Byron nods. “I do.”
Marvin exhales. “Okay, I’ll wait here.”
We start forward again, but then Marvin grasps my arm. “Wait. What do I do if you don’t come back?”
Byron swallows hard, I watch his throat bob before he turns around a smile plastered on his face. “We’ll make it back.”
“But if we don’t, start praying and hope that for once the Maker hears you.” I shrug. “And maybe run.”
Not that running will help Marvin much. He likely wouldn’t get very far or go very fast before he realizes that his body has forgotten how to breathe again. No, Marvin’s best chance of survival is us. And our best chance of survival is not dying. The best way of going about doing that is likely by turning around right now, but unfortunately that isn’t really an option so now I’m just going to have to hope for the best.
And maybe I should feel just a little honored that Byron didn’t insist that I wait at the entrance with Marvin which likely means that he thinks I’ll be less of a liability than him. Not that I care at all what Byron thinks of me. But still it feels kind of nice to feel recognized, even if it has to be Byron Coalbiter recognizing how much work and training I’ve put into my days. Or maybe I feel more pleased because itisByron Coalbiter saying this and he is Woodsbury Grove’s hero. I’m only it’s orphan.
“Thank you for doing what you can to keep Marvin safe,” I whisper as we slip deeper into the cave.
Byron glances back at me, the flickering light reflects in his eyes giving them a wild look. “You just… stay safe, okay. One dead knight is already too many.”
I bite my lip and nod. “Yeah. You too.”
Byron starts to turn but then he halts. I skid to a stop to keep from running into him. “Do you need my sword?”
I frown, considering refusing him as just as suddenly that warm feeling of thinking that he thinks my fighting skill are adequate fades, quickly to be replaced by frustration that he thinks I’ll need a weapon.
But also, if it comes down to a fight then Iwillneed a weapon and Byron’s the blacksmith’s son. He will have a proper blade, unlike the wooden sticks that I always practiced with in the woods beyond Woodsbury Grove.
I give a sharp nod, and he turns slightly, his shoulder brushing mine as he slides it out of its sheath. He passes it back to me, the bluish light of his magic casting his face into contrasting shadows as he presses his lips into a flat line. “Not that it will do much good if these tunnels don’t widen.”
Just as he finishes saying that I hear a voice, a sharply angry and distinctly feminine voice. “Unhand me! What is it you are doing? Is it not enough that you killed my guard, now you have to perform aritualon me? What iswrongwith you? Do you have any idea who I am?”
Byron and I both freeze, our eyes locking for a second before he turns and hurries down the cavern and I race to keep up with him.
Ahead the cavern appears to end, but as we draw closer, I spot the light bouncing into what appears to be another corridor that’s around a sharp bend. Byron peers around the edge before he slams back, knocking into me and nearly skewering himself on his own sword. The light of his magic flickers out, and as I blink in the newfound darkness, I notice that there’s a slight glow coming from around the bend. It’s not exceptionally bright, but it’s enough that I can at least see my hand when I hold it over my eyes and Byron’ dark form.
There is a slight chant on the other side of the wall.
“Stop that! Whatever you are doing, stop that!”
“I counted half a dozen men,” Byron whispers, tilting his head toward me. His hot breath whooshes over me. I blink several times as if that will remove the feeling as he shifts toward me, his shoulder pressing into mine. I notice that he leans down further. “There’s a girl in the center, she seems to be in distress.”
I nod to let him know that I got his message, but then I remember that it is dark as the underbelly of the world down here. And even though the top of my head brushes the bottom of his chin, he may still not have realized that I was nodding.
“I’ll take care of the cultists; you save the girl.”
I open my mouth to inform Byron that we don’t actually know if they are cultists, but he is already moving away, and I decide that it isn’t worth the argument. Especially when I step around the corner and take in what is going on beyond.
Just as Byron had counted, six men stand in a circle. At least, I assume they are men by their stature, but they are all hooded so it’s really difficult to say. There are markings etched into the floor, they glow blue, providing the majority of light. One of the hooded men is holding a torch, but compared to the ethereal glow it seems far too dull and far too human.
In the center of the circle of the men, at the epicenter of the glowing symbols is a stake in the stone floor. A girl is tied to it, her hair and dress whips around her in a wind that does not exist in the rest of the cave.
It’s an eerie scene.
I don’t need to be a religious scholar or even a monk to recognize that there’s something occult happening in these caves—and people wonder why the Maker turned his back on us…
Well, perhaps they should take up their abandonment issues with the people purposefully snubbing their noses at our creator and dabbling in the forbidden black magic.
The hoods appear to be blocking the cultist’s peripheral vision because they don’t notice us as we creep into the wider cavern. That is, they don’t notice us until Byron plants his legs and holds out his hands on either side of him and conjures electricity from thin air. Sparks shoot across the room and dance around his hands before they shoot out toward the hooded figures.
“Cut her loose!”
