A/N: Two chapters! That's like a record for me, hahah.

Opening his eyes, the first thing Tun noticed was that the light was the wrong color.

Not the warm yellow of sunlight or even the diffuse reddish glow of the light in their cell, this light was sickly and greenish. It lent everything it touched an unhealthy pallor, muting even the vibrant purples and blues of his robes. He sat up slowly, scrunching his eyes at the ache in his head.

Callista hovered over him, a suspiciously wary cast to her features. Her face was pale and corpse-like in the flickering light.

"Are you alright?" she asked. "The dungeon collapsed; I think you broke your fall with your head."

"I'm fine," he said curtly, not dazed enough from the tumble to have forgotten his anger. Miraculously, it seemed to be true. His side and back were sore from what he imagined had been a substantial fall onto an uncomfortably hard pile of rocks, and his head hurt, but everything still seemed to be in working order. "Where are we?"

He looked uneasily around, trying unsuccessfully to suppress a shudder. Black walls of polished stone stretched ahead as far as he could see, interrupted at regular intervals by imposing heavily-runed doors similar to the one in their former cell. The high ceiling was supported by thick columns adorned with hideous faces and lurid scenes of torture, lit with tongues of greenish-white felfire held in wall sconces. No wonder the light was odd. But worst of all was the heavy taint of demonic magic that seemed to foul and thicken the very air.

"No idea." Callista shrugged her thin shoulders. Noticing Tun's irritated glare, she elaborated. "Still on Xoroth. The quake broke our cell open and we picked you up and ran. The guards were distracted; lots of other things got out too, most of them worse than we are."

Tun frowned. "We?"

A hearty chuckle sounded behind him, and he nearly bowled Callista over in his mad scramble to his feet.

"Demons," said the voice, in a thick Ironforge brogue. "They can tear down a kingdom in a day, but they can't build a worthy fortress in ten thousand years. You'll want a dwarf for that!"

"A dwarf!" exclaimed Tun, rather inanely, finally whirling to face the source of the speech.

"Aye, laddie," said the dwarf, a kindly twinkle in his eye. "Glad to see the fall didn't dent your head too badly."

"Tun, this is Folgrim Hammerforge," Callista said, nodding politely at the dwarf.

Tun noticed for the first time that Callista was coated in a fine dust of powdered red stone, and she was holding one of her wrists at an odd angle, obviously injured. He squelched a reflexive stab of concern. It was her own idiotic fault they were in this mess at all.

"Folgrim dug us out after the collapse and carried you here," she explained.

"At your service," said the dwarf, with a bow. Though he only came up to Callista's chest, he was built like a siege engine, arms massive with knotty muscles. His long auburn beard partially obscured a finely-crafted shirt of gleaming chainmail, and his deep blue eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. Tun liked him instantly. Not only had the dwarf saved his life, he also possessed the splendid virtue of not being Callista.

"I'm in your debt," said Tun, with a bow of his own. "How did you come to be in this accursed place?"

Folgrim snorted good-naturedly. "Hmph. Well, 'the thick-headedness of warlocks' is the short answer. You can have the long one when there's time for tales."

Tun scowled at Callista as he replied. "Ah. You, too? Perhaps we should start a guild."

If Callista noticed the slight, she gave no sign. Her grey eyes were unfocused and distant, a faint greenish spark glowing in their depths. Tun recognized the look. Shadow magic knew its own, and Callista was using hers to scout for demons. "Yes, tales later," she said distractedly, "We need to leave."

"Don't fret lad," Folgrim said, noticing Tun's worried frown. "That quake freed a whole score of hydras, including the biggest broodmother I've ever seen. We'll be well away by the time they clean that mess up."

After a moment, the unnatural light faded from Callista's eyes. "This way is best," she said, jerking her head to indicate a cross passage.

Tun eyed the passage mouth uneasily. The walls on either side of it were mounted with evil-looking hooks, each adorned with the mangled remains of…something. The passage itself sloped downward into darkness.

Callista grinned at his hesitation, murmuring something in demonic and making a complicated hand gesture. A gout of sickly-colored flame sprang from the floor before her, leaving a small hairy demon in its wake. The imp immediately began fidgeting and capering about nervously, chattering in an infernal tongue.

"Demons first!" Callista commanded, making a shooing motion towards the corridor mouth. The imp responded with a particularly sharp burst of gibberish, but did as it was bid. Callista followed at a brisk trot, Folgrim and Tun trailing behind her.

"You understand what that devil is saying, lass?" Folgrim eyed the imp distastefully.

"Not usually," Callista admitted. "Almost never speaks Eredun, just that low-demonic nonsense. And he never shuts up."

"Clearly," Tun said peevishly, glaring at the imp. "Couldn't you have summoned something less annoying?"

"Sorry, but no. Our jailers made off with all my soul—"

Callista broke off midsentence, eyes suddenly wide, and when she turned Tun could see that the green pinpricks of light were back in them. "Run!" she hissed. "And be silent!"

A chilling otherworldly howl floated in the still corridor air. No wolf in the forests of Azeroth or the cold wastes of Northrend ever possessed a voice so laden with horror. The three companions fled after the retreating form of the imp, who, in true demonic fashion, had begun to execute his own escape as soon as he sensed his mistress's alarm.

Of course it would be felhounds, Callista thought grimly. Of the three of them, only Tun was in any condition for more than a minor skirmish. Folgrim had no weapon, and fists were not much use against demons. Callista's wrist was at best sprained, making the gestures necessary for rapid spellcasting difficult. And, more distressingly, her soul shards had been confiscated. She was not quite useless in a fight, but without her most powerful spells and minions she was at a disadvantage. Tun was an enormously powerful mage, but inexperienced in battle. And felhounds were bred specially to hunt spellcasters…

Another howl drifted down the passage, and Tun almost stumbled in fear. He hoped it was only paranoia that made the dreadful sound seem closer. His breathing was heavy and ragged, legs already beginning to burn. A lifetime of magical study at the Academy of Arcane Arts had left his mind lithe and agile, but his body soft and unused to exertion. At his side, Folgrim ran steadily onward, breaths slow and even despite his heavy chainmail. Callista, Tun was pleased to note, looked no better off than he did.

They barreled heedlessly down the corridor at full tilt, tearing past piles of bone, intersecting passages, and doors marked with strange evil symbols with nary a glance. When a felhound bounded from a side passage, claws scrabbling on the smooth floor, their momentum almost catapulted them directly into its snapping jaws. The imp gave a bloodcurdling shriek, loosing a fireball and leaping behind Callista simultaneously.

Callista yelled nearly as loudly as her cowardly minion as the demon tangled in her feet. Great streams and tendrils of darkness began to gather around her outstretched hands, but Folgrim was faster. In a move that demonstrated much more bravery than forethought, he threw his entire mass into the felhound's side, driving his mailed fist into its head in a blow that would've burst a mortal's skull like a melon.

Demons, unfortunately, have heads harder than the Icecrown Glacier.

The felhound paused for a fraction of a second, jaws agape, looking almost affronted. Then it lunged with uncanny speed, crushing bite locking around the dwarf's torso just as Callista's shadowy missile ripped into its neck, followed by another of the imp's fireballs. The felhound howled in pain and rage, releasing Folgrim and bounding towards the spellcasters.

Tun, who until this moment had been rooted in terror, felt his fear evaporate in the face of certain death. Magic whirled around his figure as he called on ice and the arcane to save him, putting far more desperate will behind the spell than he ever had at the Academy. The slavering felhound was almost upon him now, pausing only to shake off the imp's frantic fireballs the way a dog would shake off rainwater. Callista was shouting something, demonfire twisting about her arms as she channeled some new curse, but Tun ignored her. Closing his eyes, he released his spell and prayed to the Holy Light for the best.

There was a sharp crack, like the flash freeze of a river in winter, then silence.

Callista whistled softly, and Tun dared to look. The felhound was frozen solid in an irregular bluish chunk of ice, not two body lengths from where Tun was standing. Its jaws were still open in a fearsome snarl.

"Not bad," Callista said appreciatively, tucking a stray lock of slightly sweaty dark-blonde hair back behind her ear.

"Is it…dead?" Tun asked weakly. He couldn't quite believe he wasn't about to be torn apart.

"Very," she assured him.

"Nice work, laddie." Folgrim was leaning against the passage wall, wincing slightly, but apparently free of serious harm. The felhound's teeth had been sharp, but not enough so to pierce dwarfish armor.

"Are you alright?" Tun asked with some concern, moving towards the warrior.

Folgrim just chuckled. "Och, it takes more than a love bite like that to put a hole in my hide."

Another demonic howl echoed down the corridor behind them, and Tun's relief vanished sickeningly.

"Felhounds hunt in packs," Callista said grimly. The imp danced around her feet, babbling in panic.

They were almost at the end of the passageway. Bursting through a set of double gates carved with leering demonic faces, the companions whirled to bar them shut, Tun and Callista cementing them with every locking spell they could dredge from memory. The room was bereft of any other entrances. They were trapped.

"Now what?" Tun asked hopelessly.

Callista surveyed the room. It looked much like every other space they'd encountered in this accursed dungeon. Green felfire in wall sconces, glowing runes set into the black stone floor along with various stains and scorch marks that didn't bear thinking about, hooks, chains, and other torture implements scattered liberally about, dreadlord by the far wall…

DREADLORD!

Folgrim and Tun noticed just as she opened her mouth to shout a warning.

"Yaaaaah!"

"Great hells!"

A deep laugh, totally without warmth, reverberated throughout the room. "Greetings, mortals."