Hector couldn’t recall for how long they had been in that state, but when he came to, the soft weeping was still there. Senses returned to his shoulder and throat. His finger searched for a gash on his throat. Trace of the wounds still there, but only in dried blood. Not even a scar. He was dying no more, but alive and breathing. Yet the pain lingered, and his bone ached where the greatsword had struck. He knew then that death had missed him by a hair, and his escape was not of his own human constitution but by some fell means. He was changed, turned. A sudden fear assaulted him: was there any humanity remained in him?

Then awareness of their situation came to him. Time.

His leaden legs struggled to get up. Quickly he gathered the weapons in the room. The darkness conjured by his prayers had now deserted the room entirely, leaving corpses in its wake. The table now lay in dormant, silent and scorched. The fire that was conjured was apparently magical fire, that emitted no heat and burned little. Only the waning candles illuminated the room now.

His own sword and dagger were broken or bent, and the greatsword wasn’t to his liking. So averting his gaze from the lifeless faces, he took Fahlecain’s sword and dagger, both were light and made of precious material. No surprise, their old owner valued his killing instruments above own else. Hector’s crossbow was still usable; he gathered the bolts which had fallen all over the place when Sullivan had knocked him to the ground. But he dared not look for more supplies about the dining room. They must flee before the others came back.

Hector went to Joanna. Still, she was hugging her sister, sparing no thought for his approach.

The girl seemed vulnerable. And on his hip, he wielded a sword that could end a demon. Strangely, a demon she was. Yet he could not bring himself to act the thought of slaying her. Her shoulders trembled softly at every sob. His heart sank. He saw that she was as much a poor and lonely girl as before the turning. He simply could not.

The girl jolted when he rested a hand on her shoulder.

“Come,” low was his voice, “we must flee before the others return.”

She stared at him amazed, as if didn’t expect him to be there, or to attempt to help her at all.

“Get your hand off me!” she hissed.

So he did.

“I cannot stand against a band of knights. I’m all spent.”

The girl’s cold embrace grew tighter, but she neither answered nor looked at Hector. Her gaze cast down, where blood soaked the dirt.

“You gave a promise to live,” said Hector, “then live and leave the death.”

Slowly the girl rose and looked about. Her old, worn robe was stained all over with blood. Her dishevelled hair and bewildered look could suggest strongly her real nature as a demon. But Hector saw her as the helpless girl she was.

“Come, look not so pale,” he hurried her again, “The worst is over, for tonight at least I hope. But we must flee. You must know paths beside those in front of us and behind. Tell me the way and I shall get us out of this mountain before sunrise.”

After a while taken to recover from her disorienting state, she looked about and pointed at the hidden path she and her sister had hidden in before being revealed by Fahlecain. “There is a passage there."

Beyond the fake wall that was pierced and torn asunder, a tunnel ran deep.

Together they passed into the tunnel, but inside it was pitch black.

Hector cast a spell, or tried to. As always, he thought of the glimmering moons, the sparkling reflection on rivers and precious ores of the earth. He prayed for any spirit of light be with him, but none came. His prayer fell short. He tried again, in his mind he searched for a voice or any trace of the spirits. Usually, he had only to call out for them to gather about, but now he could not feel their presence. He searched and searched, beyond the barrier of his mind lay only the vast emptiness and the further he reached out the vaster that emptiness grew. He found that he was alone, that none came to him. As if the old world was no more and that he had been tossed into a barren and foreign plane.

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“Let there be light,” he prayed in vain.

After a few more attempts he heard someone fumbling behind him. He turned and saw Joanna on the ground. She had in her hand a lantern, which Hector took. Lamely in the edge of the tunnel, where the candles from the room still reached, he took a match from his pouch and lit the lantern.

Then they departed at once. The tunnel was narrow so they walked one after another. There were many forks on the way, some ran deeper down the mountain’s root, and some opened to wider halls and tunnels. At each, she gave curt directions. But mostly they stayed on the straight and narrow path northwards.

At length, Hector halted abruptly and so did Joanna behind him. Distant echoes of footsteps in leather boots came to them. He quickly covered the light with his cloak, but the sound passed by them somewhere far to the right and ahead, then grew smaller. After it had gone far they made their way forward again and came to a fork. There, Joanna spoke for the first time in a while, “To the right path and you will come to the tunnel going east from the dining room,” she pointed to the path leading right from the fork, then to the one to the left, “ahead of here there’s a path turning upward, we will follow it.”

Before long they came to a path which was narrower than any Hector had walked tonight. It was a slippery slope and they had to tread their way slowly to avoid slipping.

“We were running for the eastern entrance,” suddenly Joanna spoke again, her voice sounded hoarse and echoing the rock walls “Our grandma did not come, though we waited. But I fear already you people were chasing after us. And I…I could not leave her alone. So I think, and… we turned at the secret pathway to the north tunnel and we went all the way back to the rooms. Because if grandma wasn’t there we could turn round and escape through the northern entrance…” for a moment it seemed she would let the rest of the story hanging, but then it was told in broken words, “and we were there. Sounds there were. And I knew what was happening in the room. I saw through a tiny hole. I could hold myself, but she couldn’t. She made a noise. I covered her mouth. But she’d made a yelp…”

Hector did not say anything. He led the way in stark silence. Every word of her story was a condemnation of him. He dared not to speak a word of solace, or any to express his sympathy. He could only keep himself from reminding her of his existence, that the last person she had to rely on was also the murderer of her family.

Little by little, the stuffy air was replaced by the fresher. Then soon after, the cold wind of the night was all over them, beyond were a great many stars. Without much trouble, they emerged from the northern side of the mountain and was greeted by the Lodestar and her consorts – the Seven Archangels. Judging by the position of the moons, it was three to four in the morning. Tonight, the high moon wanes while the low moon shone brightly upon the jagged mountaintops.

The freshness reinvigorated them after the time spending underground. Hector was weary after his many battles; his healed, but still aching wounds did worse for his recovery. He felt all but spent, and though forcing himself forward was possible, he feared for the girl.

Joanna was leaning on the tunnel entrance. She drew her breaths roughly, and her pale face was covered in glittering sweat drops under the moonlight.

He peered back into the night before them. They were high on the mountain, and the way down could not be seen, which might prove treachery in the night. While the stars gave him a vague awareness of their location, he knew not exactly what lurking down the mountain foot. It was for the better to rest for the night.

It was a comfort that they had put two miles at least between them and the rooms, and the many forks and darkness might delay their chase even more. With their numbers and the confusion of losing their leader, the knights should be forced to retreat for reinforcement instead of braving the night and those dark pathways. Yet the thought of their pursuers dreaded his heart, for one of them was Fahlecain the elder, whose brother had perished under his hand.

Hector followed the wind west of the entrance and came to a place secluded enough behind some large boulders. There he told the girl they would rest for the night.

He didn't dare to light a fire to warm them from the cold wind. They had to rest on the rocky but cold ground. He sat against the mountain but sleepless, only to rest his eyes. As for Joanna, she lay as far away from him as possible in the small nook.

For a while, the only sound to be heard was the wind sighing in the tree below them. At length, Hector pried open his eyes: he had not heard the girl breathing evenly for some time.

There he saw that she had sat up, awaked. Her back against the mountain the same way he was. Something drew her eyes on, something in a distant place in the darkness. He followed her gaze and saw the good old starry sky, the High and Low moons, and below them, the Great Thramn stood looming. That something she was entranced simply by looking upon, it was the outside world.