Creusus's Arc

Chapter 9 of 21

Creusus let the weight in his arms go. The armor hit ground he could not see and rang once, a flat clang that told him nothing about the room. He stood over the sound and waited for the note in his chest to fade. It took a long time. The hum bled out of his ribs by slow degrees, and the ache came in behind it. His knuckles throbbed inside the bandages. His legs shook. He put one hand out and found no wall. He shuffled a step and found no wall. The dark was even on every side, not a seam of light anywhere, not under a door, not above. He sat down beside the knight because standing was worse. His head dropped. He meant to listen. Instead his body took the choice from him and he went out. He woke to the scrape of plate on stone close to his ear and rolled back before he was fully awake. "Don't move," the knight said. One phrase, flat, muffled by the helm. Creusus froze on his elbows. He heard the knight working at something, buckles maybe, a pouch. Steel tapped steel. Then a small flame bloomed in the knight's gauntlet, no bigger than a thumb, and hung there. It lit the knight's chest and the underside of the helm and nothing else. No floor showed. No wall. The light stopped at the edge of the knight's reach as if the dark ate it. The knight turned the flame toward Creusus once, so Creusus could see the hand holding it, then turned it away and lifted it and began to walk. He did not speak again. He beckoned once with the free hand. Creusus pushed to his feet. Every joint complained. He followed the small light because it was the only thing in the world to follow, and because the man carrying it had said the one thing that mattered, which was that there was somewhere not to move and, by implication, somewhere to go. He kept a pace behind the plate and watched the back of the helm bob in the little circle of fire. The floor under his bare feet was smooth and cold and gave back no echo. He did not hum. He did not need to. The knight was leading him now.