Martin Hengst - The Darkest Hour

“Are you okay?”

Tiadaria still didn’t have her breath yet, so she nodded at him, locking her eyes with his so that he knew she was telling the truth. He nodded and left her kneeling there, making his way back up the tunnel to retrieve the packs they had dropped when the battle began.

When he returned, Wynn took a cloth from his pack and helped her clean the worse of the blood from her face. Her nose wasn’t broken, but she’d be quite colorful for a few days as the bruises healed. She thanked him for his attentiveness and then they set off down the corridor once again.

Neither of them bothered with stealth this time. Whatever was down there, the Xarundi presumably, knew they were there. If they didn’t already know that Tia and Wynn had destroyed their little toys, they would soon enough. Now getting to the relic first was the only thing that mattered. They dug in the spikes on their boots and rushed headlong into the dark.

Zarfensis felt the psychic backlash of the elementals being destroyed at the same time that he and the rest of the war party exited the tunnel into a massive cavern. The distance across was so great that they couldn’t see the other side through the swirling mists. It was much lighter here. Part of the ceiling had long ago given way and left an irregular hole that sloped up away from the opening like a funnel. As a result, a single shaft of light illuminated the center of the chamber.

The feeling of having someone else inside his head had intensified greatly when they entered the cavern. The relic was here. He could feel it. It was calling to him, guiding him. It wanted to be found and set free.

“The relic is here,” Zarfensis announced to the others. “Spread out, find it quickly.”

A deep chasm separated the outer rim of the cavern from the shallow bowl-shaped island in its center. The High Priest was reminded of the bottomless ravine that surrounded the cathedral in the Warrens. The dim light was just enough for him to see the thick central column rising up out of the dark, like a finger pointed skyward. The bowl rested on the tip of that finger.

This was the first time during their journey that the warriors balked at his orders. Surveying the cavern, Zarfensis could understand why. The only paths onto the center island were fragile-looking arches of ice that extended out over the crevasse. The distance was too great to jump, which meant that they would have to cross these unlikely bridges if they were to reach the center of the chamber.

Unwilling to sacrifice his brothers even though he, too, was afraid, Zarfensis went to the first arch and inspected it. It wasn’t nearly as thick as he would have liked. It looked as if it would give way under the full weight of a Xarundi warrior. He worried about the bridge shattering while they were crossing it. Having more than one Xarundi cross the bridge at a time was out of the question. The High Priest was certain that it would collapse and send them all plummeting to their deaths.

There were three arches near enough to use. There were others, but they were so far along the rim that they would be spread dangerously thin. Though they may not be able to cross in numbers, they should at least remain near each other in the event that the Swordmage and her vermin ilk caught up with them. Once they had the relic, it wouldn’t matter. They’d destroy the Swordmage and her friends, then destroy the rest of the human race. Zarfensis would see that no vermin were left alive during the second ascension of the Chosen.

“Over the arches, quickly, but carefully.” Zarfensis suited his words to actions, climbing gingerly up on the bridge nearest to him. The ice creaked under his weight and he moved slowly toward the apex of the arch. To his left and right, warriors were climbing with the same methodical care that he was.

There was a sound like splintering wood and all three of the Xarundi on the arches froze. After a moment, the sound had faded away and it seemed that they were safe to move on. Zarfensis reached the pinnacle of the bridge before the warriors on either side, so he had a clear vantage point as the right-hand bridge gave way.

The Xarundi warrior managed to grab the edge of the platform as the ice gave way beneath him. It was a remarkable feat of strength, but wasted effort, as the ends of the bridge broke from their anchors and tumbled with the warrior into the darkness. Though Zarfensis listened for a long time, he heard nothing. No indication of how deep the bottom might be, or if there was a bottom at all.

The cleric spoke a prayer, urging the warrior’s soul to be absorbed into the Dyr. Zarfensis took a step forward, then another. The progress was agonizing, but it was progress and though the ice groaned and shifted under him, it seemed relatively stable. The warrior on his left was moving forward again also, his arms spread out for balance as he descended the treacherous path.

Almost all of the party had made it over the bridges when the Swordmage and her companion entered the chamber. The shaman and the cleric were still in the middle of their crossing when the mage began hurling fireballs at the exposed Xarundi. One of the projectiles hit the bridge where the shaman was standing and it exploded into shards of ice. He howled as he fell, the sound becoming distant incredibly quickly and then dying out altogether.

As another fireball slammed into the other bridge, the cleric made a death-defying leap toward the center bowl. His claws dug into the ice, leaving long furrows as he slid backwards over the edge of the chasm. The other warriors dashed forward, ignoring the flaming projectiles, and hauled their healer up onto the island.

Zarfensis didn’t have time to mourn the loss of his brothers. They needed to find the relic and find it now. Ordering the warriors away from the edge, he commanded them to follow and set off toward the mist shrouded center of the chamber.

* * *

“They’re going to find the relic,” Tiadaria cried as the Xarundi loped away from the fireballs Wynn had thrown at them. “We need to hurry.”

They started around the perimeter of the cavern, watching for the return of the High Priest or any of the others. It wasn’t hard to imagine that they’d like to destroy whatever bridge they crossed and repay the death of their companions in stride.

“I know,” Wynn panted. “If they’re looking for the relic, at least they’re not paying attention to us.”

There was that, Tiadaria thought and she was grateful for the respite. Though she suspected they could cross the bridges far more easily than the heavier Xarundi, she didn’t fancy the idea of having them on the other side trying to kill them while they crossed. Rather than waste time finding another bridge for Wynn to cross, Tia turned to him and laid out a plan.

“I’ll go across first, you follow when I’m on the downslope. We’ll balance each other out that way, even the load. We’ll get across quicker than they did. The sooner we get over there, the sooner we can stop them.”

Wynn nodded, though he wasn’t fond of the idea of walking across the bridge, exposed to anything or anyone that might be lurking in the mist on the other side. Still, he had resolved to follow Tiadaria and see this through to the end. That meant staying by her side, no matter how scared he was of crossing the arch.

Tia climbed up onto the bridge, picking her feet up and carefully laying them down. When she reached the top, she gave Wynn a little wave and started down the other side.

Slipping his staff into its holster, he stepped out onto the ice. Wynn’s first steps were terrifying. His mind kept going back to the sight of the Xarundi falling into the hole and howling all the way down. The apprentice put the thought firmly out of his mind and focused on putting one foot in front of the other.