Brandon Ashveil's Arc

Chapter 8 of 18

The stairs ended in a low passage cut through dark stone. Brandon went first, knife low, the fever pulling him forward one wave at a time. Dayna followed with the lantern. The fireflies inside the glass burned brighter down here, throwing pale blue light on wet rock. Her free hand stayed on the strap of her satchel where she kept the fae remains she had taken as payment. She was the only reason he had made it this far. He did not forget it. "Slow," she whispered. "Something breathes ahead." He heard it then. A wet, heavy sound, close to the floor. Not a man. The passage bent. Around the bend, curled against the far wall, lay a black-furred hound the size of a pony. Red claws. Red inside its ears. Its ribs moved in slow sleep. Beyond it, another tunnel opened, and somewhere past that tunnel the fae lord Collin Thornweave lay fevered on stone. Brandon felt him through the bond like a second pulse. There was no room to pass. The hound filled the floor. His knife would not kill it before it woke and screamed. Dayna touched his sleeve. She lifted the lantern and tipped the little latch on its base. Two fireflies crawled out onto her palm. She had never done that in front of him before. "They put things to sleep," she breathed. "Deeper. If I use them here, I have fewer for the path back." "Do it." She crept forward on her knees. The hound's nostrils twitched. Brandon set the knife against its throat anyway, in case. Dayna leaned in and blew the two fireflies gently onto the beast's muzzle. They settled on its nose and pulsed once, slow, and went dark. The hound's breathing changed. Slowed. Slowed again. They climbed over it. Its fur was hot. Brandon's hand shook on the hilt. His boot brushed a claw and he froze. The hound did not stir. On the other side, Dayna sat down hard against the wall and pressed her palm to her mouth. The lantern in her lap held fewer lights now. Brandon counted them without meaning to. Six. Maybe seven. "That's how we get out," she said. "Fewer of those, fewer safe steps back through the grove." "I know." "You go on. I'll wait here and keep it under." He looked at the tunnel ahead. The fever pulled. Thornweave was close enough now that Brandon could taste his sweat. "If it wakes—" "Then you run past me and don't stop." Brandon nodded once. He stepped over the sleeping beast and walked into the dark alone, knife in hand, the bond burning in his wrist like a lit fuse.