Chapter 9 : The Lone Ranger

The night was cold and harsh, and most of the inhabitants in the temple had retired to bed. Except Shyvana, who perched on the ledge of an opened window out in the halls, finding solace in the howls and wails of the cold biting wind. From there she could catch a clear view of other smaller mountaintops of the Great Barrier, the Rakkor village at the foot of the mountain which was so tiny, she could simply blot it out with her thumb.

It was rare moments like this where she could be alone to her thoughts, letting them drift to all that had happened for the past few days. Her thoughts kept circling around the Demacian prince, her curiosity as in why the prince did not fear her even when she threatened him, whereas his men quivered at the sight of her.

She shook her head, dismissing the thoughts of the prince, and lifted a skin of watered wine to her lips. Leona had kindly given them each a skin of mulled, watered wine for the cold. Though Shyvana had the heat to keep herself warm, she appreciated her offer.

"Mind if I share your company?" a voice sounded behind her, soft yet strong. She did not have to turn back to see whom it belonged to.

"Why not?" she crept to the side, allowing him space to sit down. "Did the cold bother you?" she looked at Jarvan when he finally sat down, his face full of creases and furrows, a telltale sign of worries on his mind.

"No," he shook his head.

"Then?"

He did not answer her. Instead, he took a quick swig from his own skin, looking into the distant horizon. Shyvana could tell that something was bothering him, but she said nothing about it.

"What Leona said earlier…," he sighed. "It disturbs me,"

"About the unease in Kalamanda?" Shyvana shrugged. "There's nothing you can do about it. You can't just walk into Kalamanda and expect everything to be fine. Besides, you don't know about the full story, as Leona said,"

"But my people need me,"

"If you realized that earlier, you wouldn't even be in the Great Barrier on that dumb quest of yours," she sneered.

Jarvan whined. "It wasn't dumb, I learnt a lot from it. I am stronger than before, and I could lead my men better into battle. There's so much to learn about the world outside, and I'm no longer that child that craved for glory,"

"True, and how many of your company died because of your quest?"

Jarvan's mouth opened and closed, not knowing what to say. In the end, he gave an exasperated sigh and yielded. His shoulders slumped. "I'm really a horrible leader, am I not?"

"Don't ask me," Shyvana chuckled. "Perhaps now you are different. I don't know,"

"And you are no different from the first time I met you," Jarvan perched on the ledge, his hand lifting his skin of wine to his lips. He drank greedily. "Wherever and whenever you are, you're always wearing those gauntlets,"

Shyvana looked down to her pair of rusty gauntlets, her only memory of Bel'Zhun still vivid on her mind. It reminded her of the awe and wonder she had felt when she first laid eyes upon this piece of armor, and also pain from the lies and betrayal of the triplets whom she had trusted so much.

And the haunting sound of a familiar young man echoed in her ears. Everywhere you go, death follows.

"You know, we're safe for now," she jolted, Jarvan's deep voice bringing her back from her unpleasant memories. "You can take them off, no one's going to try and kill us,"

She remembered the vow she had made to herself, to her father. For vengeance. "No. The day I take them off is the day I slew the drake. They will remind me of my vengeance,"

Jarvan puffed his cheeks, which were already flushed from the cold. "Well, I guess you'll be wearing them for a very long time. And tomorrow we're travelling through the desert. God knows how far it would be. Don't say I didn't warn you,"

She only raised her chin defiantly. "I have the blood of the dragon, the desert heat will not bother me,"

"Hopefully," that was all he said.

They were silent for a long while, drinking from their skins while listening to the distant howl of the winds of winter upon Mount Targon. Shyvana looked up to the skies and searched for the constellations that her father had told her so long ago. What was it? The Great Caretaker?

"Tell me about your mother," the question was so sudden that Shyvana was taken aback. When she looked to her side, she could see Jarvan's eyes twinkling with curiosity. No one had ever asked about her mother, sometimes even her father tried to avoid the conversation about her mother, knowing that it always upsets her.

"Why do you care?"

"I don't know, I only know that your father is a dragon. Your mother must be human," Jarvan shrugged. "Surely your father had spoken of her? Even if you had never met her?"

She should have snapped at him and told him to mind his own business, that he shouldn't poke his nose into everyone's matters. But Shyvana did not. The wine and the cold atmosphere had made her feel calm and at peace, and for the first time since her father's demise, Shyvana felt no rage. Her heart, however, gnawed with guilt and sadness, thinking of how she had been nothing but a burden to her parents, forcing her mother to give up on her.

Jarvan must have seen the look on her face, for he too had fallen silent.

"I know my mother, my father is very fond of her, I know," she said sadly. "But I do not wish to talk about it. Perhaps another day,"

"Perhaps,"

"What about you?" the question was out of her mouth before she thought about it. "I'm sure the king and queen pampers their little prince very much,"

Jarvan chuckled. To her, it sounded rich and genuine and warm, not tensed or stressful. "When I was a child, I was a spoilt brat. I skipped lessons and purposely went to the yard to spar with the kitchen boys, disguising myself as a dirty stable boy. I would carry a wooden sword and play with them, and I'll have to run away whenever I see a knight passing by,"

Shyvana laughed. "Typical prince,"

His eyes were lost somewhere in the distance, a permanent smile imprinted upon his face. "Yes, I was quite a mischief. And my tutors would end up complaining to my Queen mother. My mother would strut into the yard, lift me by my collar and carry me back to my chambers for my lessons. On the way, she would be admonishing me for my behaviour. But I would be busy giggling at the shocked faces of those kitchen boys whenever they saw the queen.

"But on every weekend, my mother would go to this street in the Commons, and bring a sack of my favourite candies back to the palace. At noon, she would bring me to the Royal Gardens, with me sitting on her lap on the edge of the fountain, chewing the candies while she told stories of the brave Valor Knights, and the courageous deeds of my ancestors.

"I remember having nightmares quite often when I was a kid. Nightmares about this large, six-eyed raven. Its huge, monstrous beak tore strips of flesh away from me as I ran. And there was this cadaverous soldier with a crown attached to his jaw. His flesh was pale and rotting, and his dead, red eyes never left me wherever I went. Those dreams were so vivid, I always woke up thrashing and screaming, the maids forced to rouse my parents.

"It was always my mother who came. She would quickly draw me into a hug, humming a sweet melody and running her hand along my back. Then my screams would stop, and she would sing me a song to lure me to sleep. It always worked,"

Shyvana's eyes shone with sympathy. "Then?"

"Then I was 12. And I had to be enrolled into the Demacian military for several years. It was rough training, and not even my parents were allowed to see me for that period. Yet when I left the palace, my mother wasn't there to bid me farewell," his eyes glittered with sadness. "My father is a busy man. Being a king carries a heavy burden. The only time I ever see or talk to him was during dinner, and even so, the only thing he ever talks about is politics,"

"I see," she mumbled, and took a quick swig of wine. "And after you left the military?"

Jarvan's mouth opened for an answer, then he thought better of it. Like her, he said, "A tale for another time. We will need more wine for that. And perhaps you will tell me about your mother,"

She scoffed. "That is if you survive the journey tomorrow,"

"I surely will," he said proudly. "Leona said her friend would be here at first light. And that he would gladly help us. I can't help but feel curious about this… friend of hers,"

Shyvana remembered when Jarvan had asked Leona to describe the friend whom she had mentioned, which she only laughed. You'll never believe it until you see him, which was all she said.

"Well, whatever he is," Shyvana whispered. "It can't be weirder that a half-dragon,"


Before the sun rose, Jarvan and his men had already gathered at the mess halls, breaking their fast. Shyvana sat at the corner of the table, isolated from them, taking small bites from the wheatcakes set before her. She had asked for wine, but the Solari priests only told her that it was too early to serve wine.

Bullshit, Shyvana fumed, sipping a mug of boiled lemon water. It's never too early for wine. Her eyes were drooping, resulting from the lack of sleep last night.

"Good morning, prince,"

All heads turned to the entrance of the mess halls. Leona stood at the entrance donning her golden armor, though her shield and blade were nowhere to be seen. Walking behind her was the Artisan of War, his shield held aloft and his spear in the other hand, following her wherever she went like the protector he was. His face, as usual, was concealed by his helmet. Only his cold, hard stare could be seen.

Jarvan stood from the bench, retrieving his lance that was leaning against it. "Good morning, Leona. We're ready,"

"Very well," Leona nodded, before looking at Shyvana, smiling warmly. Shyvana only waved tiredly, and threw a curious glance at Pantheon behind her.

Well, they are a very good match, she mused.

"So," Jarvan cleared his throat. "This friend of yours…"

"Right, he's already here," Leona gestured behind the men, and they all turned their heads.

The candles only served to illuminate the hall dimly, yet at the end of the hall was a large shadow casted along the wall, close to twelve-feet tall. The shadow shifted as the figure moved, the shape of it clearly indicating that it wasn't human. It seemed hunched over, and there seemed to be huge spikes protruding from its body.

Shyvana gulped. She had no idea what this thing could be, and it seemed terrifying, even to her.

Until a small shape emerged from the corner of the hall, hobbling along as it fell into their line of sight.

Jarvan's jaw dropped open in disbelief. Shyvana stared, confused.

Before them was a small figure resembling an animal, with a large shell with protruding spikes on its back. Its eyes were cool and blank, as though it didn't feel bothered being the centre of attraction. Its clawed, scaly green arms hung by its side, staring at them all with wide eyes. Its lips were pursed in a thin line, betraying no emotions.

This creature was probably not even half as tall as Shyvana.

"May I present to you the Armordillo, Rammus," Leona introduced, before sighing. "Although I must warn you, he doesn't talk… much,"

Rammus' red eyes blinked once, twice. He turned away and went to Shyvana's table, climbing up the bench and reaching for a wheatcake. He tossed the whole cake into his mouth, before reaching for another one.

Jarvan still looked at Rammus with shock. "And he…"

"Crossed the Shurima Desert, yes," Leona said. "Don't be put down by his size, he can be a wonderful ally when crossing the desert. He can trudge through the sandstorm on his own like it was nothing. Right, Rammus?"

Rammus said nothing, his hand grabbing another wheatcake.

"It's best that you start moving now, prince," Leona's tone turned serious. "The winds are still today, and perhaps there may be no sandstorm. The farther you are away from the desert, the better,"

"Aye. I thank you for your hospitality, Leona," Jarvan held her hand to his lips as he kissed her knuckles as a polite gesture, though he could feel Pantheon's hard stare. Leona only giggled, and curtsied.

"Such politeness is rare in Mount Targon, you're too kind. And I have a gift for you," she looked at Pantheon and nodded. Pantheon stepped forward and held out a wooden box in one hand, carved with intricate symbols and signs. She opened the wooden box, revealing a small pendant held by a golden chain.

"The Locket of the Iron Solari," Leona held Jarvan's hand and pressed the item into his palm. "Wear this when you traverse the desert. You never know when you might need it, but I hope you don't,"

Jarvan nodded, holding the locket tightly.

"Seriously," Shyvana watched incredulously as Rammus grabbed another wheatcake, eating it hungrily. "How much does he eat?"

"Food source in the desert is scarce. That's why he eats a lot before every journey,"

"But that's just-" Rammus reached out and took the wheatcake in her hand. "Hey, that's mine!"

"I don't have much confidence in that friend of yours," Jarvan admitted. His men had started securing their armor and preparing to move out. "But I suppose I don't have a choice. And I trust you,"

"With the growing conflict between Noxus and Demacia, you need all the help you can get," Leona whispered, making sure that only Jarvan heard her. Shyvana was still glaring at Rammus, holding the last half-bitten wheatcake away from him. "After you have helped the half-dragon complete her quest, surely you will return home?"

"I'm not sure if I even have a home anymore. I wasn't there when my father needed me the most,"

Leona said nothing.

"It's better that we leave now," he told Leona and his men. "I cannot thank you enough. If the Rakkor needs any help in the future, I'll make sure Demacia lends a hand,"

She smiled radiantly, though to Jarvan it looked a little sad. "That is if you return to Demacia," she turned to prepare to leave the hall, with Pantheon following her. Until she stopped and turned to Jarvan again. "Oh, Jarvan?"

"Yes?"

"If you ever meet a Xer'Sai in the desert, run as fast as you can,"


There had been several times when Jarvan and his men travelled through the desert. Even so, he didn't remember the sun being so merciless, and it had been a few hours since they had walked across the desert, with the small creature ahead of them as their guide.

Then he remembered that all the times he had entered Shurima was to hunt down the Ralsiji for their leather hide and raw meat, which usually appeared near the oasis where the sun rarely shone the brightest. Now they were somewhere in the desert where all he could see was the mountains of sands and the cloudless sky, with a large, brilliant yellow orb burning the desert grounds.

Dammit, his fingers twitched violently, itching to lift the waterskin hanging from his belt. His hood and scarf covered his face, though the air was still and no dusts were seen floating around.

He turned his gaze to Shyvana, whose hood and linen cloak covered her figure. She seemed fine, the desert heat was obviously nothing to her.

Not only the prince was feeling restless, behind him, the men trudged along with their heads hanging low, having changed their plated armor for boiled leather vests. Their breastplates and pauldrons were collected in a leather sack, hanging behind Kyvan's back. Jarvan could tell that August's mood had grown fouler as well.

"Prince," Alfie walked up, panting heavily. His face was covered with a sheen of sweat. "Where are we even heading? There's nothing here in sight," he looked frantically about his map.

"I have no idea," Jarvan said. "Only Rammus knows,"

"What if it's a trap, prince?"

"Quit being a craven, Alf," Horace reprimanded. "We don't have a choice. But we have a dragon on our side. Nothing to worry about," he lifted his skin and took small sips. "But this water ain't enough, prince. Will the little creature be stopping anytime soon?"

"Shut the fuck up, you both," August snapped. "Water's ain't enough 'cause you been drinking it since we entered this damned hellhole. The sooner we get out of this place, the better,"

"But how soon?" Lance cut in. "I don't like this place, mate. Reeks of danger and savagery. I thought I saw some weird things moving from the corner of my eye, aye. We've never entered the desert this deep before, sire. We ain't prepared,"

"We weren't prepared either when we went into the Great Barrier," August growled. "If anything appears, we just beat the shit out of it. If that little thing shows a threat, we just beat the shit out of it,"

"There's nothing to worry about," Kyvan rumbled, pulling his tower shield along. "As long as we avoid the Sai region,"

"You telling me you believe in that outerbeast crap?" August spat, his tone growing in volume. "A dumb tale told by some Shuriman lunatic?"

"Well, he ain't wrong," Lance countered. "There had been word of missing merchants and mutilated carcasses near the Shurima wastes. No one ever dared entered the Sai region,"

"I don't believe in bedtime horror stories," August scoffed.

"And there's this tale of an undead prince," Alfie muttered. August snorted and Horace raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "They said he woke from an ancient Shuriman tomb with a curse, everything he touched turned into dusts and ashes,"

"Right," Lance mumbled.

Jarvan walked a few paces ahead, leaving his men behind to continue talking about the terrors of the desert. He was already feeling pessimistic due to the heat, he did not need to hear any more superstitious tales about this wretched place.

"Feeling weary, my prince?" Jarvan looked to his side and saw Shyvana looking at him with a smirk. Her scarf only hid her jaw and part of her mouth, and her glowing golden eyes shone with mischief.

"Speak nothing of it," he sighed. "Our little friend seems relentless," he gazed ahead, looking at Rammus' thick, spiky armor, a large horn protruding from the middle of the shell. "Has he spoken to you?"

"He only spoke to Leona when she wished us all a safe journey, and guess what he said?" Shyvana then mimicked a deep, rumbled tone. "'OK'. That's all,"

"Maybe he feels alienated among us, I mean, he's an armadillo,"

"And I'm a half-dragon, I believe I had more attention from the Rakkor than that pint-sized thing,"

"That's because you threaten everyone you see," Jarvan said matter-of-factly. "Leona said he had been travelling the desert all this while, without a companion. That kind of makes a person anti-social,"

"Well, I'm dying to know where we're heading because all I see right now is sand, sand and more sand,"

Jarvan said nothing and kept walking.

They climbed dunes after dunes, and as they went further into the desert, the wind started picking up. A slight breeze fluttered about, but that was a sign that they had to pull up their scarves and hoods. Rammus did nothing and kept walking, sometimes turning left or right to avoid trenches and cliffs. At one point, Jarvan thought he saw a small creature scurrying about in the corner of his vision, or the ground beneath him trembling slightly, but then he dismissed it as a figment of his imagination.

His men however, were growing restless. The wind was growing stronger, yet it served naught to the heat in the air.

Soon, Jarvan walked up to Shyvana again, tapping her on a shoulder. "Hey, wanna bet?"

Shyvana's voice was muffled. "Bet what?"

"If either of us can make Rammus tell us where we're going, the winner gets free ale all night long once we reach the nearest town,"

She gave it some thought, and flashed an impish grin. "Alright, I'll go first,"

He watched as Shyvana hobbled along Rammus until they were both side-by-side. Rammus paid her no heed, looking ahead as though the sands did not bother him. He walked a few paces forward, straining his ears to listen to their conversation.

"Uhm, hey, Rammus,"

Jarvan couldn't help but chuckle. For an intimidating half-dragon, she found it hard to start a conversation concerning a creature that was barely half her size.

Rammus turned and looked at her briefly, though he said nothing. He nodded before looking forward again, leaving Shyvana feeling awkward and not knowing what to say.

"Do you… know where we're heading?"

"Yeah," that was all he said.

"Great, where?"

"Huh,"

"You don't know where?"

"Yeh,"

"Or do you know where?"

"Right,"

If the sands weren't blowing in his direction, Jarvan would have laughed out loud at Shyvana's poor attempt. He could see that the half-dragon was getting frustrated, her eyebrows knitted in a frown and her fists clenched in irritation.

"Is there anything else, besides one-word answers, that you can say?" her voice rose in pitch, eyes throwing daggers at the little creature before her.

Surprisingly, Rammus stopped in his tracks, his head turning and looking up at Shyvana. His lips were taut in a thin line, his eyes calm and unfazed by the half-dragon's unbridled rage. His face showed no emotions, however, and there seemed to be a slight pause as he thought of a reply.

"OK," he said, turned away and continued walking.

Jarvan thought he saw smoke rising from the top of Shyvana's hood, but he made no mention about it. He walked past Shyvana towards Rammus.

"Hey Rammus, you have any idea where we're going?"

"Yeah," Rammus mumbled.

"Where, the oasis?"

"Right,"

"Can you point me the direction?"

Rammus stopped again, looking at his surroundings. He then raised a claw, pointing north-east from their direction. Jarvan looked back at Shyvana and grinned in triumph. She only stared at them both with equal disbelief and frustration.

"You owe me ale," he smirked.

Shyvana opened her mouth to protest, until she saw a cloud of sand far in the distance. It seemed to be moving about at quick speeds, indicating a brewing sandstorm. The breeze they felt earlier was just a warning.

Jarvan noticed her petrified expression, and waved in front of her to draw her attention. Shyvana hushed him and grabbed his shoulders, whirling him around. "Do you see it? North of us?"

Jarvan squinted. "See what?"

"Alfie!" she shouted. "North of us, do you see it?!"

"A sandstorm is coming, prince!" Alfie ran ahead and squinted as well. "A huge one!"

"There ain't no shelters nearby," Horace said.

Rammus knows, Jarvan thought hopefully. The Armordillo had stopped and looked ahead as well. He had travelled through the desert so many times, surely he knows the terrain like the back of his palm. Jarvan knelt down so he was at the same height as Rammus, and whispered.

"Rammus, is there a town nearby?"

Rammus looked at him and shook his head. The movement was barely noticeable, but Jarvan nodded in understanding. "Can you bring us to somewhere, where we can hide from the storm?"

He nodded and pointed to the west, before curling into a ball that spun really quickly. In a heartbeat, Rammus shot off with incredible speed without warning. Jarvan shouted to his men to follow up, running as fast as he could to catch up with the Armordillo's speed.

Jarvan had no idea how long he had been running, but his legs kept pumping as he ran across dunes, keeping Rammus in sight. He could hear the grunts and pants of his men, struggling to follow up. And by the time Rammus had stopped and uncurled himself, the sandstorm was almost upon them.

They had reached what seemed to be an abandoned village, with the paved stone paths now cracked and covered by blowing sands. Stone huts and houses had fallen and collapsed, some missing a roof, mostly dusty and empty. Whoever lived here were gone long ago, leaving the place to succumb to ages of sands and dirt.

Rammus weaved through the twists and turns of the village, passing by broken pillars and huge clumps of fallen statues. Jarvan caught sight of an enormous stone circle that was broken in half, complete with odd carvings and symbols, and he would have investigated further had it not been the coming sandstorm.

Then the Armordillo led them into a huge building made up of stone and baked clay, though years of scorching sun and sandstorms had worn off the signs on the gates. The west wing of the building was demolished, letting in enough rays of sunlight to illuminate the interior. Inside was a maze of corridors and chambers and broken furniture, until they entered a massive hall with a huge, hollowed square pool, lined with woven ropes and leather-bound pipes that led deep into the underground. Underneath the shade, scarabs and tiny desert wildlife made their home here, together with some odd, needle-like plants that grew near the pipes.

"A bath house," Shyvana's voice echoed throughout the building. "There should be water here,"

August grumbled. "The pipes could be filled with naught but sands. My guess is that this place has been left for decades, if not centuries,"

"I disagree," Shyvana went near the edge of the pool, her fingers barely touching the tiny leaves of the plants. "These plants must have gotten water somewhere, there's definitely water deep under,"

"True, but these are mintstones," Horace plucked one of the leaves and bit hard on it. "Hard leaves, but contains lots of water. Long, thin yet absorbent roots. They could survive on just a flagon of water for ten years,"

Shyvana looked at Jarvan, confused. "Does the Demacian military make you study botany?"

"No," Jarvan sat down in a corner and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. "Horace's father is a botanist. Now if you'll excuse me. I need to get some rest. God knows when the storm's going to end,"

"Me too," Kyvan laid down his heavy shield and bundles of heavy armor pieces.

"Alfie and I will take the first watch," Lance announced, and sheathed his dual swords at his hips. Alfie slung a quiver of arrows behind him, and together they walked out of the large hall.

"I'll scavenge for something useful," August said to no one in particular, with that usually unhappy and angry tone of his, and walked away.

"I guess I'll check out the plants here. Could pick up a few samples on the way home," Horace started clasping the ropes gingerly, testing them, before slowly climbing down the square pool.

All that was left was Rammus and Shyvana. Rammus sat on his rear, his claws crushing a few scarabs he found hiding under stones, then popping them into his mouth. Shyvana stared at the Armordillo awkwardly, thinking of what to do.

"Hey," she finally said, hoping the lone companion would at least speak out.

Rammus looked up, his mouth stopping its chewing motion. His face was blank as ever, and he lifted a claw of crushed desert beetles, offering some to Shyvana.

"Uhm, no. I don't eat bugs," she declined.

Rammus threw the remaining scarabs into his mouth, then curled into a ball and laid still, probably fallen asleep.

Shyvana still stood there, like an idiot thinking of what to do.


It's cooling here, though creepy, Horace shuddered as he toyed with a patch of moss at the bottom of the pool. The clay that constructed the pool emitted a cooling aura, though there was little sunlight and Horace had to strain to watch his steps. Not as creepy as the half-dragon's company, anyway.

Slowly, he crept towards the middle of the pool and plucked a few mintstone leaves, before chucking them into a leather sack. His footsteps made solid thuds against the hard clay floor, until he reached somewhat the middle, where the sound of the thud sounded rather hollow.

Strange, Horace drew his spear and poked its butt against the hard-packed floor. He did it again as he made a few steps forward, the thud growing more hollow as he advanced further. Then, he rammed the butt of his spear hard against the floor, and the ground beneath gave way, revealing a narrow but deep hole.

Curious, Horace stretched a hand into the hole, grasping around to search for anything. His fingers brushed lightly against a rough and hard object, which he promptly wrapped his hand around it, before pulling his hand out.

Horace had to squint to see what he found. And when he could see clearly, he was holding a broken skull, with a missing lower jaw.

"Shit!" Horace exclaimed in shock and terror, dropping the skull onto the clay floor. He retreated backwards quickly, before the gaping hole beneath spread even further. The light was enough to reveal what sat within the deep, wide cavern.

More skulls, and pieces of broken bones. Horace was not disturbed by the sight of yellowed skulls and skeletons, but the way the pieces of bones were scattered around. If a few dead people were buried here, their skeletons should have been whole and well-arranged. Yet deep in this cavern that Horace found, racks of ribs were broken and scattered apart, hip bone and shoulder bones were found clustered together, and at some spots were several other smaller bones from limbs.

It was as if a large number of people were trapped in this pool, and a being somehow tore them all apart, throwing parts of bodies everywhere in the pool. Then, buried them all with a pack of clay.

This place isn't normal, I have to tell the prince!

Horace hefted his spear behind him as he turned on his heel to leave, and just as his foot stomped against the ground, it gave way. Fear overwhelmed him, and Horace shouted as loud as he could, hoping to get his comrades' attention.

He had no idea how deep the hole was, but by the time he crashed to the bottom of it, he couldn't see his surrounding except for the mouth of the hole. He heard an excruciating crunch as his feet hit the bottom, and when Horace tried to stand, he was met with a stabbing pain in his ankle.

Fortunately, he could hear alarmed noises and shouts from above, and he could hear the prince calling his name. Horace sighed in relief, he would be saved.

"Prince!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "I'm fine! Popped my ankle, but fine!"

The darkness was unnerving. Horace stretched out his spear, waving around and expected it to hit against walls. Instead, his spear only touched air. He rapped the butt of his spear against the ground, and marvelled when it echoed far ahead, like he had fallen into a large tunnel.

A tunnel to transport water into the pool? He thought. Then he remembered the buried bones he had found earlier.

The noises above grew nearer and frantic.

Horace was about to crawl forward to see how far the tunnel leads to, until he heard a malicious hiss, out of nowhere.

He whirled around as best as he could, his spear lashed out. "Who's there?!" he shouted. Yet he was drowned in silence again.

A few seconds later, someone snarled.

"Fuck," Horace cursed. His breathing was short and frantic, sweat beading on his forehead as he looked around anxiously. If he was attacked, there was nothing he could do. He couldn't move around without hurting his ankle any further.

Then, a few more snarls and hisses. And the sound of a rasping creature.

"Fuck this!" Horace got to his feet, ignoring his broken ankle and lashed out his spear blindly. He could hear angry hisses and crackles this time, and Horace kept swinging his spear, hoping the prince would hurry.

"You want some of this?!" Horace swung wildly. "I'll show you-" Something suddenly grabbed his spear, pulling him forward as Horace skidded face-first against the rough ground. This time he heard them snarling and hissing with triumph, and he swore he could feel their breath all around him, surrounding him.

When Horace looked up, he was met with two rows of sharp fangs, and two fangs extended from the side of the maw that rattled with excitement. More similar creatures appeared, drawing closer and closer.

The last thing Horace heard was his own agonized scream.


Not much happens in this chapter, but I hope you enjoyed it.

Please review!