The Survivors

CHAPTER 21

The pain woke Bradok-a dull, throbbing ache that seemed to run from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. He didn’t mind the pain so much; after all, it meant he was alive.

He lay in that half-waking dream state for what felt like hours. Just beyond the reach of his senses, full consciousness waited, but there seemed to be no hurry to rush there. Bradok knew when he finally woke, the pain would be more real and more bothersome.

As his mind drifted, he gradually became aware of sounds. Confused at first, the sounds resolved themselves into snatches of garbled conversation and the weeping of children.

Bradok tried to force his mind awake, but whatever Tal had given him to sleep made it impossible to focus. He needed something to hold on to, something to use as an anchor to pull himself into wakefulness. The conversations were too vague, and he couldn’t ever seem to understand the words. Finally, he became aware of an odor-not the smell of blood nor the smell of the caves, but something far more pungent.

With a jolt, his drifting mind caught hold of the name he’d been seeking to put to the smell-rot. The odor was the stench of death and decay.

“Rhizomorphs,” he gasped, remembering, his eyes popping open.

He lay on the sandy floor of the great cavern, looking up at the fading light shining through the hole in the ceiling. Gritting his teeth, he tried to sit up but flopped back onto the sand immediately as white-hot pain tore through his side. Involuntarily he gripped the wound, only to have his hand pulled away.

“Don’t do that,” Rose said. “You’ll start bleeding again.”

“But we’ve got to go,” he insisted, trying to sit again. Thurl’s bandaged hand pushed him down. “Don’t you smell that?” he asked, pushing at Thurl’s unmovable hand. “The Rhizomorphs are coming. We’ve got to get out of here.”

“We smell it,” Rose said, gently. “Tal is still tending some of the wounded. As soon as he’s done, we’ll all move on, together.”

Bradok tried to push Thurl’s hand away again. He noticed the scarred ex-assassin was missing the ring finger on his left hand.

“I got cocky,” he said in response to the questioning look Bradok gave him. “That fancy sword of yours makes a dwarf feel invincible.”

“All right,” said Tal from somewhere nearby. “You all know your jobs. Let’s go.”

“This is it,” Rose said, reaching under Bradok’s shoulders. “Give your right hand to Thurl.”

Bradok did as he was told, and Thurl slowly pulled him up, with Rose lifting from behind. Exquisite pain tore through Bradok’s body, and he bit his lip to keep from crying out. When he finally reached his feet, he wanted nothing more than to lie down again. Thurl slipped Bradok’s arm over his shoulder for support.

After a moment, the dizziness passed and Bradok found he could stand on his own, albeit a bit wobbly.

“You lost a lot of blood,” Rose explained. “If you feel dizzy, lean on Thurl.”

He nodded and gently ran his hand over his side and shoulder. Both wounds were on his left side, so someone had tied his left arm into a sling. He reached up to his right ear and felt a thick bandage there as well, wrapped around his head.

“Tal couldn’t save your ear,” Thurl said.

Bradok shrugged, glad simply to be alive. “A man can live with only one ear,” he said.

He looked around for the first time. A line of dwarves were moving to the side of the cavern, toward the exit passage. Some wore bandages; others bore simple scrapes and cuts. Even before he thought to count, however, Bradok could tell there were fewer dwarves ready to move on than there were before.

“How many?” he gasped, taking an unsteady step after the group.

“Fifteen,” Rose answered, not meeting his eyes.

“Who?” Bradok said, not really wanting an answer but knowing he must be told.

Rose recited the names. Some Bradok didn’t recognize, and some were losses he took personally. Old Marl Anvil had fallen while defending his grandchildren, leaving the eldest, Starlight, to lead the family.

Along with the dead, many were wounded. Corin and Kellik had both been slashed badly, Chisul had been stabbed like Bradok, and Perin had lost two toes on his left foot.

Bradok walked on in glum silence. The price for survival was getting higher all the time.

As they passed a side passage, the air currents shifted, and suddenly Bradok absorbed a whiff of fresh air. He’d gotten too used to the stench of decay, but the fleeting fresh air reminded him.

“How far are they behind us?” he asked, trying to control his stomach.

The assassin shrugged. “No one really wanted to go back and look,” he explained dryly.

“We’re hoping the hive confuses them,” Rose added. “It is pretty much a mess.”

“Omer, Much, and Tal stayed behind to brush away our tracks as much as possible,” Thurl said.

Bradok staggered, and Rose moved to steady him. He grunted in pain as her hand touched his wounded side, and the light-headedness he felt struck him like a wave. His feet dragged on the ground behind him as he used all his will to force them to work.

“Have him drink as much water as possible,” Tal said from somewhere not far behind him.

A waterskin was pressed against his lips, and he drank. Gradually the world around him came back into focus, and his errant feet began to obey him again. Bradok didn’t know how long he’d been delirious, but it must have been quite some time. When he came to himself fully, however, the stink of decay was gone. Apparently they had moved far enough away from the Rhizomorphs. He breathed deeply, relishing the good air and the respite from danger.

Over the next few hours, Bradok fell into the rhythm of slow but steady walking. After a few miles, his body seemed to cooperate better and he didn’t need Thurl’s support as much. No one said much about the catastrophe they’d experienced, and Bradok was grateful for that. Sooner or later, they’d have to deal with their losses. Someone would have to say something about the dead ones, and he knew it should be him. Still, such things weren’t easy for Bradok. He didn’t know how he would face Starlight Anvil and her siblings. The compass had led them to that cavern; he had to take that responsibility and offer what comfort he could.

When they finally stopped for the night, no one seemed to feel like talking. Bradok’s whole body ached, and he felt bone-weary as he eased himself down onto the stone floor. He wanted to go straight to sleep, but Thurl pressed a large hunk of mushroom into his hands.

“Eat,” Thurl said.

“You don’t have to be my nursemaid, you know,” Bradok said grouchily, taking a bite out of the stale mushroom.

“Yes I do,” Thurl said good-naturedly, cutting off a hunk of mushroom for himself.

Bradok shook his head. “I saved your life; now you saved mine,” Bradok said. “I’d say we are even. Any debt you once had to me is canceled.”

Thurl smiled, and the scratch on his cheek began to bleed a little as the facial movement dislodged the fresh scab.

“You risked your life to save me,” Thurl returned. “You didn’t have to, but you did.” He took a bite of mushroom and shrugged. “I would have fought the Disir anyway,” Thurl added with his mouth full. “You were in trouble, so I helped. I am still in your debt.”

Bradok wanted to argue, but he just didn’t have the energy. Corin had told him that assassins like Thurl had to be attached to a wealthy house or government body to ensure their skills were used wisely. While Bradok had no use for an assassin, he wondered if maybe having Thurl around close to him wasn’t such a bad idea. At least that way, Bradok could keep an eye on the Daergar.

He finished chewing his mushroom and slumped back on the stone floor of the passage. He wanted to ask about the others, about the dead, the wounded, about Rose, but before he could even form those desires into coherent thoughts, sleep overcame him.

Weeks earlier, Bradok had finally gotten used to sleeping on the hard ground. He could bear it with ease. Unfortunately, his wounds made it nearly impossible for him to be comfortable. He slept fitfully, wanting to toss and turn and regretting the impulse when searing pain accompanied any attempt to roll off his back. Worse, his dreams kept his mind busy with terrifying images of black, chitinous heads with glowing blue bands shining through their eyeless faces. The killer insects seemed to burst out of the darkness, to fall upon the dwarves in their sleep, yet every time Bradok started awake, fully expecting to see the living nightmares swarming over him, it was only a dream.

When Much announced that the time had come to get moving again, Bradok felt as if he had barely slept at all. Rose helped him to his feet, and they started walking again.

“Nobody died last night,” she said after a mile or so. “Everyone seems to be on the mend. That’s good news at least.”

Bradok had been dreading that report, and he breathed a sigh of relief. “I never asked,” Bradok said, thinking out loud. “How many of us are left?”

“Twenty-four,” Rose said.

Bradok’s heart sank. They’d started with fifty or so, and they’d lost more than half. His face fell.

“None of it’s your fault,” Rose said softly with a sweet look.

A sickly smell suddenly washed over Bradok, strong and pungent. Rose noticed the smell too.

“The Rhizomorphs,” she said, her nose wrinkling up.

“Go spread the word,” Bradok told her. “Send every available fighting man to the rear, and tell the others to double their pace.”

He took out the compass and pressed it into her hands. “Take this just in case,” he said.

“In case of what?” Rose demanded. “You’re too sick to fight. You have to go to the front with the other sick and wounded.”

“Go,” Bradok said in a voice that made it plain there was to be no argument or debate.

Rose gave him a dark stare but turned and went.

Bradok reached for his sword then wished he hadn’t. The mere motion of reaching across his body ripped at the wound in his side. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the hilt with the tips of his fingers and gingerly slid his blade free of the scabbard.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Kellik asked, coming up quickly from the rear guard.

“Don’t turn down any help cheerfully offered,” Chisul’s friend Vulnar said. Maybe Bradok imagined it, but he thought he saw Vulnar wink; whether the wink was intended for him or Kellik, he wasn’t sure.

“What’s the situation?” Bradok asked determinedly.

“The situation is you are in no shape to fight,” Corin said, materializing close by.

“They definitely know we’re here,” Kellik added. “But I think we’re still pretty far ahead of the main group.”

“Then where is this stench coming from?” Thurl said, tying a handkerchief around his face. “It feels awful close.”

A wet, squishing noise answered. Down the path where they had come, a dozen forms shambled into the light. They moved faster than Bradok remembered, pressing up the path toward their quarry.

“I was afraid of that,” Corin said, gesturing. “They sent some of the less affected ones ahead to try to slow us down.”

Bradok raised his sword, a bit more slowly than he would have liked. Thurl and Much stepped in front of him with their swords.

“You take any that get through,” Much said.

“Aim for their legs,” Chisul said.

The Rhizomorphs shambled closer, heedless of the wall of dwarf flesh and steel that blocked their path. They slammed into the defenders without even slowing down, attempting to bowl them over.

One tall dwarf with mushrooms growing where his eyebrows should have been leered at Bradok over Much’s head. His skin was pale and gelatinous with glowing fungi sprouting out at odd angles. He opened his mouth, as if about to yell. Instead an enormous red tongue lashed out, striking Bradok on his arm over the heads of the others. The blow didn’t strike hard, but where it touched his skin, it burned. With a cry of surprise and disgust, Bradok chopped the tongue in half and shook it from his arm. It landed on the tunnel floor, still twisting and thrashing.

Much ran the tall Rhizomorph through, but it had no apparent effect on the creature. The Rhizomorph slashed Much across the chest, knocking him backward. The monstrosity attempted to step over him, then, and go after Bradok. As it moved, however, Thurl chopped one of its legs off at mid thigh. With a cry of anger, it toppled sideways. Turning to Thurl, the thing bit his left arm and hung on. Thurl reversed his stroke and decapitated the Rhizomorph, sending its head rolling back down the tunnel.

Kellik was busy meanwhile. Never one to be subtle, he raised his warhammer and brought it down on the head of the nearest Rhizomorph. The thing’s head exploded like an overripe melon, sending bits of gray goo flying in all directions.

Chisul and Vulnar had cut two of them down and were trying to prevent the ones in the rear from rushing them all at once. Just as it seemed they would be overwhelmed, Perin and Tal arrived, rushing into the creatures with flailing swords.

Bradok watched as his friends began to push the Rhizomorphs back, slowly but surely. Bits of gray flesh spattered the walls and ceiling as the dwarves hacked the mushroom men to pieces.

A flicker of movement down the tunnel beyond the fight caught Bradok’s eye, and he looked up in time to see three more Rhizomorphs advancing on them. Two of the creatures carried a third between them. The one in the middle seemed to be having some kind of fit, thrashing and convulsing. As Bradok watched, it began to swell and grow.

“They’re trying to release a spore cloud,” he yelled.

Bradok recalled how quickly and how far the previous spore cloud had spread. They were already within the radius of the impending explosion.

“Run for it,” Corin shouted, grabbing the fallen Vulnar and yanking him to his feet.

As everyone turned and fled, Thurl swept his hand out from beneath his cloak in a long, fluid movement.

“Everyone, hold your breath!” he shouted as he loosed his dagger, which sped from his hand.

It struck the writhing Rhizomorph right in the gut, and the hapless creature erupted.