feeling sick and empty inside.
He was incredibly tired by then, so weak that he did not think
he could make it back through the tunnels by himself, let alone
carrying Padishar. But somehow he managed to get the other
across his shoulders and, with one of the torches to guide him,
he started out.
He walked for what seemed like hours, seeing nothing, hear-
ing only the sound of his own boots as they scraped across the
stone. Where was Chandos, he asked himself over and over
again. Why hadn’t he come? He stumbled and fell so many
times that he lost count, tripped up by the tunnel’s rock and by
his own weariness. His knees and hands were torn and bloodied,
and his body began to grow numb. He found himself thinking
of curious things, of his boyhood and his family, of the adven-
tures he had shared growing up with Par and Coil, of the steady,
reliable Steff and the Dwarves of Culhaven. He cried some of
the time, thinking of what had become of them all, of how much
of the past had been lost. He talked to Padishar when he felt
himself on the verge of collapse, but Padishar slept on.
He walked, it seemed, forever.
Yet when Chandos finally did appear, accompanied by a
swarm of outlaws and Axhind and his Trolls, Morgan was no
longer walking at all. He had collapsed in the tunnel, exhausted.
He was carried with Padishar the rest of the way, and he tried
to explain what had happened. He was never certain exactly
what he said. He knew that he rambled, sometimes incoher-
ently. He remembered Chandos saying something about a new
Federation assault, that the assault had prevented him coming
as quickly as he had wanted. He remembered the strength of
the other’s gnaried hand as it held his own.
It was still dark when they regained the bluff, and the Jut was
indeed under attack. Another diversion, perhaps, to draw atten-
tion away from the soldiers sneaking through the tunnels, but
one that required dealing with nevertheless. Arrows and spears
flew from below, and the siege towers had been hauled forward.
Numerous attempts at scaling the heights had already been re-
pelled. Preparations for making an escape, however, were com-
plete. The wounded were set to move out, those that could walk
nsen to their feet, those that couldn’t placed on litters. Morgan
went with the latter group as they were carried back into the
caves to where the tunnels began. Chandos appeared, his fierce,
black-bearded face hovering close to Morgan as he spoke.
“All is well, Highlander,” Morgan would remember the other
man saying, his voice a faint buzz.’ ‘There’s Federation soldiers
in the hidden tunnel already, but the rope bridges have been cut.
That will slow them a bit-long enough for us to be safely away.
We’ll be going into these other tunnels. There’s a way out
through them as well, you see, one that only Padishar knows.
It’s rougher gomg, a good number of twists and turns and a few
tricky choices to be made. But Padishar knows what to do. Never
leaves anything to chance. He’s awake again, bringing the rest
of them down, making sure everyone’s out. He’s a tough one,
old Padishar. But no tougher than you. You saved his life, you
did. You got him out of there just in time. Rest now, while you
can. You won’t have long ”
Morgan closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. He slept
poorly, brought awake time and again by the jostling of the litter
on which he lay and by the sounds of the men who were crowded
about him, whispering and crying out in pain. Darkness cloaked
the tunnels, a hazy black that even torchlight could not cut
through entirely. Paces and bodies passed in and out of view,
but his lasting impression was of impenetrable night.
Once or twice, he thought he heard fighting, the clash of
weapons, the grunts of men. But there was no sense of urgency
in those about him, no indication that anything threatened, and
he decided after a time that he must be dreaming.