Rook Fenwall's Arc

Chapter 4 of 11

Rook stood on the floor of the hollow and could see nothing. The dark was total. Trees closed on every side, and the ridge behind him was a black wall. Somewhere ahead, the thing that killed his people waited. He knew it had sensed him. If he walked blind, his boots would scrape stone and his armor would ring. The dark would tell the creature exactly where to strike. He needed light, or he needed the creature to move first. He crouched and felt along the ground. His gauntlet closed on a warm shape. A rabbit. It had frozen against his boot, ears flat, heart drumming under his fingers. Rook lifted it. The small body shook. He weighed a plan in his mind. If he threw it into the dark, the creature would chase the noise. It would show itself, and Rook would learn where the danger lay. He hurled the rabbit forward into the black. It squealed as it flew, then landed and squealed again, thrashing through the leaves. The sound tore across the hollow. Something answered. To Rook's left, the ground shifted. He heard the drag of a great body over stone, slow and heavy. Scales hissed against the earth. The rabbit's squeal cut off. Then a wet sound, and silence. Rook did not move. He had his answer. The creature lay to the left, low to the ground, and it was long. Light bloomed above him. Tiny dragons dropped from the branches, a whole cluster of them, their scales glowing red and blue and gold. They swarmed toward the noise, drawn to the movement, and their light spilled across the hollow floor. Rook saw it then. A serpent, thick as a tree trunk, coiled in loops across the stone. Its scales shone green and black, worn smooth by the cave dark. Its head rose from the coils, wide as his chest. One gold eye fixed on him. This was no ancient horror. It was a hunter, and it had just fed. The serpent's head snapped toward Rook. He set his feet and raised his shield. The strike hit like a falling beam. It drove him back three steps, but the iron held. The serpent recoiled and gathered its coils to strike again. Rook did not wait. He stepped in low, under the rising head, and drove his sword up through the throat. The serpent thrashed. Its coils lashed the trees and cracked stone. Rook held the blade deep until the great body went slack and fell. He pulled his sword free and stood over the dead serpent, breathing hard. The little dragons circled once and settled on the branches, their glow steady now. In their light he saw what lay beyond the coils. A narrow gap in the rock, black and low, sank down into the earth. Cold air breathed from it. The serpent had guarded this mouth. The true horror lay below, and the only path forward led down through that gap.