The Hollow Deep

Captain Drest's wrapped stump had stopped bleeding.

That was the first good news Cael had heard in twelve hours. The second was that no one had killed anyone yet. Valorheim and Karthian soldiers camped in the same chamber, weapons close but not raised. Twenty hours ago they'd have used them on each other.

Cael decided that was enough good news for one night.

***

Morning came by consensus. Someone said it was morning and everyone pretended to believe them.

The torches were burning low, and they'd need new ones soon. Cael added it to the list of problems that might kill them all. Cold came up through the rock into his boots; he shifted, and the ache in his ribs woke with him.

People stirred. Groaning, checking wounds, counting supplies that were already half gone.

Cael sat up. His ribs throbbed where the demon had hit him, and the cold had stiffened every joint overnight. Everything hurt.

Nessa slept against the wall, the arrow still in her shoulder, her breathing shallow but steady. Aldric had fashioned a better bandage during the night. It would hold until they found cleaner cloth. Roth was on watch, staring into the dark beyond the torchlight. Petyr lay curled on his side, eyes open, not sleeping. The boy was sixteen. Three months ago he'd been a stable hand, before the demons burned his village and took his younger sister. He'd killed a Karthian soldier during the retreat—his first. The blood was still on his sleeve. No one had told him to wash it off. Cael remembered his own first kill, and he left the boy alone.

"We need to talk about leadership," a voice said.

Sergeant Lysa, the Karthian, stood where the firelight from the two camps met and let the quiet stretch until the room gave her its attention.

Captain Drest struggled to his feet, someone catching his elbow when he swayed. He looked pale and hollowed out, but he was still an officer, and he made himself sound like one. "What about it?"

"We're trapped down here, with enemies above and unknown dangers below, and two camps pretending to cooperate won't survive either of them. We need structure."

"You want us to merge? Form one unit?"

"I want one watch roster," Lysa said. "Not two rosters watching each other."

Murmurs ran through both sides. Nobody said yes.

Cael walked toward the center without hurrying, and every eye in the chamber tracked him as he came. "She's right. There's six torches left between the two camps." He let them count that themselves. "Whose torches are they?"

"Easy for you to say." The voice was low, controlled. Brennan, the Karthian sergeant from Tomas's squad, a big man and a patient one. He'd organized his camp's watch without being asked and set sentries at the choke points. "You're not the one whose family got burned out by Valorheim raiders."

"Deep-tide," Roth shot back, hand going to his sword. "And you're not the one whose brother got crucified by Karthian blood mages."

Both sides tensed. Hands found weapons. Cael's own hand went to the wall behind him without meaning to.

"Stop." Drest's voice cut through, weak but hard. "Both of you, stand down."

Neither man moved.

"I said stand down." Drest took a step forward, nearly collapsed, was caught, but the order remained. "We're not fighting down here. Anyone who can't accept that can walk back up to the surface and face the demons alone."

Silence. Brennan stepped back first, and Roth followed, and Cael's hand came off the wall only after both of them had moved.

"Better," Lysa said. She looked at Drest. "You need medical attention, and you're not fit to command."

"I'm the senior officer here." Drest locked his knees so he wouldn't sway.

"You're dying. Slowly. And we can't afford officers who won't last the week."

Drest's face showed he knew it was true. "Then what do you suggest?"

"Joint command. You and me, Karthian and Valorheim both. We decide together."