Terror of the Shadow

CHAPTER FOUR

When the light had faded and the hatch sealed shut, Laban realized that he had been holding his breath. He let it out. He felt freed from the War'acks' horrible spell that had held him terrified. The sound of his quivering breath was the only noise that filled their empty prison. Although, it was less empty now. Laban could no longer see the bodies of the two dead men. They were hidden in the blackness. That frightened him even more. Their angry souls, Laban sensed, still lingered. Their limp and decaying bodies were no longer capable of harm, but in death, they had been made perhaps more powerful...

Something stirred in the darkness. Laban's heart jumped at the sound of rocks cracking together.

"At least we're alive," a voice moaned. It was only Torreck.

"For now," Laban replied.

Laban could hear him fidgeting with the bandages on his head. He tore off another from his own clothing and wrapped it tightly around his leg.

"Still," Torreck continued. "At least I'll have some cool scars. And a good story to go with them."

"I don't understand how you can be joking around right now," said Laban.

Torreck gave a muffled laugh. "Kid, right now, all I've got left is jokes. If we're gonna die, might as well go out with a smile, right?"

"You don't think we'll ever get out of here," Laban said.

"Well, I don't think I'm going anywhere, kid. Not now."

"I'll carry you out."

"Then neither of us are getting out for sure. I'd just slow you down."

"We'll find a way."

"Let me guess. Those Above will save us?"

"They might."

"It's weapons that'll save us, kid. Though I doubt we would make it more than a few feet before they slit our throats, or worse. Even if I had both my legs, we wouldn't stand a chance against the War'acks. Better men than us have tried and failed."

Laban slumped down on the floor. He felt for the reassuring lump of the seer-stone underneath his robes. He wasn't ready to give up hope. Not yet.

He stood up. He found the wall of the cave and began walking forward. His steps wobbled under his still-trembling knees. He cautiously placed one foot in front of the other, feeling his way along the cold, stony wall. His hand brushed over a stream of something cold and sticky. His hand recoiled and he inhaled sharply in surprise. He continued on. His foot met something soft. He cringed, realizing that it was a dead body— the body he'd been searching for.

He drew a breath to help calm his nerves, but it was much less effective than he would have hoped. Death was not anything foreign to him, but that never made it any less... unsettling. He crouched down next to the dead War'ack. Laban's hands felt around in the darkness until they found flesh. It was still warm. He fumbled for the belt around the man's waist. His fingers discovered something long, cold, and slender, fastened securely to the War'ack's belt.

"This one has a knife," Laban said.

Torreck only mumbled in response.

"Are you alright?" Laban asked.

"I'm fine," he groaned. "It's just that the bleeding won't stop. I've lost a lot... give me that knife. I think I have an idea."

Laban reached into the folds of the War'ack's cloak. He grabbed the handle of the knife and tugged it free from its casing.