Pouch slung over his shoulders, the contents muffled by a wad of dried fungi, Sark tucked the scourge into his belt. Boot steps ringing in his ears, he turned back to the wooden frame. Thick iron chains pooled at the base of a beam. Gently urging Mara from his path, he scooped it up. He tested the weapon. Its weight felt reassuring in his hands.
"Let's go," he said, pressing his ragged shoulder against the doorway.
"Whoever they are, they'll be here soon."
Peering around the door jam, chain tight in his right hand, he scanned the hallway. Mara fingers settled on his wrist. He startled, spinning him to face her. His heart leapt with violent reflex.
"Slow down," Mara soothed, stepping around him and into the passage.
"You're leading us nowhere," she said, giving his blood-encrusted, barely clothed frame an up-and-down look.
"Until we get you something to wear."
Sark returned her appraising glance. He brushed her hand from his wrist.
"Then give me the robe. It's big enough to fit me."
Mara raised a hand, cutting him off. She pulled his fists close together, wrapped the chain around them.
"If you think I have a fine felt jerkin, maybe some soft silk undergarments, beneath this thing then I can assure you that is not the case. I'll gladly get you Topside, but I'm not sure I'll ever know you well enough to compare lash scars. Now stop arguing and follow me."
She stepped into the corridor, head bowed and shoulders curved. Sark watched her go. With a shrug, he followed her out.
"Like I said," he muttered.
"I'll be glad when there's no one to tell me what to do."
He dropped back to a respectable distance for a slave to be following his owner. He scanned the torch-lit stonework. Patterns and murals had been carved into the walls. The decorative style was more jagged and violent than anything he had seen before. He followed Mara to a junction. His mind reeled with the alien artistry and the randomness of tunnels bored into the rock. Only quick reflexes prevented him from walking into her.
"What happened?"
He gestured with chained fists to the crazed mass of tunnel mouths yawning onto the main thoroughfare. Six-legged skinks clung to the walls and ceiling. Their feces stained the rock and air with acrid blight.
"Have the sanitation slaves all been strung up? If so, the engineers who authorised this mess should join them."
"Keep your voice down," Mara hissed, not bothering to face him.
"Brig is insane, but that hasn't stopped her becoming wealthy. She has her slaves dig wherever she desire, and she has many. Her lust for expansion is as vast as her desire to hurt."
"Expansion? How many of these tunnels are hers?"
"All of them."
Mara paused, tilted her head to the left. Sark's gaze followed, deep-set eyes narrowing. Above the chittering call of anxious skinks, he heard the thump-clip-thump of spear-wielders moving up ahead.
"We need to keep moving. If anyone sees you like that, we both may as well have died in the square."
"Too late to worry about that," Sark replied, allowing the loop of chains to drop and snatching the end in his right hand.
"Look."
A block of shadowed slithered at the corridor's far end. Rustling mail and hard breathing joined the cacophony of boots and clipping spear butts. Bearded faces came into view. Hard eyes stared from under heavy brows. The guard at the trio's head barked an order. Small shields rose up to block the passage. Gleaming steel lances gave spikes to the armoured wall. Sark raked his gaze across the dwarf warriors, took in the multitude of yawning tunnel mouths. A lump of iron forming in his gut, he turned to Mara.
"You wanted to lead," he snapped, back-stepping away from the lethal advance.
"Lead!"
Robe hitched at her waist, Mara tore off into the tunnel ahead. Sark followed, reaching left-handed for the scourge stuffed into his waistband. Behind him, booted feet hammered pale cobbles, their thumping rhythm unrelenting. Slowing, Sark turned. Running backwards, he stared at the stony faces. Eyes locked with sweat-sheened beetle brows, he counted their leader's bootsteps.
"What are you waiting for?"
Mara, breathless, called from behind him. Twisting tunnels gave a hollow ring to her voice. They did nothing to hide her fear.
Sark coughed up a ball of phlegm, spat it into the oncoming phalanx. Though the gobbet fell a good way short, the lead dwarf curled his lips into a snarl. Hobnailed boots increased their tempo, their clashing stomp echoing off the walls.
"That," Sark called back.
Razor-edged spears gleamed in flickering light. Sark chambered his left hand, slashed the air with his whip. He watched the guards lower their heads a fraction. Lethal pikes followed suit as shield drew closer to armoured bodies. Sark acted again, tossed the scoured in an underhand throw. Eyes locked on the swatch of black leather, he watched it spin under a watchman's descending boot. The sole's full weight crashed down onto the rounded whip's hilt. A curse rasped from the guard's lip. His ankle rolled. As the leader tumbled to the ground, his chin jamming into his shield's metal rim, his subordinates struggled to evade his fate. Spears, bucklers and mailed bodies thudded to the deck. Limbs tangles. Barked orders and sneered curses rattled through the passage as the three dwarfs struggled to rise.
Swallowing the urge to plant a kick on the leader's bloody chin, Sark turned on a heel. Arms pumping with fear and battle lust, he charged head-long into the darkness. Mara, a bundle of robes and shadows, lurked at the junction of three passages.
"Go," he bellowed.
Sweat already beading on his grey skin, Sark chanced a look behind him. The last of the guards struggled to his feet, aided by the strong arm of his comrade. Thick-fingered hands snatched at wooden hafts. Shields slid back into place.
Legs burning from his sprint, Sark turned back to his companion. Fear stole the moisture from his throat. His heart slammed against his heaving chest.
"Mara?"
His voice echoed through the empty junction.
