Free The Silent Enemy by Richard A. Knaak Page B

proved as smooth as ice.
    He fell.
    Past experience had taught him how to immediately fold himself up in order to lessen the chances of a broken bone or some other injury. Nermesa’s garments and armor gave him some protection, but at the same time made each hit jarring.
    His sword went sliding past him. As he tumbled, the Aquilonian struck the rocks flanking him again and again.
    Suddenly, the area on his left opened up. Unable to right himself in time, Nermesa fell through a hole—
    Darkness enveloped him. He collided with more rock. Nermesa momentarily lost consciousness.
    When he regained it, it was to find himself unable to see a thing. His body lay half-pinned in a tight area. It took several anxious seconds to work himself up enough in order to free his arms. With effort, the Black Dragon rose.
    Water dribbled in from above him. Beyond the hole, he could only see a gray haze. Nermesa estimated the distance up to be some ten or twelve feet.
    He quickly shifted position, at the same time seeking some handhold. The rock here was not quite so wet, and Nermesa judged that it would not be too difficult to climb out.
    His foot kicked something that momentarily rattled. Fumbling around, Nermesa discovered that his sword had fallen in with him. While grateful to Mitra that it had done so, the knight was glad that it had not accidentally impaled him in the process.
    Nermesa was just about to begin his climb when he heard a voice. What it said, he could not say, but the fury was evident in the tone. Planting himself against the deepest part of the tiny chamber, Nermesa clutched his sword and waited.
    There was a sound that might have been thunder or the rattle of hooves on the rock. A few loose stones clattered down from above, perhaps washed off by the storm or kicked up by a boot. Nermesa was well aware that if they discovered him, he could do little to prevent his capture.
    The voices drew nearer, their words drowned out by the savage weather. At one point, they seemed almost on top of his location.
    Then, as he continued to hold his breath, the sounds of pursuit retreated. Nermesa did not relax, well aware that they could just as suddenly return. He leaned back as best he could, the lip of the hole giving him some respite from the rain, and waited.
    Somewhere along the way, Nermesa’s exhaustion caught up to him, and he drifted off. It was not a comforting slumber, and more than once Bolontes’ son would stir just long enough to register his surroundings before falling asleep again.
    Then, his subconscious slowly noticed the lack of any more rain dribbling down. Nermesa slowly stirred to life, his bones and muscles initially protesting vehemently.
    When Nermesa looked up, it was to see nothing but darkness. Frowning, he listened for any hint of his pursuers. After several minutes, the Aquilonian, sword sheathed, started up.
    The way proved a bit more slippery than Nermesa had imagined, but by pressing his back against the other edge of the chamber, he finally managed to get high enough to grasp for the opening. Even then, it took him several attempts to locate a place where his grip was secure.
    The Aquilonian warily thrust his head up. As he had surmised, it was night. Clouds still covered most of the sky, making the area even darker.
    Pulling himself out of the hole, Nermesa paused to catch his breath and take his bearings. He did not think it wise to head to the area where he and Gregorio had planned to meet. That was too near where the riders had attacked him.
    Nermesa finally remembered the light he had seen during his flight. The hooded men would certainly not have left it burning. It had to be a campfire set up by the Poitainian knights.
    His slumber hardly one granting recuperation, Nermesa nonetheless plunged on as if an army of would-be kidnappers and murderers nipped like hounds at his heels. He worried not so much for himself but for Gregorio, the other Poitainians, and even, more and more, for the realm as a