Rworg's fingers twitch toward the handle, but he holds himself back.

I rise on my tiptoes to look through the circular opening in the door. The room behind it swims with light. Beating, thick threads of light run through the room. They curve in from openings in the wall and combine in the middle into a knot of blazing color. It looks like the auroras in the Kerthar's sky, pulled into a room and tightened and distilled into light so intense it looks like I could grab onto it.

I turn away and blink and blink. After the dim gloom of the corridors, looking in felt like someone was pushing my eye toward the back of my skull.

Rworg peers into the darkness. He has untied Finna from his waist and has his sword in his hand. "There's something there. They did not like you looking in."

The hissing continues. It's not a human sound. More like something a large cat could make.

I rub at my eye. I won't be seeing anything in the dark out of that one for a while. "I think we need to get in. This might be what we have been looking for."

"Ha!" Rworg says.

"Yes, yes, but I wanted to make sure and prepare first. Wait for a moment so I can see something again." I grab the rope tied to Finna's ankle and pull her next to the door. I don't know what to expect, but I'm sure something will happen once we open the door. The jonungard things were so interested in the light that they might go crazy once we let it flood out of the room.

Rworg flexes his arms, kicks his legs to loosen them up. "Ready?"

I nod and grab the handle. It's a long metallic rod, sticking to the side. The hissing turns into barks and coughs, the things in the dark reacting immediately to me touching their door. I grimace and test moving the handle. It's probably attached to a simple latch on the other side, keeping the door from opening out toward us. The handle doesn't move in any direction, only creaks. I grab it with both hands and jump, pressing down with my whole weight. The metal screams like it hasn't been touched or oiled for years, rust scraping and cracking, preventing the mechanism from moving more than a finger's width.

"They come," Rworg says. His voice is level, but tense. I hear him shift his feet on the stone, the whoosh of his sword in the air as he rotates in place.

I widen my stance and drop low, pressing my shoulder into the wall to keep me from pulling myself into the air. The handle doesn't move. "I can't open it," I say through gritted teeth.

Rworg glances back at me. His sword catches the light pouring out the opening, and the reflection flickers over white faces, just on the edge of darkness. They flinch away from the light, snarling.

My heart thrums. We're surrounded, and the stupid handle doesn't move. Slapping and shuffling sounds come from the darkness as the white creatures scurry about on all fours, pale bare hands and feet flickering against the black stone. They are human-sized, but the way they move makes them feel like spiders or lizards. "You try," I say.

The jonungaard keep circling us, creeping closer and flinching away as Rworg waves his sword around. He backs toward the door. "Are you sure?"

"I can't move it. Hurry!" I pick up my bow, leaning on the wall next to the door, and grab on to its other end with both hands. The creatures creep closer, but as I swing the bow back and forth, the haft and string cut through the air, whooshing loudly.

The things fall back, melding into the dark. If the light and the dark didn't cut across each other so sharply, it would be easier to see something, know what is going on. It would make planning a lot easier. On the other hand, not knowing how many there are or what they are doing, might be a blessing.

Air hisses as Rworg takes in a breath and holds it. Rust cracks and metal howls behind me. The latch grates against stone, slowly, slowly.

Something snaps, and Rworg grunts, sounding surprised. "Whoops," he says.

A white face appears in the dark. I can take in pale red eyes, white lips, yellow teeth. A heartbeat later, the jonungard charges me. It lopes on long, thin limbs, using also its arms for movement. It's completely white. If not for the color and the way it acts, I'd think it was a naked human. It reminds me of an emaciated wolf, more frightened and desperate than angry.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

The creature comes at me with both arms reaching out. I dodge toward the door and knock the creature on the head with my bow as it passes by. The wood and skull snap together, but I'm slapping it more to disorient and get it off-balance than to do real damage. It's just an animal. I kick my leg up to my chest and kick. I land the sole of my boot on its pelvis, pushing with my whole body. The jonungaard is thrown scrambling to the ground. It barks or yelps, making a hoarse sound as it lands on the stone.

I take a look around, making sure more aren't coming. As I move, the light gets to shine out onto the thing, sprawled onto the floor before me. It screams shrilly, lifting a spindly arm to cover its eyes. Its feet slap as it bolts back into the dark, hissing as it does.

"You about done?" I ask, keeping my eyes on the darkness surrounding us.

"Hopefully not," Rworg says.

There's more metal scraping. I glance back quickly, and see he's aligning his sword with the handle somehow. "Rworg. What are you doing?"

"Sturdier leverage is required," he says, grunting over the scrape of metal on stone.

"Whatever happens, no more breaking walls!" I shout, as another jonungard pads out of the dark.

It hisses at me, revealing a full row of yellow human teeth. It jumps at me, face first, teeth bared. I block with my bow, catching its face on the haft. Its nose squashes to the side, exactly like a human nose would. It's close, so I knee it in its bare, hairless chest. The sound it makes is a hollow thump. It staggers back breathlessly, eyes bulging out.

I wish I had a torch. I'm sure these things would run from fire. Idle thought, if I had materials to build one, they are now flattened with the rest of my equipment. At least the bag with the hunting gear I left at the entrance is fine. I circle slowly, swinging my bow around again. The sound scares them, makes two or three pull back into the dark. How many are there? Five? Twenty? My foot hits something, sending it rolling and clattering on the stone floor.

Metal screeches, and this time continues screeching. The latch slides along the stone as Rworg keeps grunting. I can practically hear his muscles straining. If it takes that much effort from him, I would have had no chance of getting the handle to move.

I keep my eyes on the creatures, but crouch and grab the metallic rod on the ground. The sound it made gave me an idea. It's part of the handle, rusted and snapped off by Rworg. I lift it above my head and throw it onto the ground before my feet as hard as I can.

The handle strikes the stone with a loud clang, the sound echoing and reverberating from the ceiling and the corners of the hall. The handle ricochets to the side and into the darkness, clanging as it goes. The white creatures screech and flinch back, scared by the sudden sound.

Rworg pulls the door open. The hinges are as rusted as the latch, but Rworg is so strong, and he can use the whole door for leverage, that the hinges don't have a chance. As the door moves, the hinges complain and scream. The light floods out, bright and warm as sunlight at noon.

I turn my face away from the blazing room and see the twenty or more white humanoids around us. They all screech and spit and cover their eyes in the sudden brightness. One throws itself on the ground on its belly, covering its head with both hands. Their skin and hair are white as snow, shining almost as bright as the light itself against the black stone.

"In," I croak, my breath taken away from seeing the number of the creatures. "In!" I shout.

Rworg grabs Finna's ankle and flings her inside with an underhand yank. She slides in, scraping the ground as she goes.

I squeeze past Rworg to get inside and grab hold of the handle on the other side of the door. I hope enough rust has been shaken off that I can move it. Rworg turns to look behind him for the first time. He scoffs and grimaces.

The creatures all launch at the same time toward us and the door. They climb over each other, the faster stepping and crawling over the slower.

Rworg yanks on his sword. He has lodged its crossguard against the door and what was left of the handle, using the sword as a lever to move the rusted mechanism. He twists the sword and wrenches it out, showering specks of black rust into the air and to float slowly down to the ground.

The jonungard don't react to the screech of metal. They scramble at us, coughing and rasping in what might be speech, but isn't.

Rworg raises his sword, sets his feet into a firm pose. I stumble on something soft. It shifts lightly from the touch.

Damn.

"We don't have time for this!" I shout at Rworg.

His gaze flickers back to me, then back to the creatures. He frowns, then steps back into the room. Rworg pushes me. My hold on the handle breaks, and I trip on Finna's legs, falling hard on the stony floor. Her leg flops to the side.

"Sorry," Rworg says and grabs on to the handle. He lifts a leg to step on the wall next to the door and pulls.

The handle creaks and the hinges whine. Luckily, they seem to move more easily than on the way out. Numerous white hands grab onto the door, reaching to pull in the other direction. The screeching has reached a feverish pitch. A yearning, desperate sound, the same across twenty throats.

There are so many of the white hands, dozens of fingers grabbing onto the door. Rworg brow is frowned, but a smile plays on his lips. The muscles on his arms bulge as he pulls, both hands on the handle. The door is nearly shut.

The handle snaps.

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