"All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them possible."

T. E. Lawrence

The catacombs were big. The darkness was thick and encroaching, held back only by the weak light of the torches in the hands of the grim-faced men escorting Trials and Matthews. Motes of dust flew in and out of the torchlight and made Trials wonder exactly how much of those motes consisted of the remains of ancient people. Was he inhaling old patricians, medieval lords? More than that, could he use their final resting place as a way to trap Matterson?

The passageway down which they travelled was flanked on both sides with rows upon rows of shelves, stored on top of which were brown, aged skulls. There was never more than a single one every few metres, often less regularly, but the way they loomed out in the torchlight sent a chill down Trials’ spine that made him think piles of skulls might have been less disturbing. Then again, maybe not.

As well as the skulls there were frescoes, cracked and crumbling with age. Often what they depicted was unclear, the images made uninterpretable through decay, but Trials tentatively identified at least some as Christian iconography. Loaves of bread and fish were painted together, a crucifix motif hung high in one wall, and halos framed the heads of some of the figures.

Trials could only guess at the significance of most of the images, however. Thin, bearded figures stood staring solemnly above a fallen body, or carried heavy burdens on their poorly-clad frames. Chained groups of people cowered on their knees with their hands upraised in a futile effort to stop whips cracking amongst them, whips held by large bejewelled hands. Rich, glorious temples stood surrounded by mountains of bones. Image upon image flew past his eyes as Trials looked for an opportunity to break free.

Trials was already convinced he could get away from the guards. Regular patches of darkness in the walls were archways to further passageways heading deeper into the catacombs, and from the footprints in the dust below they were hardly ever used. It seemed that this passageway was the main route to wherever they were going, and few visitors had wandered off the path. If he could just get into those passages, he could use his enhanced night vision to turn the tables on the men now escorting him. It must be a maze in there.

His chance came when the mercenaries paused to talk. One of the two men walking behind him strode passed and tapped Korez on the shoulder, causing the line to stop. Korez never took his attention off Matthews even as he spoke in hushed tones to his fellow, but the man left watching Trials was less professional. His gaze soon drifted from the non-resisting, resigned figure Trials presented and over to the quietly talking mercenaries, momentarily at first, and then permanently.

Trials took his chance to use the moment of distraction to fall and roll suddenly, tumbling past his guard's legs to quickly dash into the passageway behind. His erstwhile guard belatedly swung his weapon up, but Trials was already far down the passage and ducking into a parallel corridor, enveloped in the syrupy blackness.

Even with his eyes he found it difficult to discern the layout of the passages, so he found himself using his hands more than his sight to guide himself around corners and along the cold stone walls. He could hear Korez yelling at two of the men to get after him, and the stomping of boots heading up the passageway he had sprinted down. The beams of the mercenaries’ flashlights carried far ahead of them, and gave Trials plenty of time to avoid them.

Trials made his way around in a rough loop from where he had escaped, crouching low in total silence every time the sounds of the search party came clear. Once the sounds had drawn away he resumed his steady progress, trying to keep left as much as possible and straining his ears for sounds of Korez and Matthews.

It took him some time to reach the place where he had managed to break free again, and longer to confirm it actually was the place. Korez and Matthews were long gone, the other mercs somewhere out there hunting Trials, but the marks left by their feet and Trials’ flight showed that was where he had arrived.

Three pairs of footprints headed hurriedly down the same passage as Trials had, while the remaining two headed perpendicularly away. Trials moved as cautiously but as swiftly as he could after Korez and Matthews.

He had only got a few tens of metres further along the passageway when he ran into what must have been reinforcements coming to join in the search. Trials heard them before they heard him, and froze. The sounds of three low, no-nonsense voices detailing the tactics they would be using for the search came floating down the corridor, getting closer with every second. Trials ducked down into an adjoining passage and was momentarily shocked to find his way blocked by a pile of rocks where a section of ceiling had collapsed.

The moment’s panic was swiftly suppressed, and Trials ran through his options. The passage ran barely 10 metres before it became impassable, and there was nothing readily available for cover. He could try to hide himself in the shadows, but it would only take one sliver of torchlight to reveal him and leave him open to attack. He could take a chance and try to dive across the main passage and into another before they had a chance to react, but if one was a quick shot…

Or he could loom out of the shadows and smash into the rightmost one, sending his head smacking against the wall with a sickening thud whilst simultaneously grabbing the man’s rifle and swinging it up towards his friends, sending the spray of bullets the first mercenary’s panicked trigger-pull released into the second.

Now only the third mercenary remained. This one must have been more experienced, because he was already backing up, rifle raised even as his shot comrade’s body fell against him and to the floor. Trials barely managed to fling himself down and into the opposite passage, bullets ricocheting around him and scoring deep wounds into his face and back.

Shit… Trials thought to himself.

He’d failed. It had been a long-shot anyway, trying to take out three trained military men with one lucky attack, but the first man’s rifle strap had held fast and now Trials was weaponless and vulnerable. He sprinted down the passageway and took as many corners as he could, too fast to recall his route. So now he was weaponless and lost. Fantastic.

Still… Now he had time to take a breath and think, he wasn’t doing too badly. He’d taken out two already, of a known six men hunting him, and was successfully evading capture. If he could just keep this momentum…

“Trials!” came Nigel Matterson’s shout, bouncing off the narrow walls around him. “Jacob Trials! It’d go well for you to come out now, Trials. Otherwise I will be forced to take measures!”

Matterson’s echoing shouts were replaced by screaming, a long, pained cry.

“I don’t know how much more your friend can take, Trials!” yelled Matterson again, glee in his voice. He was clearly enjoying this.

Another scream resounded down the corridor, weakening as Mike’s breath ran out. Matterson let out a small chuckle that somehow carried directly into Trials’ ears, the sinister laugh of the hunter toying with his prey. Trials felt the rage welling up inside him.

There was no way he could come out now. His friend’s pain would not be stopped by Trials’ surrender, or, at least, it would only be stopped in death. As long as Matterson believed he could use Mike to get to Trials, Mike would be kept alive. Only…

“Oops, I think I may have gone too far, Trials…” came Matterson’s gloating voice again. This time Mike’s screams were different, guttural and weaker. “I really would hurry up. There’s an awful lot of blood here…”

Trials was already moving, running in the direction of the voice ahead of conscious thought. Red mist clouded his vision as his expression turned down into a ferocious snarl. Instinct and fury led him right to Matterson, standing in the middle of a well-lit atrium far wider than the narrow passages surrounding it, and watching as Trials tore straight for him.

Matterson didn’t blink as Korez, stepping smartly out from the side of the entrance as Trials bowled past, delivered one powerful blow with the butt of his rifle to the back of the raging man’s neck. Trials went crashing to the floor, unconscious.