Paul Kemp: Shadowbred

"Who are you?" he croaked, and the question ended in a fit of coughing. Endren couldn't have been in the Hole more than a few days and already looked near death.

"We're taking you out of here," said Riven.

"Out? Out?" Endren leaned forward, the chain rattling. "Did my son send you?"

"No. Shadem, Vyrhas, get him free." To Endren, Riven said, "Be still and quiet."

Shadem and Vyrhas hurried into the small cell and examined Endren's manacle. The half-orcs' keys didn't work. They pulled a pouch of pries, pliers, files, and picks from their pockets and set to the lock.

"Me, too," moaned a voice from across the hall. "Me, too."

"Silence," Riven barked, but it did no good.

Another voice joined the first, and another. Soon voices in every cell were pleading to be rescued, coughing and moaning.

"There is no more time," Riven said to Shadem. "Can you get it?"

Shadem looked back at Riven and shook his head.

A shout sounded from somewhere down the hall, then a cry of alarm. Someone must have found the guards at the bottom of the lift.

Riven cursed.

"Cut it," Endren said.

"What?"

"Cut it," the old man repeated. "I would have done it myself if I'd had a blade. Cut the damned thing off."

Riven did not hesitate. "Tear me off some cloth to use as a tourniquet."

Shadem ripped strips from his cloak. Together, they tied off Endren's forearm as best they could.

"Prepare yourself," Riven said.

Endren laid his wrist over the block and stared into Riven's eye, unflinching.

"Do it."

Riven chopped downward and severed Endren's hand at the wrist. The old man gritted his teeth and grunted. Blood spurted from the stump. Skelan stanched it with a piece of his cloak.

Riven and Skelan lifted Endren to his feet. The old man was already a shade paler. Riven did not know how long he would last.

"We go."

The shouts in the hall were joined by the tramp of booted feet, the chink of armor. The prisoners continued to moan and plead.

Riven, Phraig, Endren, and the shadowwalkers emerged from the cell and hurried down the corridor. From the direction of the lift, they heard the sound of voices, the tramp of boots, the ring of armor. A whistle sounded, ringing off the walls.

"Shadem, check it."

The shadowwalker disappeared into the darkness toward the voices. Riven and the rest of the team waited a twenty count and Shadem reappeared.

"Two score armed men," he said. "They stand between us and the lift. They are moving methodically and quickly, with a lot of light. There is no way to hide from them."

Riven knew they could not fight their way through, not with Endren.

"Where else?" he said to Phraig.

The young guardsman shook his head. "There is nowhere else. The rest of it is work tunnels for the prisoners. None of them lead out."

"Where do they lead?"

"Nowhere. Most of them are dead ends. The Nessarch doesn't care if the prisoners produce any ore. They're just here to work until they die."

"Most of them are dead ends? What are the rest?"

"What?"

"You said most of them lead nowhere. If I die here, boy, you'll go with me. Think!"

Phraig must have heard the truth in Riven's words, for his eyes showed fear. The shouts from the approaching guards were drawing closer.

"Now, boy!"

"There's a shaft at the end of the northwest work tunnel. It's old. No one knows how deep it is."

"We go," Riven said. He would figure something out when they got there.

A shout from behind them said, "Here they are! Here!"

Riven whirled to see a half-elf in the tabard of a Watchblade pointing at them and shouting over his shoulder. He bore a blade but no torch.

Riven flung his punch dagger-awkwardly, since the weapon was not balanced for throwing-and struck the half-elf in the thigh. The guard grunted and turned to run, but Skelan ran him down, knocked him over, and while the man shouted to his comrades, broke his neck with a hard twist.

But the damage was done. Riven could hear the guards approaching. The light from their lanterns fell on the walls.

"Move!" Riven said.

"He is unconscious," Vyrhas said.

Riven cursed and checked the old man's body. He was alive but there was no way they would escape carrying his unconscious form.

"You cannot make it out," Phraig said.

Riven's glare shut the boy up. "We need time," Riven said to the shadowwalkers.

They understood. Skelan said, "I will give you some. Go."

The shadowwalker took a position at the intersection of the tunnels and melded with the darkness. He had not even frowned at the idea of sacrificing himself.

Riven did not like it, but there was little else to do.

"Lead us, boy," he said to Phraig, and drew his other saber. "Fast."

Vyrhas bore Endren. Riven and his team rushed through the corridors. His saber kept Phraig at a run. They darted down corridors, Riven's light leading the way. The remaining shadowwalkers moved in front of them and behind.

After a few moments, they heard shouts and the sound of combat behind them. Riven froze, turned. The chink of steel, the shout of men. He almost ordered his whole team back to rescue Skelan, but thought better of it.

"Keep moving," he said. He did not intend for the sacrifice to be in vain.

They reached a rough-hewn work tunnel. The sounds of combat had faded but the shouts and bootstomps had not. The guards were still after them.

A few mining tools lay scattered about and loose rock dotted the floor. At the end of the corridor, a hole in the floor opened like a mouth. They approached it cautiously, gasping, sweating.

Riven pointed his sunrod down the shaft. No bottom was visible. He dropped the rod and it fell and fell. After a time, its light vanished.

"They say the miners found it when they constructed the mine," Phraig said. "They say it leads to the Underdark."

Riven ignored the boy. "Can you climb with him?" he asked Vyrhas, the largest and strongest of the shadowwalkers.

"Yes," Vyrhas said. "But not fast."

Riven knew the guards would not follow them down the shaft. They would follow it to the bottom and find a way out from there. Perhaps magic would function farther down in the mine, making escape easy.

"Start downward," he said to his team. To Phraig, he said, "This is where it ends for you, boy."

The young guardsman held up his hands. "No. I did what you asked."

"Just doing my job," Riven said, and brandished his saber.

Phraig would have run but Dynd blocked his retreat. "Don't!" the boy gasped.

Riven held his saber before the young man's face. "Those words are scant comfort when you're on the wrong end of them, aren't they?"

Before Phraig could reply, Riven slammed his pommel into Phraig's cheek. The boy fell like a sack of turnips. Riven hoped the boy would rethink his course when he awakened. He did not mind killing or worse, but he despised anyone who purported to do so only because it was their job.

Shouts sounded from down the corridor. Light bobbed from lanterns. He lowered himself over the edge of the shaft and started down after the shadowwalkers.

Cale materialized atop a two-story building. The entire first floor was flooded. The kraken's body filled his vision, filled the harbor, filled the city. It shrieked and the sound nearly knocked him flat. More fire and lightning fell from the wizards flying overhead.

Cale spotted a woman and two adolescent children, a boy and a girl, perched atop the steep roof of a three-story shop. Cale could not save everything, but he could save something, and would. He stepped through the shadows and materialized in their midst.

The woman screamed and the children recoiled.

"There is nothing to fear," Cale said as the kraken shrieked and destroyed a building across the street. Shouts from all around, screams. The kraken shrieked again.