The Edge of Dawn

[Rugs]

Satisfaction rippled through Kvothe. The beast had evaded his attack, but Sevrael capitalized on the moment and sent her careening into one of the nearby cells. Despite the dire situation, despite the hatred bubbling in his belly, Kvothe smirked.

That's it, he crowed silently as he watched the thing push itself back to its feet. Stand back up. Keep fighting so I can prove him wrong. He shifted his stance as he felt the Mythos stir and writhe at the thing's bidding. So I can prove you all wrong.

"Calm, First Sword," Sevrael muttered. "Keep your head about you. "

Kvothe snorted. "I told you you don't need to worry about me." He was in perfect control of his emotions. And what good would denying anger do, when it could provide so much in the heat of battle?

The beast snapped long segments of metal from the bars behind her and lunged at him. The Mythos continued to flow into the Rilan, adding strength to his muscles and his stance. Good thing, because the filth swung mightily at him, with such force that his arms shook and he was forced to take a step back at the metal clanged loudly against the center of Pietas' shaft.

Then she whirled, turning her fury to Sevrael. The experienced Sword met the assault with a calm, steady focus, turning her blow away rather than trying to stop it head on. No doubt he could, if he desired, but energy was vital in battle, and he aimed to preserve it, rather than throw his strength away while they were still in the heart of the Unum's stronghold.

The benefit of Sevrael's method was also that it didn't stop the attack, but rather allowed the stroke to continue through, with its strength diverted away from him.

Kvothe took the moment to act, while the creature's focus was away from him. He jabbed forward with Pietas' heavy, though blunt head, aiming to strike a blow at the base of the creature's back. The wood then spun in his hand, and bottom end of the weapon licked out as he aimed to give one of her legs a hard crack with the base of the shaft and pull a leg out from under her.

[Kella]

Sveta's muscles shuddered as she collided with Kvothe's resistance, then she surged towards and past Sevreal, metal shaking against her palms.

She could feel, in something of a primal instinct, Kvothe's staff coming towards her spin, and she twisted around, throwing her momentum to the right, so that the jab clipped her hip and the swipe missed her legs entirely as she rolled.

When Sveta's feet touched the floor again, her claws dug in and she rose in a low crouch. Sveta almost attacked again, but there was a smell in the air, a distinct scent, rolling off of the younger one. She grinned wickedly.

"You are beink tardy, Mythic," she thrummed. "You should have heard her scream when Vorian was havink his way." She licked her fangs thoughtfully. "But don't worry. You will be hearink her scream again when I have my way." Sveta's tail swished and her eyes glinted.

[Rugs]

Kvothe snarled.

"Calm, Kvothe," Sevrael warned, slinking slowly to the side to reposition himself for the next round against the Shistavanen. He feared that she was beginning to notice how fiercely Kvothe's emotions were running. If past evidence of how the Rilan performed in an emotionally compromised state was anything to go on, her success could prove to be disastrous. "Don't let her get to you."

Kvothe didn't hear his partner's warnings. Red flowed into his irises like blood, and his brow knitted darkly as fury swept through him. "You won't touch her. I won't allow it."

"I plucked Fides from you."

The leather of Kvothe's glove creaked softly as his grip tightened on Pietas' shaft. "Shut up," he growled through his teeth.

"I plucked father from you."

He growled, as the red in his eyes darkened to the color of drying blood and continued to push away the brilliant, shining gold. Why was Vorian always there? Why did he torment him so? "I said shut up," he said again, angry.

But there was a note of pleading in his voice as well. He didn't want to remember the words that were coming. He didn't want to be reminded of another failure.

"And now, I'm going to pluck that girl away from you."

Worry pushed through Sevrael as he looked on at Kvothe. The Rilan's countenance was changing. What few vestiges of calm Kvothe had been holding onto were melting away before his eyes, and his presence in the Mythos was rapidly growing more and more like one of the agitated, frenzied storms that stalked the plains in spring. That wasn't good. He needed to be a stone, solid and unmoving.

"Kvothe," he said again, his voice growing more concerned.

"I said shut up!" Kvothe roared abruptly at the Shistavanen. Pietas clattered to the ground, discarded. In its place, Kvothe drew his sword, Talio.

That's not what we're set up for, Sevrael thought quickly. I have to adjust...

Kvothe was already starting to rush the Shistavanen before Sevrael had a chance to move. Sevrael swore under his breath and quickly changed plans. Kvothe had to be stopped, and calmed. The set of his blade spoke of the style he planned to use. It was a solid form, powerful and with an almost wild sort of aggression to it. But it required a steady mind, or the aggression could easily be used against the attacker.

Just as he feared was about to happen as Kvothe fell onto the Shistavanen in a furious flurry of steel and anger.

[Kella]

Sveta sneered at the elder's words of caution; she could see the rage, in those eyes. She knew that bloody red. It made the man spit and snap, ordering the sudden silence of the prison to be quiet.

"I said shut up!" he yelled, punctuated by the hollow ring of his staff hitting the floor.

A rough, scraping noise started up in Sveta's throat, growing as the man drew his sword, sending her chest heaving.

She was laughing. A wicked howl leapt between a glinting grin, and Sveta dropped one of the bars, putting both arms behind the other as it caught the first blow. And then another, and another, as Sveta's bemused howls echoed one upon the other through the narrow space.

Kvothe's blade struck the bar so hard as to dig in and stick, bringing Sveta's muzzle mere inches from his face.

"You have your brother's eyes," she whispered, alluringly. Her breath hung there for a moment, then she twisted away. The sword's next blow cleaved the end from the bar, and the next shattered the rest. Sveta was left standing, empty-handed. Time bent as the sword raced closer. Pieces clicked together in Sveta's brain, as they always did.

The angle of the attack.

The approach of the other, to stop it.

The smell of rage.

Forethought and action blended seamlessly as Sveta's right hand caught the broad edge of the blade, too predictably inclined, and her left caught the hilt, too set in its course. The sword thrummed with an aggression that Sveta needed only to guide, only to redirect, just to the side, to the friend that had come too close...

The blade made a wet, sticky noise as it dug into the man's stomach. Really, that's what insides were, wet and sticky. It's what made them taste so good...

Sveta's mouth watered at the smell of blood, and instinct drove her jaws to snap around the arm of the distracted Mythic. Her teeth easily pierced both fabric and flesh, and blood rushed into her mouth, the metallic taste on her tongue sending a tingle down her spine.

[Rugs]

Kvothe attacked relentlessly. The Mythos within him echoed his emotions, a furious swirling maelstrom of hate and anger. It surged into his muscles, gave him a righteous strength that he'd use to cut down the filth. He'd smite her, destroy her, and leave her broken body to be lost forever beneath the ruins of the mountain.

But the beast wasn't making it easy. His first stroke slammed into the bars she used to defend herself. So great was his fury-fueled strength that his sword buried itself into the metal bar. So great was the force of the blow that Kvothe found his weapon stuck, unable to pull it away before the beast leaned in to give another taunt.

"You have your brother's eyes," she whispered. Kvothe's grip tightened on his sword, and for a moment it seemed that he were the beast as he snarled y at her. "Shut up," he repeated in a voice that was more animalistic growl than spoke word.

They twisted away from each other at once. Kvothe wrenched Talio free of the bar and struck again. And again. His attack was so strong, so relentless that he destroyed the beast's weapon, left her empty handed and helpless.

Now. His stance shifted. His muscles tightened. I've got her now.

Kvothe lunged.

Everything seemed to happen at once.

He felt another force exerted on the blade of his weapon, felt another hand grasping the hilt of his sword and guiding it from the path he'd set it on. He tried, in a moment of reflexive reaction, to push back against the influence, but he was too set in his attack. Perhaps if he'd been dueling a weaker foe he could find a way to overpower them, but even with the Mythos flooding through him, the Shistavanen was strong, and it was too late for him to react.

Time slowed.

Squelsh

Blade met flesh, and thick, warm red splattered across the rough stone floor. But the blood was not from the beast. Nor was it Kvothe's.

Sevrael was there. He'd stepped in, trying to stop Kvothe and save him from his own aggression. The sound of the older Sword's weapons echoed in Kvothe's mind as they clattered on the floor. Sevrael gasped, his ears standing on end and his feline eyes wide in surprise.

As Kvothe looked down, he saw the red, angry line Talio left in the Farghul's stomach. The blade itself hung in the air, still as a stone. The end of the weapon was slick and red. Blood pooled into a drop that hung from the tip.

Kvothe's gasp of shock was loud in his own ears. Sharp veins of yellow cracked the dark bloody red in his irises. "Sevrael-"

Pain exploded in his arm.

Talio feel to the ground as he screamed, the rest of the world forgotten even as Sevrael stumbled away and fell back against a wall.

The beast was attacking him. Her jaws had closed around his arm, and her teeth were digging into him, through cloth and flesh and muscle.

He fell to his knees, overtaken by the wave of pain as she held onto his arm. The red in his eyes continued to wane, fast replaced by fear's pale yellow. He'd been stupid. He should have listened to Sevrael. But he'd run away with his emotions and now...

He yelled again as the beast's grip on his arm tightened.

Now he would die, if he didn't do something to free himself. That was a certainty. Was this what it would all come down to? All of his struggles, all of his pushing and fighting, to die here, in a dark dungeon, to be forgotten when the mountain fell down around him? To not even meet his end at his brother's own hand?

"Always so stubborn, Ishar," Vorian's voice whispered through the blinding pain. "Always fighting and fighting. But the story's always the same. No matter how much you try, you're never good enough."

"No," Kvothe whispered. The yellow in his eyes had continued to expand, pushing toward the edge of his irises. Suddenly it stopped, leaving a ring of red around the outside of his eyes.

Then flecks of black began to appear.

Suddenly the Mythos was in him again, surging like a typhoon. Kvothe's free hand tightened into a fist and instincts took over. With the Mythos pushing as much power as he could will into his muscles, he slammed the gauntleted fist into the beast's furry side. The sharp spikes on the knuckles came away slick with blood. He punched her again, willing himself to strike harder. And again. And again and again. He'd keep punching her, stabbing her, even break bone if he had to.

But she would release him. He'd come too far, and Iri still needed him.

[Kella]

The first blow barely registered in Sveta's mind, the second made her muscles convulse, and she could feel the connective tissue, the fiber of the muscle tear under her teeth. The third struck a bone and sent her whole skeleton ringing with pain, and by the fourth her side was soaked with blood.

Stars began to explode across Sveta's vision, the stone floor began to rock and sway like a stormtossed deck. Her jaws went slack with the fifth blow, and the next broke her hold entirely. The floor lurched up slapped across her back. Dark, slick blood slowly, reluctantly, began to pool on the stone. Each wound stung with its own fire, but Sveta was a creature of fire.

Her limbs did not move. Her breath was ragged and shallow. Her eyes stared blankly ahead, their glow faded.

But her tongue curved gently, deliberately, lapping the blood off her teeth and savoring the taste.


Iri strained, she reached, her fingers outstretched to the farthest, metal bars burning against her chest, her shoulder.

She could smell it, the thin blue smoke that drug blades of desire around her head.

She could see nothing. The light had drained from her eyes as the etherium had drained from her veins.

She was blind. There was nothing but darkness. Creatures of the darkness, with gnashing teeth on her hands and flashing claws that ripped down her back and eyes that cut her head open and knives, and knives, and he was holding a knife, and a moan of desperate longing filled Iri's chest. She reached further, further, but her fingertips could not touch it.

The sprig of Etherium the wolf had dropped. So close, so very close, the smell in her head, but not enough, she needed it, it would bring the light back, but she couldn't reach.

She couldn't...

They weren't coming for her.

A moan of fear and longing and pain congealed inside of her until it broke, the pieces shattering into sobs that wracked her body, making the bars dig in deeper, sharper as she reached, her fingertips searing with the closeness, until it was too much.

Iri collapsed, her whole body going limp, save for the trembling sobs, her arm still outstretched towards the light.

Then the sobs began to fade, but not because the pain was fading.

Because her lungs could not draw in the air.

Because her muscles could not tremble.

Because her life was slipping away.

[Rugs]

Kvothe struck. Again and again and again. Before long, he could feel the beast's ribs crack, could feel blood slicking the back of his fingers. But still she held onto his arm.

He struck again. Her grip on him began to weaken. Then, with another strike, her jaws relaxed and freed his arm.

Suddenly free, Kvothe stumbled back away from the beast and fell back on the ground. He clutched his arm to the chest of his armor and clinched his jaw against the sting of the cold in the dungeon's air. With his free, good hand he quickly grasped Talio and held the weapon with a hard, white-knuckled grip.

The beast could strike again. He had to be ready.

No... The yellow began to fade from his eyes as he saw that she was sprawled limply across the floor. With quick, shaky breaths, Kvothe forced himself to his feet.

He took a moment to inspect the damage. To say that his sleeve was ruined would be an understatement. It was tattered and wet with a disgusting mix of the beast's spit and his own blood. The wounds themselves were still bleeding, and ranged from shallow to some that were fairly deep, where the canines had dug into his flesh. He'd have new scars, most likely.

Kvothe sheathed Talio and held a shaking hand up to his forearm. He wasn't a healer, but the soft light and weaving of the Mythos into his flesh could at least stop the bleeding and give him time to get out to a healer proper.

He felt another calling on the Mythos and looked to Sevrael. The Farghul had moved himself to lay near a wall, and was quietly working on healing himself. Like Kvothe, Sevrael was not a healer, though he had the greater skill for it between the two of them.

Even then, Sevrael would need attention soon. Talio had cut him badly, and he was only buying himself time.

For a moment, the two of them made eye contact. Kvothe felt a rush of shame as he looked into the feline's eyes, but Sevrael motioned him onward. "Go, Kvothe," he said softly. "Get the girl."

Iri.

A long, low moan echoed out from deeper in the dungeon. Kvothe made a stumbling rush to the sound's origin, stepping over the body of the defeated beast.

She was there, laying on the cold floor, arm outstretched toward a small vial of etherium that'd fallen away from Sveta.

"Iri," Kvothe said as he crouched beyond the cell bars. "Iri, I'm here." With his good arm he grabbed the cell door and shook it violently. The lock held fast, and the she remained imprisoned still behind the unyielding metal.

"Dammit, dammit, dammit," Kvothe muttered, growing agitated. He didn't have time to search for a key. He couldn't turn away from her now, when he'd come so far.

The Mythos felt his anger, and came to him. Kvothe's fingers clawed, and the air around the door began to grow thick and heavy. He willed the Mythos to close with a crushing might, and metal groaned loudly as the bars began to bend. The hinges grew weak and snapped, one by one, until he pulled the door free and set it down with a loud, reverberating clang.

"Come on." He grabbed the vial as he rushed inside to her. His good hand went to her head, lifting it gently and cradling it against his leg as he sat next to her. With the other, he pushed the top off the vial and held it close to her nose, offering the dust's strength.

"Come on, Iri. We came for you"

[Kella]

Irrisorie was swimming.

Her hair drifted in swirls all around her, glints of gold wandering past her eyes.

The water was black. And cold.

So cold. Iri's eyes stared blankly out into the darkness. She became aware of a great grinding, creaking sound. Was there a whale, in the ocean? Crying out in pain?

There was a louder noise, one that rung through the water and sent cold streams stroking along her face. Then there was quiet.

A pin-prick of light appeared in the center of Iri's vision.

"Come on," it whispered. Then, smooth as silk, "Come on Iri. We came for you."

The pinprick of light grew brighter, illuminating shadowy forms in the water, like bits of cloth drifting in the current. Their faces were contorted with pain, wracked with misery, and they whispered.

"We came for you."

They began to usher her towards the light, which was steadily growing not brighter, but closer.

Suddenly, all the shadows convulsed as one, and Iri was surrounded by smiling, joyful faces. She kicked her feet and began to swim, towards the light, though her limbs were heavy with numbness.

Another flicker, and the faces screamed again. Then a twitch, and they were happy. And again, and again, back and forth as Irrisorie and the light drew closer.

Finally, Irrisorie reached the source of the light. It was a large sphere, just small enough that she could wrap her arms around it, exuding a heat that replaced the numbness with the prickle and sting of a thousand needles. Iri hesitated, and the shadows twisted one last time, this time setting in faces of every expression. Suddenly, the shadows began to rip and tear at each other, filling the water with a horrible whistling scream.

Iri reached out for the ball of light, knowing that it would make it stop, make the ringing and the stinging stop.

The moment her hands touched the sphere, the shadows vanished as two giant eyes appeared, one on either side of her, and a thousand teeth the size of pikes clamped shut to swallow her up.


Iri's body convulsed, as if resisting the return of her consciousness. Her head reeled, but something primal within her knew the smell that was filling her head.

Her eyes darted over Kvothe's face, unseeing, unrecognizing, seeking only the source of the smell, only -- the vial.

Like vipers her hands snapped out to snatch it, to bring it close, to breathe the life. As the vial tipped towards her, the powder began to slip, to fall, and would have, if not for the sudden strength in Iri's lungs. Voracious, hungry breaths drew more than just the smell of Etherium into Irrisorie's nose, until the vial was empty, the only remnants a fine dusting of the blue sparkle on Iri's face.

The girl suddenly threw herself to her feet, managing less than a step before reeling again, the rough stone wall catching her before she could fall. She began to mutter, a string of familiar words with no connection, and turned as if looking for something, but her legs buckled again.

And yet she could feel it, feel the tingle in her limbs, feel the room grow the smallest shade brighter. She could see, vague shadows of things, the emptiness of one wall, the shadow of a man--

A man glinting with spikes and smelling of blood.

The girl's eyes widened and her heart began to pound, she threw herself away from the shadow, away from the man, until the wall came up behind her and pressed into her back.

The shadow, the shadow of a man, standing with a knife dripping with blood.

Irrisorie's face was so pale as to almost glow in the darkness, and she pressed, pressed as hard as she could manage against the wall, but the stone would not budge.

"No, please," she pleaded, voice cracking. "Please don't hurt me, Please."

[Rugs]

Kvothe held Iri securely as her body convulsed in his hands. His grip was firm, to keep her from hurting herself--or inadvertently hitting him--but it was also gentle. With only one good arm, he lacked the strength to make it anything more than that.

He saw her eyes move in the dim light. They fell on him for a moment. Though he still thought she looked dazed, he desperately hoped that this movement in her attention, this realization that he was there was a positive step.

Come on Iri, he wanted to urge her. Come on. We have to go.

Suddenly her hand snapped the vial of etherium from his fingers, very much like the way some turtles native to the southern swamps snapped fish and birds out of the water. "Iri..." he said, surprised by the sudden vigor in her movements.

Before his weary mind could fully wrap around what was happening, she'd inhaled the entirety of the etherium held within the vial. Kvothe just sat there, blinking in surprise, his expression dumbfounded.

It wouldn't be saying much to say he'd not expected that.

The girl lurched to her feet then, with an apparent vigor rushing through her. Kvothe's heart dared to rise and hope that she was still well, and apparently very much Iri, but his hopes came crashing down just as she did.

"No, no, no," he said softly, leaning forward toward her. He was just now starting to realize how much the truncated battle with the fallen beast had taken out of him; his arms hurt from all the effort of keeping her strikes away and from the fury of his own crazed offensive.

That doesn't matter right now. He willed himself forward, crawling toward Iri's fallen form. Only her. I have to save her.

"Iri, slow down. You need to take it e-"

Her eyes went wide. Kvothe froze.

"Iri..." he said slowly.

She fled, as far as the confines of the cell would allow.

"No, please," she begged him, pressing her body against the wall as if the uncaring stone would give the freedom she needed to escape, "please don't hurt me. Please."

Kvothe brows knitted in concern. Couldn't she recognize him? Was she that poor off, or was the etherium rushing into her blood confusing her?

"Hurt you?" Some of the confusion he felt echoed into his voice. He sat back up again, crouching slightly with his good arm pressed to the floor for support. "Iri, I'm not going to hurt you. I came to save you. To take you home, to the Tower, where it's safe."

He scanned her face, searching for any hints of recognition. Silently, he thanked the etherium and the natural enhanced vision in low-light that his people enjoyed for making it easier to make out the features of her face through the dark and the shadows of the dungeon.

"Remember me? Kvothe. I gave you the crystal..." Even though it hurt, he reached with his wounded arm into one of his pockets, feeling around with his fingers until he found the small green crystal he'd taken on Ruusan. He was suddenly very glad he'd looked through some of her things before they left.

"Here," Kvothe said softly, rolling the little stone across the floor to her. "Remember me?"

[Kella]

Iri whimpered. A sudden pang of pressure closed in around her head, and she pressed her hands to her temples, in the hopes that it might ease a strange feeling that she was teetering, rocking over a cliff, about to either fall or fly.

The shadow was saying things, but the words became tangled on their way to her brain, distorted by the loud thudding of her heart. A shiver ran down her spine.

The crystal made a quiet scraping noise as it rolled, which sent prickles up her arms. Her eyes flushed a shade brighter as a spark alit in the center of the crystal. Entranced, Iri reached out, ever so slowly, fingertips towards the crystal. She cupped it into her palms, held it to the level of her eyes. As she watched, the crystal gradually filled with light, glowing brighter and brighter.

There was a sudden flicker, a shift in the air as if the Mythos had suddenly been charged. The crystal erupted with shafts of light, each subtle flaw sending a beam flaring out through the darkness. The light glinted off of something, and Iri's eyes darted up, breaking the trance. A beam struck Kvothe's face, and Iri's eyes began to glow with a smile.

"Kvothe!" she exclaimed, and rushed towards him, throwing her arms around him, unbothered by the spikes that covered his armor. "Hm," She said, letting him go, "Did you know you're leaking paint everywhere?"

[Rugs]

Kvothe felt his breath hold in his chest as the crystal bounced and scraped along the floor to Iri. There was a fear, lurking down in some deep, quiet corner of his being that even this gesture wouldn't be enough to bring Iri to the realization that he was her friend. How much damage had Vorian done to her?

A prick of light appeared, starting deep within the crystal's heart, and Kvothe began to breathe again. Iri's fingers brushed the crystal's smooth surface, and she picked up as the light started to grow.

A smile touched Kvothe's face as he dared to hope that everything would be alright. The light kept growing, bringing Iri's face out of the shadow. And then, there was a shift, a change in the Mythos.

Beams of light erupted from the crystal, illuminating the cell. Every fracture and face and flaw in the crystal created a new shaft of light. One fell on Kvothe's face, but it didn't blind him. It was bright, but it was soft. Warm. Comforting, almost.

He looked at Iri, smiling more as hope swelled in his chest. Her eyes were alive now, and in them he saw the kind, loving, innocent girl he knew her to be.

"Kvothe!" she exclaimed, rushing over to him and throwing her arms around him.

Kvothe laughed and hugged her back with his good arm. He tried to avoid getting blood on her, but the reckless eagerness of her embrace put his intentions to waste. "Iri," he said, laughing softly and giving her a pat on the back, "it's good to see you again."

She let him go and looked at him. With the new light in the cell, he wasn't surprised that she noticed how bloody he was.

"Yeah..." he said softly. "I had to fight very hard to get to you. But I'm here now and your safe." Another smile, soft and brotherly, touched his face. The colors in his eyes swirled again and a strong, verdant green melded with brilliant gold.

"And that's all that matters. But now we need to get out of here." He threw a glance back over his shoulder, to where he knew Sevrael was still laying. Still hurting, because of his own foolishness. I won't let you die too, Sevrael. I'll get us all out of here.

"Come on." Kvothe stood to his feet, keeping a hand on the rough stone wall for support. "Sevrael came with us, and he needs help. Can you walk alright? We need to move quickly."

[Kella]

Iri listened patiently, unsure of what was going on, but unbothered by the fact.

"Can you walk alright?" He asked.

Iri nodded dutifully, "Mhm!" The light was beginning to settle out, the rush easing away. Iri jumped to her feet and took a few steps before her legs buckled, and a wave of vertigo caught her head. She plopped down onto the rock and stayed there a moment as the cell spun around her. "Actually," she said thoughtfully, "No."

The dizziness faded to lightheadedness, but did not entirely disappear. "Do you have any more Etherium?" she asked suddenly.

[Rugs]

Oh good, Kvothe thought as Iri pushed her way up to her feet. She can walk. If two of them could walk, getting out of the base in any decent fashion would be much, much easier. And from the look of things, Sevrael's gonna need help. Guilt stabbed at him. It was his fault his companion was laying on the ground in a growing puddle of his own blood.

His fault. His failure.

I should have listened to him...

Retrospection would have to wait, though. They were still in enemy territory. Time was of the essence.

Kvothe looked back to Iri to see taking a few steps. They were awkward, choppy, but awkward and choppy was better than not being able to walk at all...

And then she fell.

Kvothe sighed. Great.

"Actually, no," Iri said.

"I can tell, Kvothe answered, perhaps a bit more dryly than he should have. Immediately he felt a pang of regret and scooted over to her with a quiet sigh. "But you tried, alright? Not your fault."

Kvothe considered his options while he allowed Iri a moment to gather her senses again. Sevrael would have to be helped along the way. There wasn't any getting around that. If Iri could carry herself, then Kvothe could assist Sevrael until they found some more Mythics. But if Iri can't move either... Leaving them alone while he hunted for assistance wasn't an option; he hadn't come this far and nearly gotten an arm bitten off to have them both killed or kidnapped again. Did he dare risk waiting in the dungeon until more help arrived?

Trapped like rats. The muscles along Kvothe's jaw stood out as he clenched his teeth. I don't like it.

"Do you have any more Etherium?"

"Hm?" Kvothe's brows raised as he glanced at Iri. "Etherium? No, not on me I don't think." His hands patted his pockets--what few pockets he could access with his armor on. They were empty. As was the pouch hanging from the sash at his waist. "No I don't have any." Concern touched him, drawing his brows together as he looked at her. Iri's particular brand of addiction was a strange thing, and sometimes dangerous when she couldn't get any more of the precious powder. "Do you need some? Do you feel yourself starting to go?"

"Keh-vothe..."

There was that musical, lilting accent, with words so softly spoken. Sevrael.. Kvothe's swung around to look at his fallen comrade. "Yeah? What do you need?"

Sevrael managed a smile and a very weak, trembling laugh. "Need? Who says I need anything, lad? Here..." A trembling hand withdrew from robes, where Kvothe had thought he was keeping pressure on his wound. Instead, there was a small sprig of Etherium. An emergency ration. Nothing much, but considering the other option was nothing, it would have to do.

Kvothe motioned with his hand for Iri to stay where she was and went over to the Farghul. "Thank you." He pressed a hand to Sevrael's shoulder as he took the Etherium from his hand. "I'm gonna get you outta here, Sevrael. I swear."

Sevrael smiled and gently shook his head. "I know you will, lad. But right now, worry about the girl. You came for her." His smile grew a little and for a moment, some of the life returned to his eyes. "It'll take more than a simple stroke like that to get rid of me anyway."

"Yeah..." Kvothe agreed, nodding slowly. He felt a lump in his throat. "I know it will." He gave two pats to Sevrael's shoulder and quickly returned to Iri. "Here you go, Iri," he said, holding the sprig out to her. It felt pitifully small for the distance they had to go to get out and to safety.

"It's not much, but... I guess it'll have to do."

[Kella]

Iri greedily took the sprig, small though it was, and stumbled towards Sveta. She’d seen the wolf-woman with her flame-stick, seen where she’d tucked it... Iri’s hand dove into the pocket at Sveta’s hip and closed around the lighter. Only Sveta’s eyes moved, watching Iri. Their gazes caught for a moment, and Iri froze.

Her mind was utterly blank.

Then her body shuddered involuntarily, and the moment ended. She turned away from Sveta and fumbled with the flame-stick, finally able to light the sprig.

The smoke filled her head with wonderful light. She could walk a bit better, now. Kvothe set off with Sevreal, and Iri followed faithfully. It’s just that everything was... blurred, vague, a bit odd. Not like a dream, dreams were always clear as glass until you woke up. No, this was different...

She swayed at the top of the dungeon stairs, but caught herself. Strange muffled noises met her ears, like the howl of cats mixed with something mechanical... Slowly she realized that they were the yells of people, and the clangs of battle, but even this couldn’t mean much to her. Iri took another deep breath of Etherium, but realized that the air smelled only of dankness. She looked down, and realized the sprig had crumbled.

Oh...

She became aware of Kvothe... saying something, or moving, yes he was moving now, and she followed him. Just for a little longer, just a few more steps and she could rest, just up to Kvothe, now, to get them out of the mountain...

[Rugs]

One foot in front of the other. And again. And again...

Progress was slow, but they were making it, step by plodding step, away from the fortress' dank dungeon. The familiar sounds of battle greeted them again as they rose higher into the mountain. Metal clanged distantly on metal, gunfire echoed through long, stony halls, and the gentle whumph of explosions shook the very stone beneath their feet.

Kvothe knew that now they were truly in the dangerous stage of the operation. Until they could join up with another group of Mythics, they were alone. In enemy territory. His wounds needed attetnion, Severael was inching closer to death with every precious drop of blood he lost, and Iri wasn't in any condition to fight.

If someone finds us... The notion sent an icy finger down his spine. It was possible, more so than Kvothe wanted to think. Lithe and slender as Sevrael was, he was a feline mass of dense, compact muscle, and it made him deceptively heavy. His armor and Kvothe's weariness only compounded the problem.

To say it made the going slow would be to make a bit of an understatement.

Kvothe--and Sevrael, for that matter--had come to far to turn back, though, so he pushed ahead, calling on the Mythos for strength.

And on Fortune to see him through one more storm.

Fortune, as it turned out, listened. After a while, they reached the top of a flight of stairs that fed into a long, narrow corridor. A group of people approached as Kvothe's trio emerged. Immediately, Kvothe froze, as a knot of worry twisted his stomach. But then he noticed the insignia on an armored chest. An empty circular starburst.

"Kvothe," one of the figures, a woman, called. "Sevrael? Moons above, what happened to you two?"

Kvothe smiled in spite of himself. He recognized that voice. "Lyra. Mythos, I'm glad to see you. We got Iri. But we need to get out of here. All of us."

Sevrael's body shuddered against Kvothe as he coughed a laugh. "There was a bit of trouble waiting down below for us. But, we survived." He looked at Kvothe with a little smile and somehow, amusement glinted in his feline eyes. "And surviving to see another day is all that matters now."

"Right." Lyra sighed. "Geran, Kalaza, help Sevrael. Teryn, check to make sure the girl's alright." Lyra walked toward the group, armor shining dully in the dusty light. She smiled warmly at them. "We'll escort you out. Your job is complete."

[Kella]

Everything was blurry and strange and felt half-real... thoughts kept slipping away, places seemed at once familiar and utterly strange, voices faded in and out of making sense.

A young man came up to her, and he began talking, though his words were strange. She stared at him curiously, and every moment his tone became more urgent and urgent, until Irrisorie's mind finally put his words back into order.

"Miss, my name is Teryn. Are you alright?"

She shook her head, then said with complete earnestness, "No, I'm only half right, the other half is left."

This answer seemed to bother him. "Come this way," he said, gently pressing his hand against the back of her arm and ushering her after Kvothe. There were several other Mythics, and the pack tucked Iri, Kvothe and Sevreal safely in the middle. "Are you hurt?"

Of course not, Iri never hurt. She shook her head again, but this time it made the entire mountain shake, and rock back and forth and shudder under her feet, and she stumbled and then kept her head still. "No, but I am rather dizzy..."

"Let me help you," he said.

"Oh, don't worry, it's actually sort of fun. Like an amusement-park ride." Iri smiled sweetly. But a few steps later the ground careened again, and she would have fallen if not for his hand at her elbow. The man glanced back at the darkness of the hall and made a decision.

"Then you'll like this," he said, scooping Iri up and moving quickly to catch up with the others. "Hold on."

She wrapped her arms around his neck as they raced through the halls.

"Kvothe saved me," she told Teryn proudly.

"Yes he did," he replied.

"He is a very good man."

"He's a hero." Focused though he was, Teryn could spare half a smile.

"So are you."

Another explosion sent a tremor and the smell of sulfur through the hall, and the Mythics reached another set of stairs. They were getting closer to the surface.

"A what?" Teryn said, breath growing shorter as they climbed the stairs.

"You're a hero," Iri insisted.

He chuckled wryly as the shouts of Unum solders wound their way up the staircase. "Not yet I'm not."

Iri's mind fell into that odd space between waking and sleeping in which time becomes pliable, sometimes cramming itself altogether into the smallest space, and other times stretching out so wide as to make heartbeats seem like hours.

A chill mountain wind welcomed them to the surface. Iri began to shiver violently, so Teryn draped his cloak around her as Lyra began to interrogate Kvothe about his own wounds. Iri looked up to see a Mythic ship sweeping towards them, the heat of its engines turning snow to steam that joined the thick mists of the mountains.

The next moment, the ship was lifting off again, Mythics safely inside. The air inside the ship smelled of blood and sweat, but also of something else.

Victory.

They could see the last ships racing away from the mountain, each one now knowing that their mission had been accomplished. The mind of each Mythic raced, the satisfaction of Victory and the sweet taste of Unum blood soured by the cries and tortured faces of their own friends.

Yet, in the midst of all that, the one they had sacrificed so much to save could think of nothing more than just how beautiful the mountains were, seen from the sky.

And somehow that was the greatest victory of all.