Daylight. Euris saw daylight ahead. The steps leading upwards loomed ahead, and Gath’s ragged loping turned into a stronger trot as the promise of the world above gave his exhausted body a second wind. They raced up the steps, even though they could hear no direct pursuit behind them. They wanted to feel the wind and sun once more.

They ran up the final steps out of the cellar, into the light of day. Gath was panting heavily, and looked like he was about to collapse. He threw his cloak off, and loosened his shirt. His black hair was a mess of sweat and dust, and his eyes had black circles around them. His skin was pasty white, the pallor worse than she had ever seen. The only sign of life was the spark in his black eyes. Euris removed her cloak, too, and felt her own hair plastered to her head with sweat. Several strands had escaped her leather thong and were in her eyes, so she tucked them behind her ear. She wanted to go get some water from their saddlebags, since she could not face the stale water of their canteens, but looked at Gath who had doubled over. “You’d better rest,” Euris said. Gath had both hands on his knees, panting heavily, trying to suck in air. She put a hand on his back, to lead him over someplace he could have a seat.

He gripped her arm, straightening. “We can’t stop,” Gath said, but was so winded that he had little choice, and wheezed. After several more breaths, he had found enough oxygen to continue. “I didn’t undo the wight. What I did will just stop it long enough for us to get away while we still have daylight. Get our horses.” He pushed her arm towards where they had staked the horses at their little camp.

Euris turned, ready to move off and strike their camp. She walked a few steps, and felt a shiver. Something had moved in the undergrowth at the edge of the clearing. Certainly not the wight, or was it? Three men rushed out of the bushes, causing a crackling noise as they tore through the branches and undergrowth, to stand in front of her. The man in the lead was familiar, the man with the long moustaches from the inn. “Now we’ll see what treasure you treasure-hunters have dug up!” He drew a rusty looking and poorly kept, but still lethal, old sword. A colorful thought about what Fallir would say to anyone who let a sword get into that shape flitted through Euris’ mind; hopefully everything about this man was as negligent and sloppy.

But she felt so incredibly stupid that she almost forgot the danger they were in, intent only upon her own mistakes. Of course, the man saw their shovels and who knows what else in their baggage, and followed them, thinking they were treasure hunters, waiting until after they had completed their mission to attack. How could she have been so stupid? She had let the terror of the wight and the magical battle allow her to forget all about her duty as a Protector in more mundane dangers which were just as real. She was not winded at all from the sprint up to the surface, and felt ready for a fight, but there were three of them.

Gath had come up behind her, and sized up the men. He likely saw what she saw: None of the three could be considered anything more than a thug, a petty brigand, and none were professional soldiers. While the leader with the moustache had a military quality sword, the other two had long knives or short swords, the tools of ruffians. None would be a contest for Euris. Yet there were three of them, and Euris would have to somehow keep herself between all of them and Gath, who was too tired to outrun any of them and who had no place to hide except back in the cellar, with the wight. Not an impossible task, but difficult. Beside her, Gath said softly enough so that only she could hear, “I have no more magic! Fight them!” He produced a long, slender sword from nowhere.

Euris drew her sword and charged with a wild yell calculated to frighten them. They were startled, but gave no ground and did not run. The biggest, the man with the moustache, met her charge but was overpowered by it. One of the others came around to her left, the side opposite her sword arm, to outflank her. She saw motion out of the corner of her eye, and thought Gath must be trying to take on the third, who had already gotten past her. She pressed hard, trying to defeat at least one of the ruffians so she could come to Gath’s help if needed. She would be happy to take a wound in this situation in trade for stopping that third ruffian. As she guarded and parried, she tried to see what was becoming of Gath. She wished she had a shield, or even had not put her cloak down, because all she could do was kick out at the flanker when he tried to close. Fortunately he did not have a long sword, or she would have been in a lot of trouble. She tried to keep both of them angled so they would have to go through her to get to Gath, and hoped he could buy her enough time. She focused on the biggest threat, the man with the moustache.

The third ruffian did not look particularly smart, but he was big. He had a scar along his nose, and a chunk missing from his right ear. Gath could see the bloodshot eyes and hairy nostrils, as the man closed in quickly. This ruffian was going to carelessly leave himself open, with his guard exposed, because he sensed that Gath would quickly tire. His smirking glare showed the contempt with which he regarded the sick and weak Gath. The man rained mighty blows down on Gath’s smaller sword, trying to batter him into submission for an easy kill. Gath did not have enough energy left to panic, but after the first blow he knew he could fend off enough of the strong blows to do what he planned, and he waited. Another, and his arm felt like it would fall off. His light sword, little more than a fencing foil, was little match for the wide, bludgeoning blade in the ruffian’s hand, and already showed two dents. One more blow. Gath this time gave way more than he had to, at least he hoped he was feigning being weaker than he was, to lull the ruffian. Gath struggled to hold the sword, with his arm hurting badly now, but saw something in his opponent’s eyes, and readied himself. As the ruffian began his upswing for the killing blow, Gath produced a long, thin dagger out of nowhere, and stabbed upward before the momentum of the man’s swing had shifted back downward. The dagger plunged up through the man’s stomach into his chest, the force of the blow stopped only by the wide guard of the dagger. With a gurgling cry, the man dropped his sword behind him, and his body toppled. Gath tried to twist out of the way, but as the man fell on top of him, he realized that last thrust had used up his energy. Gath concentrated on not blacking out, and the awareness that his Protector was still fighting for her life gave him a sickly rush of adrenaline that made him nauseous and light headed.

In a single combat, Euris would have been able to fight the man with the moustache and win easily, without any doubt. The problem she had was that every time she pressed her advantage, the other henchman encroached on her, causing her to divert her attention. She was getting nowhere at wearing either down. She tried to maintain the fight and at the same time think a few steps ahead about what she could do to turn the tide. After she pushed off the second man with a well-timed kick, sending him reeling back and flailing for balance, she was distracted by a flash of motion beside her and almost missed parrying a blow from the man with the moustache. A loud yell sounded, and the second man went down in a heap with Gath’s dagger sticking out of his shoulder and neck. Gath slumped beside him. Without even pausing, Euris pressed her fight towards the suddenly panicked man with the moustache. As she tried to get under his guard, she realized he knew more about the sword than she had initially given him credit for. Rising in Euris was a red-hot anger she had never before experienced, as the realization that this man wanted to kill Gath, and her, flooded her veins. The ruffian was not able to sustain any sort of fight in an even match, he was quickly dead at her feet. She almost did not even know what had happened, and remembered Fallir talking about the battle rage and how it could possess someone wholly. The corpse at her feet, which had once been a living human, had taken that rage.

Euris felt chilled when she saw what she had done. She had never killed anyone in hot blood before, although she had dealt enough wounds in practice fights. She knew that, sometime, she would begin to feel something, but now she was completely empty of any emotion at all for the man she had killed, and had only worry for Gath, whom she had sworn to protect. At least Gath was alive, or so she hoped. She turned to see him, still slumped over where he had killed the second henchman. She moved over and yanked Gath’s dagger out of the ruffian, and cleaned it and her sword on the ruffian’s cloak. Three dead men, and for nothing. Nothing at all. They had not seen even half of a copper penny in the underground regions of Morran, and Euris doubted there was any money or treasure to be found anywhere. How could these ruffians waste their lives over nothing? Gath got up to his knees as she leaned over him, and took back his dagger, which somehow disappeared into whatever place had already swallowed sword, hammer, and book.

“Are you okay?” She said, helping him gently to his feet, feeling his slender elbows in her thick hands as she lifted his light form. Euris gathered Gath up in her arms, and he leaned heavily on her, his hands on her shoulders, trying to stay upright.

“I’ll manage.”  He said this without any inflection to his voice, and neither of them was convinced he was anything but exhausted after the expenditure of magic and the fight.

“Where did you learn how to fight like that?” Euris asked, just holding him for a moment, hoping he could recover enough strength while she packed up camp. She was not staying this close to the cellar entrance tonight, if she had to sling Gath over his saddle and tie him down.

He shook his head, trying to clear it, and managed a weak smile. He gave her a peck on the cheek. “I wasn’t always an apprentice. We really do need to get out of here. Where are the horses? I’ll manage well enough once I’m in the saddle, even if you have to tie me on.” Could he read her thoughts?

Before she could answer, or make any attempt to pack, both froze. Gath’s hands dug into her shoulders, and he went completely rigid. Chills danced up and down her spine. The second time, the unearthly moan was louder, and came from the opening of the cellar out of which the two had just emerged into daylight and into the fight. A scraping sound like stone on metal came next, but what caused it baffled Euris. A black form emerged from the cellar, only halfway across the clearing from them. Euris felt a rush of adrenaline and fear as she saw that the wight had solved the problem of sunlight with the expedient of draping a black shroud over itself.

“Let’s go!” Gath said, pulling at her arm. He was looking around wildly, intent to go, but not certain where they should go. The wight seemed confused by the dead body of the ruffian Gath had gutted, which was nearest the cellar entrance and which had gushed blood from the stab wound. The wight bent down, seeming to smell the blood. Euris shivered again. She looked around, to gather up the horses, glad now that Gath had insisted she leave them saddled. They would make good their escape by outrunning the wight.

On to ... Chapter Seven: The Unshot Arrow