Alkara edges down the darkened tunnel. Dre and Chiron slip in behind. She peers into the void and small variances of shapes greet her. Tinges of needlepoint stab around her eyes. Dre’s potion helps a little but the tradeoff pains her.
Castoff items mark the absence of their Harvester owners. Dre taps Alkara’s shoulder, “They kept their slaves here.” Tremors in Dre’s voice grip Alkara’s core. She steps around a buckle of some sort. Its function remains a mystery.
Whatever they are, their absence provides some relief. Even were their mission not to rescue Uncle Iro it could only be bad to run into the creatures.
Chiron lurches past Alkara and holds a hand up. He turns back and holds a finger to his lips, Alkara guesses it’s not a dagger or some other oblong thing. He slinks forward and disappears in the gloom. A small crunch accompanies his departure before all noise dies.
A muffled grunt revives the sound. Alkara’s chest tightens as she holds her breath. Should she illuminate the area? Chiron may be in danger. She strains her eyes against the dark wall of nothing ahead.
A blocky shape appears. It gains definition until Chiron breaks the emptiness. A sigh escapes Alkara’s lips as her shoulders loosen. Chiron carries a light-framed body.
Sharp ears extend from his head. The figure’s skin darkles against the murk of the tunnel. A small trickle of blood at the mouth smears the otherwise ash grey complexion.
Alkara clenches her jaw. A dark elf.
Chiron moves past Alkara and Dre and sets the body further from the tunnel opening. Wet metallic flavor fills the air. He unhooks the elf’s crossbow and sword. Each he sets next to the body before he rummages in pockets. As Chiron works a dark wet pool grows under the body.
The Forsaken always work in groups of seven. Six more remain ahead.
If they’re even in the right place. Uncle Iro hadn’t said anything about a Harvester colony. And the dark elves are everywhere down here. Thankfully the Waste Walkers had managed to either avoid them or take out the few that had stumbled across them. Dre had even managed to bribe a few of them.
“This tunnel opens to a large cavern,” Chiron’s whisper brushes against the silence, only just breaking it. Alkara nods and waits. Chiron takes the lead, skulking close to the right-hand wall. Shreds of conversation emerge from the darkness ahead.
They stop.
Alkara taps Chiron on the shoulder and leans close to his ear. She cups her hands around her mouth and his ear. “Take Uncle’s rapier to him.” She unbuckles the rapier from her waist and hands it to Chiron.
Chiron takes the rapier and edges away. The darkness suffocates his form.
A chill prickles Alkara’s chest as Chiron moves away. He had worked hard to grow his skill, but against Forsaken elves in the Depths? The skin of her nape crawls. She grits her teeth and inches along behind with Dre following. Guen pads along on the left side, a dark silhouette against the tunnel.
A scrap of sentence drifts through the tunnel, “… your captive fails? Her spirit is wild, untamable. A true firebrand. Do you think she will reason with you?”
The prickling ice in Alkara’s chest enlarges to a block of ice. Her fingers numb with a chill. She knows the voice.
The silkier voice continues, “Brands of fire can be doused with sufficient water.” The threat filters through the statement.
“This one might prove volatile in water.” A pause impregnates the silence. Tharan’s even voice continues, “Compliance is key with her. My suggestion get us what we both want.”
Dre squeezes Alkara’s wrist. Dre gasps and her head tilts back.
A sharp tug on her braid snaps Alkara’s head back. Someone kicks the back of her knees, forcing her down. A forearm hits her throat. Alkara struggles against the grip but can’t pull it away.
Guenwyvar snarls. The grip pulls at Alkara but disappears.
“Dre!” Alkara shouts. Pops of light brighten the area. Alkara winces against their dim light, which seems more brilliant than the surface. The cave must be over a hundred paces, the globules of light don’t touch the other side. Still she wastes no time loosing arrows into the dark elf holding Dre. He grunts and stumbles back.
A bolt digs a shallow furrow into Alkara’s shoulder. She grits her teeth against the slight pain. Alkara snatches an arrow from her quiver and spins around.
“Hold!” Tharan’s voice rings through the cavern with unquestionable authority. Harsh calm descends upon the room.
Alkara toys with the idea of loosing the arrow on Tharan himself. Instead she peers into the darkness and looses the arrow at the hidden crossbowman. The arrow whistles unseen into the void until it thuds. A small grunt seeps from the darkness.
“Bell Keeper!” A feminine voice yells from somewhere in the darkness.
“Dre! More light please!” Alkara calls. She turns to finish off the dark elf who had tackled Dre while Guen mauls the one who’d tackled Alkara.
“I entreat you all, stand down, please!” Tharan calls again.
Light blooms from several more pops. Tharan and a dark elf appear in the midst of several tents. Uncle Iro dashes from a tent with Chiron in tow and some small flying creature. He rushes toward the rapidly vanishing dark elf next to Tharan. Tharan steps back from them. They turn and dive into the darkness.
Leaving him alive for questions? What in the twisted roots is he doing down here?
Tharan catches Alkara’s eye and waves her toward him, “This way, quickly!”
Alkara scoffs, “Are you ser—”
A torrent of fire blazes through the tunnel and around her, Dre, and Guen. Alkara screams as the fire sears her skin and burns her clothes. Dre clamps her jaw down but is a patchwork of blotchy red and pale skin. Guen whimpers and rolls the fires into the tunnel surface.
“No!” A deep bell rings. Flames wreath Tharan. He chants and the overloud voice rumbles through the cavern. Light surges through the area, filling a circle of the cavern from floor to ceiling. Rock that should never have known such dazzling illumination sizzles under its intensity.
Alkara flinches again. She shields her eyes with a sharp cry of pain. Someone pulls her at the wrist. She staggers forward. Alkara blinks against the light and the form of Tharan materializes.
She wrenches her wrist in his firm grip. Despite the twisting all she does is hurt herself. “Let go!”
A soft tone enters Tharan’s voice, “Alkara, please! Listen—”
A stilted voice calls, “She’s here! Bring her down.” A surge of motion echoes around Alkara. “Or kill the half-breed!”
Tharan shakes his head with stiff motions.
Alkara burns to glare at him, but the order distracts her. Shapes burst from the darkness to charge Uncle Iro. Globes of inky darkness appear but burn in the boiling light. The skin of half a dozen, maybe more, dark elves sizzle in that light.
Why me? I haven’t done anything to these people.
Tharan pushes Alkara with a trembling hand and steps in front of her. Alkara looses an arrow at one of the sizzling elves. Then another. She hardly stops to watch the arrows in flight before she’s grabbed another.
Guen launches herself into one. Her body collides with the elf mid-stride and bears him into the ground. The tussle disappears into the eternal night of the Depths.
In near unison, four of the Forsaken lift their crossbows. Tharan shakes his hand, held forward. Another deep, rich bell chimes. The weapons rattle and glow, eliciting gasps from the elves. They drop the red-hot weapons.
The crossbow stirrups blacken the ground where they land, and dark chips of metal flake from them. With each passing moment the metal lumpens and twists until they’re unrecognizable. Wooden limbs and stocks lay forgotten next to the twisted metals.
The elves snatch daggers and swords from their sheaths only to find they too glow with rising heat. More lumps of mishappen metal join the first.
Alkara shakes herself, then snaps two arrows into place and launches them into the side of one distracted elf. “Did you—?”
“No time,” Tharan’s voice is uneven, he stares at an unmoving body. “You must go!” The words come out in a growl through his clenched jaw.
Alkara squints. Dim light shows a blue hue to the body. Another Doësin? Alkara looses another arrow into the darkness, “We need to capture—”
Dre’s cry echoes through the cavern. Alkara scans the area, trying to pierce the darkness. She looses another arrow into the shoulder of the dark elf attacking Dre.
Dre jerks away from the dark elf. She pauses long enough to look around for more threats before dashing toward Alkara. Dre grimaces and favors one bleeding, burnt leg, “Give me time, I need to patch this.” A half dozen other wounds and injuries compete for attention, but the worst is Dre’s shoulder.
Alkara nods and launches arrows toward the closest, visible elves. She turns to Tharan, “Any other surprises up your,” she narrows her eyes, “Vambraces?”
Tharan holds his reply. Ragged breaths partner with pale skin. He shakes his head and scans for any visible elves. After their weapons fell apart they had fled into the darkness.
That makes things more difficult.
Alkara frowns, “Guen!” She looks about for ways to rejoin the battle. Uncle Iro and Chiron face off with four of the Forsaken. That is, until a stone wall emerges from nothingness to separate Uncle Iro and a forsaken from everyone else. Alkara nocks an arrow, “Uncle!” She looses the arrow at one of the remaining three elves.
“Watch out!” Tharan grabs Alkara but a torrent of flame spins in a cylinder around them before he can do anything else. Flames lick at the pair. Tharan groans with eyes squeezed shut.
The fire burns at Alkara’s exposed flesh and consumes more of her clothes. She gasps and pats her clothes where fire clings to it. Alkara wrenches herself around to view Dre.
Dre waves her away with a thumbs up, “I’m fine.” She peers into the outer darkness, “There’s another mage, that makes two I’ve seen.”
Searing heat floods through Alkara, radiating from her shoulder. She gasps and whips around. Tharan grasps something in one hand and the other is on her shoulder. She glares at Tharan, “What the hell?”
Tharan pulls his hand back, and with it the heat. “A healing blessing. This will give you the strength to continue.”
Alkara narrows her eyes. She rubs the still warm shoulder, “Sure doesn’t feel like healing.” Some of her aches and pains feel better though.
Tharan frowns. He opens his mouth to speak but Alkara cuts him off.
“Later!” Alkara throws her hands up. She scans the room, “Where’s Guen?” Neither Dre nor Tharan respond.
Chiron and another Doësin elf fight the three Forsaken at the stone wall. The awkward pair backtrack defensively against the more complementary technique of the dark elves.
A growl from the great cat brings Alkara’s attention to the other side of the chamber. The panther has a dark elf pinned with her jaw clamped around his neck. “Guen, find the mages!”
The panther snarls and rips her maw back, pulling much of the elf’s throat along with her. Guen sniffs at the air and sprints away. A deep throaty growl rumbles along with her.
Alkara tracks the panther through the darkness and looses another arrow at a shadowed figure Guen passes. The arrow grazes the warrior and Alkara grabs anothr.
“Fire!” Dre cries.
Alkara whirls. Fire burns at the tents. Small, weak screams split the air from within.
“The children,” Tharan’s voice trembles. He sprints toward the burning tent.
Alkara calls after him, “Are you crazy?!” But Tharan disappears inside without a word or even a wince at the fire.
A bolt flies by Alkara’s face. She flinches and whirls into a low crouch. The dark elf stands on the opposite side of the cavern. Too far for the hand crossbow’s reach.
The distance would prove meaningless for Alkara’s recurve. She looses two arrows in quick succession, one at chest height and the other lower.
The elf ducks the first. The second takes him in the calf. The elf hits the ground knee first. His face twists in pain. Then, his expression goes slack, he glances down another tunnel. Alkara sinks another arrow into his chest.
What was that all about?
The ground trembles. Something clenches inside her, deep in her stomach. She frowns at the ground, disapproving of its tremors.
Tharan coughs. His wracked breath echoes through the cavern. “Take him! Three more,” The command comes in a hoarse whisper.
Alkara turns and instinctively grabs the brown-haired child being thrust at her. “What?” But Tharan hustles away without a word. Alkara blinks at the smoky haze filling the area.
What is she supposed to do with this kid? “Uh, here.” Alkara puts the child next to another tent, “Hide inside.” The boy sobs into her, pushing his dirt-covered tunic into her thighs. “Ahh!” Alkara can’t fire a bow and hold a kid. And Dre is busy putting the fire out.
No time for this!
She puts the boy behind her and looks for more Forsaken in the darkness. Guen pads away from a prone form, bloodied robe fragments lay in tatters next to him. Alkara shoots a quick glance at the still standing wall of stone. A dark smile crosses her expression, “Guen, find the other.”
The ground thrums in excitement. Rhythmic pulses jostle those in the cavern. Her breath comes unbidden in short, sharp bursts.
Large foot falls? If so, then whatever is coming is–
A tremulous, deep roar warbles through the room. Alkara flinches and ducks in to hug the boy. She pushes her hands over his ears. Her eyes widen.
What the fuck?
Alkara’s heartbeat thrashes against her skull. She clenches her jaw, crushing tooth against tooth. A massive worm-like scaled monstrosity breaches the room. Criss-cross threading weaves through the creature’s body, like some grotesque patchwork doll. The monster obliterates rock under its two fore-claws as it pulls itself into the center of the cavern.
It swings its great, stitched-together head back and forth. Two matching yellow eyes track unseen figures in the dark. The third, off-center in its forehead, flashes with greenish light as it peers through the gloom. A chill crawls across Alkara’s flesh when it the eye’s gaze passes over her.
“Cover!” Alkara screams. The cry bursts her paralysis. She grabs the now two children sitting in the open and drags them into a tent.
The tent’s flap blocks her view. Metal flashes in the firelight. A dagger punches into Alkara’s gut. Another Forsaken stands just inside the tent.
Alkara grunts and rips her own dagger from its sheath. She clenches her abdominal muscles and launches her body into the elf. They tumble into the back of the shelter. Tiny patters of rain strike its canvas. Something buzzes around her neck. The children wail behind her. Alkara stabs and stabs at the elf. Most blows sail through the air or strike the hard ground. “Dre!”
The elf twists under her grip and slices her calf. Alkara punches him in the throat. They roll onto their sides and grunt at each other, each trying to twist their daggers into a killing strike.
The elf reaches up and grabs at Alkara’s face, fingers probe for her eye. Alkara twists her head and clamps down on ashen grey fingers with her teeth. The elf drops his dagger and starts slamming his fist into her side.
Alkara slices at the elf’s wrist, then swings her leg over his torso. She pulls herself into a sitting position, keeping her weight on the Forsaken. She blinks at the man with darkening vision. Her jaw goes slack.
She shakes her head and the elf punches her across the jaw. Alkara turns and falls from the elf. “Dre,” she chokes out before the elf clasps his hand around her throat.
Bright red blood streams from the elf’s other wrist. Alkara paws at the Forsaken’s hand around her throat. His grip is weakened but strong.
The elf pitches forward, smashing his shoulder into Alkara’s face. Dre rolls him off of Alkara.
Alkara blinks at her sister. “Poiso–”
“This will help,” Dre raises a vial to Alkara’s lips, “But you must drink all of it.”
Alkara sips at the vial, working her lips as she can against the paralytic. The ground rocks, and shouts of pain ring through the air. It all gets drowned in the piecemeal linnyrm’s roar.
Dre works at Alkara’s wounds, wrapping gauze and bandages where they are worst. The alchemist drips a waxy substance into the deep burns. The balm seeps into the wounds and soothes everything it touches.
Alkara curls her fingers into a weak fist. “Have to get out there.” She pushes on the ground but her hand slides away without purchase.
“Just another moment. Almost done.” Dre tightens another bandage around Alkara’s abdomen. The gut wound hasn’t throbbed since she was first stabbed.
Alkara smirks. “Didn’t even try to argue.”
“What’s the point?”
Alkara snorts, then groans from the pain it brings.
“Serves you right.” But there’s a smile in Dre’s voice. A few more moments pass. “Alright. You’re done.”
Alkara huffs, her breathing pains her, but she stands with her bow nonetheless. She moves to the front of the tent. “Stay with the kids,” Alkara doesn’t look back. She opens the flap and her grip weakens on the bow. Stone statues litter the cavern.
And Chiron is one of them.
“Chiron!” Alkara starts forward.
“Alkara!” Tharan grabs her arm and pulls her back, “Wait!” Two small children huddle with Tharan. They appear unscathed.
Dre pokes her head out of the tent. She ushers her two to join with Tharan’s.
Alkara yanks her arm from Tharan, but he holds fast. “Let me go!” She pries at his fingers, but her strength isn’t yet returned. “What is your problem?”
“There is nothing–“
Something fiery fills Alkara and she pushes Tharan back with enough force that he stumbles. “Don’t you DARE!” Alkara’s face twists into a scowl, “EVER tell me what I can or can’t do!” She turns away from Tharan begins loosing arrows at the monstrosity.
Its patchwork skin bleeds with black goo from bolts embedded in it and slashes across its hide. One eye socket stares blankly out, the eye taken by some unknown thing. Streaky black spiderwebbing lines run across its flesh.
Uncle Iro must have escaped from behind the wall somehow.
Dre moves to Alkara’s side, “I can help Chiron. But take that out,” she points to the thing’s third eye. “The one in the forward, it’s a basilisk’s.”
Alkara turns to ask how Dre knew but her sister pushes on to the cavern’s wall. Alkara crouches behind the tents and inches forward. The third eye snaps to and fro looking for another victim. Of course, it’s the one that’s different.
Duh.
Alkara nocks an arrow and waits for an opening. When it comes she pulls the string tight and looses the arrow. The arrow sinks to its haft next to the eye. She leans back behind her tent.
The patchwork thing thrashes at its face. It paws at its cheek while the eye scans the tents Alkara crouches behind. It pulls itself forward but stops and focuses on something on the opposite side.
Shadows of movement draw Alkara’s attention. She narrows her eyes against the dark. A dark elf drags one of the Doësin into a side passage. She looks into the tunnel but her heightened vision fails her. She frowns.
Tharan cries out. Alkara turns, forgetting the Doësin. Tharan reels back from a dark elf before jumping forward and smashing his armored forearm into the man several times. The Forsaken crumples to the ground.
First useful thing he’s done all fight.
Other than giving us this light.
Another dark elf steps into the illuminated area, this one with a child. He presses the blade to the child’s throat. “Surrender.” Alkara nocks an arrow in a slow, smooth motion. The elf digs the point of his dagger into the child’s skin, “Or this one dies.”
Alkara clenches her jaw but releases the bow’s tension. The elf grins with teeth bared. He nods. “Drop the bow.”
Alkara tenses, muscles ripple through her body into a readied patience. The elf slides the dagger across the girl’s throat, drawing a shallow line. The girl writhes and whimpers.
Alkara raises her hands, dropping the bow. “Alright! It’s okay, just–”
The bell chimes and echoes through the cavern once more. This time a word accompanies it. Ripples of air and power spiral through the air. The dark elf releases the girl like she were a hot brand. He screams as his ashen skin turns black. Smoke and the stench of burnt meat fill the area. He gags and drops to his knees. The gags turn to choking until his eyes pop. The Forsaken falls to the ground, unmoving.
Alkara claps a hand to her mouth and clamps her nostrils closed, barely registering the screaming children. She turns to Tharan. The Doësin glares at the elf with a deep fury in his eyes. Bile slides up into the back of Alkara’s throat. A moment passes and the expression on Tharan’s face blanks. Alkara looks back at the corpse, “Was… what was it.. did you?”
Tharan doesn’t respond. He clutches his head and stares into space. A gasp precedes his body arcing and twisting. He clenches his jaw and grunts. The burning light disappears.
Alkara blinks in the now too-dim light provided by Dre’s beads. She finds the dark elf snarling behind Tharan. He pulls a wicked blade from Tharan.
Tharan collapses with ragged breaths. The dark elf kicks him as he moves toward Alkara. He stalks forward with the serrated blade held forward.
A blot flies past Alkara and into the Forsaken’s throat. The man gurgles and rakes a the bolt. He takes a single step forward before his legs surrender to gravity.
Alkara dashes to Tharan and the growing pool of blood forming under him. She kneels next to him to inspect the wound. Sour rot hits her nose.
Tharan chants in disjointed, weak rhythms. He calls on Doë for aid but the blood flows regardless. It doesn’t even slow.
Alkara rips the back of Tharan’s tunic open where the dagger pierced him, “Dre!” She holds Tharan steady so Dre can work.
Dre unclasps Tharan’s cloak and tosses it in a heap. “I need light.” She sets her pack down and rifles through the contents.
Moments later, flickering torchlight fills the space.
Alkara turns away from the wound. She closes her eyes and wills her throat to keep from betraying her. Tharan’s skin bubbles and melts where the dagger struck him. A shallow divit had already formed when she looked.
Dre and Uncle Iro speak, but Alkara their words are meaningless. Their conversation is drowned in Tharan’s cries of pain. He grips her tunic, clinging to her as he twists his torso.
Alkara murmurs under her breath. She calls out to Urdima, that Tree which gives life to Urda.
Please… please help him… help us.
A shimmering spectral fey emerges from nothingness. It resembles a woman but wrapped in bark. Greenery of leaves and vine twist around her form. The fey lays her hand on Tharan’s wound.
And nothing happens. The divit remains. Blood and white pus pour from the wound. But it doesn’t grow. The poison doesn’t eat further into Tharan’s back. The fey will only help for so long. Then the poison will continue to consume Tharan.
Hold and restore us. Please.
Tharan’s breathing grows more rapid. He sucks at the air. Dre cuts Uncle Iro off with a raised hand. She presses her ear into Tharan’s chest. “Alkara, can you calm him?” She grabs a vial from her pack. “I can save him with time.” Another vial set down next to the first. Dre pulls a mortar out and a thin metal spoon. “I need time.”
Alkara draws her brow tight, “I barely even know him, what could I do–?”
“Sing,” Uncle Iro squeezes Alkara’s shoulder. “We’re elves. Music lives in our souls.” He smirks, “Pick something and start singing.” He releases Alkara’s shoulder and moves toward the children.
“I–” Alkara looks around at the ground, the discarded tunic, the tents. “I can’t–” A spasm cuts her off. She grips Tharan’s torso to keep him steady.
What could I sing? Maids? The forest? Not one of those bawdy ditties.
She runs through her memories for something. Anything. There was one about a wolf and a storm. A ballad.
Alkara lifts her voice into the silence, stumbling through the first line. Her voice is raw and untrained, but the song grows more steady with each word. Smoothing out with time. The time Dre needs. Tharan calms against her grasp. His shallow breaths deepen.
“Good,” Dre is quiet, the word comes out neglected. “Keep singing.” She mixes nameless fluids into a paste with the spoon. “Not much longer.” The paste bubbles and subsides. Dre scoops pats of it out and rubs it into Tharan’s back.
“Alkara…” Tharan’s voice trickles from his mouth. Strain and pain fill his words, “If this is my end–”
“Knock it off.” Alkara snaps, then softens her voice. “You’re not going to die.”
“Please. I need you…” Tharan pauses. He shakes his head. He looks up at Alkara with wet, bloodshot eyes. “The Bell. Take it back…” He lifts one hand up but drops it immediately. “Back to Afanen. Find Dorie. Tell…” Tharan closes his eyes, “Tell him…” he trails off.
Alkara grimaces. Dre scoops more paste into the wound but there’s still a lot of area to cover. She nods and picks the song up again. Her muscles ache, but she holds Tharan steady.
More paste, and more song. Alkara’s muscles burn after another couple minutes. Tharan heaves a deep, shuddering sigh. “Alkara…” His breathing steadies.
Warmth floods Alkara’s cheeks. She turns to Dre, who nods. Alkara set Tharan’s body to rest on the ground.
Dre watches Tharan. “The wound will close now, with the help of that unction. He’ll need rest. Sleep. Food. And more healing.” She spares a look around the room. “We can’t stay here. Corrian says the patchwork linnyrm will reawaken soon.” She turns to Uncle Iro and Chiron.
The men nod and lift Tharan. They set him upon a litter made of tent canvass and poles. Neither say a word.
Alkara stands, stretching out her legs and rolling her shoulders. She looks around, not really seeing anything until her gaze hits the four huddled children. Dirt stained tunics and cloth cling to them. Fear fills their eyes.
Alkara sighs. “Guen?” She calls into the darkness. Alkara turns about the room, casting out for the panther, “Where are you girl?”
“Alkara.” Uncle Iro’s face is set. He looks at Alkara without expression. A tinge of sadness touches his eyes.
A vice twists into place in Alkara’s heart. “Where is she? Where’s Guen?” She asks through clenched teeth.
Iroshi pulls a bright yellow ribbon from his pocket. His expression breaks into a sorrowful plea, “Don’t go looking for her.” He presses the ribbon into Alkara’s hands.
Tears flit down Alkara’s cheeks, “No. But–” Her ribbon had gone off. When she wrestled with the dark elf. She’d been distracted.
Uncle Iro takes Alkara’s hands in his own, “Let’s go.”
“I can’t–”
Uncle Iro gives Alkara a hard look, a rare edge to his voice. “No arguing this time Alkara. It’s time to go.”
Alkara flinches, grips the ribbon in her fist, and looks down.
“Come on.”
Alkara trails after Uncle Iro. She waves the children ahead of her. As they leave the cavern she looks about before realizing she’s looking for Guen. The darkness snuffs out any hope of seeing the great cat.
The troupe exits the cavern and Uncle Iro stops them in the Harvester antechamber. “We’ll go back to grab any supplies we can find,” he gestures to Chiron. Alkara lifts her face to speak but Uncle Iro shakes his head in one curt motion.
The duo return a short time latter. They pick Tharan’s litter from the ground and follow the tunnel passage away from the cavern. Alkara drags her feet in pursuit.
They find an alcove and stop. They do need to rest, especially with four young children. The alcove will give some manner of defense if needed.
Uncle Iro gestures Alkara forward. “You brought it?” She nods and sets the triangle canvass down. A whispered runic word brings the tent into its grandeur.
The group files in. Chiron and Uncle Iro set Tharan on a cot near the back. The rest gather whatever restful spot they can and settle in. Dre pulls her legs to her chest and rocks softly.
Small, voiceless sobs escape Alkara’s chest as she lay on the tent’s floor. She’d failed. Her limbs tingle. She failed Guenwyvar. And Urdima.
Alkara turns to look at Tharan on his cot. His breathing is better, but he has a long road ahead.
She scowls, looking away. She should be thinking about Guen. Not some elf who’s not supposed to be here anyway.
She resists for as long as she can before she drags her eyes back to settle on Tharan’s sleeping form and drifts into a fitful sleep.Alkara edges down the darkened tunnel. Dre and Chiron slip in behind. She peers into the void and small variances of shapes greet her. Tinges of needlepoint stab around her eyes. Dre’s potion helps a little but the tradeoff pains her.
Castoff items mark the absence of their Harvester owners. Dre taps Alkara’s shoulder, “They kept their slaves here.” Tremors in Dre’s voice grip Alkara’s core. She steps around a buckle of some sort. Its function remains a mystery.
Whatever they are, their absence provides some relief. Even were their mission not to rescue Uncle Iro it could only be bad to run into the creatures.
Chiron lurches past Alkara and holds a hand up. He turns back and holds a finger to his lips, Alkara guesses it’s not a dagger or some other oblong thing. He slinks forward and disappears in the gloom. A small crunch accompanies his departure before all noise dies.
A muffled grunt revives the sound. Alkara’s chest tightens as she holds her breath. Should she illuminate the area? Chiron may be in danger. She strains her eyes against the dark wall of nothing ahead.
A blocky shape appears. It gains definition until Chiron breaks the emptiness. A sigh escapes Alkara’s lips as her shoulders loosen. Chiron carries a light-framed body.
Sharp ears extend from his head. The figure’s skin darkles against the murk of the tunnel. A small trickle of blood at the mouth smears the otherwise ash grey complexion.
Alkara clenches her jaw. A dark elf.
Chiron moves past Alkara and Dre and sets the body further from the tunnel opening. Wet metallic flavor fills the air. He unhooks the elf’s crossbow and sword. Each he sets next to the body before he rummages in pockets. As Chiron works a dark wet pool grows under the body.
The Forsaken always work in groups of seven. Six more remain ahead.
If they’re even in the right place. Uncle Iro hadn’t said anything about a Harvester colony. And the dark elves are everywhere down here. Thankfully the Waste Walkers had managed to either avoid them or take out the few that had stumbled across them. Dre had even managed to bribe a few of them.
“This tunnel opens to a large cavern,” Chiron’s whisper brushes against the silence, only just breaking it. Alkara nods and waits. Chiron takes the lead, skulking close to the right-hand wall. Shreds of conversation emerge from the darkness ahead.
They stop.
Alkara taps Chiron on the shoulder and leans close to his ear. She cups her hands around her mouth and his ear. “Take Uncle’s rapier to him.” She unbuckles the rapier from her waist and hands it to Chiron.
Chiron takes the rapier and edges away. The darkness suffocates his form.
A chill prickles Alkara’s chest as Chiron moves away. He had worked hard to grow his skill, but against Forsaken elves in the Depths? The skin of her nape crawls. She grits her teeth and inches along behind with Dre following. Guen pads along on the left side, a dark silhouette against the tunnel.
A scrap of sentence drifts through the tunnel, “… your captive fails? Her spirit is wild, untamable. A true firebrand. Do you think she will reason with you?”
The prickling ice in Alkara’s chest enlarges to a block of ice. Her fingers numb with a chill. She knows the voice.
The silkier voice continues, “Brands of fire can be doused with sufficient water.” The threat filters through the statement.
“This one might prove volatile in water.” A pause impregnates the silence. Tharan’s even voice continues, “Compliance is key with her. My suggestion get us what we both want.”
Dre squeezes Alkara’s wrist. Dre gasps and her head tilts back.
A sharp tug on her braid snaps Alkara’s head back. Someone kicks the back of her knees, forcing her down. A forearm hits her throat. Alkara struggles against the grip but can’t pull it away.
Guenwyvar snarls. The grip pulls at Alkara but disappears.
“Dre!” Alkara shouts. Pops of light brighten the area. Alkara winces against their dim light, which seems more brilliant than the surface. The cave must be over a hundred paces, the globules of light don’t touch the other side. Still she wastes no time loosing arrows into the dark elf holding Dre. He grunts and stumbles back.
A bolt digs a shallow furrow into Alkara’s shoulder. She grits her teeth against the slight pain. Alkara snatches an arrow from her quiver and spins around.
“Hold!” Tharan’s voice rings through the cavern with unquestionable authority. Harsh calm descends upon the room.
Alkara toys with the idea of loosing the arrow on Tharan himself. Instead she peers into the darkness and looses the arrow at the hidden crossbowman. The arrow whistles unseen into the void until it thuds. A small grunt seeps from the darkness.
“Bell Keeper!” A feminine voice yells from somewhere in the darkness.
“Dre! More light please!” Alkara calls. She turns to finish off the dark elf who had tackled Dre while Guen mauls the one who’d tackled Alkara.
“I entreat you all, stand down, please!” Tharan calls again.
Light blooms from several more pops. Tharan and a dark elf appear in the midst of several tents. Uncle Iro dashes from a tent with Chiron in tow and some small flying creature. He rushes toward the rapidly vanishing dark elf next to Tharan. Tharan steps back from them. They turn and dive into the darkness.
Leaving him alive for questions? What in the twisted roots is he doing down here?
Tharan catches Alkara’s eye and waves her toward him, “This way, quickly!”
Alkara scoffs, “Are you ser—”
A torrent of fire blazes through the tunnel and around her, Dre, and Guen. Alkara screams as the fire sears her skin and burns her clothes. Dre clamps her jaw down but is a patchwork of blotchy red and pale skin. Guen whimpers and rolls the fires into the tunnel surface.
“No!” A deep bell rings. Flames wreath Tharan. He chants and the overloud voice rumbles through the cavern. Light surges through the area, filling a circle of the cavern from floor to ceiling. Rock that should never have known such dazzling illumination sizzles under its intensity.
Alkara flinches again. She shields her eyes with a sharp cry of pain. Someone pulls her at the wrist. She staggers forward. Alkara blinks against the light and the form of Tharan materializes.
She wrenches her wrist in his firm grip. Despite the twisting all she does is hurt herself. “Let go!”
A soft tone enters Tharan’s voice, “Alkara, please! Listen—”
A stilted voice calls, “She’s here! Bring her down.” A surge of motion echoes around Alkara. “Or kill the half-breed!”
Tharan shakes his head with stiff motions.
Alkara burns to glare at him, but the order distracts her. Shapes burst from the darkness to charge Uncle Iro. Globes of inky darkness appear but burn in the boiling light. The skin of half a dozen, maybe more, dark elves sizzle in that light.
Why me? I haven’t done anything to these people.
Tharan pushes Alkara with a trembling hand and steps in front of her. Alkara looses an arrow at one of the sizzling elves. Then another. She hardly stops to watch the arrows in flight before she’s grabbed another.
Guen launches herself into one. Her body collides with the elf mid-stride and bears him into the ground. The tussle disappears into the eternal night of the Depths.
In near unison, four of the Forsaken lift their crossbows. Tharan shakes his hand, held forward. Another deep, rich bell chimes. The weapons rattle and glow, eliciting gasps from the elves. They drop the red-hot weapons.
The crossbow stirrups blacken the ground where they land, and dark chips of metal flake from them. With each passing moment the metal lumpens and twists until they’re unrecognizable. Wooden limbs and stocks lay forgotten next to the twisted metals.
The elves snatch daggers and swords from their sheaths only to find they too glow with rising heat. More lumps of mishappen metal join the first.
Alkara shakes herself, then snaps two arrows into place and launches them into the side of one distracted elf. “Did you—?”
“No time,” Tharan’s voice is uneven, he stares at an unmoving body. “You must go!” The words come out in a growl through his clenched jaw.
Alkara squints. Dim light shows a blue hue to the body. Another Doësin? Alkara looses another arrow into the darkness, “We need to capture—”
Dre’s cry echoes through the cavern. Alkara scans the area, trying to pierce the darkness. She looses another arrow into the shoulder of the dark elf attacking Dre.
Dre jerks away from the dark elf. She pauses long enough to look around for more threats before dashing toward Alkara. Dre grimaces and favors one bleeding, burnt leg, “Give me time, I need to patch this.” A half dozen other wounds and injuries compete for attention, but the worst is Dre’s shoulder.
Alkara nods and launches arrows toward the closest, visible elves. She turns to Tharan, “Any other surprises up your,” she narrows her eyes, “Vambraces?”
Tharan holds his reply. Ragged breaths partner with pale skin. He shakes his head and scans for any visible elves. After their weapons fell apart they had fled into the darkness.
That makes things more difficult.
Alkara frowns, “Guen!” She looks about for ways to rejoin the battle. Uncle Iro and Chiron face off with four of the Forsaken. That is, until a stone wall emerges from nothingness to separate Uncle Iro and a forsaken from everyone else. Alkara nocks an arrow, “Uncle!” She looses the arrow at one of the remaining three elves.
“Watch out!” Tharan grabs Alkara but a torrent of flame spins in a cylinder around them before he can do anything else. Flames lick at the pair. Tharan groans with eyes squeezed shut.
The fire burns at Alkara’s exposed flesh and consumes more of her clothes. She gasps and pats her clothes where fire clings to it. Alkara wrenches herself around to view Dre.
Dre waves her away with a thumbs up, “I’m fine.” She peers into the outer darkness, “There’s another mage, that makes two I’ve seen.”
Searing heat floods through Alkara, radiating from her shoulder. She gasps and whips around. Tharan grasps something in one hand and the other is on her shoulder. She glares at Tharan, “What the hell?”
Tharan pulls his hand back, and with it the heat. “A healing blessing. This will give you the strength to continue.”
Alkara narrows her eyes. She rubs the still warm shoulder, “Sure doesn’t feel like healing.” Some of her aches and pains feel better though.
Tharan frowns. He opens his mouth to speak but Alkara cuts him off.
“Later!” Alkara throws her hands up. She scans the room, “Where’s Guen?” Neither Dre nor Tharan respond.
Chiron and another Doësin elf fight the three Forsaken at the stone wall. The awkward pair backtrack defensively against the more complementary technique of the dark elves.
A growl from the great cat brings Alkara’s attention to the other side of the chamber. The panther has a dark elf pinned with her jaw clamped around his neck. “Guen, find the mages!”
The panther snarls and rips her maw back, pulling much of the elf’s throat along with her. Guen sniffs at the air and sprints away. A deep throaty growl rumbles along with her.
Alkara tracks the panther through the darkness and looses another arrow at a shadowed figure Guen passes. The arrow grazes the warrior and Alkara grabs anothr.
“Fire!” Dre cries.
Alkara whirls. Fire burns at the tents. Small, weak screams split the air from within.
“The children,” Tharan’s voice trembles. He sprints toward the burning tent.
Alkara calls after him, “Are you crazy?!” But Tharan disappears inside without a word or even a wince at the fire.
A bolt flies by Alkara’s face. She flinches and whirls into a low crouch. The dark elf stands on the opposite side of the cavern. Too far for the hand crossbow’s reach.
The distance would prove meaningless for Alkara’s recurve. She looses two arrows in quick succession, one at chest height and the other lower.
The elf ducks the first. The second takes him in the calf. The elf hits the ground knee first. His face twists in pain. Then, his expression goes slack, he glances down another tunnel. Alkara sinks another arrow into his chest.
What was that all about?
The ground trembles. Something clenches inside her, deep in her stomach. She frowns at the ground, disapproving of its tremors.
Tharan coughs. His wracked breath echoes through the cavern. “Take him! Three more,” The command comes in a hoarse whisper.
Alkara turns and instinctively grabs the brown-haired child being thrust at her. “What?” But Tharan hustles away without a word. Alkara blinks at the smoky haze filling the area.
What is she supposed to do with this kid? “Uh, here.” Alkara puts the child next to another tent, “Hide inside.” The boy sobs into her, pushing his dirt-covered tunic into her thighs. “Ahh!” Alkara can’t fire a bow and hold a kid. And Dre is busy putting the fire out.
No time for this!
She puts the boy behind her and looks for more Forsaken in the darkness. Guen pads away from a prone form, bloodied robe fragments lay in tatters next to him. Alkara shoots a quick glance at the still standing wall of stone. A dark smile crosses her expression, “Guen, find the other.”
The ground thrums in excitement. Rhythmic pulses jostle those in the cavern. Her breath comes unbidden in short, sharp bursts.
Large foot falls? If so, then whatever is coming is–
A tremulous, deep roar warbles through the room. Alkara flinches and ducks in to hug the boy. She pushes her hands over his ears. Her eyes widen.
What the fuck?
Alkara’s heartbeat thrashes against her skull. She clenches her jaw, crushing tooth against tooth. A massive worm-like scaled monstrosity breaches the room. Criss-cross threading weaves through the creature’s body, like some grotesque patchwork doll. The monster obliterates rock under its two fore-claws as it pulls itself into the center of the cavern.
It swings its great, stitched-together head back and forth. Two matching yellow eyes track unseen figures in the dark. The third, off-center in its forehead, flashes with greenish light as it peers through the gloom. A chill crawls across Alkara’s flesh when it the eye’s gaze passes over her.
“Cover!” Alkara screams. The cry bursts her paralysis. She grabs the now two children sitting in the open and drags them into a tent.
The tent’s flap blocks her view. Metal flashes in the firelight. A dagger punches into Alkara’s gut. Another Forsaken stands just inside the tent.
Alkara grunts and rips her own dagger from its sheath. She clenches her abdominal muscles and launches her body into the elf. They tumble into the back of the shelter. Tiny patters of rain strike its canvas. Something buzzes around her neck. The children wail behind her. Alkara stabs and stabs at the elf. Most blows sail through the air or strike the hard ground. “Dre!”
The elf twists under her grip and slices her calf. Alkara punches him in the throat. They roll onto their sides and grunt at each other, each trying to twist their daggers into a killing strike.
The elf reaches up and grabs at Alkara’s face, fingers probe for her eye. Alkara twists her head and clamps down on ashen grey fingers with her teeth. The elf drops his dagger and starts slamming his fist into her side.
Alkara slices at the elf’s wrist, then swings her leg over his torso. She pulls herself into a sitting position, keeping her weight on the Forsaken. She blinks at the man with darkening vision. Her jaw goes slack.
She shakes her head and the elf punches her across the jaw. Alkara turns and falls from the elf. “Dre,” she chokes out before the elf clasps his hand around her throat.
Bright red blood streams from the elf’s other wrist. Alkara paws at the Forsaken’s hand around her throat. His grip is weakened but strong.
The elf pitches forward, smashing his shoulder into Alkara’s face. Dre rolls him off of Alkara.
Alkara blinks at her sister. “Poiso–”
“This will help,” Dre raises a vial to Alkara’s lips, “But you must drink all of it.”
Alkara sips at the vial, working her lips as she can against the paralytic. The ground rocks, and shouts of pain ring through the air. It all gets drowned in the piecemeal linnyrm’s roar.
Dre works at Alkara’s wounds, wrapping gauze and bandages where they are worst. The alchemist drips a waxy substance into the deep burns. The balm seeps into the wounds and soothes everything it touches.
Alkara curls her fingers into a weak fist. “Have to get out there.” She pushes on the ground but her hand slides away without purchase.
“Just another moment. Almost done.” Dre tightens another bandage around Alkara’s abdomen. The gut wound hasn’t throbbed since she was first stabbed.
Alkara smirks. “Didn’t even try to argue.”
“What’s the point?”
Alkara snorts, then groans from the pain it brings.
“Serves you right.” But there’s a smile in Dre’s voice. A few more moments pass. “Alright. You’re done.”
Alkara huffs, her breathing pains her, but she stands with her bow nonetheless. She moves to the front of the tent. “Stay with the kids,” Alkara doesn’t look back. She opens the flap and her grip weakens on the bow. Stone statues litter the cavern.
And Chiron is one of them.
“Chiron!” Alkara starts forward.
“Alkara!” Tharan grabs her arm and pulls her back, “Wait!” Two small children huddle with Tharan. They appear unscathed.
Dre pokes her head out of the tent. She ushers her two to join with Tharan’s.
Alkara yanks her arm from Tharan, but he holds fast. “Let me go!” She pries at his fingers, but her strength isn’t yet returned. “What is your problem?”
“There is nothing–“
Something fiery fills Alkara and she pushes Tharan back with enough force that he stumbles. “Don’t you DARE!” Alkara’s face twists into a scowl, “EVER tell me what I can or can’t do!” She turns away from Tharan begins loosing arrows at the monstrosity.
Its patchwork skin bleeds with black goo from bolts embedded in it and slashes across its hide. One eye socket stares blankly out, the eye taken by some unknown thing. Streaky black spiderwebbing lines run across its flesh.
Uncle Iro must have escaped from behind the wall somehow.
Dre moves to Alkara’s side, “I can help Chiron. But take that out,” she points to the thing’s third eye. “The one in the forward, it’s a basilisk’s.”
Alkara turns to ask how Dre knew but her sister pushes on to the cavern’s wall. Alkara crouches behind the tents and inches forward. The third eye snaps to and fro looking for another victim. Of course, it’s the one that’s different.
Duh.
Alkara nocks an arrow and waits for an opening. When it comes she pulls the string tight and looses the arrow. The arrow sinks to its haft next to the eye. She leans back behind her tent.
The patchwork thing thrashes at its face. It paws at its cheek while the eye scans the tents Alkara crouches behind. It pulls itself forward but stops and focuses on something on the opposite side.
Shadows of movement draw Alkara’s attention. She narrows her eyes against the dark. A dark elf drags one of the Doësin into a side passage. She looks into the tunnel but her heightened vision fails her. She frowns.
Tharan cries out. Alkara turns, forgetting the Doësin. Tharan reels back from a dark elf before jumping forward and smashing his armored forearm into the man several times. The Forsaken crumples to the ground.
First useful thing he’s done all fight.
Other than giving us this light.
Another dark elf steps into the illuminated area, this one with a child. He presses the blade to the child’s throat. “Surrender.” Alkara nocks an arrow in a slow, smooth motion. The elf digs the point of his dagger into the child’s skin, “Or this one dies.”
Alkara clenches her jaw but releases the bow’s tension. The elf grins with teeth bared. He nods. “Drop the bow.”
Alkara tenses, muscles ripple through her body into a readied patience. The elf slides the dagger across the girl’s throat, drawing a shallow line. The girl writhes and whimpers.
Alkara raises her hands, dropping the bow. “Alright! It’s okay, just–”
The bell chimes and echoes through the cavern once more. This time a word accompanies it. Ripples of air and power spiral through the air. The dark elf releases the girl like she were a hot brand. He screams as his ashen skin turns black. Smoke and the stench of burnt meat fill the area. He gags and drops to his knees. The gags turn to choking until his eyes pop. The Forsaken falls to the ground, unmoving.
Alkara claps a hand to her mouth and clamps her nostrils closed, barely registering the screaming children. She turns to Tharan. The Doësin glares at the elf with a deep fury in his eyes. Bile slides up into the back of Alkara’s throat. A moment passes and the expression on Tharan’s face blanks. Alkara looks back at the corpse, “Was… what was it.. did you?”
Tharan doesn’t respond. He clutches his head and stares into space. A gasp precedes his body arcing and twisting. He clenches his jaw and grunts. The burning light disappears.
Alkara blinks in the now too-dim light provided by Dre’s beads. She finds the dark elf snarling behind Tharan. He pulls a wicked blade from Tharan.
Tharan collapses with ragged breaths. The dark elf kicks him as he moves toward Alkara. He stalks forward with the serrated blade held forward.
A blot flies past Alkara and into the Forsaken’s throat. The man gurgles and rakes a the bolt. He takes a single step forward before his legs surrender to gravity.
Alkara dashes to Tharan and the growing pool of blood forming under him. She kneels next to him to inspect the wound. Sour rot hits her nose.
Tharan chants in disjointed, weak rhythms. He calls on Doë for aid but the blood flows regardless. It doesn’t even slow.
Alkara rips the back of Tharan’s tunic open where the dagger pierced him, “Dre!” She holds Tharan steady so Dre can work.
Dre unclasps Tharan’s cloak and tosses it in a heap. “I need light.” She sets her pack down and rifles through the contents.
Moments later, flickering torchlight fills the space.
Alkara turns away from the wound. She closes her eyes and wills her throat to keep from betraying her. Tharan’s skin bubbles and melts where the dagger struck him. A shallow divit had already formed when she looked.
Dre and Uncle Iro speak, but Alkara their words are meaningless. Their conversation is drowned in Tharan’s cries of pain. He grips her tunic, clinging to her as he twists his torso.
Alkara murmurs under her breath. She calls out to Urdima, that Tree which gives life to Urda.
Please… please help him… help us.
A shimmering spectral fey emerges from nothingness. It resembles a woman but wrapped in bark. Greenery of leaves and vine twist around her form. The fey lays her hand on Tharan’s wound.
And nothing happens. The divit remains. Blood and white pus pour from the wound. But it doesn’t grow. The poison doesn’t eat further into Tharan’s back. The fey will only help for so long. Then the poison will continue to consume Tharan.
Hold and restore us. Please.
Tharan’s breathing grows more rapid. He sucks at the air. Dre cuts Uncle Iro off with a raised hand. She presses her ear into Tharan’s chest. “Alkara, can you calm him?” She grabs a vial from her pack. “I can save him with time.” Another vial set down next to the first. Dre pulls a mortar out and a thin metal spoon. “I need time.”
Alkara draws her brow tight, “I barely even know him, what could I do–?”
“Sing,” Uncle Iro squeezes Alkara’s shoulder. “We’re elves. Music lives in our souls.” He smirks, “Pick something and start singing.” He releases Alkara’s shoulder and moves toward the children.
“I–” Alkara looks around at the ground, the discarded tunic, the tents. “I can’t–” A spasm cuts her off. She grips Tharan’s torso to keep him steady.
What could I sing? Maids? The forest? Not one of those bawdy ditties.
She runs through her memories for something. Anything. There was one about a wolf and a storm. A ballad.
Alkara lifts her voice into the silence, stumbling through the first line. Her voice is raw and untrained, but the song grows more steady with each word. Smoothing out with time. The time Dre needs. Tharan calms against her grasp. His shallow breaths deepen.
“Good,” Dre is quiet, the word comes out neglected. “Keep singing.” She mixes nameless fluids into a paste with the spoon. “Not much longer.” The paste bubbles and subsides. Dre scoops pats of it out and rubs it into Tharan’s back.
“Alkara…” Tharan’s voice trickles from his mouth. Strain and pain fill his words, “If this is my end–”
“Knock it off.” Alkara snaps, then softens her voice. “You’re not going to die.”
“Please. I need you…” Tharan pauses. He shakes his head. He looks up at Alkara with wet, bloodshot eyes. “The Bell. Take it back…” He lifts one hand up but drops it immediately. “Back to Afanen. Find Dorie. Tell…” Tharan closes his eyes, “Tell him…” he trails off.
Alkara grimaces. Dre scoops more paste into the wound but there’s still a lot of area to cover. She nods and picks the song up again. Her muscles ache, but she holds Tharan steady.
More paste, and more song. Alkara’s muscles burn after another couple minutes. Tharan heaves a deep, shuddering sigh. “Alkara…” His breathing steadies.
Warmth floods Alkara’s cheeks. She turns to Dre, who nods. Alkara set Tharan’s body to rest on the ground.
Dre watches Tharan. “The wound will close now, with the help of that unction. He’ll need rest. Sleep. Food. And more healing.” She spares a look around the room. “We can’t stay here. Corrian says the patchwork linnyrm will reawaken soon.” She turns to Uncle Iro and Chiron.
The men nod and lift Tharan. They set him upon a litter made of tent canvass and poles. Neither say a word.
Alkara stands, stretching out her legs and rolling her shoulders. She looks around, not really seeing anything until her gaze hits the four huddled children. Dirt stained tunics and cloth cling to them. Fear fills their eyes.
Alkara sighs. “Guen?” She calls into the darkness. Alkara turns about the room, casting out for the panther, “Where are you girl?”
“Alkara.” Uncle Iro’s face is set. He looks at Alkara without expression. A tinge of sadness touches his eyes.
A vice twists into place in Alkara’s heart. “Where is she? Where’s Guen?” She asks through clenched teeth.
Iroshi pulls a bright yellow ribbon from his pocket. His expression breaks into a sorrowful plea, “Don’t go looking for her.” He presses the ribbon into Alkara’s hands.
Tears flit down Alkara’s cheeks, “No. But–” Her ribbon had gone off. When she wrestled with the dark elf. She’d been distracted.
Uncle Iro takes Alkara’s hands in his own, “Let’s go.”
“I can’t–”
Uncle Iro gives Alkara a hard look, a rare edge to his voice. “No arguing this time Alkara. It’s time to go.”
Alkara flinches, grips the ribbon in her fist, and looks down.
“Come on.”
Alkara trails after Uncle Iro. She waves the children ahead of her. As they leave the cavern she looks about before realizing she’s looking for Guen. The darkness snuffs out any hope of seeing the great cat.
The troupe exits the cavern and Uncle Iro stops them in the Harvester antechamber. “We’ll go back to grab any supplies we can find,” he gestures to Chiron. Alkara lifts her face to speak but Uncle Iro shakes his head in one curt motion.
The duo return a short time latter. They pick Tharan’s litter from the ground and follow the tunnel passage away from the cavern. Alkara drags her feet in pursuit.
They find an alcove and stop. They do need to rest, especially with four young children. The alcove will give some manner of defense if needed.
Uncle Iro gestures Alkara forward. “You brought it?” She nods and sets the triangle canvass down. A whispered runic word brings the tent into its grandeur.
The group files in. Chiron and Uncle Iro set Tharan on a cot near the back. The rest gather whatever restful spot they can and settle in. Dre pulls her legs to her chest and rocks softly.
Small, voiceless sobs escape Alkara’s chest as she lay on the tent’s floor. She’d failed. Her limbs tingle. She failed Guenwyvar. And Urdima.
Alkara turns to look at Tharan on his cot. His breathing is better, but he has a long road ahead.
She scowls, looking away. She should be thinking about Guen. Not some elf who’s not supposed to be here anyway.
She resists for as long as she can before she drags her eyes back to settle on Tharan’s sleeping form and drifts into a fitful sleep.