Arutha entered the Tsurani tunnel. It was only five feet high, so he moved stooped over. It was fairly wide, with enough room for three men to negotiate closely. Arutha stepped on something soft, which groaned in pain. He continued past the dying man, toward the sound of fighting.
It was a scene from his worst nightmare, faintly lit by widely spaced torches. With little room only the first three men could engage the enemy at any one point. Arutha called out, “Knives!” and dropped his rapier. In close quarters the shorter weapons would prove more effective.
He came upon two men struggling in the darkness and grabbed at one. His hand closed on chitinous armor, and he plunged his knife into the man’s exposed neck. Jerking the now lifeless body off the other man, he saw a jam of bodies a few feet away, where Crydee and Tsurani soldiers pressed against one another. Curses and cries filled the tunnel, and the damp earth smell was mixed with the odor of blood and excrement.
Arutha fought madly, blindly, lashing out at barely seen foes. His own fear kept threatening to overcome him as primitive awareness cried for him to quit the tunnel and the threatening earth above. He forced his panic down and continued to lead the attack on the sappers.
A familiar voice grunted and cursed at his side, and Arutha knew Amos Trask was near. “Another thirty feet, lad!” he shouted.
Arutha took the man at his word, having lost all sense of distance. The men of Crydee pressed onward, and many died killing the resisting Tsurani. Time became a blur and the fight a dim montage of images.
Abruptly Amos shouted, “Straw!” and bundles of dry straw were passed forward “Torches!” he cried, and flaming torches were passed up. He piled the straw near a latticework of timbers and drove the torch into the pile. Flames burst upward, and he yelled, “Clear the tunnel!”
The fighting stopped. Every man, whether of Crydee or Tsurani, turned and fled the flames. The sappers knew the tunnel was lost without means to quench the flames and scrambled for their lives.
Choking smoke filled the tunnel, and men began to cough as they cleared the cramped quarters. Arutha followed Amos, and they missed the turn to the countertunnel, coming out in the cellar. Guardsmen, dirty and bloody, were collapsing on the stones of the cellar, gasping for air. A dull rumble sounded, and with a crash, a blast of air and smoke blew out of the hole. Amos grinned, his face streaked with dirt. “The timbers collapsed. The tunnel’s sealed.”
Arutha nodded dumbly, exhausted and still reeling from the smoke. A cup of water was handed to him, and he drank deeply, soothing his burning throat.
Carline appeared before him. “Are you all right?” she asked, concern on her face. He nodded. She looked around. “Where’s Roland?”
Arutha shook his head. “It was impossible to see down there. Was he in the tunnel?”
She bit her lower lip. Tears welled up in her blue eyes as she nodded Arutha said, “He might have cleared the tunnel and come up in the courtyard. Let us see.”
He got to his feet, and Amos and Carline followed him up the stairs. They left the keep, and a soldier informed him the attack on the wall had been repulsed. Arutha acknowledged the report and continued around the keep until they came to the shaft he had ordered dug Soldiers lay on the grass of the yard, coughing and spitting, trying to clear their lungs of the burning smoke. The air hung heavy with an acrid haze as fumes from the fire continued to billow from the shaft. Another rumble sounded, and Arutha could feel it through the soles of his boots. Near the wall a depression had appeared where the tunnel had fallen below. “Squire Roland!” Arutha shouted.
“Here, Highness,” came an answering shout from a soldier.
Carline dashed past Arutha and reached Roland before the Prince. The Squire lay upon the ground, tended by the soldier who answered. His eyes were closed and his skin pale, and blood seeped from his side. The soldier said, “I had to drag him along the last few yards, Highness. He was out on his feet. I thought it might be smoke until I saw the wound.”
Carline cradled Roland’s head, while Arutha first cut the binding straps of Roland’s breastplate, then tore away the undertunic. After a moment Arutha sat back upon his heels. “It’s a shallow wound He’ll be all right.”
“Oh, Roland,” Carline said softly.
Roland’s eyes opened and he grinned weakly. His voice was tired, but he forced a cheery note. “What’s this? You’d think I’d been killed.”
Carline said, “You heartless monster.” She gently shook him but didn’t release her hold as she smiled down at him. “Playing tricks at a time like this!”
He winced as he tried to move. “Ooh, that hurts.” She placed a restraining hand upon his shoulder.
“Don’t try to move. We must bind the wound,” she said, caught between relief and anger.
Nestling his head into her lap, he smiled. “I’d not move for half your father’s Duchy.”
She looked at him in irritation. “What were you doing throwing yourself upon the enemy like that?”