“The place is as quiet as a tomb,” Rafnir whispered in a tone that seemed to carry the fear that even a breath would awaken something ancient.
“Considering what lives here,” Drevin answered back in the same tone, “that's a good sign.”
The two youths crept forward. Only their years of battle training (a necessity even for teenagers in a land as war-ridden as Drakmark) kept their booted feet from knocking loose rocks into the cavernous chasm. The faint fae-glow of the lumicite ore was barely sufficient to tell where the path slid off to the inky blackness, and both tread softly, knowing a single misstep would bring more deaths than theirs.
“How far do you think these tunnels go?”
“Quiet, Raf,” was the only answer. “All I know is I'm still alive to listen to your damned fool questions. That's a good sign.”
Raf started to grunt something, but his voice was cut off as he lost his footing. Only Drevin's reflexes kept him from tumbling to what could have been the pits of any of the seven Hells for all Drevin knew. “Are you alright,” Drevin barely uttered the words audibly as Rafnir scrabbled back onto the pathway.
Rafnir nodded. “For now, but-” He was cut off again by something that was less a sound and more a change in the presence of the entire cavern. A yawning roar so deep it was not heard, it was felt. Something had heard the falling rocks.
Something ancient.
Something huge.
“That's a really bad sign,” Drevin and Rafnir groaned in unison as they both ignited their torches and reached for their call-daggers to summon their drakes.