The Howling Delve
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"Shut up," Talal squeaked. "He'll come back. We have to . .. have to go."
But Morgan's feet refused to move. His mind worked sluggishly: the half-elf. . . Morgan hadn't heard it. He'd heard nothing. What kind of thief was he, what kind of partner, not to hear when the job went wrong?
The stupid half-elf had always been faster than him. "Legs like twigs, but he moved like he weighed nothing," Morgan babbled. He tried to make the boy understand. "He should've won; we never let each other win. The arrogant bastard should be halfway back to Keczulla by now."
Talal moaned in despair. "You're crazy. That thing's going to kill us both, and it'll all be for nothing!" He pushed, but Morgan grabbed him roughly.
"Listen to what I'm telling you!" Morgan shook the boy by the shoulder, ignoring his whimper of pain. "We'll meet up with him at the next intersection. He'll be there, waiting, and then—"
His head snapped to the side. Stars filled the corners of Morgan's vision. He looked at Talal in bewilderment. It slowly dawned on him that the boy had punched him in the jaw. He raised a hand; Talal flinched. Tears streamed down his thin face.
Morgan blinked several times to clear his head. Calmly, he forced all thoughts of the half-elf to a dark corner of his mind. Later, after he had spilled enough blood, he would take them out and examine them.
He grabbed the boy by the collar, pushing him toward the tunnel. "Run fast, little mouse," he growled. "Or we're all meat." At Talal's uncertain expression, he said, "Don't worry. I'll be right behind you."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The Howling Delve
5 Marpenoth, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)
Aazen tensed when he heard the distant howls. He raised a hand to halt the party, surveying what resources he had left.
Isslun and Aliyea were still above, probably slain. Tershus was there too. Falling rock had obscured Aazen's last glimpse of the halfling. The rest of his party had either been slain by Kall's group or separated by the journey through the portal. Aazen had only five left with him. One of them, Kiliren's apprentice, had to be half-carried due to his wounds. If he didn't succumb, Aazen was tempted to leave the man, especially in light of what he intended to do.
"Straight ahead, torches low unless absolutely necessary," he said. "Kall is nearby."
"Whatever's down here's killing them already," said Bardie, shifting his weight against the man supporting him. "We should wait to see if any survive."
"If they do, we may never find them again in these tunnels," said Aazen. "We could wander down here until we starve, or until whatever made that noise finds us. Kall—or one of his group—had to have come through the main portal. To find the way out, we go to him."
Bardie laughed, drawing uneasy glances from the men standing near him, but the apprentice's eyes were wide, delirious with pain and blood loss. "You're a fool, Kortrun. You want to find your friend. Balram knew you wouldn't be able to kill him."
Aazen stopped, his expression frozen. Slowly, he turned and walked back to the man. He lifted his sagging head by the hair. "What an interesting observation. Please enlighten me. What is my father planning?"
Bardie coughed and tried to shake his head, but Aazen held him firmly.
"Very well." Aazen removed his hand and pressed his knuckles into one of Bardie's open wounds. The apprentice howled and thrashed, but Aazen pressed him back with his other forearm. "What is his plan?"
"Another party," Bardie choked out. "I overheard my. . . master speaking of it. He was communicating with Daen magically. If you betrayed us, he was to send word to the other party."
"Thank you." Aazen removed his hand, wiping his bloody fingers on Bardie's robes. The apprentice collapsed against the tunnel wall, sliding down to the floor.
Aazen's thoughts raced, but his eyes stayed on the men surrounding him. They kept their faces averted, their expressions schooled to reveal nothing of their thoughts. And why should they? They were well trained and knew that Aazen, traitor or not, was the best hope they had of getting out of the caverns alive. But how many of them had known? How many of his "family" plotted against him?
"We go on," he said at last. When one of the men moved to lift Bardie from the floor, Aazen shook his head. "Leave him. He'll slow us down. Scout ahead, but do not be seen. We follow Kall's party." he paused, looking at each of them, making them meet his eyes. "Unless anyone else has objections they'd like to voice?"
They had none. The scout started to move away down the tunnel. He turned a corner, and Aazen saw him stop and take a jerky step to the side, as if he'd lost his footing. The man behind him moved forward to steady him.
"Wait!" shouted Aazen.
The scout fell sideways. A triple line of gashes ran vertically from his chest to his bowels. The ribs and organs in between were mauled. The scout had died before he knew what killed him. The man behind him cried out as he was yanked forward, around the corner into the darkness. This time Aazen heard the swish of claws passing through air and smelled the unnatural fire reek.
Grabbing the man nearest him, Aazen dived into one of the narrower tunnels off the main route, one they'd decided not to take for fear it would dead-end or become impassable. He heard the screams of his men, of Bardie trying to remember the words to a spell as the horror overcame him.
"Keep moving," Aazen snapped to the man he'd saved. He did not look back.
* * * * *
Cesira lay on the floor, her vision encompassing all of an inch-tall gap between the storeroom door and the ground. Her forked tongue passed over her fangs, touching wood and tasting dust. At last, she saw the shadows of feet approaching. The lock rattled, and the footsteps retreated. Scant breaths later, a loud crack echoed in the dark space as a foot connected with the door, busting the old lock and splintering the doorframe.