There were letters carved into the stones. He couldn’t read them, but they matched the ones carved into the hilt of his sword, and that was enough to propel him down the steps into the darkness.
He was greeted by a voice, friendlier than he would have thought. “I knew your father, you know.”
“And did you slay him?”
“No,” the voice returned, wistfully, “that honor was not mine. I know who did, though. Would that information buy your departure, hero?”
The voice paused, then continued heavy with disappointment. “A shame, that. Your father would not have lied.”