Ben kneeled by the torch, hands around it, trying to coax some life into it. His hands felt stiff in the iron cuffs. He could have asked Pritchett to use the sword and break the chain but swinging a sword in the dark would more likely end with Ben missing an arm instead of cuffs. Plus, all the noise might attract undue attention.

"That's not going to work," said Pritchett, standing by, arms wrapped around himself, shivering in the cold night. "Also I question the intelligence of lighting a fire while we're hiding."

"There's a risk to anything," said Ben. "Without light, we don't know where we're going and we're freezing. On the other hand, with it, we might get seen. Anyway, it doesn't matter, if they found out I escaped, they would have sounded an alarm by now."

"Plus, you can't light that thing. Forget it, let's just go."

"Yeah, alright." Ben picked up the torch and shoved it in his belt. They had decided to split the guard's weapons, with Ben getting the sword, due to inexperience with firearms. It didn't feel fair as he could hardly swing anything, manacles greatly inhibiting his movement. As for the guard, they ripped up a sleeve of the man's jacket, tied his hands behind his back, gagged him, and dumped him behind the nearest tree. It turned out more complicated than it seemed, operating almost blind in the dark.

"I still think we should've slit his throat," said Pritchett. "He might wake up and give the alarm."

"He might wake up and wiggle about until morning when there's a change of guard," said Ben. "Let's not take life when we don't have to."

"You are the worst soldier," Pritchett whispered. "And no more talk, I don't want to go get found out."

Although agreeing with that sentiment, Ben felt wrong for not vocalizing a retort. "I got threatened with death if I didn't join your little merry band."

On they went, stumbling through the dark, feeling their way around the trees, always alert at the sound of animals or mistakingly stepping over some mercenary in their sleeping bag. Mostly, they tripped over the tree roots and clumps of grass.

When they heard voices or any noise, they lay flat on the ground and waited for the peril to pass. They spent hours doing this, hearts pounding rapidly in their chests, awaiting capture with any second that passed.

By Ben's estimation, they must have been kept on the outskirts of the compound. While they may not be making very good progress, having to drop and hide every few feet, they should have been in the clear by now.

Although Pritchett was not complaining, Ben knew he had to be suffering from a lack of water and food just as he was. They had to escape soon. It was a small miracle that the alarm had not been sounded by now. And with that cursed thought, a trumpet blew in the distance behind them.

Just then, they noticed lights breaking the dark ahead of them. Pritchett's first instinct was to run westward, or since it was the middle of the night, where he thought west lay, but Ben grabbed him and dragged him down.

"You want to just lay down and die, Everett? Let me go." Pritchett spat out.

"Calm down," said Ben, a phrase infamous for inducing rage. "Look at the light ahead of us. That's not fire. It's much too strong, much too sharp. It's something else."

"Maybe it's lamplight," said Pritchett.

"I don't think so," Ben responded, pulling up the sleeves on his jacket, to show the blue writing glowing, with the wrapping twisting softly around his arms. "It's gotta be related. They only started doing anything major after we fought that monster hound. Only after I got that golden liquid thing on my arms when I stabbed it. And it's now reacting to whatever's ahead. I think it's a sign."

"I don't believe in signs and I hate magic. I'd rather make it on my own," said Pritchett but at that moment, the trumpets blasted again much closer this time, the sound bouncing on the trees, scaring the birds from their nighttime sleep. Accompanied by the flapping of winds and the annoyed screeches of birds, Pritchett grimaced and looked at Ben, nodding. "Might as well."

They followed the light, which turned out to be a bright yellow rune etched into the ground. It flashed, accompanied by a buzzing noise with each flash.

Barks and shouts were heard in the vicinity. The two men looked at each other, lit only the strange magical rune.

"I told you, magic is the worst," said Pritchett.

"Shut up and help me dig," said Ben, getting on the ground and clawing at the rune. "Look, it's giving way."

"You're just spreading dirt. We're going to die and you're spreading dirt around." Pritchett pointed the pistol every which way, the howling of the dogs and the shouts coming from everywhere around them. He stepped out of the small patch of light to get his eyes readjusted to the dark.

Closer and closer, Pritchett could now see them, shapes moving in the dark, their little blue eyes staring straight at him as they went. Next, he saw the torches and lamps of the mercenaries and he knew the game was up. Rifles boomed and he fell to the ground, praying that none of the bullets found him. They broke and scatted the ground around him.

Ben saw how close to death they were and began digging faster, the now broken rune flashing steadily, almost in a mocking manner. Ben stood and began kicking at the rune, yelling and cursing the magical writing.

"Waste of damn time," he said, emphasizing each kick with each word. "Come on, do something you blinking asshole. Do something, Pritchett, shoot back!" But Pritchett was on his back, eyes closed and hands covering his ears. Ben could hear him praying to his strange gods.

The dogs moved so fast it looked as if they flew above the ground, legs working like pistons in their efficiency. Ben's cuffed hands made it hard to be much help, but he grabbed Pritchett by an elbow and began dragging him away, seeing the furious wave of fangs and claws, and knowing the carnage that would follow. They were not far, now, not far at all, but Ben would try until his time was up.

With mere seconds to spare, Ben felt something had shifted. He looked around, desperate for salvation, and then he saw it.

The rune had stopped blinking but was now emanating a strong beam of light, running up into the heavens, or more accurately, a bit above the tree line. The ground itself began to dissolve around the magic writing, twisting and shifting into a spiral, defending the two men from their attackers. Then, with a sudden violent crack, the earth broke, and they fell through.

They fell down a slide of some sort, smooth enough to not harm them as they sped down towards an unknown purpose. Ben landed in a heap, with Pritchett not far behind. Again, the blinking rune appeared, this time splayed over an ashen grey stone door. The buzzing noise it made each time it appeared began to make Ben's ears ring.

Ben stood up, not wasting time, not knowing if his pursuers were only moments away, about to land on his head as they slid down. He stumbled and pressed his hand against the rune.

The door began to shake, the rune melting off its surface and dripping onto the floor, where it began to contort. It rolled into itself, growing pincers and a small outer shell, eventually shedding the golden color and taking the shape of a fiery red crab.

Ben stared at this display, flabbergasted. The door opened and the little crab ran through it, chattering as it went.

Without hesitation, Ben followed it, stepping across the threshold.