Stocke continued to track Raynie and Marco and their band of mercenaries from a distance. Fulton's capture and release seemed to be the appropriate edit to the timeline. So far so good. Stocke flipped ahead a few pages, trying to remember if there was anything else he needed to worry about. Hadn't Raynie said something about...there it was.

...oh no.


It took forever for the noise to fade, the roar of the falling earth louder than any beast she'd ever faced, any storm she'd ever weathered. Even locked in Marco's arms, the dust was choking and she fought to breathe. For a long moment she thought the tunnel was still shaking and then realized no, it was only her. Or maybe Marco. Maybe both of them. Eventually the pounding of her heart and the rushing of her pulse were the only things audible over her laboured breathing. Somewhere in the darkness, gravel shifted and she tightened her grip on her friend. Marco adjusted his hold, placing one hand over her head. He wore a helmet, she didn't. When no more rocks descended from the ceiling, she dared to look up.

Hand shaking, she held out her arm. Magic crackled and a small sphere of blue light formed just above her outstretched palm. The sudden light stabbed her pupils, making her squint, though it could not be much brighter than a candle flame. Beside her, Marco carefully got to his feet, as if afraid any sudden movement might bring the rest of the roof down. A rasping noise made both of them start and whip around.

A solid wall of earth and gravel stood less than six inches away, sloping sharply up towards the ceiling. Huge boulders, larger than a man, crowded one another within the narrow space of the collapsed tunnel. Lifting the light in her hand, Raynie cast about for the noise. Beside her, Marco drew his sword. There was no sign of the rest of the group- unless one counted pieces of broken weapons or the odd scrap of clothing tangled hopelessly among the debris.

'Dead.' The word echoed inside Raynie's head, around the walls of the mine shaft. 'They're all dead…'

She and Marco had been near the front of the group. There had been virtually no warning when the tunnel collapsed, only strong hands pushing her forward, another pair pulling her along. There had been sixteen of them. Now...it was just the two of them.

The moan came again. Raynie shrieked and danced away as something grabbed hold of her ankle. Marco raised his blade, ready to bring it down, but started and stopped short. Casting the weapon aside, he dropped to his knees and began digging frantically. A few handfuls of scooped earth revealed what had grabbed her. The light wavered as she swallowed hard and took a step forward.

Brother Fulton lay facing the ceiling, almost completely buried beneath the fallen tunnel roof, only his head and left arm exposed. Hood thrown back, his face, hair, and ubiquitous blindfold were coated in a thick layer of brown dust. His mouth and throat worked mutely, producing only the horrible gasping sound. It reminded her of a rusty cart wheel, stabbing the ears and setting her teeth on edge. With his free arm he flailed, groping in the half-light until he found Marco's sleeve.

"It's alright, Brother," Marco told him gently. "We'll get you out."

No sooner had he said this than a fresh wash of gravel slid down from the ceiling, undoing all of his work and filling the monk's mouth with dirt. Kneeling, Raynie did her best to brush the worst of it away as he coughed and spit.

Brother Fulton struggled to speak, his lips forming words, but making no other sound save the rusted metal rasp. Marco took his hand in both of his and held it. Maybe it was the blue light, but Raynie thought he looked ill. Feeling sick herself, she looked at Brother Fulton, at the wash of rock and earth crushing him, and back again. There was no way they could get him out. Digging would only trigger another cave-in, and even if they could by some miracle get out from under the giant pile of boulders, what good would it do? Brother Fulton was more than injured, he'd been crushed, all but his head and shoulders and arm squashed pancake flat. He would not survive long enough to receive treatment, not that there was any treatment to give. Similar thoughts must have been going through Marco's head, for she noticed the beginnings of a healing spell sparkling around his hands. Reaching, Raynie laid a hand on his. Marco looked up at her, expression helpless. The spell faded and vanished.

Swallowing hard, she watched Brother Fulton's lips, struggling to decipher what he was trying to say. At first she thought he was saying 'save me', but then…

'Raynie…' The bottom dropped out of her stomach. 'He's saying my name.'

Gently, she took Fulton's hand from Marco and immediately he quieted.

"It's okay," she told him, voice constricted but remarkably even. "I'm okay. Both Marco and I are fine. We got out all right. You saved us."

He seemed reassured by that, though his throat still worked, trying hard to pull air into lungs crushed flat.

'Go,' he mouthed, squeezing her hand once. Lips pressed together, Raynie swallowed hard. He wanted her to escape, to be safe, but she'd be damned if she was going to leave him here to die alone of suffocation. The tunnel rumbled threateningly, making her jerk her head up in alarm.

"Raynie…" Marco began. A warm, orange light flared as he lifted his lantern. The glass was gone, but it still burned bright as day in the tomb the tunnel had become.

"Just a minute," she mumbled, shaking fingers fumbling at her belt. Allowing the light in her hand to flicker and fade, she stroked a hand over Fulton's dirty hair. His fair skin was turning dark and blotchy as he fought for air and lost.

"Shh…" she whispered, touching her forehead to his. Although his throat still bulged and constricted with effort, the horrible rasping had ceased. Tenderly, she touched her lips to his. He kissed her in return, his free hand falling heavily to the tunnel floor as she whisked her dagger across his throat.

"I'm sorry," she told him, letting his head loll to one side against her hand. "Goodbye..."

The tunnel trembled again. Hurrying to her feet, she grabbed Marco's outstretched hand and ran.


Mentally, Stocke cursed. What was the point was saving a man from death on the battlefield if he was only going to die later of what looked like an accident but wasn't? Apparently Fate had only room enough for two to escape, and Fulton was not to be one of them. Raynie and Marco were the crucial characters in this story. However, Stocke had a feeling that Fulton's role, while anonymous, might be just as important. He needed to stay alive, and not simply to spare Raynie the pain of losing yet another friend.

The prayer book had come to Stocke. By all rights it should have been lost on the battlefield, or burned as fuel for an Alistel campfire, but it hadn't. The book had survived, if not it's owner, which meant that Fulton was important, though Stocke did not yet know how. Perhaps because of this, the monk seemed hellbent on getting himself killed.

He would not survive the battle with the Alistel troops without help. However, if he lived, he would be killed in the mine collapse. How then to save his life and then preserve it? What did one do to a monk who needed saving from himself? What did Abbots do with unrepentant clerics? Confine them to their cell to pray and reflect, most likely.

Wait a minute.

Cell.

The idea struck Stocke's brain like a bolt of lightning and he snapped the White Chronicle closed. Yes. It was just crazy enough to work.