With Cormac gone, it felt to Daegan as though she had been robbed of half her soul or very being. Such was the attachment that she felt for him, all joy departed from her and she had not the energy to truly do much throughout the day.

  The lethargy that had overtaken her was something entirely unknown to the normally hard-working, gregarious lass who loved little more than a good tall-tale. Yet now, she hardly told any tales, tall or otherwise such was the depth of her grief at Cormac’s absence.

  At first it appeared that little changed in the first day after his departure, save that there was a little more food delivered to them by order of Thvalin.

  The nephew of the chieftain had returned in fine spirit, whistling a tune ere he had approached the pit to inform them that he could hardly wait to ransom Lyr next. Ignoring the many threats cast in his direction by the prince in question, he stalked off to aid with the bringing in of the fish his crew had caught, on their journey.

  With the prisoners waiting out the rest of the evening and night, so that the only event of note was Bardulf’s declaration to them that, he had a plan in the works.

  “I may have something in mind, for our escape but we must wait until Andvari next returns.” He informed them, wise and strong as ever, he had borne his time in the pit better than some members of their troupe had.

  “Andvari? Why must we wait for the Dwarf?” The disdain for the Dwarf continued to colour the voice and eyes of Lauma.

  “Because, Andvari is our only hope, he shall explain it upon his return,” Kyrenas retorted, with a significant glance at the Wolfram.

  Daegan nodded her head slowly, though she longed to speak, to ask of them why they had not suggested their plan to escape ere Cormac’s departure, she had little wish to. It was difficult to summon up the desire to do much more than succumb to despair and sorrow.

  The question she wished to ask thus went unasked, with the whole of their group returning to the previous silence. A silence that was meditative in nature for some and uncomfortable for others. Lyr and Connor proposed that they sing to pass the time, wherefore Daegan menaced them with her eyes. Able to call forth enough passion, for only this before she returned to her almost lifeless state which involved staring at the wall of the cavern without any semblance of joy.

  “Fear not Daegan, I am sure Cormac was not killed,” Calandra said to her, in a reassuring voice one that Daegan did not believe for she could see the doubt in the eyes of the elder female.

  Daegan could only offer up a weak smile in response.

  *****

  It was shortly after the suns had dawned that Andvari made his appearance, in their midst having eaten his portion of fish and drunk his goat-milk with nary a complaint. Most had woken up, with only Connor and Lauma still asleep, one because he had turned to press his face against the shadows of the cavern and the other in spite of the ray of sunlight shining upon her face.

  As filthy as he ever was, the once-chief of the Margvarrovs was to scurry into their midst with a scowl and would only address them after he had examined every inch of the shadows. Both around the lot of them, and between each of those seated with their backs against the walls of the pit. The heat of the suns was as unwelcome to those in the prison-cell due as much to the said heat as to the earliness in the day.

  “Where is Cormac? Where is the sole ray of light that ye fools’ of the Lordly-Island posses?” The red-faced Andvari demanded frantically, after he had concluded his futile search for the blonde-youth.

  Pity in his eyes, Glarald it was who took it upon himself to inform the Dwarf, of the news of Cormac’s removal from their midst. “It was Thvalin, he took Cormac away to trade him away to the Jarl Sweyn.”

  “What? You lie Kelf!” Andvari accused pointing a single finger with a broken yellowed finger at the emerald-haired Wilder-Elf who remained seated to the left of Bardulf, a sympathetic expression upon his handsome face. “Return Cormac! He must be here!”

  “Do not call Glarald Kelf, you filthy Dwarf!” Lauma shouted at the Margdvarrov, her own face becoming scarlet also, so that she rose to her feet to bellow at him.

  “Lauma, calm yourself, remember your station,” The lass’ cousin Kyrenas hissed at her, narrow-eyed and stone-face at her anger. The princess of the Longwoods sought to excuse her words, with Daegan of a mind to agree with her if distantly. Strangely, the father of Glarald was disinclined to concede a single inch to her, treating her then as though she were no different from his oft-maligned son. “Seat yourself!”

  Reluctantly, she did as bidden, unaccustomed to the father of Glarald taking such a tone with her. The rest of them stared at him in equal amazement, none more so than Glarald himself, who appeared as though he had never heard such a shocking statement.

  It was Bardulf who first recovered from his shock, to inform the only person present to have hardly reacted to Kyrenas’ scolding of Lauma. “Aye, it is true Andvari, Cormac is no longer amongst us, he was seized but it is for this reason that we must speak with you.”

  The latter half of his words were drowned out, by the strangest of sounds that Daegan and the rest of them had ever heard the Dwarf utter in the short period they had come to know him. The wail that was torn from his throat echoed in the pit and drew the astonished stares of even the Dwarf guards above them.

  It was a long time that he cried as he threw himself upon the ground, in the center of the pit, with his face pressed against his hands, he beat at his chest and tore at the few strips left of his tunic and also at his beard. Tearing at it with all his might, until they came away with bits of hair, as he gave vent to the worst demonstration of grief that Daegan had ever seen anyone show, since the disappearance of Murchadh nine years ago.

  At that time, Kenna had reacted similarly, with it having taken Ida and Freygil all that they had in them to restrain her, from tearing out strips of her hair, from her scalp.

  Half mad, Andvari wailed loudly and for so long that it was hours ere, he had ceased and by that time his throat had gone hoarse, and his eyes were crimson. His cheeks were streaked with the marks of his grief.

  Astonished, there came a time when Daegan felt something of her old scorn for him die in her heart. How could she go on hating, such a man when he shared in some capacity her own feelings of desolation at the loss of Cormac? Such a separation was the cruellest of blows, delivered upon any of them since they had left Glasvhail.

  “There may still, be a way to rescue our friend Cormac, Andvari,” Bardulf whispered kneeling by the side of the side of the heartbroken Dwarf. He knelt by the side of the old Dwarf, whispering to him, uttering assurances and entreating him to trust in them.

  Few of them had any true faith that he would revive, or that the chieftain would agree to aid them. Only Ronald appeared to be serene, and believed in the Wolfram’s ability to sway the Dwarf, his eyes closed in meditation as he leant lazily back against the wall of the pit.

  If the elder of the Tigrun twins was at ease, the younger certainly was not. Fingering his lyre which he had somehow retained in the pit, he was utterly despondent, bowing his head in defeat.

  It happened that there was one amongst them, who grew weary of waiting for Andvari to rouse himself, and to restore to life some of the fire that still lay dormant within his spirit.

  “Come now, is that any way for a man to act? To whimper and weep, while there are deeds to be done and glories to be achieved?” Lyr demanded of the Dwarf through gritted teeth, his eyes narrowed in wroth, as he loomed now over the shortest of the men present. “Aye, Cormac has been taken from us, but if ye simply lay there bemoaning his loss, he truly will be lost. I ask thee why lie in wait, tears in your eyes when Cormac could still be rescued? And what of those he loved? Shall we simply let them wander through the rest of their days stricken with grief?”

  Though he did not look to her as he spoke his impassioned words, Daegan had a sense that the prince looked now to her as much as he did the Dwarf. But in truth his gaze wandered, meeting the eyes of all who sat in the pit, challenging them, defying them to disagree with him.

  The words and passion within them served to revive the spirits of most of them. Notably Calandra and Andvari, the former having shed more than her share of tears at the sight of the pain of the elder Dwarf.

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  As to the former chief of the Margvarrovs’ he was to sniffle, blow his nose upon a part of his tunic and rally some of the old spirit he had possessed, in days of yore. Though it took him hours ere he agreed to aid them, as he had not forgotten the grave insult that had been inflicted upon him.

  For this he would not forgive them, not for some time for his was a vindictive spirit, one that had yet to learn the true value of friendship and to let go of past grievances. Nonetheless, he assented to show them with a glance to Daegan, one of resignation and resolution that which he had only ever shown Cormac.

  “I must caution you all, there are some of you I am not certain, will fit through the tunnel,” He told them with a significant glance towards Connor, who flushed scarlet with wroth at the implicit insult behind his words. Going to leave, while the suns began their descent, he waved them on over to the shadows where he had so often disappeared into, in days past. In contrast to the Deep-Dwarves these ones struggled to see in the dark, “-they will not notice our departure until the morn’,” he assured them.

  It was exactly as he showed Cormac only a little wider, with enough space almost for one or two of them to fit together side-by-side, or so it appeared at first glance to Daegan. Pleased, by the tunnel that was their only hope to escape from the wretched village that had kept them captive for so long, there were a few hushed cheers.

  “With this we shall surely be able to escape from this place,” Lyr cheered with a great laugh that was almost more a whisper than a true laugh. He gave a great blow with his massive paw to the Dwarf’s back, one that very near threw him off his feet.

  A small smile found its way to his own lips, so that he did not appear as hostile as before towards the prince of ériu now.

  If he were pleased, Lauma was hardly appeased complaining to the exasperation of several of their group, “Why should we trust in this tunnel? It does not appear to me at all as safe, as what the Dwarf makes it seem.”

  Andvari might well have lunged once more at her, were it not for the wisdom of Glarald who proclaimed to the shock of the other Elves and Bardulf, “I have no doubt to the safety of this tunnel. It has been years that the Dwarf has secreted himself to and from this place. Were Cormac herewith us, he would brave the darkness, for this reason alone I shall now do so.”

  “Wait Glarald,” Kyrenas interceded catching his son ere, he could venture thither into the unknown. “I shall go before you.”

  “But father,” Glarald sought to protest his voice cracking with frustration, ere he was shoved to one side by the very Elf who had stopped him from being the first to escape.

  Keen to shield his son, regardless if it meant that he himself might come to harm, Kyrenas was the first to place his life in the hands of Andvari. Crawling whither only the Dwarf and the gods could possibly know, he disappeared from sight within seconds.

  This began the process through which the majority of them crawled to safety via the tunnel dug over the course of years, by the old chieftain. The next to follow was Glarald, followed by the lady Calandra, then it was time for Fergus, Ronald and Lauma if against her will.

  It was only by the time that Connor went to leave through the hole that he was stopped by Andvari, who held up a hand in his direction. “Not you pig.”

  “What? Why do you stop me from seeking to save myself, is this because of the blow I struck you one week ago?” He demanded of the Dwarf who glared back up at him, with equal hate in his eyes.

  It was in part this that had motivated him, in part another reason as he revealed nary a few seconds later, “Nay, you are too fat Connor of ériu.”

  Connor might well have snapped once more at the Dwarf, who was prepared to throw himself against him, were it not for the intervention of Bardulf. “Enough of this bickering, it is time that Daegan escape to safety herself.”

  This the Bairaz agreed to, while the scarlet-haired lass who had hung back, from the rest of the group straining her ears at the most peculiar sound she had ever heard. It appeared no different from the wind, yet there was a unique lack of whistling to it, and instead a kind of hissing sound. It was accompanied by a feeling of dread she had come to know all too well. It was a sensation that had at first appeared distant, yet had steadily grown with every heartbeat.

  Scared, the young lass felt some of her old vigour spark back to life, as she stood up in defiance towards the shadow that lay surely in wait for them all, “I can go last, I am not afraid.”

  “Nay, Daegan you will go next,” Bardulf argued seizing her by the arm, to pull her over towards the hole ere he halted with a thunderstruck expression.

  Moving with a rapidity that was incredible by the standards of any stretch of the imagination, the Caled-lass was pushed down into the hole just ahead of the Dwarf. Whom he insisted move thither just behind her, much to the lass’ fury, as this effectively denied her the ability to pull herself out of the tunnel.

  *****

  If the pit had been a filthy hole in the ground, which served to only add to the stench exuded by Andvari, the tunnel was markedly different. Though it did have a rank stench, it was far less noticeable than the prison-cell of the Margvarrov was.

  Crawling forward as swiftly as she could, cutting her knees and hands here and there, on the sharp stones that Andvari had hardly thought to remove. In the past he had always been more concerned with simply digging, widening his tunnel rather than the danger posed by some of the odd stones that lay before and to either side of him.

  Trapped as she was in the darkness, Daegan could not shake the sense of panic that radiated out from deep within her being. It was a terrifying sensation, she decided and a terrible one when one felt as though the whole of the world were closing in upon a person.

  As she stumbled straight in one direction for what appeared, to her an endless period of time, time itself seemed to stretch out endlessly. With the lass losing track of the number of times she bumped her head or scraped her head against the ceiling of the hole.

  The worst part beyond the claustrophobia that menaced her mercilessly was the knowledge that the sensation of overwhelming fear that continued to dominate her still held her prisoner.

  Almost without realizing it, Daegan came to a stop shortly after the tunnel had changed direction abruptly, with Andvari hitting his head against her posterior. This in turn caused her to hit her head, for the fourth time against the ceiling of the cavern, with a short cry of pain.

  “Why have you stopped?” He demanded impatiently of her, with Connor’s voice making its way to her ears, as he struggled, more than any single one of their group with the cavern.

  “Do not stop! Continue, damn you,” He hissed from just past Bardulf who had been crawling just behind the Dwarf when he was pulled to a sudden halt himself.

  “I shan’t continue, for Daegan has stopped just as the tunnel has begun to curve.” The Wolfram snapped back at him, with a glare over his shoulder.

  “Why did she stop?” Connor whined in a high plaintive voice that sounded half pained, and all too high for a man of his large build.

  “Tush, the lot of you,” Daegan hissed at them in a sharp voice, one that netted her few friends and even less joy from all of them. “I think that the wraith can hear us moving along, in the darkness below him.”

  “Nonsense,” Connor scoffed at once.

  Yet still she would not move. Worried as she was about the wraith barely a few meters above her, or so she guessed the distance between them, for in truth she knew not how much earth and dirt separated them. She knew only that he was above her, and that she was utterly helpless with nary any means to defend herself or properly move, to do so within the tunnel.

  Suffocated as much by the darkness of the tunnel, as by the earth that appeared to loom above her Daegan at last understood Cormac’s obsession with the sea and her father’s with fire. They could both be mastered, could be controlled in some capacity.

  The former meant freedom, while the latter signified iron and steel with which to defend oneself, while all the earth signified to her was something immovable, inescapable. A heavy weight that sought only to crush and trod upon her and that could no more be mastered, than it was malleable, or so it appeared to her in that instant in time.

  “Daegan, you must continue thither,” Said Bardulf urgently, with a worried glance over his shoulder though she could not see it.

  “But-”

  “Just as we stepped into the hole, we saw and felt the shadow loom over the pit,” He carried on desperately, “We shan’t be captured now, so carry on.”

  “But surely he cannot fit in here,” She argued desperately, feeling all the more nauseous and frightened his revelation.

  Before him and behind him, both Andvari and Connor huffed impatiently, neither of them keen to wait much longer for her to rediscover her wits. Inching about the corner, in spite of her words she moved forward with deliberate care holding her breath in as best she could. Grateful that the Wolfram had thus far, humoured her by whispering back to her, regardless of his own keen desire to escape out of the tunnel.

  “I do not know, as Connor has managed fairly well,” Bardulf replied at once, answering her with visible uncertainty.

  “Do hurry,” Andvari urged her, “I do not like this sickening feeling, as it reminds me far, far too much of that time I spent in my cousin’s halls!”

  Against her own better judgement, the young woman did as bidden swallowing the bile that threatened to leap up from her stomach, and out of her throat.

  She had advanced barely two steps, when the worst happened. Or so it appeared to the youthful lass, who could barely repress a scream of shock or fear, even she did not know when a large spear punched straight through the earth into the exact place she had just occupied.

  Andvari appeared on the verge of screaming himself, at that moment. But he was nowhere near as swift as the man behind him. His mouth was sealed firmly shut entirely due to Bardulf, who pulled the Dwarf back by the arm, away from the spear, with his left hand. Saving him in the process and faster than thought enclosed the former chief’s mouth with his other hand, as he whispered ‘shhh’.

  Equally silent, they all stared for an immeasurably long period of time.

  All knew that a single breath, a single word could result in their deaths. They waited there, with bated breath, their hearts all hammering as one, against their respective chests.

  The thought of the phantom slaying her therein the darkness, below ground was almost more than she could bear. It was intolerable. There was nothing glorious about it, whispered a strong, fierce part of her that was as primordial as anything was in her spirit.

  To die little more than a frightened child, praying for her father was more than she could bear, not that she had managed to utter so much as a prayer. Not with every religious, pious word flitting out of her mind so that she could hardly put together a thought, let alone a prayer.

  How unworthy of one who bears the noble name of the Forlarin clan, Daegan complained inwardly as she bit down upon her lower-lip. Full of humiliation at her fierce longing to be back in her home in Glasvhail, where everything made sense, where songs filled every house.

  And where there was no darkness and most of all where she could simply confide in her father, Cormac or Kenna, about her fears.

  Her heart very near leapt into her throat when she saw the spear shake a little, moving from side-to-side, from left to right then back again as though in search of one of them.

  A short distance from her, Andvari appeared as though he was frozen in place, and Bardulf simply eyed the spear, barely daring to breath.

  It almost appeared as though it were going to cut through the solid ground in order to hew at them. But then fortune struck and it was withdrawn, whereupon there was silence.

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