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“Ifan, the cave seems to split up ahead.” Angharad called back to the prince, keeping her eyes forward.
“Of course. Not like we shouldn’t have expected it at some point. It’s been a bit too easy up ‘til now.”
“I vote against splitting up,” said Rhian between backwards glances.
“I agree,” replied Angharad.
“As do I,” agreed Gustov.
“Any preferences on left or right?” asked Ifan.
“Left.”
“Right.”
“Left.”
“That really helps. Thanks everyone.” Ifan stopped for a moment, calling out to Angharad to pause the march.
“Everyone knows you go left.” Gustov scoffed as he walked over to the left opening.
“That’s only for navigating mazes. Right looks a little more like the kind of tunnel a sahuagin would use.” Angharad stood in front of the right tunnel, watching as the other two members of the group made up their minds on a vote.
“What are you basing that on, little Angharad? Woman’s intuition? How do you know what kind of tunnel a sahuagin would prefer?” jeered Gustov.
“There’s more moss this way, and it… smells a little fishy.”
“This entire cave smells fishy!” Gustov began stepping a little way into the left tunnel, “To me the fish smell is stronger this way.”
“Your nose barely works at the best of time – too bloody cold in the north for smells to carry. Your kind basically all suffer from chronic anosmia.” Angharad followed Gustov, sniffing loudly as she tested her hypothesis.
“I resent that.”
“Enough you two. You said left, Rhian. Any reason?” Ifan turned to the redhead, catching her deep in the other two’s little show.
“Uhh. Yeah, left for the same reason as Gustov. You always go left.”
“Thank you!” shouted Gustov, turning back to the others.
“So, two votes for left, one for right. I get the tiebreaker as the leader, as agreed previously.” Ifan stroked his chin. “Really miss Mari’s dowsing magic. Made stuff like this a snap.”
“Aren’t there holy clairvoyance prayers? Priests back home are great at helping you find things you lost for a couple silver.” Rhian followed Gustov and Angharad part way into the left tunnel, standing a little ahead of Ifan.
“There are. I learnt one like ten years ago – combat prayers are what my father taught me; the priesthood had a small hand in teaching me a wider breadth of prayer in my early years, but he didn’t want me to waste my time committing it to memory. Didn’t want me to suffer information overload. The more streamlined your thoughts, the faster you’ll perform under pressure, was what he always stressed.” Ifan pulled his sword off his back, letting the blade dangle in front of him as he held the hilt. “Some of this is more feeling and intuition than an exact science, like proper magic. I’ll give it a go. Worst thing that happens is I waste a little energy.”
Ifan’s eyes began to glow their piercing white, and he began chanting a generic prayer to his God as he let his sword swing in his weak grasp. The sword’s blade began to vibrate lightly before rocking gently back and forth.
“Looks like left… No, right. Left?” Rhian attempted to ascertain the sword’s erratic movement as Ifan continued his chanting.
“I say left. It’s giving me the eye, I know what it feels like when a blade is pointed in my direction,” Gustov said.
“Come off it, that’s blatantly swinging right,” replied Angharad.
“For fuck’s sake.” Ifan’s eyes stopped glowing as he strapped the sword back on his back. “No help whatsoever, so I’ll go with the majority. Let’s just go left.”
“Yes! Haha, little Angharad, look who was wrong!”
“I wasn’t wrong, only time will bear that out.” Turning to Rhian, Angharad placed a hand to her mouth, trying to keep her next words slightly more private, “I hope I wasn’t wrong; he’s going to be unbearable for the rest of this mission otherwise.”
“I heard that.” Gustov stood still, waiting for Angharad to take the lead once more.
Rhian giggled as Angharad made her way to the front of the pack, heading herself to the back of the group behind Ifan. Taking the lead once more, Angharad stepped into the depths of the left passageway, its darkness slowly becoming illuminated by the torch light. The cave walls remained a steady width, providing ample space for even Gustov and his torch. Glistening still with damp, the stone looked moulded from the erosion of the high tide, careening into fully formed smooth lumps and bumps that littered the edge of their path.
Small stalactites struggled to form overhead, and as the group got further into the passage, evidence that they’d been forcefully removed was abundant. Patches of the ceiling were cracked and damaged, revealing more jagged aspects of the rock. Ifan made an internal note of it, hoping that it was evidence that their choice had been correct, as opposed to the potential that this was a side tunnel used for gathering rocks and cave sea salt. A hand shot up at the front of the group as Angharad came to a stop. The torch embers sizzled in the silence as her finger pressed against her lips. Slowly, the reason for their pause became evident. Chittering echoed through the passageway, coming from further within. Ifan closed his eyes briefly and bit his bottom lip in pleasant surprise. A second voice echoed throughout the cave, aggressive and curt. It seemed they were stumbling upon an argument, but the foreign language of clicks and throat vocalisations was lost on the group, so Ifan couldn’t be certain.
The tell-tale sound of metal against rock rang in their ears, and Ifan pulled his sword from his back. The others joined in an instant, drawing their weapons in preparation for a confrontation.
Angharad inched forward, keeping her torch behind her in her shield bearing hand. Another hand was thrown up, and she paused once more. Silently snuffing out her light and placing it on the floor, her intentions were read by the group, and they followed suit. An ambient light glowed in the far reaches of the passageway; hues of purple and yellow crept into their sight as the torchlight vanished. Waiting for a further signal from Angharad, the group waited with bated breath as the chittering and noises returned. She stepped forward once more, catching a glimpse of the source of the noises. Two scaled creatures were stood over another, smaller creature that looked much the same. Each were adorned with bulging yellow eyes and a mouth filled with pin-like teeth. The two aggressors were carrying opal staves with forked tops, their milky white surface reflecting the purple glow of nearby moss and fungal colonies.
Angharad watched as the smaller crawled backwards feebly, its chest dripping with a dark viscous liquid she assumed was blood. The others stepped forward before pinning the grounded creature’s arms with their tridents. Hissing and chittering once more, they seemed to be communicating with one another, ignoring the whimpers from the prey. Finally, their backs turned from the cave entrance holding Angharad and the others, and casting a swift signal, she burst forth, spear in hand, and impaled the closest of the two. The metal tip slid clean through the fish-like body, its limbs hanging limp as Angharad cast it to the ground.
The floored creature panicked and released its other arm as its captor stumbled backwards, trying to adopt a defensive stance. Before it could muster any level of resistance, Gustov’s axe severed its head from its shoulders, and its body fell lifeless to the ground. Rhian and Ifan quickly moved to disable the final creature, stepping on either arm, and pointing their weapons in its face.
“Stop! This one was their prey. We might be able to glean some information from it, provided it can understand us.” Angharad wiped the gore from her spear’s tip before standing over the meek beast.
Rhian and Ifan kept their weapons poised, but eased up on the creature’s arms allowing it to regain some of its composure.
