Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [198]
From then on, Denlin directed the small group along a complex of side-alleys, then down into a passage leading under the city toward Caveside, and all the time they could hear the crowds shouting in anger above them, a thousand feet thundering on a trail of devastation.
At one point Eir dropped her sword and staggered against the wall and began to cry. Randur held her in the darkness. “What’s wrong?” he asked soothingly.
“I helped kill … I’ve never done anything like that.”
“It’s all right.” He’d been stupid to expect she could just take someone’s life like that, without feeling anything. Denlin was just about apparent in this darkness, but the old man seemed patient and understanding. Rika was close but silent.
“You were saving your own life,” Randur whispered to her, pulling her closer to him, then helping her to her feet. “You had no choice. I promise you that when we’re out of here, you’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.” It wasn’t a good time to tell her that she might never get over it, but she would have to block it out or they would be hunted down and slaughtered. She cried into his shoulder for several minutes while Denlin marched back along their route to check if they were being pursued. When Eir had calmed herself and he could feel the tension released from her body, she apologized. “I’m being so ridiculous. Now isn’t the time.”
“You’re just being human.” Randur repeated over and over that she would be back to normal as soon as she was out of the city, and that she had to put it out of her mind. All the time praying that sometime soon she might begin to believe the lie herself.
On and on, through passageways and down steps that had become so worn they were rounded treacherously at the edges. Ancient, ancient corridors.
Denlin was relying on memory to guide them. Randur wasn’t so sure of the reliability of that, but the old man had surprised him more than once. They trudged for the best part of an hour in near-darkness—and in silence, so they could hear if anyone was approaching.
Eventually: the sound of water.
“Are we close now?” Randur inquired.
Denlin said “Yep” with satisfaction.
Eventually, bits of daylight pooled in patches, as the rock around them changed texture, and the familiar smells of Caveside became intense.
“This is it,” Denlin announced in triumph.
Eir said, “Won’t they be out looking for us?”
“Probably,” Randur replied, “but down here is unlikely. Anyway, with all those opportunities for looting above, I think we’ll find Caveside is almost empty.”
Rika interrupted, “So we’ve come so far—how do we proceed?”
Denlin beckoned, “Follow me.”
Down further hidden alleyways and along backstreets which few knew of, even in Caveside. In his heightened paranoia, the shadows moved like live things. Cats craned their heads in curiosity, leaping from wall to wall in the darkness. Randur noticed how Denlin constantly looked this way and that, and he wondered if the old man was thinking how he might never see these familiar streets again.
The Garuda’s Head was unusually closed, a man slumped in front of it, either asleep or unconscious.
“Wait here,” Randur instructed the women. Eir drew her sword just in case.
The two men walked around the back of the bar, then returned with Randur’s bags, and a replacement quiver of arrows.
From one bag, Randur dug out some female garments. “Bit more stylish and probably warmer than what you’ve got on.”
“Thank you,” Rika said graciously, as she and her sister began pulling on layers of clothing. Randur and Denlin kept a lookout. It was strange to see Caveside so empty.
“Ready,” Rika decided at last. “I want to tell you how truly grateful we are.”
“Sure,” Randur said, thinking that it was only for Eir he was doing this.
“Pleasure,” Denlin said. “But not over yet. We need to sail through the caves first, and past more military stationed outside. They should be stretched, what with the riots,