The sounds thrust Herbert back into coherence, sending him wide eyed with panic. It shook the very ground, starting as a trembling bass, as deep as the earth it shook, like gravel and rock grinding together, or the shifting of a mountain. The castle quivered around them, the wall rattling Herbert’s skull. Chips of old rock flaked from the ceiling, and fine stone powder and dust puffed into the air. 

Then the sound shifted, rising in pitch. It was like metal tearing, stabbing the ears, all sharp and jagged edges. It cut through the bricks of the walls as easily as it did the low conversation. And it was angry, terribly angry, intertwined with molten lead and fire.

Herbert jerked forward away from the wall. At first, he thought it was an avalanche, but it had stopped now, and was all too sudden and lacking of sufficient rumbling fortitude. So maybe part of the castle had collapsed, excited by the presence of the bag-owners, or at least others. This seemed reasonable, and yet there was part of Herbert’s mind that felt that something had made this sound. Of all the plethora of cries he had heard, many of which he discovered were missing in the patchwork of is memory, nothing had ever sounded quite like this, but the fear was still there, buried deep in his gut, without logic or recuse. 

Will did little to quash the vexing qualm, bolting off after spewing out a string of semi-comprehensible statements. He had a point though; there was all likelihood that the castle’s structural integrity had been compromised, which meant they needed to get out. At least they had food and warm clothes now so that their death would not be quite as immediate as being crushed by several tonnes of stone and ice. Survival was important; he had to get back to Liza, and struggled to suppress the thoughts that that was be becoming less and less likely.

He coughed into his hand and stood, snatching up the bag from which a discordant chittering came sporadically, stuffed his wet clothes into it, and slung it over his back. Bizbee crawled out onto his shoulder, appearing restless by the flicking of its tail. 

Herbert nodded in agreement with Ryann, as he found it hard to make words leave his mouth. He was a little dubious of letting Dmitri trail them, as he looked exhausted, but there was no time to argue. 

As they ran, Herbert began to realise just how tried he was. Fire flared up in his lungs almost immediately and his muscles ached with the slow heat of dying embers. Hormones and strength-of-will must have kept him going thus far, but now that things became strenuous, he questioned how long he could continue. 

Glimpses of red hair and armour were visible when the tunnels straightened. Herbert’s pace slowed, and just after Will called out to turn left, he spluttered, resting a hand on the wall to steady himself as he staggered to a stop. He held up a hand to show Dmitri he was okay, but it was several seconds before he stopped whooping into his fist. Afterwards his eyes were streaming, and his pace was much slower, but iron-hard determination to live drove him onwards. 

Once he reached the exit and broke into daylight, Herbert almost walked, and he had to shield his eyes until they adjusted. His feet crunched in the fickle snow that would have had no second thoughts of slipping him up. When he reached Will, he stopped, and tried to get his breath back, fighting the urge to collapse.