Dan Willis - The Survivors

He looked around for the first time. A line of dwarves were moving to the side of the cavern, toward the exit passage. Some wore bandages; others bore simple scrapes and cuts. Even before he thought to count, however, Bradok could tell there were fewer dwarves ready to move on than there were before.

“How many?” he gasped, taking an unsteady step after the group.

“Fifteen,” Rose answered, not meeting his eyes.

“Who?” Bradok said, not really wanting an answer but knowing he must be told.

Rose recited the names. Some Bradok didn’t recognize, and some were losses he took personally. Old Marl Anvil had fallen while defending his grandchildren, leaving the eldest, Starlight, to lead the family.

Along with the dead, many were wounded. Corin and Kellik had both been slashed badly, Chisul had been stabbed like Bradok, and Perin had lost two toes on his left foot.

Bradok walked on in glum silence. The price for survival was getting higher all the time.

As they passed a side passage, the air currents shifted, and suddenly Bradok absorbed a whiff of fresh air. He’d gotten too used to the stench of decay, but the fleeting fresh air reminded him.

“How far are they behind us?” he asked, trying to control his stomach.

The assassin shrugged. “No one really wanted to go back and look,” he explained dryly.

“We’re hoping the hive confuses them,” Rose added. “It is pretty much a mess.”

“Omer, Much, and Tal stayed behind to brush away our tracks as much as possible,” Thurl said.

Bradok staggered, and Rose moved to steady him. He grunted in pain as her hand touched his wounded side, and the light-headedness he felt struck him like a wave. His feet dragged on the ground behind him as he used all his will to force them to work.

“Have him drink as much water as possible,” Tal said from somewhere not far behind him.

A waterskin was pressed against his lips, and he drank. Gradually the world around him came back into focus, and his errant feet began to obey him again. Bradok didn’t know how long he’d been delirious, but it must have been quite some time. When he came to himself fully, however, the stink of decay was gone. Apparently they had moved far enough away from the Rhizomorphs. He breathed deeply, relishing the good air and the respite from danger.

Over the next few hours, Bradok fell into the rhythm of slow but steady walking. After a few miles, his body seemed to cooperate better and he didn’t need Thurl’s support as much. No one said much about the catastrophe they’d experienced, and Bradok was grateful for that. Sooner or later, they’d have to deal with their losses. Someone would have to say something about the dead ones, and he knew it should be him. Still, such things weren’t easy for Bradok. He didn’t know how he would face Starlight Anvil and her siblings. The compass had led them to that cavern; he had to take that responsibility and offer what comfort he could.

When they finally stopped for the night, no one seemed to feel like talking. Bradok’s whole body ached, and he felt bone-weary as he eased himself down onto the stone floor. He wanted to go straight to sleep, but Thurl pressed a large hunk of mushroom into his hands.

“Eat,” Thurl said.

“You don’t have to be my nursemaid, you know,” Bradok said grouchily, taking a bite out of the stale mushroom.

“Yes I do,” Thurl said good-naturedly, cutting off a hunk of mushroom for himself.

Bradok shook his head. “I saved your life; now you saved mine,” Bradok said. “I’d say we are even. Any debt you once had to me is canceled.”

Thurl smiled, and the scratch on his cheek began to bleed a little as the facial movement dislodged the fresh scab.

“You risked your life to save me,” Thurl returned. “You didn’t have to, but you did.” He took a bite of mushroom and shrugged. “I would have fought the Disir anyway,” Thurl added with his mouth full. “You were in trouble, so I helped. I am still in your debt.”

Bradok wanted to argue, but he just didn’t have the energy. Corin had told him that assassins like Thurl had to be attached to a wealthy house or government body to ensure their skills were used wisely. While Bradok had no use for an assassin, he wondered if maybe having Thurl around close to him wasn’t such a bad idea. At least that way, Bradok could keep an eye on the Daergar.

He finished chewing his mushroom and slumped back on the stone floor of the passage. He wanted to ask about the others, about the dead, the wounded, about Rose, but before he could even form those desires into coherent thoughts, sleep overcame him.

Weeks earlier, Bradok had finally gotten used to sleeping on the hard ground. He could bear it with ease. Unfortunately, his wounds made it nearly impossible for him to be comfortable. He slept fitfully, wanting to toss and turn and regretting the impulse when searing pain accompanied any attempt to roll off his back. Worse, his dreams kept his mind busy with terrifying images of black, chitinous heads with glowing blue bands shining through their eyeless faces. The killer insects seemed to burst out of the darkness, to fall upon the dwarves in their sleep, yet every time Bradok started awake, fully expecting to see the living nightmares swarming over him, it was only a dream.

When Much announced that the time had come to get moving again, Bradok felt as if he had barely slept at all. Rose helped him to his feet, and they started walking again.

“Nobody died last night,” she said after a mile or so. “Everyone seems to be on the mend. That’s good news at least.”

Bradok had been dreading that report, and he breathed a sigh of relief. “I never asked,” Bradok said, thinking out loud. “How many of us are left?”

“Twenty-four,” Rose said.

Bradok’s heart sank. They’d started with fifty or so, and they’d lost more than half. His face fell.

“None of it’s your fault,” Rose said softly with a sweet look.

A sickly smell suddenly washed over Bradok, strong and pungent. Rose noticed the smell too.

“The Rhizomorphs,” she said, her nose wrinkling up.

“Go spread the word,” Bradok told her. “Send every available fighting man to the rear, and tell the others to double their pace.”

He took out the compass and pressed it into her hands. “Take this just in case,” he said.

“In case of what?” Rose demanded. “You’re too sick to fight. You have to go to the front with the other sick and wounded.”

“Go,” Bradok said in a voice that made it plain there was to be no argument or debate.

Rose gave him a dark stare but turned and went.

Bradok reached for his sword then wished he hadn’t. The mere motion of reaching across his body ripped at the wound in his side. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the hilt with the tips of his fingers and gingerly slid his blade free of the scabbard.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Kellik asked, coming up quickly from the rear guard.

“Don’t turn down any help cheerfully offered,” Chisul’s friend Vulnar said. Maybe Bradok imagined it, but he thought he saw Vulnar wink; whether the wink was intended for him or Kellik, he wasn’t sure.

“What’s the situation?” Bradok asked determinedly.

“The situation is you are in no shape to fight,” Corin said, materializing close by.

“They definitely know we’re here,” Kellik added. “But I think we’re still pretty far ahead of the main group.”

“Then where is this stench coming from?” Thurl said, tying a handkerchief around his face. “It feels awful close.”

A wet, squishing noise answered. Down the path where they had come, a dozen forms shambled into the light. They moved faster than Bradok remembered, pressing up the path toward their quarry.