Beyond the Rabbit Hole

To the Depths of Dread

The morning came quicker than anybody wanted. Leaving the wagon behind, the mercenaries tied the last sack of supplies to the side of the mule. They finished off the bites the previous night, so everybody was irritated from hunger and exhaustion. Lord Desira grumbled and gritted his teeth when Bjurrin tossed his family heirlooms out of the crate to search for any leftover necessities. The nobleman struggled to decide which trinket had more sentimental value to carry with him. Still, ultimately, he decided his life was more important and reluctantly left it all behind with the wagon. The warriors, hardened by two weeks in the Dread Sea, could barely hide their anxiety as they faced the narrow path ahead of them. They lined up single file, with the Desiras and Valentina in the center. Serana also stood in the center at her charge's side. Bjurrin took to the front with the hooded escorts, and Alyss and Morgyn brought up the rear with Benard and Barbarossa.

Silence filled the rancid air, and endless darkness stretched out in all directions. Even the reapers could see no more than twenty feet away from them, and the humans could see far less. After a moment of hesitation, the group began its descent.

The mercenaries walked cautiously close to the wall, yet many of them allowed their curiosity to pull their gazes into the chasm below. A single trip. A bad fall. Only a few steps separated them from uncertain death. A silent enigma shrouded in darkness, but what could be beyond it?

How deep does it go? What monstrosities lurk there? Is there even a bottom? These questions circled the mercenaries' minds like sharks, tearing at their thoughts, and planting fear into their brains. Yet still they had to descend. Deeper into the chasm, along a narrow, rugged cliff, with only their chipped blades and dented armor to protect them from whatever horrors lay in wait. The silence captured their minds. No man dared to break it; only the sounds of their breath kept them company. Still, deeper they went.

They could not tell how much time had passed since they began the descent. What could have been only minutes felt like hours. And yet the mirage of time still weighed on them, gripping their stomachs and caressing their throats.

The first sound broke the silence. A sword dropped to the ground. The mercenary who wielded it stood still for a moment, staring blankly into the darkness. He heaved a deep sigh, took one step toward the ledge, and allowed himself to fall in.

The other mercenaries stared in silence as he disappeared into the chasm. One moment he was there, walking silently with the rest, and the next he was gone. . . without a trace. No one said a word. No one knew what to say. No thud or scream escaped from the darkness—only silence.

Morgyn stared blankly at the hole in the formation. His mouth hung open, silent as well. Why did he fall in? Was he suicidal? Did he lose his mind or just his hope? It didn't matter anymore. He was gone, and that could not change. Morgyn furrowed his brow and clenched his fists. No sound and no soul. . . I can't even tell if he's dead. What. . . what is this horrid place?

"Morgyn," Alyss whispered behind him, her face twisted by sadness as she stared into the darkness below. "We have to keep moving," she said softly.

Morgyn looked up from the chasm to see the mercenaries already moving ahead without them.

The group continued along the edge, slowly making their way down the winding cliffside path. Some amount of time passed before the group came to another stop. Bjurrin held up his hand and peered into the darkness. A faint purple spark writhed inside the wall of darkness just ahead of the group. He gestured for the crossbowman to step forward and pointed toward the silhouette of the zombie steadily shambling toward them along the cliff.