“Luke will come,” he assured her after a moment. “I know he will. He always comes, and he always protects people. He won’t stop until you’re safe.”
There was a little content hum in answer, and Elliot felt slightly better. He sat up, in the darkness and the sliding shale, and was relieved to find that he could sit up. He stood up, swaying with the pain of his arm and the necessity of keeping hold of the child, and found he could do that too.
“According to my memory of the maps of the mines, we should emerge somewhere if we keep heading south,” he said. “Don’t worry, small child. I am extensively acquainted with the geography of this area. Can you walk with me?”
He had hold of her sleeve. She tugged it away and after a moment he felt her hand creep into his.
“How did your hand get even stickier in a rock fall?” Elliot asked. “Never mind, I don’t mean to criticize, it’s just a habit of mine.”
They walked, for what seemed like a long while, through the dark holes. Elliot kept being afraid more rocks would fall, or they would be met with a rock face or a space so small they would not be able to continue. He kept talking, despite his fears about oxygen, and tried not to show the fear that was choking him.
Instead of narrowing, the tunnel opened, light shining and rays reaching out to them, as if the sun were fixed directly onto the mountain like a badge. Elliot and the child stumbled out into it. The light still seemed bright, even when they were out of the mines. The green world below the mountain wavered in Elliot’s vision like a dream.
“Awesome,” said Elliot. “See, we didn’t need anyone at all. We’re safe as houses.”
That was when he saw the party of trolls coming up the mountain track toward them. They were big, seven feet tall, bigger than even Luke’s dad, and their skin was gray. Elliot saw the leader’s head jerk up, and he knew they had spotted him.
“Safe as houses that are currently on fire,” he amended to the child. “Run!”
He ran, and she ran with him, but the trolls picked up speed in response and Elliot knew they would catch up with him soon and did not know what to do. He forced the child, sobbing and stumbling, out in front of him so at least his body would be between her and them.
He glanced over his shoulder to see if they were gaining, and saw the first one fall.
He had an arrow in his throat.
Elliot stared and saw, so far ahead on the curving path that it was on another mountain entirely, a black fleck that must be Serene. He saw it moving toward him, faster than humans could move, and saw another troll fall. He knew she was running and firing arrows and never missing, all at the same time, all from so far away.
She shot every troll but one, and that troll thundered toward them, his shadow falling on them, and Elliot knew the creature was so close to them Serene might be afraid to shoot.
That one troll might as well have been all five. He could crush them just as easily. Elliot pressed the child against the crag, pressed himself against her so hard he heard her cry out in protest. He reached up a hand, and he said: “Stop, we’re no threat, she’s a local child,” and saw the troll frown, an expression of incomprehension on that unfamiliar face, and Elliot thought, if he could figure out some way to talk to him—
But then the troll raised his club, big as a tree, and the next moment Luke jumped, made one of his impossible leaps from an impossible point high above them, and landed crouched before the troll with his sword already drawn. The blade blazed in the sunlight, and so did his hair, and the child behind Elliot gave a glad cry as if recognizing a prince come to save her.
Luke caught the troll by surprise. He rushed at him, and ran him through. Through the belly, and when the troll fell to his knees Luke wrenched the blade out of his belly and drove the point home to his heart. The troll crumpled forward, a dead weight, and tumbled into the dust.
Luke pulled his sword free, leaned his face and his free arm against the rock, and was suddenly sick.
Elliot realised, after a stunned instant, that though Luke was past master at any number of instruments of death . . . he didn’t think that Luke had ever actually killed anyone before.
That was how all Luke could do, all he was celebrated and adored for, ended up: these dead bodies in the dry path before them.
Elliot grabbed the child’s hand tightly as Luke was gripping the hilt of his sword and went over to where Luke stood braced against the wall. He leaned against Luke, rested his cheek against Luke’s arm. He could feel Luke shaking.
“You saved her,” he said. “You did it. The child’s safe. They didn’t hurt her, because of you.” It probably didn’t matter much in comparison, but he figured it couldn’t hurt to add: “I’m safe too. You did everything you could.”
Luke took a deep shuddering breath. “Yeah?”
Elliot took a step back and nodded nervously and so vigorously his hair tumbled in his face, a blinding red tangle, and he had to shake it out. By the time he had, Luke was smiling faintly—Luke thought Elliot’s total inability to deal with his hair was really funny, which Elliot resented usually but was grateful for this once—and then Luke swiped a hand over his eyes. Elliot decided they would have a manly understanding that he’d never seen the tears gleaming in Luke’s eyes and would thus never have to discuss them.
“C’mon,” said Elliot. “Let’s go find Serene.”
Half of the troop had gone looking for Elliot and the child, and the other had found the nearest neighbouring village that would supply healing and shelter. Serene sat with him while the village medic bound up Elliot’s arm.
“Luke’s outside,” Serene said in a low voice. “Might you want to go out and say something to him? He’s a bit torn up.” She looked off into the distance. “Your first one’s the worst. It gets easier after that.”
Does it get easier? Elliot thought, looking at her still pale face. Or is it just that you shut doors in your own heart and never open them again for fear of what is behind them?
Serene had killed for him too. Serene was a child soldier, created in the same way Luke had been. The only difference was that Serene had killed before she ever met Elliot, had been damaged like that before he ever saw her. He remembered thinking that the grave, older air she had was beautiful, was something elvish and wonderful, and felt sick of himself. He wanted nothing more than to lift the sadness forever and see her smile, uncomplicated and happy, the child she should still be.
“Was someone with you for your first?” he asked.
Serene nodded. “My mother. She said—she said she was proud of me, and that I was brave.”
“Hey, you are brave,” said Elliot at last. “And I’m proud of you too. Always. Thanks for saving me.”