“He was… kind to me.”
“Oh, really? Looked like he was cutting loose a burden and glad about it as he locked you in here.” The mercenary shrugs. “Let’s get on with it, then. No reason to stand around.”
As he extends the torch out in front of him, the silhouette of his shoulders and head—and that broadsword in his hand—is as if the darkness before me has coalesced into a living form. But I remind myself he’s a weapon under my control, and even though I don’t know what we will face, I’m certain of one thing:
I am not going to die in this tunnel. Maybe somewhere else, but not here, and not tonight.
With that resolve, I open the pack and find that everything, including the box, fits inside. As I sling the weight onto my back, the mercenary turns away to face whatever’s ahead of us.
“Wait.”
He turns his head to the side, his profile harsh as any predator’s. “What.”
“What’s your real name?” I feel an urgent need to know what it is, and when he remains silent, I press, “We need to be on cordial terms for the duration of this… journey.”
“Why’s that?” He slashes the broadsword with impatience. “Never mind. And I told you what you can call me.”
“Please. What’s your actual name.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Everyone has a name—”
“Not me.”
He steps forward like he can handle anything we’ll encounter, and I have no choice but to draft in his wake or be left behind.
“I’ll call you Merc,” I announce as a downward slope starts under my slippershoes and the air becomes dense with the smell of earth and mold. “‘Mercenary’ is too…”
Well, too close to the truth for me to constantly be reminded of it.
“Fill your boots.” Then he gives me his profile again, a half smile on his lips. “Sorrel.”
His strides are long and I have to hustle to keep up, especially as we bottom out and proceed at a much lower level. Overhead, cracks in the arched ceiling leach cold water that dampens us and fills the puddles at our feet. I feel as though I’m drawing soil itself into my nose and it’s turning to mud in the back of my throat—
A squeak and scurry introduce the rats that presently become our traveling companions, and I try not to notice their plump gray bodies and fleshy pink tails as they rush by us and evaporate into all I cannot see. When there’s another angle of decline, I put my palm out to the wall to steady myself—and take it back. The slimy feel is more than I can bear, and makes me think of the cow innards that Mr. Cavenish brought with him into the pub.
As I rub my palm on my cloak, a tingling starts at my sternum, and my stomach flip-flops in the cradle of my pelvis. Then my throat closes as if it’s been taken in a grip.
Suffocating, my lips part and my breath goes in and out as if I’m running, the high whistle through my front teeth like a bird warning of a barn cat hiding in the hay. My balance suffers as my feet abruptly go numb, and I collapse against the oozing wall. Bracing my hands on my knees, I become a table with three legs as I try to keep from passing out—
Merc has to backtrack to put the torch to my hidden face. “What’s wrong with you.”
“Can’t… breathe—”
“Well, get that stupid hood off your head. It’s hot in here.”
“I-i-it is—no!” I jerk away as I feel him tugging. “No, no,no—”
I lock my hands over my head. “I can’t do this—I can’t breathe, I can’t—I can’t do this. I’ve got to go back, I can’t do—”
A grip locks on my biceps, and he gives me a shake. “Yes, you can—”
“N-n-no, I can’t! We need to go back—I’m going to die here!”
So much for the resolution that had seemed so hearty mere lengths ago.
Merc’s face thrusts into my own, and I squeeze my eyes shut to avoid his own. “We are going forward—”
