Devis had been in the Dogmar lockup for five hours. As the sun rose behind rainclouds, a little dim light filtered into his solitary cell. Unfortunately, the barred hole also let in a lot of moisture. Devis couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so slimy.
The only other things in the cell were a foul waste bucket that apparently had never been emptied and a few wooden bowls crusted with the remains of some gray dwarf-gruel. He himself had not been fed, but he doubted the food would be worth eating anyway.
The bard finished humming a small healing tune. He was no cleric, but his music could patch up the average dwarf-pummeling. As his wounds closed, he tried to remember a musical spell Gunnivan had sworn would shatter any stone. Something about "sound and silence, stillness in the stone..." That was it. He switched to Gunnivan's old tune, the lyrics coming back naturally.
The locking mechanism on the door and the black bars on his open window were carved from a hard, igneous rock the locals called deknae. Dwarves mined it from the ancient lava tubes on the north side of Morsilath—the volcano had long been extinct. Deknae became as solid as steel when treated with the right amount of heat.
A stone was a stone. Devis sang softly and imagined shattering deknae.
"Shaddup!" a deep voice boomed from one of the other cells. The voice belonged to an unseen half-orc. A cacophony of other voices shouted out support for either Devis's song or the silence of the jailhouse.
Devis continued his tune, blocking out the little arguments and petty exchanges that flew back and forth across the cells between the pro-music and anti-music factions. He didn't really expect the spell to open the lock on his first try, but he made the attempt anyway.
The arguments and chatter ceased abruptly as the door to the dungeon squealed open above them. Devis lowered his song to a subvocalization, keeping the energy of the magic going but without giving away what he was doing to the guards he heard stumbling down the stone steps. From the sound of the approaching guards, Devis could tell they were carrying a third person—a person not moving under his own power, if the sound of two dragged feet thumping against the steps was any indication. Devis held the magic ready.
The guards stopped, to Devis's surprise, right outside his cell. The stocky dwarves had an elf propped up between them, and the slender figure's bare, blond hair hung in his face as the man's head lolled over to one side. The style of his battered leather armor looked positively antique and bore savage gouges that looked to the bard like claw marks from a very large dog, or maybe a wolf. The leather armor was spattered with dark swaths—probably blood—and the pair of scabbards hitched to the elf's weapon belt hung empty. One of the elf's guards left the unconscious man with his partner, then stepped forward to unlock the barred door.
Devis let his song rise in volume, feeling a familiar, invisible aura of magical energy. He had to time the release of the spell perfectly. If he failed, he would get another beating, but if he succeeded, he might get out of this pit. The lead guard fumbled with the keys. The elf prisoner lolled back over to one side as the dwarf holding him struggled to balance the taller man's weight. Devis saw immediately that he had been wrong about the armored elf.
He wasn't unconscious at all. The elf briefly made eye contact with the bard.
The dwarf with the keys dropped the entire ring on the floor and cursed. As the guard stooped to pick them up, Devis shot a look at the "unconscious prisoner" in an effort to let him know that if he meant to try anything, now would be the time.
Devis sang, loud and clear. He heard the deknae lock vibrate with the notes, and then it shattered.
Devis charged the door, which swung open in a cloud of sparkling black shards that had once been the stone lock. The lead dwarf barely got his head raised when Devis released the spell, and the heavy bars of the door hit the dwarf full in the face. Blood spouted from his broken nose, and he toppled backward.
The armored elf flipped his guard into the air with a jerk and flopped the dwarf onto his back. Before Devis could say a word, the elf produced a gleaming short sword from behind his back—the bard glimpsed some very old Elvish script on the blade—and raised the weapon over the cowering guard.
"No!" the bard cried, grabbing the elf's wrist with both hands and keeping the sword in the air. "We don't need a murder charge on our heads. We can get out without killing anybody."
The seething elf turned and met Devis's gaze. The bard didn't flinch. "Look—" he realized he had no idea what to call the man, but pressed on anyway, "—friend, I don't know you, but here we are." The dwarf on the ground whimpered, pinned by the armored elf's knees. "It's time to go.
"Am I wrong? Are you a murderer?" Devis asked the elf. The other man shook his head. "No kill dwarf," Devis offered.
"Yes," the elf said, a veneer of sanity returning to his face. "No kill," he added in a peculiar accent Devis couldn't quite place.
The dwarf on the ground struggled, and the elf brought the pommel down hard across the guard's jaw. The dwarf fell silent, still breathing.
"See how easy that was?" Devis asked.
He collected the guards' weapons, but had one leftover axe.
Devis carried the axe down the cell block until he found a familiar voice. He tossed the axe onto the floor in front of the burly half-orc.
"Can you chop your way out?"
"Shaddup, bard," the half-orc growled, but he quickly snapped up the axe.
Devis dashed back to his new ally and the unconscious guards. Devis briefly considered stealing a pair of boots, but the guard's footwear would not have fit Mialee, let alone him. With the elf's help, he pulled the inert guards into his cell and closed the door with its shattered lock.
The ring of steel on stone rebounded down the cell block. The half-orc had accepted the challenge.
Devis and the mystery elf dashed up the stairs.
The cacophony at the town lockup was still ringing in the distance as the two escapees stepped from one of a thousand dark alleyways crisscrossing the south side of Dogmar.
The elf sniffed the air, then took off at a brisk walk down the muddy street. The rain had finally settled into a light drizzle, but Devis couldn't bring himself to believe the elf was really planning to follow his nose. Still, they had to go somewhere.
"So, what's your name?" Devis asked as he caught up to the quiet elf.
"Don't know," the elf replied.
"Really. That can't be easy. I've got to have something to call you." Devis considered. "You're as silent as stone. How about 'Diir'?"
"Diir," the elf said," 'Stone.' Yes."
"Great! See, we're already getting along famously," Devis said. "So what brings you into the good graces of Constable Muhn, Diir?"
"Mialee," the elf replied.
"Ah. I've never been to—Mialee?" Devis pulled in front of the armored elf and stopped him with a finger to the chest. "How do you know Mialee?"
The elf looked past Devis down the street as he answered, "Find Mialee. Old man said so."
"How do you know she's here?" Devis asked. He looked back over his shoulder. "And what old man, exactly?" he added. Mialee had been waiting for an old elf.
"Old elf. Got hurt," the elf replied as he maneuvered around Devis and continued walking.
Devis pressed two fingers to his temple and vowed to go easy on Gurgitt's house ale from now on. And to have more respect for jailhouse coincidences.
"I can help you find Mialee," Devis said, catching up to the elf. "We'll need to find her quickly. That riot can't last much longer, and we're wanted men. This way." Devis angled the quiet elf in the direction of the Silver Goblet. "Keep an eye out for town guardsmen the farther north we get."
"Wrong way," the elf said.
"You'll end up too far north if you go that way."
"It's the wrong way," Diir insisted.
"All right, look. If I'm wrong, we'll only have gone maybe a half hour out of our way," Devis said. "Lead," said the elf.
"Right," the bard acknowledged. "It's not far."