March lit the torch and then handed it to his friend while he put the flint and steel back into the nder box and put it away. He unsheathed his skinning knife and took the torch back from Bren. With the brightly flaming brand in one hand and the long blade in the other, he started moving deeper into the cave.
The flickering light of the brand allowed them to see about twenty paces ahead. The flames caused exaggerated shadows to dance around the tunnel like ghoulish specters. Beyond the shadows, the thick blackness swallowed up the light like a hungry beast.
There were webs deeper in the cave. Some of them spanned the en re width of the sha like forgo en fishing nets. More than a few fist sized spiders scurried from the noisy brightness of their approach. A er only a few hundred feet, March was forced to get in front of Bren because the sha began to narrow.
“Don’t get too far ahead of me, March!” Bren whispered nervously. Even at a whisper his voice reverberated off the rough rocky walls.
“I won’t,” March joked. “I don’t want an arrow in the back when one of those spiders drops on your fat head.”
“Not funny.” Bren wasn’t laughing. His a en on had been drawn up ahead of them. He gripped the semi-drawn arrow with the index finger of his bow hand so that his right hand was free. He reached forward and tapped March on the shoulder with it. When he had his friend’s a en on he pointed up ahead at what he saw, then drew back his arrow again and stepped around March.
“What is it?” March asked. He had to squint his eyes to block out the glare from the torch flame. “Is it a rock?”
“Only if the rocks in here grow fur!” Bren said as his arrow loosed at the thing.
The arrow struck with a thump and sunk deeply into the creature. Before March could take a breath, Bren had another arrow ready to fire.
“It’s not rock,” said March moving toward it cau ously. “And it s nks!”
“It’s not alive,” Bren stated the obvious. His arrow was s ll trained on the thing though.
They were relieved to see that it was just a dead deer. That relief faded quickly when they saw that it was only part of a deer. Half of it had been torn away, leaving a puddle of thick black muck that was li ered with pieces of broken bone. A trail of splotchy red and black led from the carcass into the blackness.
“Pre y fresh kill,” March commented a er kneeling and examining it. “The s nk is from the curdled blood, not the meat.”
“It’s me to get out of here, March,” Bren said sternly. “Something bit off the whole back half of that doe. I don’t want to meet it!”
March wasn’t listening. He was already moving further into the cave. He’d seen something else and was heading toward it. Bren hurried a er him, and was just about to yank his friend back by the shoulder and haul him out of there when he saw what March was a er. He gasped loudly.
It was the skeleton of a human. It was whole and s ll encased in rusty ringed mail armor. At the side of the body was a dusty, but wicked looking sword. Several small packs were a ached to the dead man’s belt, and a large leather backpack was s ll strung over his shoulders.
“Hold this,” March said as he thrust the torch to Bren. Reluctantly Bren took the brand even though holding it meant that he wouldn’t be ready to fire an arrow if trouble came. He looked on in horror at what March started to do next.
“You can’t steal from the dead, March!” Bren said rather loudly. The word dead echoed around the cavern and down the tunnel like an ominous warning.
“It’s not stealing,” March jus fied as he unlocked the sword belt and fastened it over his shoulder. “This isn’t digging up a grave. This guy has been here a long me.” He rolled the skeleton over and almost jumped out of his skin as it broke apart in his hands.
“All right, but hurry! I don’t like this one bit.”
March pulled the leather backpack free, causing the skull to roll over and look up at him as if it were s ll alive. He took a deep breath and reposi oned the body in a more comfortable looking posi on. “Rest peacefully whoever you were,” He said so ly.
He slung the pack over his shoulder and was about to reach for the torch, but a gli ering sparkle underneath the dead man’s neck caught his eye.
Bren, seeing his friend reach back down to the body, yelled out in frustra on. “COME ON!... On... on.” His voice echoed down the cavern.
“Just a moment,” March growled back up at Bren’s impa ence.
He groped through the dust where he’d seen the flashing reflec on and found a small chain with his finger ps. As he pulled it out from under the dead warrior, he could feel the substan al weight of something that dangled from it.
“Light, Bren!” He ordered. Bren sighed and held the torch forth so that he and March could both see what it was.
The firelight reflected so brilliantly off of the thumb sized gem mounted in the dirty medallion that it nearly blinded them.
“Wow,” March gasped, turning to his friend. “Its--”
His voice was drowned out by the sudden angry growl of something very big and very close.
March pulled the medallion’s chain over his head and grabbed the torch back from his friend.
“Let’s go!” Bren yelled again. His bow was instantly drawn and his arrow trained at the area of darkness where the sound had come. “Now!”
March gave no argument. He immediately began backing through the cavern towards the entrance, holding the torch out toward the sound they had heard. They awkwardly tried to stay side-by-side as they con nued moving backwards as quickly as they could.
They heard the thump of heavy foo alls pounding rapidly towards them from the darkness. A strong alien scent filled the air. Whatever it was, it was four legged, and it was closing in on them.
A deep rumbling growl began and quickly turned into a screechy roar. It was right there, just outside of the torchlight. March could see several glistening reflec ons in the darkness, all of which were at least a head taller than he was. He was sure it was eyes and teeth, or maybe scales that he was seeing.
“Loose, Bren!” March yelled. An arrow thrummed by his ear from his friend’s bow.
A viscous screech filled the cavern then, and the head and wing claws of a snarling young wyvern charged into the torchlight. Its scales were pale, almost pink. It was dragon-like, but not nearly as large as even a young wyrm was rumored to be. It’s long sinuous body was the size of a small horse, or a big tree cat, and it’s toothy serpent head was already lunging.
Two huge fangs curled up from its bo om jaw and ju ed above plum sized nostril holes. Behind them, eyes that looked like cherry walnuts glowed with indignant rage. Menacingly, the strange rep lian creature roared at them and crouched to strike. The arrow Bren had fired protruded harmlessly from creature’s shoulder. Bren didn’t hesitate to fire again, this me aiming for the vital chest area between the creature’s stumpy forelegs. The arrow sank deeply, but didn’t even slow the burs ng charge.
A huge raking claw lashed out at March and though it barely missed his flesh, it hung in the thick leather sword belt he had taken from the corpse.
He, and the torch, were slung violently into the cavern wall.
Bren fired two more arrows at the beast, but the force and speed of the a ack on March, and the way the torch had gone flying across the air, had been dizzying. Even s ll, he had struck the sun starved creature well enough to stop it in its tracks. The dying torch was behind the wyvern now, near where March was s rring. The creature was perfectly silhoue ed and Bren went to fire another arrow. Reaching in, he found his quiver empty.
