Shouts and heavy footfalls growing louder behind told me we hadn't evaded our pursuers. An arrow thunking into the rightmost beam confirmed it.
Saltlick stood hunched inside the entrance, staring straight ahead. I called his name, expecting him to ignore me. Instead, he looked down. I hadn't appreciated quite how badly hurt he was until then. A fresh gash ran down his cheek to his shoulder, bleeding freely, and other cuts nearly as bad covered his torso and arms. He'd given worse than he'd received, though; the knuckles of each hand were wet with blood. I pointed to the beam beside him, the rope hanging slack from it. He seemed not to understand at first. His eyes travelled to the mules and hung there.
Another arrow hurtled from the darkness, embedding itself with a wet thud in his shoulder. He didn't appear to notice.
'Saltlick,' I pleaded.
He shook his head, as though waking from a particularly unpleasant dream. He looked at me, and back at the beam. Then he reached with one huge hand and shoved it aside, as lightly as if it were a bundle of twigs. The roof moaned, and sank visibly. Dirt showered down, followed by pebbles and then rocks as big as melons. A couple struck Saltlick, leaving scarlet welts in their wake. He didn't flinch, let alone try to move.
The recalcitrant mule, panicked by the noise and dust, reconsidered its position. It drove forward, hauling the second, already weakened strut along with it. The wood split with a crack like thunder, and the ceiling dipped further.
I caught hold of Saltlick's free hand and hauled. He gazed at me, or perhaps through me. I realised I couldn't possibly move him if he didn't want to be moved. Then abruptly he strode forward, dragging me with him. It was just in time. An instant later, the cave mouth was gone.
I stood blind and choking, amidst dust so thick that it almost hid our frail torchlight. The earth grumbled and trembled around me, even after the last falling rock had rolled to a halt.
Someone nearby heaved a sigh of relief, and a voice said, 'Come on. We're not home yet.'
I recognised it as Mounteban's, though it sounded strange in the soupy air. The torch glow, still indistinct and a murky orange, contracted and darkened. I heard feet and hooves nearby, receding with the dimming light.
'Wait!' I called, and for my trouble got a lungful of dust that set me choking again.
I was still clutching Saltlick's fingers. They were unpleasantly sticky, his own blood mingled with that of Moaradrid's men. I didn't let go. In that filthy gloom, even the company of a gore-stained, sulking giant was better than being alone.
'Let's get after them,' I muttered, striving not to suck down more dust.
I tugged at his hand. I might as well have tried to shift one of Mounteban's obstreperous mules by pulling its ears.
'I know you're hurt, but staying here won't help.'
'Did bad.'
Saltlick, as usual, spoke as if the words cost him the kind of effort usually associated with climbing mountains or swimming oceans.
'All right, I shouldn't have left you. But I came back, didn't I? I could just as easily have made a run for it.'
' Saltlick did bad.'
I stared, aghast — a waste of a good expression, since our torches were nearly out of sight. 'Are you insane? You saved our lives.'
'Bad. Not hurt. Not kill.'
'You were defending yourself! And me, and that fat crook Mounteban. Can't you even do that?'
It struck me that there was a real risk of ending my life debating morality with a giant in a pitch-black mine shaft while my air slowly ran out. My mother had often told me I'd talk myself to death one day, and I wasn't about to prove her right.
Still, even that motivation possibly didn't excuse the ploy I fell back on. 'Saltlick, if you don't come with me then who'll stop Moaradrid going after your family?'
He was moving almost before I finished the sentence. Running, I could just about keep up with his strides. It was a nerve-shattering business, with the constant risk of tripping and the passage creaking as if at any moment the rest might collapse. The space quickly narrowed, until Saltlick was jogging along crouched almost double, nearly blocking the scant light ahead. I could have reached from wall to wall by stretching my arms.
When it opened out again, I stepped into light so bright that I had to shade my eyes. I realised after a moment that it was only the torches. We'd caught up with Mounteban, his companions and the rebellious mules. They stood waiting in a small chamber, though after the confines of the passage it seemed vast. A contraption like a high-sided cart rested on a plinth in the centre, chains running in clusters from its beamed roof up into the dark. I decided it must be some sort of lifting platform.
Mounteban called, 'Please, don't hurry. We only lost five of our best men saving your worthless hides.'
It didn't seem politic to point out that I'd only needed saving because he and Estrada had sent me into the jaws of death. I stepped onboard, and Saltlick followed. Mounteban pulled on a cord and a bell clattered far above, the echoes reverberating frantically back down to us. We lurched upward, with a groan of timbers. The platform had been built to move ore or contraband, perhaps even men and mules, but full-grown giants were a new challenge, one it obviously didn't relish. Our progress was painfully slow. With nothing to see but damp, mottled rock and my gloomy companions, I considered giving up to the weariness creeping through my body and mind. It seemed an age since those hours of peace and quiet in my little cell. I thought of it longingly, and my eyelids drooped.
I was jolted out of half-sleep by the whole carriage rattling, end to end. We'd arrived in another, larger cavern. I couldn't tell if it was natural or man-made, but it was huge, with half a dozen exits leading off in every direction. The ceiling rose high above us, and then dipped off sharply towards the edges, like the roof of a pavilion. The cave was being used principally as a storage area, crates and barrels piled against the walls filling most of the space not taken up with the lifting platform and its mechanism. Light came from torches in plinths spaced around the walls. A couple of dozen men had turned to watch our arrival, all of them arrested in the midst of some chore: polishing weapons, oiling armour, or packing rucksacks and saddlebags from the sacks and boxes.
Marina Estrada stood with folded arms at the entrance of the lifting platform. 'You made it,' she said.
She sounded both glad and weary. If she'd been bedraggled when I'd last seen her, she now looked as if a strong breeze would break her in half. It had clearly been a trying night.
I wasn't about to make it any easier. 'We made it, all right, no thanks to your hare-brained…'
Mounteban shoved me aside, hard enough that I nearly ended up in the dirt. The look of disgust he cast in my direction would have rotted wood. 'I lost them all, Marina. I hope your scheme was worth that. I hope he was worth it.'
He stormed past and disappeared into a passageway, followed by two-dozen sets of astonished eyes.
Estrada let out a sigh more like a shudder and said, so softly that she couldn't have meant for anyone to hear, 'But you did make it.'
She turned to me. 'Nothing's ever worth the sacrifices.' She shook her head. 'Castilio understands that… or he will when he's had time to calm himself. You did well, Easie Damasco.'
'I had no choice.'
'If there's one thing I've learned over these last few days, it's that there are always choices, even when every one's terrible.' She looked towards Saltlick. 'Master Saltlick, isn't it? I'm honoured to have you here, and saddened by what you've had to endure.'
Saltlick held her gaze for an instant, and then hung his head. There was something so dignified in her manner, just for that moment, that I couldn't tear my eyes away. Then the exhaustion took over her again, like a wave devouring an elegant pattern drawn in sand. Once more, all I could see was a woman in urgent need of a good night's sleep.
I could tell from her expression that there was scant hope of that. She turned to the motley crew lounging about the cave and called, 'These tunnels will be in Moaradrid's hands by dawn. Everyone muster outside in ten minutes. Pass the word.'
It was remarkable how they snapped to attention, as though lightning had darted the length and breadth of the chamber. In a few seconds, it was empty.
Estrada turned back to Saltlick and me and said, 'You can't rest just yet, I'm sorry. What I told them is true;
