His lungs began to burn. Unconsciously, he let a tiny gasp of air escape. The respite was brief, however, and the burning sensation that followed was excruciating.
Kicking feebly now, Talal allowed the river to carry him. His hand dragged limply across the unbroken rock ceiling. He felt no gap, no magical pocket of air to save him.
The muscles in his abdomen convulsed. His body demanded air, and in its absence was willing to drag in lungfuls of the killing water. Talal clutched his midsection, trying to hold in his last gasp.
His hand slid off the rock. Talal spasmed, sucking in a freezing cold breath. His lungs suddenly felt heavy. His muscles contorted in agony. Then the pain went away, and the cold, and Dirty Bones went to sleep.
He awoke vomiting water.
Talal heard Morgan cursing and felt the big man’s arm supporting his chest as he emptied the river from his body.
When he could breathe again, Talal looked around. They were in another tunnel, but he could hear the river somewhere behind him. Morgan must have carried his body a short distance before reviving him. Talal had thought himself dead. He shivered violently at the memory of his near-drowning.
Laerin offered a hand to pull him to his feet. “We can’t linger here. The creature will follow the river and fence us in again if we don’t keep moving.”
They moved off down yet another tunnel, but Talal trailed behind. His legs felt rubbery, and his lungs still ached. The only thing that kept him moving was the presence of the demon’s frightening aura, steadily building behind them. Every time they came to an intersection, Laerin changed their direction and increased his speed. Soon they were running again. Behind them, the sound of rain echoed in the tunnels, drawing closer.
“Keep turning!” Laerin shouted as they ran. “Out-maneuvering is the only way. If it catches us, there won’t be any room to fight. We’ll be running through a forest of razors.”
Laerin skidded down a short, steep incline. At the end of the slide was a vast chamber that opened wide and dipped into a crater. Stalagmites, arranged like a maze, rose from the floor like trees, forming dense clusters throughout the room. Two paths led from one side of the chamber to the other.
“Help me,” said Morgan, grabbing Talal by the waist.
“Let go!” Talal kicked air in a futile attempt to win loose, but Morgan’s grip was solid. Laerin came up on his other side, snagging his foot. The half-elf went to one knee and hauled upward, tossing Talal bodily into the air. He landed hard on his stomach on one of the higher platforms. The breath whooshed out of his lungs.
“Stay there!” Morgan hollered when he rolled to the edge. The echo of another roar—so damn close!—and the sound of claws raking stone reached Talal’s ears. He fought the urge to curl into a ball.
“Not enough,” said Laerin. “The demon will smell him before it gets into the room.”
“Suggestions welcome,” Morgan growled. “Stand or run?”
Laerin regarded the two pathways through the chamber. Each led to a separate exit. “Split up,” he said finally. “We’ll each take a path. The boy can run along the top. With luck, it’ll only be able to chase one of us. Talal can follow the other into the tunnel and hopefully find Kall.”
“Awful lot of luck and hope in that plan,” said Morgan, his face white.
Laerin smiled grimly. “We work with what we have,” he said. He looked up. “Do you understand what we’re going to do, Talal?”
Talal swallowed. “I got it,” he whispered.
Laerin met Morgan’s gaze steadily. “One more bet,” he challenged softly. “Let it be a race.”
Morgan grunted, but his grip faltered as he reached in his pouch and dropped two gold coins on the ground. “A race, then.”
“Two danters?” Laerin whistled. “Heavy price.”
“Seemed appropriate.”
A deafening crash sounded nearby, but they felt the demon’s approach long before they heard his claws again.
Morgan jerked his head. “Go.”
Talal crouched near the wall, ready to jump to the next stalagmite cluster. He watched Morgan and Laerin take off at a sprint down their separate corridors. He glanced at the far tunnels, willing the pair to reach them before the demon caught up. He could feel the demon coming closer. Brimstone scent crawled over his skin, into his clothes.
“Run,” he whispered, “run, oh run, oh run.” He chanted it like a prayer, the closest he’d ever come in his life to crying out for divine intervention. But to whom would he implore? There were no gods left that he hadn’t blasphemed. None of them would believe an abrupt conversion to the faith. Talal almost smiled at that, but he was too deeply sunk in despair and the horror of the demon’s aura.
Talal suppressed a whimper when the beast entered the chamber. For a long, terrible moment the beast just stood there, then he raised his head and looked straight at Talal. Talal wanted to run, heedless of the consequences. He held himself down, scratching his nails against the stone until they bled. If he ran, the beast would kill him. Talal sensed the demon testing him almost teasingly with his powers. He squeezed his eyes shut against the awful fear.
Then it was over. The demon passed by, charging down one of the corridors. Talal opened his eyes and forced himself to stand, to watch the beast run down his prey.
From his viewpoint, above the scene, Talal saw which corridor the beast chose. The figure running before the demon—so small in comparison to the beast—never had a chance. At the last moment, he turned, his weapon brandished, and fell beneath hundreds of pounds of burning muscle.
The demon came down on the sword, howling in rage and pain, raking the body beneath him from shoulders to calves. At the same time, the beasts jaws closed on his victim’s neck, snapping it with one careless jerk.
Bile burned Talal’s throat. So much blood, and yet the demon ran on, trailing red prints down the passage on his hunt.
Talal didn’t stop to grieve. He bolted for the other tunnel.
Kall opened his eyes when the green light faded. Garavin and Borl stood over him. He must have blacked out from loss of blood during the transition through the portal. The dwarf was binding his arm. His holy symbol hung away from his neck, brushing against Kall’s bare flesh. Kall felt the same brief, warm jolt he’d felt years ago from the relic.
“Thought I’d lost all of ye,” Garavin murmured as Kall looked around. The three of them were alone in a smaller version of the cave they’d just left. The circle of stones sat to his left, but there was no chasm in the floor or shaft above. The room was dark, but for lines of dim light shining through a pair of doors at the end of a narrow passage.
“Where are the others?” Kall asked, panic rising inside him.
“They didn’t come through,” said Garavin. “Or they ended up somewhere else.”
“Is that possible?”
“In this place, who’s to say? But if this other portal is old as the Delve, and what with the wizard’s magic disturbing the cavern, it may have malfunctioned and scattered us about. The others should be close by, if that’s the case.”
“We have to find them and get out of here,” said Kall.
He headed for the light. When they drew closer, Kall realized the double doors ascended over two stories up the rock. A winch was attached to the doors to pull them open.
“I wonder if the dwarves built this,” said Kall.
“Only way out,” said Garavin.
They took hold of the crank together and pulled. The mechanism ground with age and neglect, but turned after a moment of coaxing. The doors ground against stone, the sounds echoing loudly in the passage. When the doors were half-open, Kall signaled Garavin to stop and peered out through the man-sized opening.
“Gods above,” Kall murmured in awe.
Kall stepped out onto the narrow stone bridge that extended just beyond the double doors. Garavin and Borl came to stand beside him. A memory surfaced, of meeting Meisha, on the Star Bridge outside Keczulla. The markings on this bridge were strikingly similar, except there was no roaring river beneath his feet, only an endless, black abyss stretching off in both directions.