Neversfall - Ed Gentry [99]
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The dank tunnel air was thick, like water in his lungs, as Taennen ran. His feet threatened to slip with every step. The many wounds on Taennen's body throbbed and ached, but his hands hurt the most. Those hands had taken the life of a fellow officer, even if that officer were from another nation and a traitor besides. He knew Bascou was a criminal, but what did it mean that he had orders from higher up? Were his actions still a crime, if those in charge had ordered him to do so? Taennen had killed a man who followed orders, just as he himself always had.
His hands ached with each thought, but the pleasure, the thrill he took in ending Bascou's life made him want to howl in distress. He had wanted to do it, had enjoyed it. What concerned him was the thrill he got from it. He had seen bloodlust in the eyes of foes before but never thought he would feel it himself.
But in the end Bascou had needed to die. Taennen found comfort in that thought and found himself comfortable with it. There was nothing evil in understanding that an enemy was too dangerous to live. For the greater good of all southerners, Bascou's part in this scheme had needed to end. The shiver of freedom he felt from it, the itch of happiness-that bothered him. That was not fine and well. Maybe it never would be.
As the thrill settled, he hoped he never would feel such bloodlust again. The scraping of boots on stone drew closer and he decided he would have to reconcile those feelings later, if he survived.
He had turned left at two different intersections of the tunnels and hoped he was headed south again. There had to be an alternate route back to the spot where he had entered the passages. The dark walls rushed by as he ran, his ears marking the distance better than his eyes in the darkness. He might have smashed face-first into a wall at any moment, but still he moved as fast as his legs would carry him. Taennen felt more than saw the tunnel curve left ahead and changed course without falling.
Not more than thirty strides after the turn, the light from a magical torch glowed dimly at the next intersection. The direction the light came from was indistinct, keeping its origin a secret amid the dark rock. Taennen went right, his left foot pushing off the opposite wall as he made the sharp turn. The darkness soon swallowed him up, evidence that the light had been to the left. The hunters still behind him, he continued south with no time to lament his choice. His only hope was that the tunnel would let out somewhere outside the citadel.
Though his stride was longer than the dwarves', Taennen's lungs and legs were burning with effort, and he slipped occasionally. His pursuers were accustomed to the tunnel, and the dwarves could see where they were going in the dark. The ground sloped up suddenly before him, promising entry to the surface world. Taennen scrambled the slanted wall of stone, his hands finding purchase at its top. He nearly sang out in joy as his fingers felt the the cool grass of the world above. Taennen pulled himself from the hole in the ground, emerging in the woods.
Trickles of light from Lucha filtered down through the dense canopy, but compared to the tunnels, Taennen felt as though he stood next to a campfire merrily lighting the whole woods. The muscles in his legs felt refreshed as his jog became a sprint in the open, more familiar terrain. Though he dodged trees and the grasping tendrils of plants with every step, Taennen raced through the Aerilpar, confident he could outpace his pursuers. His mind turned to his next task, returning to Neversfall.
Jhoqo needed to be warned-or did he?