Aenwyn stopped him from producing another one. “You need to save all your magic for the portal out of here. I will do it.” Deftly holding her bow and arrow with one hand, she used her other to birth an orb of light. It flickered to life, threatening to collapse on itself, as her remaining magic strained with the effort. At last, a new orb lifted into the air above them and the black water that filled the tunnel.
“What was that?” Gideon asked, nodding his chin at the water.
Galanör crouched down and searched for the edges of the body. “I think it was a he.” With a hand behind his attacker’s neck, the elf raised the body from the dark water and revealed the creature’s identity.
“A human?” Aenwyn queried with disbelief.
“A Darkakin,” Galanör corrected grimly.
Gideon and Aenwyn immediately turned their sights to the rest of the tunnel, her bow string pulled taut and his Vi’tari blade free of its scabbard. Galanör used his free hand to wipe away the crusted black substance that coated the savage’s chest. Beneath was a skin so pale as to be compared to an orc.
Gideon was running his torch along the wall, checking for any more of them. “How can there be Darkakin down here?”
“There must have been some down here when the mine was destroyed,” Galanör reasoned.
“That was nearly fifty years ago,” Gideon pointed out as he turned back to the ranger. “That man is no more than twenty years.”
Galanör used one thumb to lift the lid over the man’s right eye. “Though I hate to consider it, the survivors must have bred down here.” He beckoned Gideon with a hand. “Bring your torch,” he instructed. Under the firelight of Gideon’s torch, they could better see the savage’s eye, a pale and unused thing. “I think he was blind. Or mostly blind.”
“He was born in the dark,” Aenwyn said. “What use are eyes in this hell?”
Gideon stepped back and adjusted the position of his torch. “We should assume there’s more of…” His words trailed off as his sight was drawn to the water beyond Galanör.
The elven ranger turned around to discover the source of Gideon’s distraction. Ripples glided across the surface of the still water, lapping with barely a sound against Galanör and the body in his hands. Searching for the source of those ripples, he found only darkness. Very carefully, he lowered the body back into the water and remained in his crouching position. Turning his head over one shoulder, he silently gestured for Aenwyn to direct her orb further down the tunnel.
Lowering her bow, the elf focused on her control of the orb and guided it along the ceiling, into the abyss. It moved without protest, its white light battling every inch of the darkness.
At around fifty yards, it revealed a group of Darkakin cautiously advancing on their position like wraiths sent for their souls. Their every step was so silent they could hardly be heard to disturb the water.
Galanör’s heart quickened in his chest to that of a thundering drum. So loud was it in his ears that he was sure they would be able to hear it.
Narrowing his eyes at the approaching Darkakin, Galanör held up a hand to warn his companion’s against moving. Blind as they were, there was a chance this group would simply pass them by - the better option considering a battle could bring more of them.
It wasn’t long before the blind Darkakin were upon them. They wielded the same type of crude dagger as the one who had attacked him, but Galanör knew that crude was still capable of taking life. Having assessed their approaching pattern, the ranger was satisfied that the savages would miss them as they passed through, though only just. The elf made the slightest of adjustments, shifting his shoulders to avoid one of the silent hunters.
Looking back, Aenwyn was perfectly still, her muscles tensed in place as only an elf could accomplish. By comparison, Gideon was practically swaying on the spot, though he was incredibly sentinel-like in his stance.
Soon, four of the eight Darkakin were completely past them and into the tunnel beyond. Turning quietly back, however, Galanör was alarmed to see the remaining four had stopped moving. What were they doing? Casting his eyes over his shoulder again, he now saw that the leading four had come to a stop and even turned to face them.
It was only then that the truth of the matter occurred to Galanör: they could hear the flickering flames of Gideon’s torch.
“It’s an ambush!” the ranger yelled as Stormweaver rang clear from its scabbard.
The eight Darkakin closed in as one, drawn to the distinct noises of all three of their prey. Aenwyn’s bow sounded as she drew back the string, Mournblade cut through the air, and Galanör’s explosive charge was impossible to miss. Bloody chaos erupted and the black waters grew darker still.
The ranger’s wrist flicked one way then the other, his scimitar slicing through all that got in its way. He felt the resistance of human bodies but the naked savages could do nothing in the face of such fine steel and skill. The first two were buried beneath the water in two beats of the elf’s heart. They simply hadn’t realised the prey they had ensnared was, in fact, a much more powerful predator.
The remaining two homed in on the sound of the ranger’s movements, bringing their stone daggers to bear. Galanör evaded the swing of one with a dash to his left before quickly ducking under the swipe of the second. Experienced at finding their targets in the pitch black, the Darkakin knew exactly where the elf was standing and turned
