Part Three of Old Friends today. If you missed it, you can read Part One Here and Part Two Here.
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Old Friends: a Tale of the Holtlands
Part Three
The cave, which formed the entrance to the abandoned mine, was a dark cleft in the rock face, as if a giant had smote a gash through the side of the mountain. Nothing would induce the horses to go any nearer. They couldn’t have taken them in there anyway. But the reaction told Tyria all she needed to know. Dancer’s instincts were good and Tyria trusted the horse. There could be no doubt now. Too many pieces slotted right into place. Tyria drew her sword and lifted it as if in salute. Closing her eyes, she whispered a prayer to Al-V’Annin the Bright, Warrior god and Avenger of the Lost. He remained the one god in whom she felt able to place her trust and here, now, she needed his protection. The metal pressed cold and hard against her palm. It sucked away every last weakness from her. Her foster sister, had once declared that the sword was Tyria’s true love, her one and only bedfellow. Sometimes that thought was a comfort but there were also times when Tyria prayed for it not to be true.