Alaric led Darius through the great hall towards the cellar, leaving the din of the townsfolk behind. Darius had given them clear defensive instructions before they left, and reassured them that they would return before it was too late. Darius almost convinced himself along with the townsfolk that the village’s great walls could withstand their onslaught for a week before they fell.

Leaving through a side door of the great hall, they entered a small armoury. Darius was the picture of a warrior; he carried a longsword at his hip, a kite shield at his back, and wore great leather spaulders over his chainmail. His greaves clinked against the stone floor. Alaric was less armed, and even less armoured. He wore a plain tunic, and wielded a simple wooden staff. Darius doubted whether he had swung a sword since the Wars, despite his prowess on the battlefield.

From the armoury, Alaric took and lit a torch, and slipped a dagger into a sheath by his boot.

‘For the road,’ he said.

At the rear of the armoury, they descended the stone steps to the wide chamber of the cellar. Dried, salted and smoked meats and cheeses lined the walls, enough to sustain the population for a number of weeks.

Darius grabbed a small bag and filled it with a small supply of food. He hung a waterskin on his belt, and handed one to Alaric.

‘For the road,’ he said.

They passed through the wide chamber into a narrower one, and a narrower one again. Barrels and crates lined the walls.

Alaric led Darius down a winding, narrow hallway at the back of the final chamber. Left, right, left, right, descending further and further into the mountain. Darius had lived in the village all his life; he had worked the mines, he had served the council, he had fought in its defence. He had never ventured into this… he paused.

They were no longer in a hallway. They were in a cave. Darius looked back for a moment, but could see nothing past the dancing edge of the torchlight. They had left the cellars and the village, and were truly in the mountain now.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

Alaric did not hesitate. He marched on, the torchlight throwing grotesque black shadows across the cave walls. Silently and sure, like he had walked this path a hundred times before, Alaric kept moving, his great staff in one hand and the torch in the other, guiding his way.

Increasing his pace to catch back up, Darius wondered if he could ever find his way back to the village if something happened to Alaric. The cave branched, and branched again, and again, but Alaric never even stopped to consider the way. The descent had levelled out, and it felt like they were actually ascending now, but it was impossible to tell.

Despite the cool, damp air in the cave, a bead of sweat formed on Darius’ brow. For a moment, he began to wonder if it was false bravado and they were hopelessly lost. After all, why would Alaric have ever walked this path, let alone a hundred times.

‘Here.’ Darius jumped a little. Just as he had had the thought, Alaric had stopped. Although his heart was beginning to race, Darius composed himself, and glanced around in the torchlight. It looked just like the last passage, and the dozen before that.

‘What is it?’ Darius looked around, trying to spot why they had stopped, but the cave wall that surrounded them now, imposing on them, appeared the same as the rest of the journey.

Alaric smirked in the half light thrown by the torch, the shadows dancing across his face, twisting it into the cruel grin of a demon. Darius nearly shouted in shock, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword, before Alaric moved the torch and the illusion was shattered.

‘The end of the tunnel. Help me with this.’ Alaric had wedged his staff into a small crevice in the cave wall, and indicated another groove to Darius. Darius shook his head, removing the illusion from his mind, and moved to where Alaric was pointing.

As Alaric levered his staff and Darius pushed, the great stone wall made way and slid to the side.

The cool night air flowed into the cave and shocked Darius. They had left well before sundown, and he wondered how long they had travelled the labyrinth inside the mountain. He turned away from the opening, peering deeper into the cave, and wondered how much further it went, and where it ended.

‘Should we make camp before we leave the cave?’ Darius asked. ‘The pass looks too narrow to stop.’

‘We must cross the pass under the cover of darkness,’ Alaric responded, throwing the torch onto the cave floor. ‘Besides, I don’t want to spend any longer than we have to in there. It gives me the creeps.’

Darius felt reassured that the claustrophobic horror he was beginning to feel in the cave wasn’t just him being childish, and that Alaric, for all his composure, must have been feeling it too. Darius unhooked his water skin and took a great swig, realising how dry his mouth had become.

He peered out of the opening of the cave. The pass was about as wide as his shoulders. A great cliff's silhouette rose on one side, and it fell away into nothingness on the other. Such a narrow pass would be invisible from the plains where the goblin army was camped, Darius thought. From their distance, it would just seem like a sheer cliff face the whole way up. But Alaric had been right. In the light of day, any large movement would surely be spotted.

Alaric took a careful step out of the cave, leaving the comforting glow of the torchlight behind. Darius followed, looking up the cliff towards the sky. There were no stars in the sky tonight, and the trade off from the torch's warm protection to the muted moonlight was not a pleasant one, despite the fact that they were now in the open air.