Grim’s unease grew with every step. He never expected to find such a blatantly obvious display of treachery. It was obvious some kind of deal had been made and in his infinite wisdom, he’d chosen to announce his awareness of that fact. He’d slap himself if he weren’t wearing a helmet.

The quartermaster, Gavin, eyed Grim uneasily and he stared back at the man. Calling the situation tense was an understatement, but there was little else to do besides follow along and see what happened. What was he going to do? Hack his way through the hundred men behind him and make a run for the exit?

The stairs to the cellar creaked with every step, leading to a chorus of creaking as dozens of boots tread its surface at once. A dozen Venaran soldiers awaited them in the cellar and reported it empty to Harren. The nobleman nodded and the soldiers fell into line behind Harren and the old Rill man.

Their guide led them to a deep hole carved into the floor of the cellar. A single torch was lit and held in a sconce by the pit. The Son called out behind him. “You boys best start holding hands. I’ve only got one light.”

That comment led to more than a little grumbling. Grim glanced to Edgar and they shared a worried look. At least he wasn’t alone in this.

The old man plucked the torch from its sconce and let it drop into the pit, then groaned as he lowered himself onto the ladder leading into the depths far below. A moment later a clacking sounded as the torch hit solid stone beneath the earth.

Harren descended after the man, and Grim followed in his wake as a stream of soldiers lowered themselves into the tunnel. It took quite some time for the entire company to file their way down the single ladder and it quickly grew crowded in the tight quarters. If the Sons chose to strike, they’d be sitting ducks in the relative darkness.

Grim was glad he’d chosen to go down after Harren. It afforded him a position relatively close to the single light in the pitch darkness. The guide and Harren exchanged a few mumbled words and as a unit, they set off down the tunnel. A man behind Grim placed a hand on his shoulder. Grim didn’t begrudge it, knowing most of those behind him likely couldn’t see much, if anything.

He’d heard of these tunnels beneath the city but had never seen one up close. Rillmen were expert miners and iron mongers even before the war. The Sons had clearly made good use of the displaced talent. The tunnels were far larger than he imagined. A small army could march through here with relative ease if afforded proper lighting.

As it was, there was much cursing from the rear ranks and the clattering sound of armor hitting stone as men tripped and fell then scrambled to catch up lest they be left in the dark. Fortunately, their guide didn’t seem in much of a hurry, setting the steady pace of a tottering old man. After an interminable amount of walking, the tunnel began to curve. A light in the distance was revealed. Sighs of relief sounded around Grim as men assumed that must be the exit.

Moments later they neared the source of the light. A single torch burned in a sconce set into the wall. Below it, an iron crowbar leaned against the wall.

The old man came to a stop by it, took a swig from his bottle then tossed it to the ground. The bottle shattered in a spray of glass. Grim could feel dozens of men flinch from behind him, fearing the worst.

The old man held out his torch to Harren and Harren took it. “They were kind enough to mark the traps for me. My eyes ain’t what they used to be,” he said with a sigh. The Son rolled his shoulders and folded back the sleeves of his shirt before lifting the crowbar with something approaching reverence.

It was then that Grim noticed the carefully chiseled lines in the rock wall by the torch. Their guide took a deep breath as he placed the crowbar into one of the fissures. “A lot of things ain’t what they used to be,” the old man said, grunting as he heaved his weight into the rock.

Stone crumbled as he worked his way along the fissure.

“My daughter sure isn’t. Name was Ana. Lass was my life.” He grunted and a chip of stone fell away. “I lost her, and the days don’t seem near so bright as they used to.” He shook his head, working the crowbar into the next fissure.

“Ana Carlsdottir,” he whispered as if lost in thought.

Grim saw recognition flash in Harren’s eyes at the name.

The man looked back to Harren as he rammed the crowbar into the final ridge. “Boss said to see you safely through the tunnel.” The old man met Harren’s eyes “But, I’m glad it’s you.”

Grim’s eyes widened as water seeped through the wall, the stone around it crumbling. Harren stepped forward, blade drawn. Grim reached out and pulled him back by the straps of his armor, knowing it was too late. The Son heaved against the bar a final time and the trickle of water exploded into a pressurized stream that collapsed the wall and sent rocks flying outwards.

Grim raised his shield and staggered as debris and freezing water crashed against him. The torches were snuffed out in the torrent and Grim was knocked from his feet, flying backwards into a tangle of limbs and screams.

The initial force of the flood subsided and Grim staggered to his knees, coughing as he spit out water that had been forced down his throat. The water was already up to his elbows and flowed quickly down the tunnel. Behind him was the sheer pandemonium of over a hundred frightened, blind men in too close quarters.

They must have flooded the tunnel using the underground river beneath the city. Grim staggered forward on his knees through the rushing tide. There were at least two ways out, and there was no way he’d get anywhere clawing his way through the massed humanity behind him.

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Pushing through the rush of water was difficult but grew easier as the tunnel filled more evenly. He soon reached the rocky debris from the collapsed wall and crawled over it with an effort. Spray from the hole tickled his cheeks as he crawled past it, staying as far from the opening as possible.

His hands scraped against something metal between the rocks, and he pulled it free. He soon realized it was the crowbar. It didn’t take a genius to figure that might come in handy when caught in a trap. He gasped as the rising water lapped at his chin, forcing him to stagger to his feet. The rushing tide had subsided as the water level equalized.

Grim waded forward, knee deep in water. Screams of pain and cries of despair followed him down the tunnel. He could hear other people sloshing through the water behind him as he felt his way along the wall. He fought to control his rising panic as the water rose along his thigh. Just keep going forward. The tunnel has to go somewhere.

A hand groped along Grim’s back in the dark and pulled on him as whoever it was tried to shove past him. Grim cracked them across the arm with the crowbar lest they trip and drag him down with them. A scream sounded and the hand disappeared followed by a splash. Grim kept moving down the tunnel at a steady pace, keenly aware of the water rising along his thighs. Soon he’d have to swim.

He tucked the crowbar in his belt, drew his sword and began hacking at the straps of his armor, peeling off the heavy bronze. He cast aside the coat of plates and threw the sword with them. He’d be missing them if he made it to the Outwalls, but at least he’d be alive to miss them.

His legs were starting to go numb as the water rose to his hips and he was starting to shake. He was having trouble wading through the water. Grim gritted his teeth before diving into cold darkness, doing his best to swim. He’d never properly learned. There’d never been much occasion to do so in the frigid hills of the Rills. He kicked with his legs and pawed at the walls, doing anything he could to push himself forward.

He lost track of how long passed, feeling his extremities grow colder by the moment. He could hear men panting and splashing behind him, but far fewer than before. Most of the company must have tried to return the way they came. Grim rose for air, finding he could barely touch the floor of the tunnel on his toes. He reached overhead, finding the stone of the tunnel’s roof close overhead.

He cursed, taking a breath and diving forward once more, grateful the walls were rough cut with enough purchase to pull his way along. He could barely fit his head above the water at his next breath. His last breath had his lips nearly kissing the ceiling.

He dove forward once more, and his face erupted in pain as he hit a wall. He stupidly opened his eyes to see what he ran into, before remembering there was no light.

Actually- there was light below him. He could see the thin outline of what appeared to be a door frame. He swam down to where the handle would be and pulled against it.

Locked.

Lungs burning, he pulled the crowbar from his belt with deadened hands. Grim jammed one end of the bar where he thought the latch would be. He braced his legs against the tunnel wall and pulled with all his strength, desperately hoping his weakened arms wouldn’t fail him.

The wood groaned as the dim light revealed wisps of red running from his hands. Something cracked. Grim wasn’t sure if it came from the doors or his arms until a blinding stream of light shined in his eyes and he went sprawling down the tunnel, crowbar flung from his hands.

He collided hard into something, pushing a precious gasp of air from his lungs. It arrested his momentum and he reached out to find a body floating in the water. He forced his eyes open against the light.

A half-dozen men were fighting their way through the door he breached. Rays of light shined past them, illuminating part of the tunnel behind him. Bodies lined the floor of the corridor, held down by their armor. Dying men kicked weakly, scraping their fingers against the stone of the ceiling, searching for air and kicking toward the light, their efforts fading with each passing second.

A hand passed weakly along Grim’s shoulder. It was the hand of the man he’d run into. Grim met Gavin’s gaze. The man’s eyes were unfocused, bubbles of air slipping from his mouth. He was slowly drifting back down the tunnel and seemed to have no energy to continue.

Grim hesitated only a moment before reaching out and grasping Gavin by the collar of his shirt. The light was close, shining through the door. His lungs burned and he could hardly feel anything else. Grim kicked and thrashed toward the door, pulling himself and Gavin through the doorway. A small room lay beyond with a ladder set into the wall. Of the men he’d seen enter earlier, there was no sign. As he reached the ladder, the edges of his sight began to grow blurry.

Precious air flowed upward along his cheeks as he growled, pulling them up the bars of the ladder with one arm. The water ran high in the shaft. If it was much further, he wouldn’t make it.

He couldn’t take it anymore. The breath escaped his lungs, coming out in a rush as he breathed in water. Grim spasmed as he hacked and coughed in the water, his body struggling to breathe as water filled his lungs.

Gavin’s body floated upwards adjacent to him. A splash sounded above and Gavin rushed upwards, disappearing from Grim’s sight. Grim weakly reached out with an arm. The tension of the water disappeared as his hand broke the surface, but he was spent. Darkness was overtaking him.

The water rushed about him and his surroundings changed, though he couldn’t register them. He tried to breathe but found himself unable. Something was hitting him. A moment later he coughed, a spurt of water escaping his lips.

Something deep inside him roiled and bile spewed from his lips. He was unceremoniously flopped onto his side and liquid spewed from his lips. As he choked and gasped, air came into his lungs, burning and sweet as fire. He racked in deep gasping breaths as the world came into focus.

Edgar was knelt over him and was smacking him across the face. There were maybe ten other men in the room, all in various states of distress as they shivered, huddling into balls atop the dirt floor of what must have been some shack in the Outwalls.

He caught sight of Harren. He was one of the few men standing. A moment later he dove into the shaft, disappearing with a splash. Grim stared at the hole in the ground a moment before looking back to Edgar.

The man had a worried expression on his face, beard dripping water. “Divines, I thought we’d lost you.”

Grim tried to speak, but found he wasn’t up to the task. He just focused on breathing, hoping Sons wouldn’t descend on them. He pushed himself against the closest wall and curled into a ball like the others, shivering.

Harren emerged from the tunnel a moment later, gasping for air. Edgar staggered over to the mouth of the tunnel and helped him pull out another soldier. Edgar laid the lifeless man down and began pressing against his chest as Harren crawled from the hole, gasping.

Grim watched Edgar tend to the man for near two minutes before he ceased with a shake of his head. “No use,” he muttered, “It’s over.”

Harren seemed to deflate at those words. His hands shook as he staggered to the closest wall, taking a seat near Grim. Grim couldn’t be certain, as sopping wet as they were, but he thought the man might be crying.

Grim reached out a hand and put it on Harren’s shoulder.

Harren flinched then relaxed, his chest rising and falling in shaky gasps. Grim looked across the room at the survivors. fourteen men out of a hundred. Haunted eyes seemed to stare at nothing and, when they met his gaze, their looks seemed to drift through him. The quiet of mourning washed over them.