, and wrapped herself to the wall, coalescing with the shadows there and taking great relief in the sense that she could move and hide once more as she once had in Blighttown.

The room ended right around the bend in a section of wall that had been removed. In its place, long and thick steel bars drove from the ceiling to the floor, barring the room off and leaving only a small, arched, door as passage. A prison, Quelana thought. I've led myself right into a prison. She hurried forth and laid a hand upon the door. When she gave it a gentle push, it swung easily back on its rusted hinges and Quelana breathed easy again.

Outside the cell, a room so enormous and maddeningly encompassing, Quelana stumbled back inside gripping at her throat. She composed herself and stole another glance through the barred wall. She'd never seen anything quite like it: the room was no room, it was a massive chamber of curved walls, perhaps the inner spiral of some giant tower, and it stretched upwards so high, she could not see the top from inside the cell. The blue light she'd spotted from the tunnels came from torches hung in sconces along the humongous walls, their flame glowing a queer, icy, color instead of the red and orange she was accustomed to. Directly outside the room, a spiraling, wide-set, fall of stairs were wrapping their way downwards, where Quelana could hear those thumps that were sounding underground seemed to originate from.

What mad world have I stumbled upon? she wondered, glancing apprehensively around the outside of the bars. Was this where those men were taking me? She knew she had to venture outside, as difficult as it seemed, and she had just collected the courage to do so when approaching voices froze her feet in place. Quelana gasped, grabbed at the partially-ajar cell door, and gently pulled it closed. She lowered herself to the ground and pressed against the wall, incredibly thankful she'd changed back into her robes.

The voices came drifting upwards from the spiraling staircase, and Quelana thought they sounded queerly flat, as if the walls around them carried no echo. She stilled her breath and kept motionless, listening.

"-her tongue," one of them said, the words just barely audible as whomever it was neared; he was most certainly male, though. "What's the point? Heh."

"Well, we all have our purpose in the end, I suppose," a second male voice spoke, deeper, and now drawn near enough to be heard clearly.

"Purpose... what does that word really mean when we're facing the end of all things?"

"Logan won't let things end."

"He'll certainly try. What then, though? What if he succeeds? How do we soldier forth after what we've seen... what we've done?"

The men crossed right before the cell door. Quelana pressed her lips tightly together and watched from the shadows as they walked. The one nearer to the wall was thin and tall, and the top hat resting just a tad off-center on his head made his identity clear: Chester. The other was so thick of waist and shoulder, Quelana figured he could only be the man leading the soldiers from earlier, Petrus. I'm still in the Archives, she realized with a wash of relief.

"The pardoner used to have a saying: 'All men pay for their sins.'. Suppose that means we'll have to answer for ours before this is all said and done."

"Piss on that."

One of them laughed, and then their voices began drawing too distant to make out clearly once more.

"-the last-" Quelana heard. "-for all we know-" and then finally, quietly, "-Solaire."

The last she heard after a long gap of silence was the slamming of some faraway door, and only the thumps from below remained in the cold, blue, emptiness of the tower. Quelana swallowed, rose slowly to her feet, and pushed the cell door back on its hinges again. She kept low to the floor as exited and avoided looking upwards at the enormous spin of the walls, lest she dizzy herself and loose her footing. She crept forth to the edge of the stairway and gripped tightly to its waist-high barrier before leaning her head out. The fall to the lower level wasn't nearly as maddening as the climb to the top level, but what she saw was enough to steal her breath anyway.

The thumps were the footsteps of a small army of crystal golems. Quelana had been shown the monsters in an old book by an ever older pupil of hers from a lifetime ago, but she'd never seen one in person. The things were larger than the rock-hurling brutes in the swamps of Blighttown, a splash of blue and white crystal covered their hulking bodies like a sheet of armor, and when their tree stump-like legs took strides, their footfalls shook the whole foundation around them. Fixed in the center of the room was what looked like some great machine, and the golems were working tirelessly to lug massive cogs and plates of metal and iron bars towards it and fit them in place like a giant puzzle. Quelana forced herself still and looked to the far end of the room, where a stack of books and scrolls were mounted high around a wooden table, candles burning in disorganized clusters here and there. Behind the books the candles cast a shadow onto the wall there. It was the dark silhouette of a man's shoulders and head, an enormous, wide-brimmed, hat resting atop it.

Him, Quelana realized with a flutter of her heart. Logan!

All at once, every last one of the golems below froze in place. The shadow of the man's head rose, as if someone had just called his name. Quelana's mouth fell agape, her lip quivered, her hands trembled, then-

-the man's head returned to whatever he'd been working on and the golems resumed their duties.

Quelana nearly collapsed. What sorcery does this man possess!? She thought on as she clutched her chest in attempt to slow her thundering heartbeat.

It was a long while before she felt well enough to go on. Wherever the tunnels had led her, Quelana felt was a very bad place; a very wrong place. She debated going upwards to trail after Chester and Petrus, but wasn't sure if they were responsible for her attempted kidnapping, and doubted they'd be kind to her even if they weren't. Likely, they'd throw her in one of these cells just for approaching them. She could not turn back to the tunnels, not now after coming so far. That left the staircase downwards... closer to the golems, and to the shadowy figure of the man in the big hat. Abby trusts this man, Quelana thought. Solaire as well... but why? What has he shown them? What has he told them? Can they possibly deny the aura of strangeness that settles around him like some otherworldly fog? She couldn't ascertain an answer to not one of her many questions, and so her path became clear. Down then, Quelana thought, stepping to the staircase and surveying the descent before her. For answers... and for Abby.

It took a bit of willpower to get her feet moving, but once they had, she moved down the staircase at a steady pace, crouched low to the ground and keeping one, weary, eye over the bannister to stay vigilant for the golems. The lower Quelana traveled, the more disconcerted she grew, but she would not allow herself to flee, and in a few minutes time, she was rounding the last of the stairs and coming upon the ground floor, where she could feel the golem's foosteps shaking up into the soles of her own feet.

She found a shadowy alcove beside an enormous pillar and pressed herself against it, leaning out just enough to spy on the monsters as they worked. Being so close to them was a terrifying experience, and Quelana counted nine of the things as they moved past her unaware of her presence. She was debating slipping around the edge of the room to spy on Logan when a soft whimpering caught her ear. She froze, listening, and traced its origin to the end of the room opposite Logan, where a wide, arched, passage led to another section of the dungeon. She waited patiently to make sure it wasn't her mind playing tricks on her in the queer atmosphere of the tower, and soon enough she heard it again, faint and soft, but very real.

Quelana licked at her lips, eyeing the passage up. It would certainly be easier to cross to it than to get around the entire room to Logan. She peeked out of the shadows again, watching as a golem lumbered right past her pillar, a big wooden cog between its arms. None of them were facing her way. Move, a voice inside her commanded, and she did.

The passage was close enough that she was only exposed in the odd blue light of those torches for a moment, but she spun inside and slammed herself to the wall anyway, holding her breath anxiously, awaiting one of the monsters to come barreling after her to crush her bones. When none did, she let the breath out and turned to face the chamber. It was long and empty, and split down the middle by a tall row of bars. A door, not unlike the cell door she'd come through earlier, was carved into the middle of the bars, and without hesitation, she moved to it and shoved it open. The whimpering was coming from behind a wide wooden bookcase beside the wall that was angled just slightly away from it, like a door ajar. Quelana frowned and moved nearer to the thing. When she'd closed the gap, she saw the bookcase was in fact a sort of door, and it had been left swinging on its hinges. This is where Chester and Petrus came from, she thought at once. They exited this hidden passage and forgot to seal it over again in their chatter. She couldn't be sure that was the truth of it, but it seemed reasonable enough.

Her hand fell upon the bookcase edge and tugged. The thing swung forth easily, and Quelana leaned forward to peer into the dark hall within. The whimpering came clearly now, and it wasn't far. She swallowed, stole one last glance towards the golems, and entered, pulling the bookcase shut behind her.

The hall inside was as narrow and tight as the tunnels underground had been. The torches here, though, glowed a more sensible shade of red, and that brought Quelana some sense of relief at least. She stalked forward, allowing her hand to trail along the jagged, rock, wall beside her until the short tunnel ended and spilled into a wider chamber. Quelana peeked her head around the edge and saw a cell carved right into the rock, a man sitting on the floor inside with his head buried in his hands. She pressed to the wall and watched him for a moment, but a loose section of rock and dust slid loose beneath her hand. The man's head lifted and his swollen, red, eyes landed upon her.

"Maurgah!" He bellowed strangely and rose to his feet.

"Quiet!" Quelana hissed, stepping from the shadows and putting a finger to her mouth.

"Aoura aarm," he wailed, as if he'd forgotten how to form words, and grabbed at the bars of his cell.

Quelana studied the man. He skin was sallow and loose around his gaunt face. His hair was thin and brittle-looking and the rims of his eyes were unnaturally dark. He was naked except for a dirty cloth around his waist, and he stood in a hunched-over way that looked to bring him pain. His eyes darted between hers, a hint of hopeful anticipation housed within, and he made another, quieter, moan from between his lips. "Uuurma."

"What is wrong with you?" Quelana whispered, glancing wearily over her shoulder. The bookcase, thankfully, remained closed at the end of the tunnel.

The man frowned, took a breath, paused, and whimpered. He leaned his head back, his dirty hair hardly moving around his gaunt cheeks, and opened his mouth. Inside were two rows of filthy, brown and yellow, teeth, and nothing else. The man had no tongue.

Quelana suddenly heard the voice of Domhnall in her ear, speaking with Laturec as if it were still the second day they'd spent at his home in the Burg. It was the sorcerer Griggs who killed off all the firekeepers, the mad fool. Logan caught up with him, though, and stopped him before he could get sweet Anastacia of Astora. They say he keeps Griggs locked up now. Took his tongue as punishment. Aye siwmae, that's no way to live. She frowned, a surge of anger rising in her. "Griggs. Your name is Griggs."

A faint smile actually came upon the man's dirty face. He nodded eagerly, as if proud. His tongueless mouth moved to form words, but only garbled moans came out.

"You're a murderer," Quelana snapped. "You killed off the firekeepers. It was you who made sure the last Chosen Undead failed. It was you who took away his ability to return to the flames."

"Mau mau," Griggs mumbled, desperately shaking his head. Tears swelled in his eyes and his fingers trembled around the bars he grasped. He let out a long, doleful, moan and slapped his forehead against them. Quelana fixed him with a shrewd look as he sobbed against his cell. His head lifted after some time and he swiped at his cheeks, where two clean paths trailed down his otherwise-filthy face. He raised his brow hopefully and clapped his hands together.

"What do you want from me?" Quelana questioned. She had no sympathy for the man.

"Urh," he moaned and pantomimed scribbling onto his own palm. "Uuuur!" He pleaded, holding his hands to his chest so she could see in the torchlight.

"You want to write something?"

His head nodded so frantically, his brow clipped the cell bars.

Perhaps he seeks vengeance against Logan, Quelana thought. Perhaps he can offer some insight into the man's madness. Some weakness. She fixed the man with a stern look and pointed her finger upwards, commanding a stream of flame to leap from her fingertip. He gasped and stumbled back from the bars in terror. "Keep quiet. Do you understand?"

He swallowed, nodded, eyed her finger with a mixture of awe and fear.

Quelana followed her path back out to the main chamber, slipping stealthily out of the bookcase and returning to the arched passage, where she'd spotted a spill of scrolls earlier. There were papers along every inch of the dungeon, but she had to move beneath the shadows a bit further around to snatch a quill and inkpot from a cabinet. She hurried back, stopping and waiting in the shadows every time a golem's hulking figure faced her way.

The man was gripping the bars of his prison again when she'd returned, and his face came alive with an exuberance she wouldn't have thought possible of someone in his position. She passed him the materials through the thin gap of the bars, and waited patiently as he desperately scribbled on them. A few moments later, he passed the paper back to her, nodding and smiling.

Quelana took it, folded it, and slipped it inside her cloak. The man's hopeful look faded, and a look of despair replaced it. He moaned and shook his head, pointing at her cloak. "I cannot read," she informed him. "I will see this to someone who can."

Griggs bellowed such a sorrowful groan, Quelana thought he might collapse to the floor. He didn't, instead lumbering back to the wall as heavily as the golems outside and sliding down to where he'd originally been sitting. He buried his face in his hands once more and sobbed.

Quelana watched him, unsure of what to make of the display. "You just... stay quiet. I will return if whatever information you wrote is worthwhile."

His only response was a quiet whimper into his hands, and so Quelana left him that way, heading deeper into the tunnel.

The next time the passage widened into a chamber, an identical cell awaited her. This time, however, it did not house a man, it housed the grey wolf that had come to see Abby out of the woods. Quelana gasped upon spotting the beast: he'd grown since she last saw him. The wolf padded back and forth behind the barred wall, his snout trailing before him pressed to the ground. The muzzle they'd fixed him with lay beside him, split down the seems. It didn't surprise Quelana that he'd grown out of it; the beast appeared to have maybe doubled in size. When his dark eyes spotted her, he growled and barred his teeth, shifting his paws to face her.

"I don't come as a foe," Quelana spoke to the thing, not sure if it understood, but bringing herself some peace of mind anyway.

The wolf snapped its enormous jaws shut and shook out the furry, grey, hairs around its neck. Its tail raised in the air, swatting at the walls, and Quelana was suddenly very happy that the thing was locked up. This monster is no friend of mine, she thought, watching as drool dripped from its fangs. And I don't think it's a friends of Abby's either.

She pressed on, ignoring the wolf as it snapped its jaws at her once again when she passed by its prison. The tunnel began to curve around, likely following the outer wall of the tower, and the passages between chambers was growing longer. Quelana trudged on, though, refusing to let her fear overcome her. The tunnel ended, and once again she was faced with a chamber and a cell. This time, it was a group of children locked up.

Quelana rushed to the bars and took hold of them. What cruelty is this!? She thought. There were nine of them in total, sitting at the far end of the cell on the floor, their little heads resting either against the stone wall itself or upon each other's shoulder. Their eyes were all opened, but they were rolled back into their heads and had taken on a faint, blue, glow not dissimilar to the queer torches outside. Their breathing was coming normal enough, but none of them seemed to be conscious.

This is madness, she thought. Who would do this to children!? This Logan is a monster. An insane monster. Domhnall had the truth of it. I need warn Abby... I need to get her out of here! She considered turning back there and then, but her curiosity about what other horrors the tunnel would lead to kept her feet in place. She turned from the children to the tunnel leading back to the tunnel leading deeper. Torchlight flickered from within, and Quelana thought, knowing it was mad but thinking it anway, The fire is calling to me.

She went deeper.

The next chamber did not house a barred cell. Instead, it opened up to a large hole carved into the floor. Quelana stepped to the rim of it and clutched to her chest as she peered inside, both terrified and intrigued to learn what horrors it held. There, beneath a row of bars, was a very tall woman with a thick fall of snow-white hair. Her arms were stretched out to her sides and chained to the walls to keep her in place, and a pair of shackles wrapped her feet. Quelana was trying to figure out what powers the woman could possibly wield to warrant such strict restraint, when she saw a tail lash out from the prisoner's rear. She gasped, and the woman looked upwards towards the noise. There was a horse's bit wedged inside of her mouth and strapped in place keeping her silent, fangs sinking into the leather bar, and horns protruding from her brow where hair would've been on a human. But this is no human, Quelana realized. This is the dragon/human hybrid. The crossbreed. This is Priscilla.

The crossbreed growled as feral as the wolf had and jerked at her chains, glaring hatefully out of the hole towards Quelana. Quelana squinted, spotting bandages wrapped around the beast-woman's arms just above the elbows and spotted with dried bits of something red. He's been drawing blood from this creature, Quelana thought with a sting of sympathy. Priscilla growled again, sinking her fangs into the bit, and ripped at her chains. Quelana backed away from the hole. She desired more than ever to turn back, but found herself planted in place once more, staring forward, staring deeper.

The next chamber housed mushroom men, like they'd seen in the Darkroot Garden. The things were sprawled out on the floor inside a cell, bandages on their arms the same as Priscilla's.

The chamber after that, she came upon a hollow soldier lying strapped down to a wooden table. His limbs were all missing, the dead flesh around his face scarred and blackened. He was conscious, though; his mouth moved up and down, no sound coming from within. Quelana hurried past him.

A bat-winged demon awaited in the next chamber; pale and thin and fanged. It was chained up against the far wall, and its wings were clipped off near to its body. The demon wailed upon seeing her, twisting its head at an unnatural angle and cawing as meekly as a baby bird.

Mother of Izalith save me, Quelana thought as she pressed deeper. What is this man trying to accomplish!? She was halfway down the tunnel when a voice called over her shoulder. Quelana gasped and nearly collapsed she was so struck with terror. She spun around and ignited her flames immediately, her heart beating a war drum in her chest.

"Quelana, no!" A man pleaded. He'd been moving quickly after her when she turned, but now that her fire was lit, he slowed to a walk.

Quelana narrowed her eyes. "...Laurentius?" She questioned, noticing that the hand holding her flame was shaking cowardly, making the fire flicker and waver.

"Mother of Pyromancy, Daughter of Chaos, Descendancy of the Great Witch Izalith, please," he begged, stepping forth in his hooded cloak. "Do not burn me. I come as a friend." The man lowered to his knees and brought his hands up into the air beside his head. "I carry no weapon and I come alone."

Quelana's fear gave way to anger. "You despicable man!" She hissed, her flame growing larger involuntarily in her hand. "You are aligned with such a man as Logan!? A man who keeps... keeps these horrors locked up down here!?"

"No! Quelana, please! I'm not aligned with Logan!" Laurentius explained. "I serve another. Mother of Pyromancy... it was me who attempted to kidnap you from Abby's chambers."

Quelana's anger swelled. She wrenched back her arm, ready to douse the man in a bath of flame. "What did you do with her!?"

"Nothing, I swear it!" He pleaded. "I took you away from her so that Logan wouldn't get his hands on you! That is all! Listen... you saw the things Logan has locked up down here. He experiments on them! He... he would have thrown you down here as well and ran his 'tests' and you would have never seen daylight again. I got to you before that happened! I swear it, my lady! I only took you as stealthily as I did so as not to disturb Abby."

"Where is she!?" Quelana demanded.

"She is safe! We are watching over her!" Laurentius explained. "But she is... something different. The followers and myself... we fear her."

"You should fear me," Quelana snapped and threatened him with her fire once more.

"You cannot fear what you know in your heart you love," Laurentius said, and his words grew soft and quiet. "You birthed the craft I've dedicated my life to. In turns... I owe a part of my life to you. I am yours to command, my lady, but I'd beg you to listen to me. Things are going to get very bad here. And soon. Logan stands in defiance of the Gods as well as the hollow army. And, most importantly, he stands in defiance of the Order."

"The Order?" Quelana echoed. None of what the man was saying made any sense, and a rage still burned in her heart.

"I will explain once we are safe," Laurentius said. "Can I stand, my lady?"

"No," Quelana snapped. "Stay on your knees and don't move."

"As you command," Laurentius said, bowing his head obediently.

Quelana moved cautiously forward, her fire held balefully in her palm before her. Laurentius calmly watched her approach, his hands remaining in the air. She stepped in front of him, quelled her flame, and grabbed his cloak. She leaned beside his head so quickly, he nearly fell backwards. She whispered the words of her Mother, the words that took hold of the mind and commanded it as she commanded the flames; her Undead Rapport spell. A confused yelp escaped Laurentius' lips, he went stiff, then entirely limp in her grasp. His head rolled back and his eyes took on a heavy glaze.

"Do I command you?" Quelana asked.

"...yes," he muttered in a monotone.

Quelana nodded, satisfied. The spell not only put whomever's mind she cast it upon under her control, it weakened their will, making it near impossible to lie. "Is everything you just told me true?" She asked, fixing her eyes shrewdly upon his.

"...yes."

She breathed a sigh of relief. Abby was safe, and they were alone; those were good things to know. "How did you find me down here?"

"...chasing... through the tunnels... saw you... with quill and inkpot... followed..."

She thought for a moment before asking, "What is this 'Order' you spoke of?"

"...The Path of the Dragon..."

"A covenant?"

"...yes."

"And what do you want with me?"

"...your love..."

Quelana frowned. "What does this order want with me?"

"...to see you safe... to the true God of Lordran..."

"And who is that?"

"...the Everlasting Dragon..."

Quelana knew very little of covenants or dragons. She held Laurentius' head up as it threatened to tumble to his chest. "How many of you are here in the Archives?"

"...five..."

"And how many outside the Archives?"

"...three..."

Eight of them... a sad excuse for a covenant, she thought, holding her gaze on his heavy-lidded eyes. But if they could protect Abby... see her away from this mad man and his mad castle... "Are you willing to take Abby and myself away from here?"

"...yes..."

Quelana nodded; she'd spent about as much time as she wanted to in this insane dungeon of Logan's. She reached inside her cloak and pulled out Griggs' letter. "Can you read?"

"...yes..."

She handed him the letter. "Read it to me."

His head drooped forward so his eyes could land upon the paper. He began reading in the dry, monotonous, tone her spell had left his voice in, "...Logan lies.. I didn't kill off the firekeepers... Logan did... he is obsessed with immortality... doesn't want Lordran saved... will stop at nothing... save me... kill him..."

Quelana's breath was caught in her chest, her mouth agape. She shook Laurentius' shoulders. "Is that all?"

"...no..." the pyromancer said and read on, "it says... at bottom... don't stay here... long... Logan can... feel a person's... presence..."

"Feel a person's presence?" Quelana questioned. "What does that-"

Footsteps approached from the hall over Laurentius' shoulder, coming their way; coming fast.

"Get up," she hissed, and pulled Laurentius to his feet. "And follow me as fast and hard as you can."

"...yes..." He nodded.

Quelana turned, and with nowhere else to go, sprinted off deeper into the dungeon, Laurentius at her heels.