The effect came fast. Small rocks dislodged, falling down, larger rocks and slabs teetered upon the surface of the roof, cracks emerged and even more dust and chippings fell. And then it seemed like the entire roof began to fall upon the Gaeradine. Rocks of all sizes crashing down upon heads, shoulders. Soon, the dust in the air became too thick to see the devastation and Brorzjav pulled the girl away.
Overtaken by the cloud of dust, Brorzjav and the girl emerged from the tunnel to the broken cavern and fell into the next cavern along. The girl clutched at him, coughing and hacking and he covered her with his own body as the dust and ricocheting rocks and stones tumbled about them. He couldn't see a thing through dust covered eyes, but he felt strong hands help him up. Strong, feminine hands. Hands that wiped away the muck from his face.
Opening his eyes, he saw the face of Yisrith, no longer filled with amusement. No grin to her mouth. No giggle that seemed out of place. Only sadness. He reached out, cupping her face, rubbing her cheek with a thumb and then drew her into his arms, holding her tight and saying nothing. Her hands moved up his armoured back and gripped the collar of his chest armour and she buried her face into his shoulder.
"We should keep moving." She pulled herself from his arms, wiping a hand to her eye. "We don't know how safe any of this is, now. Lanterns are lit upon the stone bridge to light our way across."
Brorzjav didn't mention Ristith, that would come later. For now, they needed to leave these caverns. They would not know if they had a victory until they returned to the village, the other way, through the ravines. They couldn't know whether Anganurg had left some raiders to attack the village until they saw with their own eyes.
Pushing the girl before him and with Yisrith at his side, they moved as fast as they could back down the tunnels towards the underground river and the natural bridge. He had nagging doubts, however. If this were any other time, any other conflict, he would have stayed to check the enemy, to put those that needed it out of their miseries, to take prisoners. Leaving people to suffer did not sit right with him, but he needed to protect the girl. As always, now, that could be his only priority.
The sound of the roaring river reached their ears and he knew they were not far from the hidden entrance, marked by the white scar upon the hooked finger mountain. He felt glad to see the lines of lanterns upon the bridge, placed there earlier in preparation. He did not wish to traverse it in the dark. It had proved perilous enough, the last time. This time they could see the edges and even the white frothing rapids of the racing river.
Before even setting foot upon the bridge, he heard another roar behind him. A human roar. Turning, Brorzjav saw the dirty, bloodied image of Anganurg stumbling from the tunnel behind them. In his hands, he held his sword and a spear and the spear he threw towards Brorzjav, the girl and Yisrith. Thinking himself the target, Brorzjav pushed the two females aside, only to find Anganurg had not aimed at him.
-+-
The spear struck the girl, sending her flying backwards towards the edge of the drop into the rushing waters of the underground river and there she lay, unmoving. A crumpled heap upon the damp stone floor of the cavern, spray from the raging river spattering across her, light from the lanterns twinkling in the droplets.
Anganurg roared in delight, raising his arms, laughing. Brorzjav's heart stopped, skipping a beat as he stared at the body of the girl and his fingers tightened around the grip of Notch. He felt anger, then. Anger unlike any he had felt before. A rage that almost blinded him. He turned towards Anganurg and saw only blood.
"Your witch killed my soldiers, 'King'. Now she lies dead as do they." Anganurg breathed heavy, exalting in his tiny triumph.
Brorzjav didn't let the man continue. He crossed the gap between himself and the Gaeradine like a man possessed. Before Anganurg could react, Brorzjav brought Notch down towards the man's head and only reflexes honed by years of practice saved Anganurg from having his head cleaved in two. More by accident than design, he parried Notch aside and attempted a counter.
YOU ARE READING
These Old Bones
Fantasy[Book Three of the "Patrons' World" series.] What was he without war? No longer a husband. Never a father. No family or friends to speak of. For decades, war had carried him from one side of the world to the other and back again, but never home. Now...
