The door closed behind him on silent hinges. The sound of the bolt sliding into the lock, however, echoed down the stone corridor in front of Jinnaari. The light from the torch in his hand only illuminated so much. He didn’t need it to see, but it was the only thing he had to defend himself.

He had no armor or weapon, but he would find the Drow. One of them wasn’t leaving this place alive.

Moving slowly, Jinnaari crept down the hallway. The light gave him away, yes. But that didn’t mean he should run, screaming a war cry. Until he found things to help him, that is.

As he followed a curve in the wall, the light bounced off a glint of metal. Settled into an alcove sat armor. He breathed a sigh of relief. He rested the torch against the wall and took a closer look. It appeared to be his, the same set he’d asked Henry to alter. He donned the protective clothing, taking his time to buckle each strap securely. There wasn’t room in the hallway to fly, but he spread his wings anyway. The blacksmith had done a wonderful job, as they came free quickly and without any hesitation.

After he put on the last piece, he picked up the torch again and inspected the alcove. He’d found his armor, but not his sword. Just above eye level, a small hole in the rock drew his attention. Reaching inside, his hand touched a hilt. Jinnaari drew it out, hopeful it was his weapon. It was a longsword, yes, but this was caked with rust and grime. The layers of age and neglect crumbled away from his grip. What was underneath was still solid. It wasn’t his sword, and he didn’t have his gear to clean this one up, but it was still sharp enough to do damage.

“You won’t catch me,” the Drow’s voice echoed through the corridor. “Thia will be brought before Lolth and turned to Her service. And I will be rewarded for it.”

“Over my dead body,” Jinnaari muttered back. With sword in hand, he left the torch behind. He didn’t need it to hunt his prey any longer.