guide him, no tyger encouraging him, nor dragon to kill him, or women to tempt him. The same darkness that permeated his waking accompanied his sleep.
Khirro thought it must have been the second day of groping along the benighted passage when they arrived at a fork in their path. Before this, they’d passed no side tunnels or openings to confuse the path they should follow.
“Which way?” Ghaul asked. Khirro barely saw his features in the dark, but knew his jaw would be set, eyes hard.
“I don’t know.”
He regretted his honesty immediately as the shadow of Ghaul’s face turned to a scowl. The warrior slammed his gauntleted hand against the tunnel wall, the sound echoing away until lost in the dark like themselves.
“How in the name of your Gods are we going to get out of here?” He stepped closer to Khirro, hand on the hilt of his sword.
“Calm yourself, Ghaul,” Shyn said, voice more commanding than calming. “The best way to find our way is to keep our heads. Figuratively as well as literally.”
Ghaul’s glare slid from Khirro to the border guard. “What do you propose we do, birdman?”
The air in the tunnel gathered around them, pressing in like a bloodthirsty audience awaiting the outcome of the warriors’ standoff. Khirro’s skin still felt as though it belonged to someone smaller than himself and he shifted in a vain effort to loosen it.
“A breeze blows from the tunnel on the right,” Shyn said finally. “It’s slight, but might lead us to the surface.”
They gathered around the opening to feel the wind. If it was there, Khirro didn’t detect it.
“All right. Shyn and I will investigate, the rest of you wait here. Don’t move until we say.” The anger in Ghaul’s voice had been replaced by satisfaction at having a soldierly task. He leaned toward Elyea and said: “I’ll be back soon,” then moved to kiss her but she turned her head so his lips brushed her cheek.
“Do not stray from the path,” Athryn said as they took their first step into the opening. “If there are other tunnels, stay on the straight path or come back. We do not want to lose you.”
“Could we be more lost?” Ghaul sneered.
Shyn slapped him hard on the shoulder. “One can always be more lost.”
They pulled their swords and stalked into the tunnel, disappearing from sight immediately. Khirro thought that Shyn's voice didn't sound as confident as usual; he sighed and wondered if this was the right thing to do.
Minutes dragged by, their languid pace agonizing. Khirro sat with his back pressed against the wall searching for a position to best alleviate the pain crawling beneath his skin. He healed quickly, as Athryn said, but pain still nagged him. The gashes inflicted by the dragon were deep and likely would have killed him if not for the protection afforded by the blood of the king. As he shifted, Elyea lifted her head from his shoulder.
How brave she’s been.
The Mourning Sword lay balanced across his lap in the hope its glow would provide them with some illumination, but the red runes didn’t glow in the darkness of the tunnel—a trick of the light, then. Athryn stood at the mouth of the left tunnel, dagger in hand, invisible to Khirro. He couldn’t remember if the magician still bothered to wear his silvered mask—even it couldn’t be seen in the impenetrable dark.
They’re all brave. They gave up so much to accompany me on this voyage that didn’t belong to them. Without them, I’d be long dead. Like Maes.
Thinking of the little man squeezed Khirro’s heart. He couldn’t imagine how Athryn felt losing his brother, especially the way it came to pass. Yet the magician continued, driven more by the hope the Necromancer would raise Maes than by Khirro’s task. He suspected the magician was prepared to give his life to bring his brother back.
What irony that would be, like a song a troubadour might sing.
And Elyea. She snuggled closer against his side seeking the warmth he radiated. He didn’t pretend to understand her life, couldn’t fathom living it and being happy, but she seemed content. Yet she left behind her friends and all she knew without pause. Warmth unrelated to the dragon’s breath filled his chest. If someone told him a few months ago love for a harlot would fade the image of Emeline from his mind, he’d have thought them crazy.
Finally, his mind strayed to Ghaul and Shyn—both warriors, and brave, but so different. He admired Shyn,