Merlyn's Arc

Chapter 20 of 19

The silence-sign glowed at Merlyn's knee, but its light was already fading. He pressed his palm to it and felt the hum draining out fast. His good hand shook. His left hung dead at his side. He had no fuel to carve a path, and his weakened body could not walk far in the dark. "The sign holds for a few breaths more," he said. "We need a way out before it dies. I can't find one blind, and I can't stand for long." Kjell knelt beside his old teacher. Years back, Kjell had paid three hunts' worth of silver to learn runes from this man. He knew what Merlyn could do and what he could not. "You've got sight now," Kjell said. "Use it. Read the rock. Where's the air coming from?" Merlyn turned his face slow across the tunnel. His restored eyes stung in the dark, but they still worked. He caught a thin draft crossing his cheek. "There," he said, pointing left. "Air moves. A crack, low down. But my legs won't carry me." Thorgar bent and lifted Merlyn onto his broad back like a sack of grain. "Then I carry you," he said. He said it plain, the way he named ugly things and moved on. Gunnar went first, one thick hand on the wall, the tome strapped to his chest. Thorin followed with his father's axe, watching behind them for the beast. The silence-sign guttered out. The tunnel filled with a low, waking groan far below. "It's stirring," Merlyn breathed against Thorgar's shoulder. "The sign's dead." Gunnar stopped at the crack. It was a narrow slit in the rock, barely wide enough for a dwarf. Cold air poured through. "Tight," Gunnar said. "But it goes." Thorgar set Merlyn down at the gap. Merlyn ran his fingers over the stone edge and read it with his eyes close to the crack. The rock here was live. He felt the faint pull of earth power still humming in it. "This stone breathes," he said. "I can draw from it. Not to fight. Just to walk." He set the hammer's point against the live rock with his right hand. Thorgar pinned his wrist and held it steady. Merlyn cut a short conduit-sign, three strokes, drinking strength from the stone instead of his blood. His brands lit gold along his good arm. The ache left his legs. He stood on his own. Behind them, the groan grew into a grinding roar. "Go," Merlyn said. He pushed through the crack first, walking now, feeling the draft pull him toward open dark ahead. One by one they squeezed through. Thorgar came last and jammed his shoulder against the slit, packing it with loose rock. The roar was close now, but it could not follow through the narrow gap. Merlyn leaned on the far wall, breathing hard. He could walk. He could see. The beast was sealed behind them. But the live rock was already going cold under his hand, spent again.