Thief By Knight

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Felix looked at Grantaire in sleepy bewilderment. Grantaire held onto the neck of his robes and shook him again, even though the priest was fully awake now.
"Felix, wake up, damn it. It's time to talk Enjolras out of doing something stupid again."
"Would you let go of me?"
Grantaire let go, and Felix fell to the ground with a thud. He shot Grantaire a look of frustration, then stood and dusted himself off.
"Would some one kindly explain what's going on?"
"We've found the entrance to the bandits' lair," Enjolras explained.
"Where?"
Grantaire grabbed Felix by the arm and tugged him to the edge of the plateau. He pointed. "There. See that bit of scrub, way off the trail? The opening was there. We saw over thirty bandits and horses come out of there, but not Armand. Now Enjolras wants to charge in there after him."
"I didn't say charge, Grantaire."
"You're a knight. I just assumed."
"We don't even have horses."
Felix shook his head. "I don't see any opening, but I'll take your word for it. But how do you know Armand is in there?"
"Hey, he's right." Grantaire poked Enjolras in the chest. "You don't even know if Armand is in there."
"We won't know until we look, Grantaire."
"We won't know even then. Because if we can get inside, they'll kill us before we get ten feet into their lair. It's hard to look at much of anything when you're dead."
Felix shivered. "It's getting dark. And cold. Do you think we could discuss this after we build a fire?"
"Of course, Felix."
"A fire? Are you mad? We can't build a fire -- they'll see it." Grantaire threw up his hands in frustration. "I can't believe this. You two want to get killed. That's it, isn't it? This whole king thing was just a ruse so you could die with an aura of grandeur. You want a big funeral and expensive, marble tombstones."
Grantaire started to pace, but Enjolras stopped him, putting both hands on his shoulders and looking intently into his eyes. "Grantaire. Calm down. You're getting hysterical."
Grantaire looked doubtfully at Felix.
"I'm afraid he's right. Maybe you should sit down."
Grantaire sat. The other two sat down beside him. For a moment, no one said a word. They just sat there, shivering in the chill, autumn wind while the night settled in around them.
"Grantaire," Enjolras said at last, "I understand you're concern. Perhaps my idea is too dangerous."
Felix sighed. "I guess we're not building a fire."
"I want you and Felix to stay here. I'll go in alone."
"Oh, that's much safer," Grantaire snapped.
"If I don't return, I want you to go to San Sebastien. You must tell the Archbishop everything you know about Armand. If there is a conspiracy, he may know something about it. Geoffrey D'Rabican is a very wise man."
"I wish I could say the same for you." Grantaire jumped to his feet and started pacing. No one was going to make him sit this time -- he was too angry. "Enjolras, what good is it going to do for me to go to San Sebastien and tell the Archbishop that I met the next king of Cambrai. But he's dead. He threw his life away chasing down some bandits."
"I have no choice, Grantaire. I must do this."
"Why?"
"I explained before..."
"Oh, that's right. God told you to. Well, that's just great. He didn't tell me a damn, thing Enjolras. I'm not helping you with this. I'm not going to help you get yourself killed for nothing. Neither is Felix."
"But I do want to help."
Grantaire stopped pacing. He whirled around to face Felix, kneeling so he could see him better in the dim light. "What did you say?"
Felix looked at Enjolras. "You mustn't go in there alone. I want to go with you. Please."
"Felix! You're supposed to be on my side!"
"Grantaire, you don't understand. I'm a priest. I believe Enjolras when he says we must do this thing. I know it seems crazy. But there must be a reason for it. A very good reason."
Grantaire bit his lip to keep from saying something nasty. "Look, Enjolras. It's not that I don't believe in these visions of yours. I mean, how could I not after everything that's happened? It's just that, I promised..." He stopped. Maybe he'd better not mention Vivien.
"Look, you said you needed me to guide you safely to San Sebastien. God sent you to me just for that reason. Well, if I'm going to do my job, then I have to tell you this is insane. There's no way you're going to come out of this alive."
Enjolras got to his feet. He stepped close to Grantaire and stared into his eyes. Grantaire wanted to look away, but he couldn't.
"Enjolras, don't do this."
"I'm sorry, Grantaire. I have to."
"I won't go." Grantaire was determined to be stubborn this time. Enjolras would just have to back down.
"I won't ask you to. I want you to stay here and wait for us. If we don't come back in two days, promise me you'll leave. There's a village north of here -- you can get a horse. Promise me you'll go to San Sebastien and speak to the Archbishop."

"You're not going to back down, are you?"
"No, Grantaire. I can't."
It was hopeless. Enjolras was going to die, just like his mother had died, and again he was helpless to change anything. It was a cruel trick God liked to play, taking people away from him like this every time he got close to someone, every time he forgot that he was better off alone. There was nothing he could do. But he was damned if he was going to watch this time.
"I'll go to San Sebastien," he promised. "I'll tell them their king is dead."

***

Grantaire was halfway down the cliff wall when he heard thunder. He looked up at the pale blue sky. The clouds floating on the breeze like swans on a lake were harmless. There was no storm brewing, not this time. The chill air turned his breath into clouds of warm steam. Grantaire felt a slight trembling in the stone beneath his fingertips and saw loose bits of stone shaking, as if dancing to the beat of drums. He looked down and saw them -- riders, at least fifty of them.
Grantaire loosened his hold on the cliff wall, sliding down to land hard on the rock shelf beneath him. He lay still and waited for them to pass, praying that he wouldn't be seen.
The riders galloped past without looking up. They dismounted and scurried into the hidden entrance single file, like rats into a hole. Grantaire stared after them, wondering. Were these the same riders they'd seen earlier? There were more of them this time. Maybe they'd picked up more bandits on the way. Well, there was no way for him to know, and it didn't matter anyway. What mattered was if those fifty riders would run into Felix and Enjolras.
Grantaire didn't know what to do. He couldn't possibly keep both his promise to Enjolras and his promise to Vivien. Every instinct screamed for him to run. The situation was hopeless. Enjolras and Felix were doomed the minute they walked into this.
But they were his friends. He was kidding himself when he thought he could walk away. He was right when he told Enjolras this was a foolish thing to do. But that didn't change anything. How could he possibly go back to Enjolras's family and tell them he was dead? How could he ever live with himself?
He had to go in after them. But, after what he'd just seen, he didn't dare wander through that entrance in broad daylight. He had to wait until nightfall.
Frowning, he looked up at the sky. "Hey, God. If you're listening, tell Enjolras not to get himself killed before then. Okay?"
The clouds continued on their slow migration, quiet and serene. With a weary sigh, Grantaire got up and scrambled further down the cliff wall, searching for a niche to hide himself in. It was going to be a long day.

***

"There's nobody else out here. Let's go back in."
"Not until we're sure."
Grantaire heard muffled cursing and the sound of booted feet coming closer to his hiding place. He pressed himself farther into the little niche he'd found just a few feet above the ground, gripping the dagger at his side. The sun had set hours ago, but the night was clear and full of stars, and the moon was full. There was plenty of light for Grantaire to be seen if he wasn't careful.
The bandits, three of them, stomped by his hiding place with barely a glance in his direction. The lead man waved a flickering torch before him as if in some sort of mystical incantation, but their heart clearly wasn't in the search. It was cold out here. The men were swaddled in heavy cloaks, with scarves wrapped around their faces. Their eyes peeked out from beneath the folds of cloth with a definite lack of interest.
They stopped suddenly just past his hiding place. Grantaire tensed. The one with the torch was pointing up.
"What's that up there?"
"Where?"
"Up there, over by that rock."
Grantaire crouched low, his dagger ready. Had they spotted him? He didn't see how; he was well hidden by shadows. Maybe the dagger. He leaned forward a bit, ready to leap down on them from behind. It would give him some advantage, though probably not enough.
He heard a high pitched keening sound above him. It was followed by a flapping noise. Dirt rained down in front of him.
"Ah, it's just a lousy screecher. Can we go back now?"
"Yeah. Come on, Raoul. We're freezing our asses off for nothing."
"Go ahead back if you want, you whiners. But don't expect any of the credit if I find something. It's me Armand will be rewarding."
After making that dire prediction, Raoul continued on down the trail, still gripping his torch. The other two shrugged and started back, clearly not impressed with the threat.
"What an ass," one of them muttered. They trudged off, talking quietly and laughing, no doubt at Raoul's expense. Grantaire couldn't pass up the opportunity they were giving him. When they were safely out of sight, he dropped down from his hiding place and followed Raoul.
"Changed your minds, did you?" was Raoul's smug comment as he heard foot-steps behind him. He turned around, his eyes widening in alarm before he registered his mistake. Recognition came too late. Grantaire slammed the hilt of his dagger against the bandit's temple. Raoul made a tiny, gasping sound. The torch fell to the ground. Raoul fell on top of it, smothering the flame. Grantaire knelt beside him and felt for a pulse. Raoul was just fine.
He debated killing the man. He probably deserved it. But Grantaire didn't want another needless death on his conscience. He wasn't going to take the man's life if he didn't have to.
Grantaire looked around. Raoul's friends were long gone. All was quiet. He grabbed Raoul by the shoulders and dragged him up into his niche. Hauling the dead weight up the wall strained his back and arms to their limit. Thank God it was only a few feet. Grantaire tumbled over the edge and dumped his burdened. He lay still for a moment, gasping for breath and weighting for his trembling arms to recover their strength. Then he stripped Raoul of his cloak and scarf. He tied him up with the last remaining strips of cloth from his robe, stuffing his mouth with a rag and hitting him on the head again for good measure. It wasn't exactly kind, but he couldn't risk the guy coming in after him. Besides, he was certain the bandit deserved this much.
He struggled into Raoul's clothing, an unpleasant change in the biting cold. He scrambled back down and strode towards the lair entrance with a confidence he didn't feel. He hoped everyone thought Raoul was an ass. If anyone stopped to talk to him, he could be in big trouble.

***

When Grantaire came in sight of the hidden entrance, he found a dozen bandits already there. The door was open. It seemed to be nothing more than that -- a simple door carved flush with the rock. He wished he had time to examine it further, but the others were already going inside. There was a slight step up into a wide tunnel carved into the rock, big enough for a horse. Without a word, Grantaire scurried in behind them. One of the bandits turned around to look at him.
"See anything?"
Grantaire shook his head.
"Damn waste of time," he grumbled.
The scouting party dispersed after shuffling through the short tunnel. Grantaire paused for a moment to get his bearings, amazed at what he saw. The tunnel opened into an enormous cavern. Stalactites hung from the roof of the cave like the sharp fangs of a wolf. They were as thick as small trees at the base, and veins of some silvery metal ran through them. The bandits had fixed sconces to the wall of the cave, and a ring of torches circled the cavern with a flickering light that made eerie shadows twist along the walls like cavorting phantoms. Despite its size, the cave didn't seem to be used for much. Three men sat by the entrance, huddling in their cloaks, swords ready by their sides. A pile of wood was stacked against one wall. Otherwise, the cavern was empty.
The last of the scouting party Grantaire had followed inside disappeared through another opening. He realized he'd better move fast, before the bored guards started to wonder why he was standing there. Three tunnels led out of the cavern, only one of them wide enough to allow horses to pass through. None of the bandits had gone that way, and Grantaire guessed it contained a make-shift stable.
He followed the path most of the bandits had taken. This tunnel was long and narrow. No torches lit the way -- there was no room for them -- and Grantaire was forced to feel his way in the dark. In a couple of spots, he had to turn sideways to squeeze through. He didn't like it. He felt as if this cave were some sort of living thing that had offered the bandits a home. It would recognize Grantaire as a spy and suddenly close the tunnel walls around him, squeezing him to death in its stony embrace. He knew he was being irrational. But he hurried anyway. When at last he saw a welcoming light coming from the cavern beyond he practically ran for it.
This cavern was even larger than the first one, and warmed by an enormous camp fire at the far end. Most of the bandits here sat around the fire, drinking or warming their hands. The air was dense and hazy, despite the smoke hole in the ceiling far above them.
No one was paying any attention to him. Grantaire walked over to an open barrel close by the fire, grabbed one of the tin cups that hung from its side and scooped up some of its contents. It was red wine, warmed a bit by the fire. He undid his scarf just long enough to drink thirstily, wetting a throat that was dry with fear, and wondered what he should do next. Two tunnels led from this cavern, not including the one he'd just come through. Just how big was this place? He could get lost in this maze of tunnels and never find Enjolras and Felix. He couldn't very well ask about them.
Grantaire sat down away from the fire, hoping no one would notice he hadn't removed his scarf and cloak yet. Closing his eyes and pretending to sleep, he listened to the conversation of the men around him. Much of it involved drinking, dicing and rape, which seemed to be their favorite past-times. There were quite a few complaints about the mid-night scouting expedition.
"Makes us trudge around in the freezing cold, he does," complained a man with a hoarse, wheezy voice. "And for what? Nothing out there but owls and screechers."
"It's queer," said another. This voice sounded young. "Why would a knight come all the way up here with just a priest for company? It don't make sense."
No, Grantaire thought wryly, it didn't.
"He's a fool."
Someone laughed. "He wanted Armand to slit his throat, I guess."
Grantaire flinched. He was too late. Enjolras and Felix were dead. He started shaking, cold despite the heat of the fire. He would have Armand's head for this.
"Think he'll let us watch?"
"Of course," said the man with the wheezy voice. "You know how Armand is. He'll make a big show of it."
Suddenly, it was easier to breathe. They were still alive. They still had a chance to get out of this mess in once piece. But he had to act quickly. Armand would not wait long to get rid of Enjolras.
God, help me, he prayed silently. You send plenty of visions to Enjolras. Do you think you could spare just one for an unworthy thief turned knight? Show me how to find him?
There was no answer. He hadn't expected one, really. But it was disappointing just the same. He would just have to solve this on his own, just like he'd always handled everything. Just once, though, a little divine assistance would have been nice. Without it, he had no choice but to stumble around these caverns and hope to get lucky. Grantaire got to his feet. Thanks for nothing, God.
He started for one of the tunnels when a tall, blond man ducked through from the other one. "Hey, Gil," he called to someone at the fire. "Armand wants you."
Grantaire watched Gil sprint for the tunnel. Blondie fetched himself a drink of wine and started chatting with the other bandits. He seemed to have no intention of leaving. Grantaire followed Gil, mentally apologizing to God. It looked like he'd gotten a guide after all.
This tunnel was taller and wider than the last one, leaving room for regularly spaced torches. The flames flickered in the breeze of his passing, washing shadows like waves across the uneven, tunnel floor. Grantaire kept his eyes on Gil as they passed one opening after another, each one a dark mouth leading who knew where. If he lost his guide, Grantaire might never find his way to Enjolras.
When Gil finally slipped through one of the openings, Grantaire slowed down. There didn't seem to be any guards around the tunnels. This was their camp, after all, and Grantaire was willing to bet no one had ever attempted to sneak inside before. But it paid to be cautious. Slowly, he crept up to the opening and peered inside. A tunnel only twice the length of a man led to a small cavern lit with numerous torches and strewn with soft pillows and colorful rugs. Armand sat on one of the rugs, talking to Gil. Grantaire ducked back around the corner and listened.
"He's telling the truth, sir. There's nobody out there."
"Amazing," came Armand's smooth voice. "He really did come up here alone. I knew Enjolras was a fool, but I had no idea he'd gone completely mad."
"What do you want done with them?"
"Hmm ... Something painful, I think. I want them to suffer. Enjolras deserves it, after everything he's done to me."
"We could have them drawn and quartered, sir."
This was a new voice, thin and reedy. It cracked with excitement at the mention of disemboweling a man. Grantaire shuddered.
"Excellent idea. Garet, have the men meet in the dining hall in an hour. Gil, will that give you enough time to have the prisoners ready? I'd like them washed and cleaned up a bit."
Armand was mad! He was acting like a feudal lord, with this maze of caverns as his castle and these cut-throats as his loyal subjects. Thinking of Enjolras and Felix at the mercy of this maniac made Grantaire's stomach turn.
He heard footsteps approaching, no doubt Gil and Garet. There was no time to hide. Grantaire threw himself to the tunnel floor and closed his eyes, planning to feign drunkenness. He'd had enough practice at it.
One set of footsteps passed him by, but another one stopped beside him. Grantaire tensed, wishing he'd dared to keep his dagger handy. A foot nudged him the side. He didn't move.
"Hey you, wake up. I need some help with the prisoners."
The foot kicked him in the side this time, hard enough to bruise. Grantaire jerked upright and glared at its owner.
"Hey, what're ye doin?" he slurred. "I'm tryin' to sleep here."
"Well you better wake up fast if you know what's good for you. You know what happens to drunks around here. Now get on your feet. I need help, damn it."
Grantaire got to his feet, wobbling only a little. He didn't want to overdo it. If he seemed too drunk, Gil wouldn't have any use for him.
"I'm up, I'm up. And I ain't drunk."
Gil snorted. "Just come on, man."
Gripping his torch, Gil led them through side tunnels and along twisting passages as confidently as if he'd been born here. Grantaire tried to memorize the route, but it wasn't easy. There were dozens of side passages, and they all looked alike. How were they going to find their way out of here? Maybe Enjolras and Felix would come up with something. Well, maybe Felix, anyway. It was Enjolras's thinking that had gotten them into this mess in the first place.
Besides, he had to get them out of their prison first. Grantaire watched Gil as he stomped along, muttering to himself. The guy was big and muscular; Grantaire didn't think he could take him. Enjolras and Felix would surely be guarded. How was he going to free them?
Gil stopped suddenly, and Grantaire almost ran into him. "Hey, what are you doing?" he asked, not entirely feigning his irritation.
"I really hate this you know."
Grantaire stared at him. "Hate what?"
"This stinking execution. Have them drawn and quartered. Trust a sick bastard like Garet to come up with something like that. It's messy. Why can't we just slit their throats and be done with it? A man deserves to die with a little dignity."
"I suppose he does."
"Why can't Armand do his own dirty work?"
Grantaire didn't answer. He was busy wondering how he could turn Gil's discomfort to his advantage. They reached a small opening flanked by two guards. They held short swords ready and stood stiff-backed against the wall, looking bored and uncomfortable.
"What do you want?"
"Armand wants me to take them to the dining hall," Gil said in a tired voice. "Big execution."
"You'd better go on," Grantaire suggested before they could offer assistance. "Armand wants everyone there to watch."
Guard duty was a thankless task that no man clung to any longer than necessary. The two guards left before Grantaire even finished his sentence, one of them pausing just long enough to drop a heavy ring of kings into Grantaire's hand. Gil watched them go, then glared at Grantaire.
"What'd you do that for? We could have stuck them with this job."
Grinning, Grantaire pulled out his dagger. He held the blade up before him. It reflected the light of Gil's flickering torch.
"You were the one who said a man should die with dignity." Grantaire held his breath while Gil's eyes widened in comprehension. If he'd overplayed his hand and Gil didn't fall for this, he was lost. One scream from Gil would bring the guards running. They couldn't have gone far. Who knew how many other bandits were within shouting distance?
"Oh, no. I ain't getting Armand mad at me! We'll be the ones that end up drawn and quartered."
"We could say they tried to get away."
"No way." Shaking his head, Gil turned around and slipped into the tunnel. "Let's just do what we're told."
Gil started to walk turn a narrow tunnel, but Grantaire stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. He had to persuade Gil to let him do this alone. The guards were too close -- he couldn't risk a struggle that might draw their attention.
Sadly, there was only one thing Grantaire could think of that would be convincing. He reached inside his cloak and, envisioning a beautiful tavern crumbled to dust, handed the sack of coins to Gil.
"There's a lot of money here. It's yours if you let me do this alone."
Curious, Gil opened the sack and looked inside. His eyes widened. He looked up at Grantaire, suspicious. "Where'd you get this?"
Grantaire shrugged. "Been hoarding my pay. Look, I agree with you. Armand's too damn blood-thirsty. It's time one of us stood up to him. I'm willing to do it. Lend me your sword. I'll give these two a clean death. And I'll take all the blame."
Gil chewed his lip. The kind of money Grantaire was offering was a strong persuader. "All right. But I didn't know nothing about this."
Grantaire nodded. He watched as Gil tucked the price of Talley's Corner safely inside his cloak. He had no idea what kind of dreams he was stashing away.
Gil handed him the torch and his sword. "Well, good luck. And remember, when Armand asks, I didn't have nothing to do with this.
"I'll remember."
Grantaire watched Gil turn and walk away, wondering bitterly what Gil would do with the money. Well, there would be time to grieve for lost hopes later. Enjolras and Felix needed him now. He turned and went into the tunnel. It led to a small cavern, lit only by the torch he carried with him. Felix and Enjolras sat on the dirt floor, their arms chained to iron spikes that jutted from the wall above them. Enjolras wore only his shirt and trousers. He looked so vulnerable without his sword and armor. Felix's eyes were closed, and his head hung down listlessly.
"My God. Are you all right?"
Enjolras looked up, his eyes widening in surprise. A dark bruise colored the side of his face, and a cut dripped blood over one eye.
"Grantaire. What are you doing here?"
"What does it look like? I've come here to save you." He knelt next to his friend, unlocking the chains and tossing them aside. Felix opened his eyes just as Grantaire turned to unchain him.
"Grantaire? Is it really you?"
"Do you know anyone else who would be willing to risk his next for you two?" Grantaire tossed aside Felix's chains and helped the priest to his feet. "Come on. Let's get the hell out of here."
"What are you doing here?" Enjolras whispered. "You were supposed to go to San Sebastien."
"I changed my mind. Here, take this sword. I have a feeling it might come in handy."
Enjolras took the sword. He turned it over in his hand, frowning. Grantaire handed the torch to Felix. "Here. You carry this."
"This sword is poorly balanced."
"Yeah, well, I didn't have a lot to choose from."
"Where are we going?"
"We're getting the hell out of here."

"How?"
"Just follow me. I know the way. I think."
Grantaire started down the tunnel. He heard the footsteps just as a shadow filled the opening. The guard who'd handed him the keys stood before him.
"Armand said to..." He stopped short, eyes wide when he saw a sword-wielding Enjolras standing behind Grantaire. He turned on his heel and bolted. Grantaire raced after him. He stopped at the end of the tunnel, with Enjolras at his heels. The guard was nowhere in sight. Three tunnels opened up within ten feet of them -- he could have taken any one of them.
"Shit. We're in trouble."
"Grantaire, you shouldn't have come in here."
He looked back at Enjolras in amazement. "I'm trying to save your life, and you're complaining?"
"You gave your word, Grantaire."
"Oh, please. Not that again."
A clanging sound echoed through the caverns, its source uncertain. Grantaire thought he heard voices, but he wasn't sure.
"What do we do?" asked Felix. The torch shook in his trembling hand.
"Run." Grantaire picked a tunnel at random. Hoping for a little more of that divine guidance, he bolted down it. Enjolras followed, with Felix bringing up the rear.
Grantaire ran as fast as he dared. The walls leaned close. Felix's torch washed light over them, casting strange shadows that danced in time with his foot steps. Grantaire could barely see. He scraped his hand on the wall. He stumbled over a rock. This was insanity. He should take the torch from Felix and go slowly.
The clanging noise rang out again, echoing through the cavern walls. They heard a rumbling like thunder, or the muffled tread of running feet.
Grantaire kept running. Sweat ran down his back. He gasped stale air. He stumbled again, lurched to his feet, and ran on.
He stopped suddenly. Felix stumbled and almost ran into him. The torch light shook, revealing a tunnel that forked in two directions. Grantaire
leaned against the wall, catching his breath and trying to think. He could hear Felix wheezing behind him.
"Which way should we go?" asked Enjolras.
Grantaire had no idea. He thought the entrance to the caverns lay to the right somewhere. The tunnels bent and twisted so much, it was hard to tell. He had no idea which ones might lead them to the entrance.
"You're the one sent here by God. You pick which way."
Enjolras hesitated, peering first down one tunnel, then the other. They looked identical. They heard voices again. This time they were loud and came from behind them. Grantaire looked back. He though he could see the distant light of an approaching torch.
Enjolras saw it, too. He ran down the right fork. Grantaire waited for Felix to follow, then followed them. They were running down another dark tunnel, this one sloping downward. Grantaire kept looked behind him. He could still hear voices, and foot steps. A lot of foot steps. The distant torch seemed brighter.
The tunnel forked again, offering up a turn to the right that sloped down more steeply. Enjolras took it without slowing down. Grantaire was worried. If they kept going down, wouldn't they end up beneath the entrance? There was no way to tell how deep these caverns ran. They could be running into a dead end, with the bandits on their heels.
Felix was wheezing again. Grantaire felt bad for him. Enjolras didn't slow down. They couldn't afford to. Some of the bandits chasing them had followed them down this tunnel. Grantaire could still hear them. They had to keep running, but he didn't know how much longer they could keep it up. He was breathing almost as heavily as Felix, and a sharp pain was starting to tug at his side.
Grantaire heard a startled cry ahead of them. Felix stopped suddenly, and Grantaire collided into him. He started to complain. Then he saw the hole. A gaping pit opened up before them, swallowing the darkness. Felix stared into it, eyes wide with horror.
"Enjolras!"
No. It couldn't be. Grantaire stared down into the hole. He thought he heard a distant splash, but he couldn't be sure. He saw nothing but a deep cut in the earth that seemed to go on forever.
"He's gone," Felix sobbed. "Dear God. He's gone."
"No." Grantaire grabbed the torch and held it closer to the pit. "We've got to help him."
"How?"
Grantaire leaned over the hole. Cool air rushed up at him. "I heard water. There must be an underground stream or something. We can jump."
Felix grabbed his arm and yanked him away from the hole. "Are you crazy? It's hundreds of feet down!"
"We can't just let him die!"
"He's already dead."
Grantaire glared at Felix. How could he give up on Enjolras so easily? He was their friend. He couldn't be dead. Not Enjolras.
Something struck the rocks above Grantaire's head. Dirt rained down on him. He turned to see a group of bandits standing at the end of the tunnel. One of them was lining up another arrow.
"Run!" Felix screamed. He grabbed Grantaire's arm and tugged at it. They leaped over the pit, heard the second arrow hit the dirt behind them. They ran blindly down a tunnel with only a torch to guide them. They had no idea where it would take them. But Grantaire was certain it wouldn't lead them to Enjolras.

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