Jagun Ghen’s eyes dimmed. A black miasma leaked out of his eyes, thicker than tears, and fell out of his mouth, ears, and nose, running down his chest. The reek of it made Darric gag.
The demon thrashed and kicked and shrieked. There were words in there somewhere, but in an ancient, vile tongue that hurt Darric’s ears.
Something grabbed his shoulder. “Help me!”
It was Mandan. Blood ran down his face, but his eyes were wide and bright. Hratt was with him, holding his right arm cradled to his chest, still smoking. Each warrior grabbed the shoulder of Darric’s tabard and pulled him away.
A loud crack! broke through the screams, following by the sound of rending and tearing. Darric looked back to the battle. Hweilan ripped off the arm that held the spear, tossed it aside, and grabbed the monster’s throat. Growling, she pulled him forward, her mouth opening.
Darric looked away.
“Is it over?”
Darric could not see, but he recognized Jaden’s voice.
They had fled back into the mountain, Mandan dragging Darric as he screamed for them to turn back, that he would not leave her.
“She’s already gone, Brother!” Mandan had said. “You saw …”
He had. Mandan hadn’t been able to describe it, but Darric had seen it. Hweilan was gone.
And so they’d run-Darric, Mandan, Hratt, and the young hobgoblin Urlun. It made Darric heartsick to leave Valsun behind. He thought the old knight might have still been alive, but he knew there was no helping him. Had they still had some of the hobgoblins’ gunhin, perhaps … but they did not.
With no torch, the tunnel was black as a dreamless sleep. They rounded the first bend-and crashed right into someone. It was Jaden, who had fled the carnage above. At first he had stopped, he claimed, because the dark tunnel was too damned unsettling after all the horrors they had witnessed. But then he said he found his courage and was coming back to help.
“There’s no help,” said Hratt. “This fight is beyond us.”
They had argued briefly about whether to go on in the dark or back above to rejoin the fight. The sounds coming down to them through the tunnel made their blood run cold. The demon shrieked words that seemed to offend the ground and air. But for Darric, the savage roars coming from Hweilan’s throat were far worse.
And then they had stopped. The only sound was the new wind howling down the mountain not far away.
And so the five of them huddled in the tunnel, listening for any sound of pursuit from above or more trouble coming up from below.
Nothing.
It was Jaden who first broke the silence. “Is it over?”
No one answered. They sat there, ears straining to catch every sound. The air was too close, full of the smell of their own sweat and the reek of Hratt’s half-cooked arm.
“I have to go back,” said Darric.
“Are you mad?” said Hratt.
“I won’t leave Valsun up there.”
“Your friend is dead,” said Hratt, not unkindly.
“Then I must give him the final rites.”
“You may need them yourself if you go back up there.”
Before Darric could reply, Mandan said, “Where you go. I go.”
“Then why did you drag him down here in the first place?” said Hratt.
There was short silence, and when Mandan spoke again, Darric could hear the shame in his voice. “I was afraid.”
“You were right to be afraid!” said Hratt. “You saw what happened. Nothing we did hurt that monster.”
“Hweilan did,” said Darric.
“That wasn’t Hweilan,” said Hratt. “Just a meaner monster. You saw!”
“We’re going,” said Mandan.
“You’re fools,” said Hratt. “You were right to be afraid, damn you! A warrior knows when he is beat and flees to fight another day.”
“We are not warriors,” said Mandan.
“That’s right. We’re knights,” said Darric. “Afraid or not, we’re going back.”
Hratt growled and said, “Ah, fuming farging Hells, then I’m going with you.”
“But you said-”
“Fortune favors the foolish. But no one likes a coward.”
Darric led the way, Mandan right behind him. He heard the others following, even Jaden and the young hobgoblin. When Darric could smell the air growing fresh, he drew his dagger. He knew it would probably be useless against anything still alive up there, but the feel of steel in his hand helped him to push down his fear and keep his feet moving.
Darric emerged into the moonlight, the others at his heels. Nothing was moving. The scene was much as they’d left it, except that what was left of Nendawen was barely recognizable. All the limbs had been ripped away, the chest cavity torn open, the viscera scattered about.
“Where’s the head?” Darric whispered. He didn’t think any of the others could have heard him over the wind.
But Mandan stepped beside him and raised his arm. “Look, Brother.”
Darric’s gaze followed where he pointed.
Hweilan stood over the ruined body of her wolf. It was still moving piteously, but its body was broken and torn. Hweilan had her back to them, and Nendawen’s head dangled from her right hand. Blood still dripped from the ravaged neck.
Mandan kneeled, and Darric saw him retrieve something from the ground. It was the first time Darric got a good look at his brother since the fight. The left side of his face was one solid bruise, much of the skin torn and dripping blood, and his left eye was swollen shut. He handed it to Darric. It was Valsun’s talisman.
Valsun … a deep sense of shame washed over Darric. Valsun had been the only one to act a true knight. He had been struck down for his courage, but Darric knew he had still been moving when they left him. And they had left him, fleeing for their lives.
Darric walked forward, careful not to scuff his boots on the ground. Mandan followed. Hratt took a few steps forward and then stopped. Jaden stayed where he stood. After a moment’s hesitation, Urlun followed Mandan.
Darric kept his eyes on Hweilan-no, the thing that had possessed Hweilan-as he took the final few steps to where Valsun lay. When he kneeled beside him, his trousers soaked up the blood in which the old knight lay. He took Valsun’s hand in his good hand. At the touch, Valsun’s eyes fluttered open.
“Valsun,” Darric whispered. “I’m so sorry, my truest friend.”
The slightest flicker of a smile came to Valsun’s face. He took a deep breath, trying to speak but only succeeded in spitting up blood. Darric wiped it away on his sleeve and bent close.
Valsun tried again. “Boy”-his hoarse whisper sent a fine spray of blood into Darric’s face-“I’m … proud …”
He could get no more out, but his hand squeezed Darric’s hard, and Darric was looking right into his eyes when the light left them and all the strength went out of his grip. Mandan kneeled on the other side, took Valsun’s other hand and closed it over the talisman. He laid the old knight’s fist on his chest and said, “Torm the True welcomes you home.”
“May you shine in the light of the True Resurrection,” said Darric, and he placed Valsun’s left hand on top of his right.
Hweilan turned at the sound of their voices, her green gaze locking on them. Her eyes narrowed as she studied them.
“My wolf,” she said, “needs nourishment. Living blood.”
She walked toward them, her green eyes fixed on Mandan. “Darric …?” he said.
“Hweilan, what are you doing?” said Darric.
She lunged, grabbing a fistful of Mandan’s hair. He screamed and struggled, but he could not break her grip as she dragged him.
Darric ran for them. “Hweilan! Hweilan, stop!”
He grabbed her shoulder, and without even turning she backhanded him with Nendawen’s head. It felt like being hit by a bull, and for a moment Darric lost all sense of sight and sound. When he swam up out of the darkness, he found himself sitting on the ground, Nendawen’s battered head in his lap.