Part 2
Ashgate Hold was the oldest structure in Castlemere; once a fortress, later a hospital, then an asylum. Now it served as both the city’s jail and the garrison for the Vermilion Guard. Within its walls, the ancient and infamous lived alongside the arcane, the functional, and the bureaucratic.
Warden Margrave stood behind his podium, sizing up the three newest residents of Ashgate.
He found himself unable to meet the eyes of the Malbrin. Something about them; living proof of the Other Side, always unsettled him. And Elves… Elves could never be trusted. In twenty years of service, he had never met one who wasn’t trying to tempt someone into trouble. Many of Ashgate’s residents were here because of such temptations.
Still, he thought, he’d never seen a short Elf before.
So instead, Margrave focused on Renwick. The man had spent a few short stints in Ashgate before, but never for anything this serious.
“Murder?” Margrave said, disbelief dripping from his voice. “Renwick? I suppose it was only a matter of time. Still, I’d have wagered gold on you being the one stabbed in the street.”
Renwick cleared his throat, but the Warden continued reading from the scroll.
“This says you stabbed a noble; in broad daylight, in a crowded street, with Vermilion nearby.” He looked up briefly. “That sounds exactly like something you’d think was a good idea.”
“We were having tea when—” Fig began, but a Guard behind her shoved her roughly to the ground.
“Thought you were supposed to be nimble,” Margrave muttered, not looking up.
Vorn felt a flicker of bitter relief. Being marked by a demon did wonders for one’s reputation in a place like this. Still, he knew the stories of Ashgate. Elves didn’t fare well inside — especially not female ones.
He considered pleading his case but thought better of it. A noble stabbed in broad daylight, surrounded by Guards, and no one but him saw the figure that truly struck the blow? That wasn’t a simple crime of opportunity . That was an assassination. And saying what he knew aloud would be a death sentence.
“I did it,” Vorn said suddenly, louder than he meant to.
The room went still.
“That was quick,” Margrave said, raising an eyebrow. “Confession already?”
“I don’t know who these people are,” Vorn continued, forcing his voice to sound rough, unpolished. “I just thought it’d be an easy payday.”
Margrave leaned on the podium, studying him. A Malbrin in fine tailored silks, armed with a silvered short sword, hardly fit the company of two known street hustlers.
Renwick seized the moment. “We were planning to head into the desert, my lord, when this gentleman ran into our table!”
“Wonderful,” Margrave said, a glint of excitement lighting his eyes. “Because that is exactly where the three of you are going.”
The trio exchanged uneasy looks.
“You’re being sent to Deathlok Tower, Dramira Deathlok’s residence. I’ve orders to clear it out,” Margrave said, rolling the scroll. “And I’ve no intention of risking my Guards on the task.”
Fig blinked. “You want us to go to the Necromancer’s home? What, to mop the floors? She’s dead!”
“Asset forfeiture,” Margrave replied dryly, still not looking up. “And if you succeed, you’ll be free. But if you run”
At last, he raised his eyes and smiled thinly.
“And my men have to find you… you have my word; you won’t be brought back to Ashgate.”