Chapter 13: Mountain Path

         The low rumbling of thunder roused Grom from his uneasy sleep. The normal bright rays of morning sunshine were hidden behind a sky of gray clouds, blocking the welcoming warmth of light to his face. He opened his eyes and gazed out the dark window. A flash of lightning illuminated the room for a moment before returning it to shadow. Grom couldn’t even tell whether it was daytime yet, but he knew that he would not be able to drift off into slumber again. So he laid there with eyes clouded from mental and physical exhaustion, staring at the ceiling once more. He became well accustomed to the sight of a painted white ceiling. He hadn’t enjoyed a full night’s rest since that first night at the castle, and he began to feel the effects bearing down on him. Even if he could spend one night in a bed with soft satin sheets and feathered pillows, his thoughts would rob him from drifting off into a true, relaxing sleep.

         Grom pulled together what energy he had left and sat up. Little light came through the curtains that swayed like a waving banner in the increasing winds. Grom followed their wild fluttering as another bolt of lightning cast light through the thin material. While he watched with a vacant, tired expression, he thought the curtains resembled some wavering apparition trying to relay a message to him with only the howling winds as a means of communication. The events of last night resurfaced in his memory. He played out the fuzzy scenario in his mind, and he wondered if the rat and kobold were all part of a vivid hallucination. Turning his head to the side, he found his answer–the scroll with the bright blue ribbon tied around it sat in plain sight. Letting out a sigh, he reached over and lifted the scroll off of the dresser, forcing himself out of bed and readying for the journey ahead of his companions and him.

         After gathering his possessions, Grom walked through the door and into the narrow hallway of The Gryphon’s Roost’s second floor. As he stepped into the hall, he half-expected Cloey and Isac to greet him with the wild antics of one of their fights, but he found only an eerie solitude. The hallway was quiet, the kind of quiet that grabs hold of and chokes out so much as the tiniest sound. Grom crept down the hall, each careful step causing the floorboards beneath to bend beneath his weight and moan out in pain. A boom of thunder silenced the crying floor, demanding attention and shaking the ground under Grom’s feet. He tightened the grip on the scroll in his left hand and continued down the hall, stopping at a room and knocking three times with his free hand.

         Grom put his ear to the door and listened to the creaking moan of metal springs, the rustling of sheets, and the banging of footsteps. The door opened, and a single eye peered out, fighting to stay open.

         “Wake up, lad. We need to get moving,” Grom said, looking up at the blue dot surrounded by red veins staring down at him. Hearing a grumble from the other side, Grom watched a hand fumble to release the chain lock on the door. The door swung open the rest of the way, and Isac took a step forward, catching his balance on the frame of the door.

         “What time of day is it? It looks like it’s still night,” Isac mumbled, his words nearly incomprehensible. Another rumble of thunder rolled through the sky and shook the length of the hall.

         “Get yourself ready. I’m going to go wake up Prescott and Shenk,” Grom said. He turned and moved on to the next door, leaving Isac standing there in a paralyzed daze. As Grom reached Prescott’s door, he heard the slam of Isac shutting his door down the hall. Before he could knock, he heard some noises from within.

         “Come in, Grom,” Prescott’s muffled voice came through the wooden barrier. Grom turned the knob and stepped inside the room. Prescott stood by his window, adjusting his belt and sheathing his sword at its rightful place by his side. The curtains were drawn to the sides, and an endless sheet of rain splashed against the glass of the closed windows. He turned and offered Grom a smile, an odd sight that Grom had yet to become accustomed to.

         “You look prepared. I suppose an oncoming storm and dark clouds aren’t enough to dampen your spirits,” Grom said, tapping the scroll against the side of his leg.

         “You look like you have not slept,” Prescott said, reaching up and tying his hair back in its usual ponytail. His glance fell to the piece of paper that Grom continued to rap against his leg like the beating of a drum. “What do you have there?”

         “To be completely honest with you, I’m not really sure,” Grom said, forcing himself to stop the nervous tapping.

         “Have you not looked at it?” Prescott asked, looking a bit confused, “Where did you get the scroll? Was it something left in your room?”

         “I guess you could say that,” Grom mumbled. He wasn’t quite sure what to tell Prescott. What would his reaction be to what truly happened? Grom imagined himself telling Prescott all about the crazy blue kobold that flew in through his window and gave him a scroll with a location marked somewhere at the edge of the mountains. He chuckled on the inside at the absurdity of it all and decided to just ignore the scroll all together for now. “It’s nothing important. We need to meet with the elves at once. Hopefully they will have found some answers that will lead us to Cloey.”

         “Perhaps you should go wake my brother. I will handle the task of rousing Shenk, and then we can be on our way,” Prescott began, but was interrupted by a coughing at the door.

         “He already woke me from a most wonderful dream,” came the voice of Isac, who stood in the doorway and rubbed his tired eyes. Behind him stood Shenk, carrying all his belongings. Unlike his companions, Isac had none of this things ready for their journey. He leaned against the frame and continued on with his rambling. “You see, I was back at The Black Dragon Inn, and there was this beautiful woman there! She came over to where I was sitting and slipped into my lap . . .”

         “Can we finish this story another time, perhaps?” Prescott interrupted. The fleeting smile that Grom saw before faded into an impatient grimace.

         “You never want to listen to anything I have to say,” Isac grumbled.

         “It’s all right, Isac! I like your stories!” Shenk said with a goofy grin. Shenk’s jovial face didn’t seem to lift the look of disappointment from Isac’s sour frown, and the younger half-elf stared at his older sibling with cold eyes.

         “Come now, let’s get going!” Grom said, trying to lift his own spirit and those of his companions. He made for the door, but turned back and grinned. “I hope you all have cloaks because I think we’re going to get a little wet.”

         Grom’s words rang true as they stepped through the front door of the tavern and outside into a thick, growing mud puddle. Rain fell down over Anon like thousands of tiny needles piercing the ground. The chill winds stung their faces and sent a spray of moisture into their eyes. The four pulled up the hoods of their ragged brown cloaks and trudged through the town toward the Temple of Helena.

         They passed through the garden, keeping to the slick cobblestone path that led toward the temple’s entrance. Rain blanketed each vibrant petal and leaf, creating an illusion of movement among the vast array of flowers and plants. As they reached the front steps of their destination, they were greeted by the tall, golden statue of Helena, Goddess of Wisdom and Truth. Grom looked up at her, taking his first real good look at her rain-speckled features. As he beheld the goddess’s beauty, he saw in her jeweled eyes the twinkle of Anne’s glowing orbs. He stepped off the path and planted his mud-soaked boots into the ground before the statue. He witnessed the golden skin turn to the silky cream and touches of scarlet in her rosy cheeks. Her shimmering hair seemed to move about wildly in the wind, which blew toward him and whispered sweet words in his ear.

         “We must not linger, Grom,” Prescott said, looking back a moment at him and then turning his attention to the temple doors.

         Grom heard Prescott’s words, but for a moment he remained transfixed on the statue, his fleeting memories of Anne. As the life-like image of Anne faded, Grom shook his head and tried to wipe the moisture from his face. Envisioning a final familiar smile on the lips of the statue, he then hurried after his companions.

         Prescott reached for the door, but they pushed back without even taking hold of the silver handles. Prescott led the way inside and pulled off the hood of his cloak. He bowed before the elderly Ivalice, who stood in wait of their arrival. Standing beside him was the brothers’ father, Vander, who held a piece of parchment down at his side. Grom stepped up beside Prescott; Isac and Shenk remained near the doors.

         “It is good to see that you all have returned. I hope that the rooms provided for you were comforting, and I pray that the dark weather does not foretell the days that follow,” Ivalice said, speaking with the true sympathy of a kind, old soul.

         “We will be in better spirits if you have some good news for us,” Grom spoke up, pulling down his hood. Strands of dampened black hair stuck against his forehead, and water dripped from the end of his beard onto the floor.

         “Then you will be happy to know that we have managed to translate the paper in which you have given us,” Ivalice said, turning and motioning to Vander. He handed the paper over to Ivalice, who in turn handed it to Prescott. “You may look for yourself.”

         Prescott looked over the paper and began to read what it said aloud, “My dear Pyras, I trust you now to find and retrieve the lost Amulet of Passage at once. One of the pitiful orcs said that a halfling girl and dwarf were the ones likely to have taken the artifact. The orcs have paid for their worthlessness. It is certain that the dwarf and girl will head to Anon. I trust in your abilities. After you recover the amulet, travel south and toward the cavern in the mountains. You must not fail me.”

         “Cavern in the mountains?” Isac said aloud, scratching at the side of his head in thought. “There could be literally hundreds of caves throughout the mountains south of here! How are we supposed to find this one opening?”

         “I know where they are going,” Grom blurted out. His three companions and the two elder elves turned toward him at once, all with long faces of bewilderment.

         “What do you mean you know?” Vander asked.

         Instead of answering his question, Grom pulled the map from inside his cloak and handed it forward for anyone to take. Vander narrowed his eyes and snatched it away with the flick of his wrist. In a swift movement, he pulled the bow of the ribbon loose and unfurled the parchment and scanned the scrawled map. His darting eyes widened, and his gaze fell upon the dwarf as he lowered the map. “How did you come about this map?”

         “A strange creature came into my room last night and gave it to me as some sort of gift. I don’t know why he gave it to me, but he knew who I was and wanted me to have it,” Grom explained, thinking himself a fool just for telling the story aloud. The room fell silent. No one dared to question the origins of the map.

         “How are we to know that this is not leading us right into a trap? You were tricked once before, Grom. What makes this a reliable resource?” Prescott spoke up, thinking over the words of the translation. He stepped beside his father and look over the map.

         “Maybe the perty map is a gift from the gods!” Shenk exclaimed in excitement.

         “This strange fellow was far less than a god, and I think it was his unusual demeanor that leads me to trust him. Plus, what other options do we really have at this point and time?” Grom asked.

         “I agree,” Ivalice said, folding his hands and nodding his head, “I believe that the best choice for you now is to investigate with the clues you have been given. It may be your only chance to save your friend. If you choose to follow this path, I will have horses and a cart provided for your journey so that you may arrive dry and with all your energy.”

         Isac turned and looked up at Shenk. The half-orc’s face beamed with an excited smile. As he turned back, Isac caught the gaze of his father’s eyes on him, piercing through the hood and his hanging blonde locks. Isac lowered his head and sighed.

         “Then that is what we’ll do,” Grom nodded and said to Ivalice, “Have the horses ready. We shall leave as soon as possible.”

{/center}*                    *                    *{/center}

         The journey persisted for many days, and the poor conditions made the trek that much longer in the minds of the four travelers. They could not discern whether they traveled through the night or day from the continual darkness surrounding them. The rain came and went as the days went by, but the dark clouds in the sky lingered as if trying to convey some sort of warning. They were forced to stop several times due to blustering winds and battering rain. When the storms would cease, they were forced to maneuver through and around thick pools of black muck and stagnant pools of brown water. The Izula brothers relied on the combined strength of Grom, Shenk, and the two horses to push them along. Prescott used his knowledge of the wilderness to help navigate them toward their destination. On the other hand, his brother spent most of the journey keeping to himself, feeling as if he had little to contribute in the way of aiding their travels. It wasn’t until almost two full weeks of treacherous expedition before they saw the base of the mountains off in the distance.

         “The mountains are just ahead,” Prescott said, pulling on the reins of the horses to bring them to a halt.

         “How much farther until we get to the marking on the mysterious map?” Isac asked. These less than enthused words were the first he had spoken in two days. He secretly longed to catch a glimpse of the shining sun for even a single moment.

         “If we’re reading the map correctly, we need to follow the mountains along the edge here. We should eventually come across an entrance,” Grom said, looking over the map and tracing the path with his index finger.

         “Maybe we should leave the horsies and walk along on foot so we don’t miss it,” Shenk suggested. He rubbed his knees, which were bent up against his chest as he sat cramped in the small canopied cart.

         “I think that’s a good idea. These creatures have been through much and have earned some rest,” Prescott said, keeping hold of the reins and dropping down to the ground with a loud splash. He led the horses and the cart over to an area under the cover of an overhanging ledge of rock. As the others slipped out of the cart, Prescott stroked the nose of one of the horses and whispered something in its ear. At first, the horse stomped its hooves and whinnied, but Prescott’s continued words brought peace to the beast. He went over and did the same to the other horse, calming its nerves. Releasing the reins, he walked away from the horses and motioned for his friends to follow.

         The four crept along the base of the mountain, keeping a close eye for an opening or anything menacing that might befall them. The cloudy sky rumbled, but the air remained free of rain. They were all thankful for a break in the precipitation, which made their search a little easier. They trudged across semi-solid ground, keeping close to the side of the mountainous wall away from the deep puddles of mud closer to the road. Grom continued to look back and forth from the map to the side of the mountain. After walking some ways, he stopped and sighed, rolling up the map.

         “It should be right here,” Grom growled in frustration.

         “Allow me to take a look,” Prescott said. As he took a step forward with hand outstretched, an arrow soared downward and landed at the before his feet and splintering against the solid ground. Grom and Prescott looked up at the same time to spot a cloaked figure carrying a bow nearly as tall as Grom perched upon a ledge up in the mountains. Before he could ready his next shot, Isac pushed his way between his brother and Grom. Waving his hand in a circle, Isac extended his fingers toward the figure. Tiny orbs of silver energy formed at each fingertip and raced forth in sharp pinpoints, striking the ground below the archer’s feet. The ground crackled and crumbled in a brilliant eruption and sent chunks of rock and the shrouded figure tumbling down the side of the mountain. The form landed with a sickening smack against the ground, and Shenk charged forward and thrust his boot in his chest, pinning him to the ground.

         “Well, well, what do we have here?” Isac asked, kneeling down and pulling back the hood of the cloak. A bald man lay helpless, brown eyes wide with fear. Isac tapped Shenk on the shoulder, and the brutish half-orc hoisted the man up by the arm and tore the cloak from his shaking frame. When he ripped the material away, they noticed the red insignia of a claw sewn to the front of the man’s leather armor. Each drop and trail of blood was intricately stitched down the front of armor, pooling at the bottom of the sewn circle.

         “That’s the same symbol we found on the dagger,” Grom said, his face twisting into a serious grimace.

         “Where’s the entrance?” Isac asked him, leaning on his staff and staring the bald man in the eyes. The man did not respond; he dangled by his arm, trembling and staring at Shenk. Isac sighed and shook his head. “You wouldn’t want my friend here to lose his temper. He’s not too nice when he gets angry. If you don’t cooperate, you might lose that arm he’s holding you by, and I doubt that you’d survive. Have you ever seen an angry orc, especially one who hasn’t eaten in days?”

         As if it were even possible, the man’s eyes grew wider, and he raised his other shaking hand and motioned toward where he had shot them from. Isac smiled and patted Shenk on the shoulder again. Shenk grabbed the wretched soul around the waist in a huge crushing hug before throwing him down on the cold ground. The bare-headed archer groaned and clutched at his ribs, and the four walked away from him and started up the side of the mountain.

         “Are you sure we should just leave him there? What if he goes for help?” Isac asked, turning his head around and giving the man a long stare.

         “I think we have more to worry about where we’re going,” Grom uttered, keeping to the path ahead of them.

         They found the climb up the mountain to be tolerable. Crude steps were carved along the rocky face, leading to where the archer had been lurking. The remains of the ledge rested at the top, but most of it was reduced to piles of rubble thanks to Isac’s flashy spell. Before them stood a shadowy opening extending deep into the mountain.

         “That doesn’t look too inviting,” Isac said, hanging back and unwilling to leave the darkness of the outside world for an even darker path inside.

         “What’s the matter, lad? Are you afraid of the dark?” Grom asked, a bit of laughter rising in his voice.

         “Not so much the dark,” Isac began, lowering his voice, “I’m more concerned about the things that crawl around and make the darkness their home.”

         Receiving a reassuring pat and smile from Shenk, Isac followed Grom and Prescott’s lead into the cave. They left the darkness from dark rainclouds behind and delved into the pitch black of the enclosing cave walls. Grom took slow steps, allowing his eyes a moment to adjust to the lack of light. Being a dwarf, he spent years traveling deep through caves and into the mountains, and his eyesight was accustomed to the obscured conditions. Despite all this, his venture into the center of this solid rock brought no revival of hope to his heart. The smell of sulfur lingered in the air, causing everyone but Grom to gag.

         “It reeks down here!” Isac shouted, wrinkling up his nose, “Was that you, Shenk?”

         “That’s sulfur, lad,” Grom said before an embarrassed Shenk could respond, “It’s a common odor to miners.”

         “I can’t see anything,” Shenk said, holding onto Prescott’s shoulder as a guide.

         “I’ve got something for that,” Isac said. They all fell silent for a moment, and then out of nowhere flickered a spark of white light. The light expanded into a small orb that floated at the end of Isac’s worn, wooden staff. The four shaded their eyes from the sudden flash, and as soon as their eyes adjusted, they saw the path ahead of them leading down into a pit of darkness.

         “It’s like we’re heading into the underworld,” Isac muttered.

         “Keep moving,” Grom urged and continued onward.

         And so they traveled step by step down into the freezing shadows. Isac stepped beside Grom, holding his staff up high to help guide the way. They walked over loose rocks and under stalactites overhead, refusing to stop until they found where they were heading.

         “Just how far does this tunnel lead?” Isac asked Grom as they trudged along.

         “How am I supposed to know?” Grom snapped back at him.

         “Well, you are a dwarf. I figured if anyone knows anything about dark caves and mines it would be you,” Isac replied, guiding his hand along the solid walls beside him.

         Grom grumbled a few choice words in the dwarven tongue and ignored any further comments or questions from the young half-elf. He led on through the singular dank path, keeping an steady pace. The light from Isac’s staff reflected off the walls, catching twinkles of silver-colored ore.

         “That sure is perty!” Shenk exclaimed. He stopped and ran his hand along the metal imbedded in the solid stone.

         “That would be iron,” Grom answered without stopping, “I had a suspicion this was some sort of mine. There’s bound to be more minerals as we go on.”

         After traveling for some time, they finally reached the end of the tunnel. The way branched off into various pathways. A large pile of boulders blocked one of the entrances, and upon a closer look, Grom noticed the yellowed remains of bones shining in Isac’s magical light.

         “I don’t think these tunnels are used for mining anymore,” Prescott noted, motioning to the remnants of human life.

         The others said nothing; they peered at the identical paths, each one snaking off down into the unknown.

         “Which way do we go?” Isac asked.

         “Can you find any tracks, Prescott?” Shenk asked.

         “The ground is too solid, so I cannot make out any footprints. Also, I have never been into such a narrow confines. This was created by man, not nature, so I have little knowledge of the area,” Prescott admitted. His lips curled into a frown, reflecting the same confused look of his companions.

         “I think we should go down this tunnel,” Grom said, stepping toward one of the openings.

         “Why do you say that? Why not any of the others?” Isac asked, tapping his staff against the ground.

         “The other tunnels are much narrower than this one. The widest one would be the one traveled the most, which means those Mortillus soldiers probably went down this way,” Grom announced with an air of confidence.

         “You better be right,” Isac said, following Grom down the path.

         They walked down the tunnel, and partway through they came across a metal rail fixed into a carved groove in the ground. It ran down the entire walk, and they stumbled upon a line of three wooden carts chained together. They all sat empty, except for a bit of dirt coating the bottom of each. They had to crowd along the wall to get past the blockage, and poor Shenk had to climb through each of the mining carts, unable to squeeze past them. The tunnel eventually widened out, leading them out of the restricted space and through an opening into a large cavernous room. Isac’s light drifted out around them in a sphere, but failed to penetrate through the darkness enough to find any walls or openings. They halted at the entrance and started searching their surroundings. As they patrolled the area, they noticed a rising smell of refuse and garbage from all around them, mingling with the stench of sulfur. Filth and decay littered the floor all around them like a brown and black carpet. Grom felt as if he were back in Isac’s garbage-infested home. Prescott knelt down, noticing something on the ground near a pile of slime-covered rocks. Lifting and wiping off small white chips, he turned toward his companions.

         “These are bone chips,” Prescott said, reaching for the sword at his side.

         “I’m sure they’re just the remains of a dead rat or something,” Grom began to say, but before he could finish his thought, something sharp pierced and grabbed hold of his ankle. Grom fell forward with enough force to knock his axe from his back and send it clattering onto the cave floor. Isac turned his staff toward Grom, and the light illuminated a thick tentacle clutching his ankle. A vice-like row of barbs at the end of the tentacle ripped into Grom’s leg. Grom clawed and grabbed at the floor, but the tentacle drew him toward the darkness.

         “Grom!” Prescott shouted, lunging forward to grab hold of his arm. Grom grasped Prescott’s hand and held on as tight as he could. “Brother, can you give us a little more light?”

         Isac closed his eyes a moment and whispered a few soft words. The globe of light at the end of his staff pulsed and repelled the darkness farther back, revealing a large beast with skin resembling filth-covered rock. It stood back on three stocky legs and reached out with its other tentacle for Grom and wrapped it around his waist. A dark purple tongue lashed out of its gaping hole of a mouth lined with row upon row of jagged teeth.

         “Hold on, Grom!” Prescott urged his friend, losing out on the test of strength against the beast.

         “I don’t think I can!” Grom managed to choke out through the pain wracking his entire body. The barbs sunk through his leather armor and ripped into his gut, causing blood to ooze from the wounds and over the muscled tentacles that held on with unbelievable might.

         Shenk broke forward with a howl, swinging his double-ended axe down toward the tentacle wrapped around Grom’s leg. The creature let loose a high-pitched squeal as the axe cut through in one hard swing. The beast flailed both limbs up into the air, breaking Grom’s hold of Prescott’s hand and flinging him dangerously close to the ceiling. The severed wound oozed a thick white puss, dripping down in huge globs onto the ground below.

         “Grom!” Prescott shouted up at him as he was thrashed around in the air. Prescott drew his sword and lunged forward at the beast. His blade, shimmering in the light from Isac’s spell, struck the side of the beast, but made only a small dent in its thick hide. The creature roared and flung its injured limb at Prescott, catching him in the chest and sending him barreling backward into a slimy pile of waste.

         Shenk heaved his axe toward the beast’s gaping maw, catching its largest row of lower teeth and spraying chips of bone into its mouth. The creature roared once more and swung its severed appendage at the half-orc. Shenk saw it coming and dropped his axe to wrap both of his arms around it. Shenk wrestled with the beast but found difficulty holding on as his hands slipped through the exuding white puss.

         Isac’s mind was a blur as he stood back and watched his friends in danger. Panic fell over him like the darkness held back by the waves of light pouring from the end of his staff. He clutched the his illuminated weapon with both hands and wrenched his eyes closed. A sudden warmth coursed through his very blood, staring in his chest and surging through his limbs. The entirety of his skin radiated with heat, searching for some sort of release. Despite the searing pain, he pried his eyes open and discovered the white light of his staff had transformed into a crackling swirl of red flame. He stood in amazement for a moment, unsure of what he had conjured. Grom let out a cry, and Isac looked up to see the beast lowering him toward its menacing jaws.

         Isac’s paralyzing fears melted away with the rising flames. Chanting a phrase in a tongue even he did not comprehend, he thrust his staff forward, and the ball of fire soared through the air like a bolt from a crossbow. The flame jetted into the open mouth of the beast, a mere distance from Grom’s dangling body, and the creature let out a horrid shriek that shook the very walls of the cave. Billowing smoke and the rancid odor of burning refuse rose from the beast’s gullet, and it swung Grom loose of its grip and sent him plummeting to the ground.

         Shenk witnessed his opportunity and hoisted up his axe, wheeling it upward and catching the beast below its mouth. The blade ripped upward through flesh and bone, and Shenk let loose a wild howl. The beast stumbled back from the blow and collapsed amongst a pile of bones and slime, limbs falling dead to the ground.

         Isac dropped his staff, and the light withdrew from the room. He collapsed to his knees and sat shaking, all feeling and warmth washed away with the fiery spell. He muttered to the darkness, “I did it.”

         Grom scrambled to his feet, limping from the searing pain of his bleeding ankle. He gazed around him and could make out the outlines of his friends and of the fallen beast through the darkness. He staggered over toward Isac and fell to his knees beside him, placing a hand on the half-elf’s shoulder.

         “That was amazing, lad,” Grom whispered.

         “Indeed. It was quite the show of teamwork!”

         The rising voice came from somewhere in the distance. Footsteps echoed across the room, becoming clearer as they approached. Grom raised his head and saw a figure moving through the cavern’s encasing darkness.

         “Who’s there? Show yourself!” Grom demanded.

         The figure stopped in its tracks and said nothing in reply. A bright spark lighted the air momentarily, followed by the smell of burning tinder and flaring of torchlight. The blaze illuminated an ebony face and long, pale hair.

         “You again,” Grom uttered.

         Standing with the blazing light gripped in his left hand, the dark elf that they met at the temple and at the wild elf camp stood at a wide opening. The flames reflected and danced in his malicious white orbs.

         “I knew that you insects would crawl your way through the darkness to save the girl. Your actions are easily predicted,” the dark elf snickered, reaching around to his back for something.

         “I wouldn’t do anything if I were you,” Grom said, standing once again, “It’s four against one. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

         “On the contrary, dwarf. I believe it is I that holds all the cards,” the dark elf started, pulling out a small crystal. The jewel emitted a light that shone brighter than the torchlight, spreading throughout the entire room. The light extended upward and rained down like the ceaseless downpour of the past weeks. Cloey lay curled up on her side, motionless inside of the walls of the crystal.

         “Miss Cloey!” Shenk shouted, holding himself up with the aid of his axe.

         “Yes, your precious halfling girl. I have a proposition for you,” the dark elf said. He tossed the crystal into the air and caught it.

         “We have no use for furthering your wicked plan, whatever it may be,” Grom said, keeping his eyes on the crystal.

         “You flatter me, dwarf. Do you really think this is my own plan? Much like Pyras, I am merely serving the greater good of the Lord of Mortillus. His will is my own, and he wishes that I bring the amulet to him, which right now is on its way back to The Forbidden Isle. As soon as our master receives that amulet, he will have all that he needs in order to push his plan forward. His Lordship and the lands of Feldos will remember and fear the name of Renant.”

         The dark elf, Renant, threw his head back in sinister laughter. He tossed the crystal high into the air once more as if it were simply some child’s toy.

         “What would you have us do?” Prescott asked, pulling himself up from the mass of black muck. He took an uneasy step forward and cradled his right shoulder. The fight with the creature left him shaken, and he had little energy to do much more than listen to the drow’s demands.

         “Our master needs only one last thing before he brings an end to all creation. If you want your friend returned safely, you will travel into the depths of the volcanic caverns to the far north and retrieve a dark red ruby from the deepest of tunnels. When you return this stone to me, I will hand over the girl,” Renant explained, lobbing the crystal high into the air once more.

         “Thanks for the information!” Prescott shouted, hurling his sword with his uninjured arm toward the dark elf. Startled, Renant leapt back out of the way of the careening weapon; however, as he jumped, he also abandoned the crystal careening from high up in the air. Time seemed to stop as they watched the crystal float like a feather down toward the ground, hitting a jagged rock and shattering into a thousand small pieces. The bright light from the crystal burst outward in a wave of blinding energy. The brightness caught the room offguard, but when the light began to fade, they recognized Cloey’s prone body on the ground. She was still curled up as they witnessed inside the crystal with shimmering shards scattered all around her.

         “Insolent wretch! You will pay for your meddling!” Renant cried and reached for a dagger hanging at his side. The unarmed Prescott turned his head as an obsidian blade flew from the hands of the dark elf. He felt a crushing weight against his side and collapsed to the ground. The landing drove his breath from his lungs, and he bent upward, gasping for air. As he drew in a deep breath, Prescott lifted his head to see his younger brother leaning on his staff in front of him. Isac had pushed Prescott out of the way, and his face froze as the black handle of the dagger stuck outward from his chest. Without so much as a cry, Isac collapsed to the ground, his staff landing with a heavy clunk beside him.

         With an animalistic howl of rage, Shenk lunged forth with his axe in hand, and in one clean swipe, he caught the dark elf off guard and separated his head from his shoulders. Renant’s horror-striken face spiraled through the air, flying and smacking the cave wall with a thickening crack of bone and splatter of blood. His body fell forward to his knees and then onto his stomach, a fountain of thick red spurting from the gaping wound in his neck.

         Prescott crawled on hands and knees toward his brother and lifted him up in his arms, resting his head on his knee. Tears streamed down his cheeks, rolling and falling onto his brother’s pale face. The dagger’s handle stuck out from the left side of his chest; blood covered the blade of the dagger and stained Isac’s clothing.

         “Brother, please don’t leave,” Prescott whispered.

         “Brother,” Isac whispered as he forced his eyes open. His hand trembled like the final fall leaf from the top of an ancient oak as he reached up toward the heavens–toward his brother’s face. “You’ll tell father that I love him, right?”

         Prescott could not answer. All he could do was nod his head.

         “And brother, I just want you to know something,” Isac fought to whisper his words now, “I love you, too.”

         Sadness and regret took over Prescott’s body and the tears came down now like the rain. Isac smiled at his brother for the first and last time before his hand drifted back to his side. Isac closed his eyes and allowed his head to fall and collapse back against his brother. Grom and Shenk watched from the distance as Prescott cradled the body of his brother in the consuming darkness.

ID: 933871   (Rated: 13+) Chapter 14: Loss  Pain sets over the group and they are left without a path to follow... by The Lemon