Urkot shook his head. “The roots are too deep. You will not free this glowstone without breaking half the wall.”
The upper crack widened. Only by a thread’s width, perhaps, so little that it might’ve been a trick played by the crystals’ pale glow, but it was enough to twist Urkot’s insides tighter.
“Jezahal,” he growled, tracing that crack higher, “you must stop.”
“Thedaiyawill declare me Jezahal, Bringer of the Moons,” the thornskull said excitedly. Burying the tip of his yatin horn pick in the fissure, he wrenched on its handle.
The faintest tremor coursed through the ground beneath Urkot.
So many thoughts could’ve swept through Urkot’s mind in that moment—that he should’ve been sterner, that he should’ve shared more hard-won knowledge with the young delvers, that he should’ve told them that he, Zotahl, and Tahlken could fulfill Nalaki’s request without further aid.
But no thoughts came. Instead, he darted forward, past Zotahl and Tahlken.
An immensecracksplit the air in the chamber.
Urkot grabbed Jezahal by the arms and shoved his forelegs hard against the cave floor in the opposite direction, reversing his momentum and dragging the thornskull back.
A chunk of rock nearly as large as Urkot fell from the upper portion of the wall. It crashed down with a deafening sound, accompanied by countless smaller stones. Dust billowed into the air.
Urkot fell to the hard ground, dragging Jezahal down with him. The dust cloud obscured his vision and tickled his throat, setting him to coughing.
“Who is harmed?” Tahlken called between his own coughs.
“We must leave this chamber,” Zotahl said.
Grunting, Urkot hauled Jezahal upright and blindly led the thornskull toward the chamber’s exit. The young thornskull stumbled at first but soon recovered his balance.
The delvers regrouped in the tunnel outside the crystal garden, where the dust created a light haze. Fortunately, everyone had made it out, and though the younger vrix were dazed, no one had been harmed.
Fire roared in Urkot’s chest.
Growling, he stomped a foreleg on the ground and slashed the wall with his claws as he spun to face Jezahal.
“You would risk us all to seek glory?” he demanded.
Jezahal kept his eyes downcast, his posture crumpling. Though he was two handspans taller than Urkot, he seemed terribly small and meek now.
“Every choice you make down here, every act, will affect your companions,” Urkot continued, clacking his mandible fangs. “Respect the stone. Protect your fellow delvers.”
“I hear your words, Three-Arm,” Jezahal rasped.
Dostrahn coughed, the sound echoing along the tunnel before he muted it with a hand.
That fire hadn’t yet died within Urkot. Part of him wanted to strike Jezahal in fury, but what would that accomplish? It would’ve been no more helpful than the memories now clawing their way to the surface of his mind, all demanding his attention, demanding he relive that old pain and grief again.
He refused. Refused all of it.
And besides…hadn’t he too chased glory in his younger days? Hadn’t he and his friends risked everything for a taste of life as warriors?
“Come,” Zotahl said with a gentleness Urkot envied in that moment. “Let us stride to Kaldarak. If ourdaiyarequires more glowstone, we will return with the new day.”
The others began down the tunnel, leaving Urkot and Jezahal behind. The only light here came from glowstones that thornskull delvers had placed on the walls, leaving it far dimmer than the crystal garden.
Covered in dust that dulled his red hide, Jezahal stood with his head bowed. Gone was the confidence of earlier, gone was the youthful spirit, the hunger.
“I have no wish to see anyone harmed,” Urkot said, voice low and gravelly. “Today, we all stride away. You have learned a hard lesson, but it could have been harder still.”
“Yes.”
