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“This is where we leave you,” the golem says. “Your companions are not far from this exit, and we will not risk the others seeing us. Remember your Oath.”
“We will remember,” Wodred says from behind me. “I echo Lady Melelea’s sentiments. I thank you for your help.”
“Thank us by ridding the mountain of the demon,” Shale says, to our right. “His magic is affecting the stones, and that affects the star lichen.”
“This day will end with my blade through his chest,” Wodred vows, and the golems nod.
“May the gods guide your steps,” Granite says, and then three golems fade back into the darkness, walking through the tunnels with no light. As they vanish from sight, Wodred moves forward so that he is in the front.
“Stay behind me, Melelea,” he says, his voice firm. “We don’t know what waits for us out there. Grazrath must have the mountain crawling with imps looking for you.”
“All right,” I agree, not arguing. I know that I am the liability in this situation. If Grazrath gets me, he will be able to awaken the magic in the dragon bones, and then all of Anar’i will suffer.
We move through the mine shaft up toward the light at the end of the tunnel. As the light gets bigger, Wodred sniffs the air.
“Gunag is close, and I can smell my warbeast, Claw.”
“We must hurry to intercept them,” I say.
“But we need to be careful,” Wodred says. “They will be on high alert and will likely attack if we come out of nowhere before they realize who we are. Let me signal Gunag.”
We get to the mouth of the mine and pause. I look down in the low light of the setting sun and see two warbeasts several lengths down the mountain. Thank the gods that it is no longer storming and we can see clearly. Wodred put his fingers to his lips, pressing on his tusks, and gives a shrill whistle in three short bursts.
The effect is immediate. One of the figures on warbeastback swivels their head, and then the two riders are galloping up toward us. As they get closer, it is clear to see that it is Gunag and Dame Zera. We exit the mine and stand under the setting sunlight to meet them.
“Wodred! Lady Melelea!” Gunag exclaims. “You’re alive!”
“As are you,” Wodred returns evenly.
“How did you find us?” asks Dame Zera, a hint of suspicion in her voice. “And your way out of the mountain?”
“My runes,” I say, giving a half-truth, as I know that Gunag will be able to smell outright lies. “We used them to find our way through the tunnels when we weren’t sure where to go.”
Gunag and Zera seem to accept that answer readily enough. They have no reason to suspect there are helpful golems in the dark, after all.
“How did you survive?” I ask. “The runes said that Gunag was hurt.”
Gunag scoffs at that. “I merely twisted my ankle. I’ll be fine.”
“It’s worse than that,” Zera says. “It’s likely sprained. If we didn’t have the warbeasts, we would not have been able to travel. If you would just use your healing magic—”
“I have no healing magic,” snaps Gunag. “I am no elf.”
I barely keep myself from rolling my eyes at their bickering. That was something I definitely did not miss while we were apart. However, I suspect that Gunag is lying. Those of elven blood almost always have at least a weak healing gift. But Gunag famously hates his elvish side, blaming his mother’s abandonment for his father’s death. He considers himself an orphan, even though his mother is likely still alive.
“Stubborn orc,” Dame Zera snaps back. “This is no time for pride. We need to be in top condition if we are to still slay Grazrath.”
“I’m fine,” Gunag emphasizes. “An orc is not going to be felled by an ankle injury.”
“Enough, Gunag," Wodred says. “Dame Zera is right. If you can heal yourself, you should do so. The foe we face is not your average enemy. Lady Melelea has had visions of him on the mountain’s peak. He has access to the dragon’s bones like we thought, but he doesn’t have the power to use them yet. He is in the weakest position he can be, and it is our time to strike. I can’t have you be a liability.”
“Are you ordering me to heal myself?” Gunag glares.
“If that’s what it takes, yes,” Wodred says evenly.
Gunag grumbles, but he pulls off a glove and reaches down to touch his ankle. There’s the buzz of magic in the air, a slight golden glow, and then he rips his hand away like the act had burned him.
“Happy?” Gunag says, his tone bitter.
