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Darkness hung close around Horace as he crept through the narrow tunnel. The earth shook and groaned occasionally, rumbled in protest at some cataclysmic event unfolding deep within the bowels beneath his feet. Dust hung heavy in the dank air, clinging to his hair and skin, stinging his eyes, making each ragged breath a struggle. Falling stones clattered and echoed all around them, and a few found their mark, cracking into skulls or scoring arms or faces, leaving nasty bruises and bloody scrapes in their flesh. Growling low in his throat, Horace lowered his chin and grit his teeth, advancing into the darkness with both hands outstretched, moving more by instinct than any actual ability to see beyond the end of his nose. Levan followed closely with a sweaty hand on Horace's shoulder, the other gripping the strap of a makeshift litter he bore behind him. Elias held the far end, the heavy end, his teeth clenched with strain, feet shuffling side to side awkwardly within the confines of the tunnel, grunting, panting, and cursing with the occasional encouraging word offered by Tierra, who guarded their rear against attack. The tunnel wound through a series of gentle twists and turns, widening or narrowing in places as they went, the rough stone above them closing and encroaching until they walked in a stoop. Eventually, the inky darkness began to recede, growing thinner and less suffocating with each turn. Hope flooded Horace when he noticed a faint speck of light piercing the darkness ahead, flickering and wavering weakly but growing in strength with each invigorated step. ended up ahead in a strange pale blue light. Frowning and fingering his sword, Horace stole closer, inching along the sharply-ridged, narrow corridor toward that peculiar light. Steel rasped into his hand, blue fire reflected along its gleaming length, and he sank into a crouch, advancing with his blade held at the ready. His heart pounded in his chest, and sweat beaded his brow, trickling down his face, stinging his eyes. Every ragged breath he took burned into his lungs, and his tongue felt made of leather, withered, and parched behind lips flaked with thirst. If he and his friends didn't find water soon, this nightmare maze of twisting passages and caverns would do the dark elves' work for them. "See anything?" Tierra's whispered voice floated to him from behind Elias and Levan struggling with the Korturo and the litter. He lifted a hand to signal silence and peered deeper into the cavern's gloom, a vast, wide expanse with a high-domed ceiling and gently sloped walls glimmering with soft blue light. Countless gloworms, the same tiny creatures that lit their way through the pitch-black labyrinth between the prison and here, glowed and twinkled throughout the giant cave. Stalactites, long, sharp, and gnarled, jutted down from the ceiling's thin shadows, and darkness hung heavy in the nooks and stands of stalagmites rearing up from the floor at random. He glanced back at his friends stooped in a ragged line behind him, their battered and bloody faces pallid and haunted, ghostly in the bluish gloom. They leaned against the cold, sharp stone or stood swaying on their feet, their puffy eyes an angry, solid red where they should have been white. They had taken the worst of the fighting so far, especially Korturo, and were all in bad shape, though not so much more than himself. Bah, it's just a few scratches. The thought nearly made him laugh, but his swollen ribs cut it off short, and he ran a critical eye over his own battered form, the cuts, and scrapes, big blotchy bruises, dark, deep, and slashed over with welts. Ok, they were all in terrible shape—about as bad as one could get and yet live—which they would as long as they found water soon. Now a bitter laugh did rasp its way from his throat despite his protesting ribs. Would Korturo make it? Horace dropped his gaze to where the man sprawled on a makeshift litter between Elias and Levan, his deeply wounded face deathly white, his chest wheezing out every agonized breath. Korturo's breathing had grown increasingly thin and weak over the past two days, and now there was a wet rattling sound deep in his chest—a horrible sound that worried Horace. He returned his eyes to the blue glow of the cavern stretching out before him, and he wondered. Would any of them see the sun again? What about Moricar and the crystalline waters of her coast? Or their families, and friends, their homes, and all that they'd worked for the entire lives? Would they see those again? Horace decided right then that even if he didn't make it out of these Thaken cursed tunnels, he would stay alive through fire and broken bones just to spit in the eye of the next dark elf he saw, which he would count as a small victory itself. His cracked lips pulled back from chipped teeth stained with blood, like bits of withered leather rasping over stones, and he swore a silent oath. You'll get yers; you black-skinned dogs. We'll be back and turn this lightless hell you call home into a corpse-strewn tomb for cowards that slink about in the dark. He pursed up his lips to spit, and the bottom split open. "Hah!" Horace clutched an arm tightly to his side and chuckled darkly. He couldn't spit right now to save his life. "What's so funny?" Tierra wanted to know. She stood in the back, frowning at him. "Don't go losing your grip, Buttons. We need you. We'll be free of these tunnels soon, with the sunshine warming our faces. Won't that be nice? Think of it. The sun and the wind and wide-open skies. Then we can forget about this place." Buttons. His mouth twisted. He hated that name. His father had been a button maker, the best in the city, and his friends had begun calling him that from a very young age. The name stuck through the years despite his zealous efforts to kill it. "Forget?" His voice was a low growl. "You want to forget? How can we forget what they done? I'll never forget! Not as long as I live." "Easy, friend." Levan stood from where he and Elias knelt beside the litter and laid a gentle hand on Horace's shoulder. "She only meant that we could free our minds to concentrate on getting back to Moricar to warn the Queen. She'll know what to do about these—" he cut off for an instant, his mouth twisting with revulsion. "Dark elves." "I already know what to do." Horace's voice had grown louder, and a dangerous glint had entered his eyes, almost feverish. "We come back with the army and burn every stinkin one o' these dogs to ashes. All of'em! Men, women, children. None deserve to live!" He finished in a shout with a thick finger jabbing into Levan's chest and a heated expression twisting his unshaven features. Then he blinked, flushed dark with color, and the fiery light in his eyes faded as his gaze dropped to the cold ground, and he pretended to kick at a stone. "I'm sorry, Levan." Shame filled him to the core. He'd let his temper get the best of him, something that happened quite often and nearly struck a friend. "Yer right. We gotta make it back to the Queen. Tell her about these dogs." Levan squeezed his shoulder in a friendly gesture. "It is already forgotten, old friend." His eyes suddenly clouded with worry and darted to Korturo. He lay on the litter, ghostly white and feverish, gasping for air. "We must hurry if Korr is to have any chance at seeing his family again."