Abased - The Exiled Warrior

Chapter 1.1 - Funeral

Every step hurt.

People say broken ribs take months to heal.

I hope not. This is awful.

Alam glanced over at Frost's lifeless body in Tajar's arms. One of her arms swung like a pendulum as Tajar staggered forward down the dark, endless tunnel.

How can I think of myself now, of all times.

Tajar's breath came out in ragged gasps. He was a mess.

He's going to pass out at this rate.

"Let me take her for a while," Alam offered his friend.

"No," Tajar panted. "I have her."

"This is a mistake," said Gretch from in front of them. "She does not need a funeral."

"Shut up!" spat Alam and Tajar in unison.

"We do not have the strength, or tools, to bury her," Gretch continued.

"Shut up!" shouted Alam and then instantly regretted it as a broken rib moved inside him. His hand went to his side and he breathed in slowly.

"Talk again and I'll kill you," Tajar growled at Gretch.

"Never threaten that which you can not fulfil," said Gretch.

Tajar bellowed in rage before a spasm of coughing overcame him.

"Tajar," said a gentle voice from behind them, "I know it is difficult, but you must ignore Gretch. He does not understand your pain, for he does not understand your love. It is not his fault that your friend has passed."

Tajar coughed a final time and spat out the results but did not respond. Alam looked back to Clarisai and smiled a sad smile of thanks. In the dim light he saw her nod subtly.

They walked in silence towards the small rectangle of light in front of them. Gretch's silhouetted huge, muscular frame led the way, Alam and Tajar hobbled side by side and Clarisai limped behind. She was weak from years of imprisonment, not to mention the exhaustion from her saving Tajar's life. She had, simply by placing her one hand on Alam, and her other on Tajar, transferred some of the broken ribs, and internal damage, that should have killed Tajar, to Alam. The two friends had shared everything else in life so to Alam it was fitting that they share injuries as well.

Gretch limped in front of them. The curses that had, only an hour ago, convulsed his body had left him lame. Whether it was permanent or temporary was unknown. Still, there was no denying, that of the four of them, Gretch was the most recovered from the brutal battle that left Frost, a sorcerer, and a group of Bloodknights dead.

Suddenly Gretch stopped walking. They were a mere twenty paces from the doorway leading out of the tunnel and into fresh air and light.

"Brother," Gretch turned to Alam.

"I am not your brother," muttered Alam.

"We can not go this way. We must find another way out."

"Shut your mouth and keep moving," said Tajar.

"The land is cursed outside," Gretch continued. "I have spent enough time around terror curses to know what it feels like when one is near."

"I don't feel anything," said Alam.

"Neither do I," said Tajar as he pushed past Gretch.

"But you will. It starts in the bottom of your stomach and brings vague uneasiness. If you ignore it the fear will grow."