Eamon grunted in agreement. He held out his hand and Shea took it. “I’ll say goodbye here. It’s been an honor, Telroi.”
After a brief squeeze, he let go, stepping back and turning to the people waiting for him.
“Good luck, my friend,” Shea said in a soft voice.
She really hoped this wasn’t the last time she saw him.
She waited until the five made their way down the valley before she stepped back, letting the mist obscure her vision.
She wasted no time, turning and running back the way she came, senses on alert for any stray sound that didn’t belong. Her steps were sure as she felt her way through the mist with the assurance of someone who’d done it a thousand times before.
She arrived back at her path down the cliff in half the time it took her to get the others out. Here, she slowed, not wanting to take the chance of tripping and sailing over the edge.
Stranger things had happened. Once, she’d led a mission with a fellow pathfinder who’d stepped wrong and literally fallen off the side of a mountain. In that instance, the drop had been mild enough that he’d managed to roll a fair way but didn’t die. His arm was broken and he had some impressive bruises in the end, but somehow, he’d managed to survive. She doubted she’d be so lucky tonight if she repeated his mistakes.
Just as she made it a quarter of the way down, the skies opened up and rain began to fall. Internally, she cursed her luck and moved a little faster. She’d hope to make it through the gorge before rain began.
The cliff path became muddy and slippery and she was forced to slow again. All the while, the worry that the chasm would flood ate at her.
The sight of the chasm’s floor made her careless. A moment’s inattention sent her feet sliding out from under her. She hit the ground with a thud, sliding down the path and into the gorge. Shards of the glass-like rock bit into her hands and back.
Of all the stupid, beginner mistakes, she cursed herself as she staggered to her feet. She was lucky her fall happened at the bottom of the trail. Anywhere else, she’d most likely be dead. If the fall hadn’t killed her, the sharp spires would.
She stumbled across the field, limping just a tiny bit, her right leg bruised and hurting. She opened the door to the hidden passageway and staggered inside, slamming it shut behind her.
There, she stood in the dark, momentarily surprised at the lack of light. The candle should have been going strong still. It had enough fuel to last for several more hours.
She groped along the wall, relying on touch more than sight. Her fingers met cool stone as she slid them around, taking small steps so she could reach more of the wall. Finally, her wandering hands glanced against metal and wood.
She frowned as she felt around. This was where she’d left the candle but nothing waited in it. Her candle was gone.
She stepped back and frowned. That couldn’t be right.
She groped in her back pocket, thanking to whatever deity was up there that she’d stuffed a set of matches in a waterproof bag. It was a trick her father had hounded into her head when she was younger. The habit had stuck.
She lit one and held it up, its small light barely doing anything in the dark. She hadn’t been wrong. The candle really was missing.
She turned in the small space, the realization that she wasn’t alone down here making her cautious.
She remained in place for a long moment, unsure what to do. The idea of an unknown entity wandering the corridors at the same time she did was not an appealing one. Her instincts begged her to go back outside, make her way across the spire field and up the cliff where she could use the bridge to get back into the Keep.
She tugged open the door again and looked outside. The sound of rushing water greeted her. The rain of before was coming down harder.
Going back out there meant crossing a gorge during a rain storm, not to mention making her way up a slippery cliff and then blowing any chance of secrecy, making everything she’d done tonight pointless.
Yeah, she didn’t think she was going back that way.
That left forward.
Her shoulders rose and fell. She checked to make sure her shortsword was still at her hip. At least she was armed.
She pulled a candle out of her pack and lit it, moving forward, her motions cautious and her eyes alert as she made her way through the passages.
The drip drop of water was a constant companion as she backtracked to the point where she’d entered.
A murmur of voices reached her, and she extinguished the candle, withdrawing her sword in the next movement. She glided forward on quiet feet, following the faint sounds.
It didn’t take long for someone else’s candlelight to make her journey that much easier. It was coming from above.
