were still busy mobbing the grendelkin—
Crap. My concentration had wavered. It looked like itself again, as did I.
I whirled and focused my will upon the giant pile of clean-picked bones. I extended my staff and snarled, “Counterspell this. Forzare!”
Hundreds of pounds of sharp white bone flung themselves at the grendelkin and the malks alike. I threw the bones hard, harder than the grendelkin had thrown his rock, and the bone shards ripped into them like the blast of an enormous shotgun.
Without waiting to see the results, I snatched up the still-burning flare and flung it into the pile of nesting fabric, bloody clothes, and old newspapers. The whole mound flared instantly into angry light and smothering smoke.
“Get up!” I screamed at Gard. One side of her face was bruised and swollen, and she had a visibly broken arm, one of the bones in her forearm protruding from the skin. With my help, she staggered up, dazed and choking on the smoke, which also blotted out the light. I got her onto the stairs, and even in our battered state, we set some kind of speed record going up them.
The deafening chorus of bellowing grendelkin and howling malks faded a little as the smoke started choking them, too. Air was moving in the tunnel, as the fire drew on it just as it might a chimney. I lit up my amulet again to show us the way out.
“Wait!” Gard gasped, fifty feet up the tunnel. “Wait!”
She fumbled at her jacket pocket, where she kept the little ivory box, but she couldn’t reach it with her sound arm. I dug it out for her.
“Triangle, three lines over it,” she said, leaning against a wall for support. “Get it out.”
I poked through the little ivory Scrabble tiles until I found one that matched her description. “This one?” I demanded.
“Careful,” she growled. “It’s a Sunder rune.” She grabbed it from me, took a couple of steps back toward the grendelkin’s cavern, murmured under her breath, and snapped the little tile. There was a flicker of deep red light, and the tunnel itself quivered and groaned.
“Run!”
We did.
Behind us, the tunnel collapsed in on itself with a roar, sealing the malks and the grendelkin away beneath us, trapping them in the smothering smoke.
We both stopped for a moment after that, as dust billowed up the tunnel and the sound of furious supernatural beings cut off as if someone had flipped a switch. The silence was deafening.
We both stood there, panting and wounded. Gard sank to the floor to rest.
“You were right,” I said. “I guess we didn’t need to worry about the malks on the way out.”
Gard gave me a weary smile. “That was my favorite ax.”
“Go back for it,” I suggested. “I’ll wait for you here.”
She snorted.
Mouse came shambling up out of the tunnel above us. Elizabeth Braddock clung to his collar, and looked acutely embarrassed about her lack of clothing. “Wh-what?” she whispered. “What happened here? I d-don’t understand.”
“It’s all right, Mrs. Braddock,” I said. “You’re safe. We’re going to take you back to your husband.”
She closed her eyes, shuddered, and started to cry. She sank down to put her arms around Mouse’s furry ruff, and buried her face in his fur. She was shivering with the cold. I shucked out of my coat and draped it around her.
Gard eyed her, then her own broken arm, and let out a sigh. “I need a drink.”
I spat some grit out of my mouth. “Ditto. Come on.”
I offered her a hand up. She took it.
SEVERAL HOURS AND doctors later, Gard and I wound up back at the pub, where the beer festival was winding to a conclusion. We sat at a table with Mac. The Braddocks had stammered a gratuitous number of thanks and rushed off together. Mac’s keg had a blue ribbon taped to it. He’d drawn all of us a mug.
“Night of the Living Brews,” I said. I had painkillers for my shoulder, but I was waiting until I was home and in bed to take one. As a result, I ached pretty much everywhere. “More like night of the living bruise.”
Mac rose, drained his mug, and held it up in a salute to Gard and me. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” I said.
Gard smiled slightly and bowed her head to him. Mac departed.
Gard finished her own mug and examined the cast on her arm. “Close one.”
“Little bit,” I said. “Can I ask you something?”
She nodded.
“The grendelkin called you a Geat,” I said.
“Yes, he did.”
“I’m familiar with