“Herald's down in the Demon's Den.' The storm swirled the voice in through the open door stirring the room up into a frenzy of activity. All the able-bodied who hadn't followed the Companion ran for jackets and boots. The rest buzzed like a nest of hornets poked with a stick.
Ari sat in her corner, behind the tangled tent of her hair, and tried not to remember.
There was a rumble, deep in the bowels of the hillside, a warning of worse to come. But they kept working because Ari had braced the tunnels so cleverly that the earth could move as it liked and the mine would move with it, flexing instead of shattering.
But this time, the earth moved in a way she hadn't anticipated. Timbers cracked. Rock began to fall. Someone screamed.
Jors jerked his head up and hissed through his teeth in pain.
:Chosen?:
:I can hear them. I can hear them digging.: The distant sound of metal against stone was unmistakable.
Then it stopped.
:Gevris? What's wrong? What's happening?:
:Their lanterns keep blowing out. This hillside is so filled with natural passageways that when the winds are strong, they can't keep anything lit.:
:And it's in an unstable area.: Jors sighed and rested his forehead against the back of his left wrist. .-What kind of an idiot would put a mine in a place like this?:
:The ore deposits were very good.:
:How do you know?: Their familiar banter was all that was keeping him from despair.
:These people talk a great deal.:
:And you listen.: He clicked his tongue, knowing his Companion would pick up the intent if not the actual noise. -.Shame on you. Eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves.:
Only the chime of a pebble, dislodged from somewhere up above answered.
:Gevris?:
:There was an accident.:
:Was anyone hurt?:
:I don't... no, not badly. They're coming out.:
He felt a rising tide of anger before he 'heard' his Companion's next words.
:They're not going back in! I can't make them go back in! They say it's too dangerous! They say they need the light! I can't make them go back in.:
In his mind Jors could see the young stallion, rearing and kicking and trying to block the miners who were leaving him there to die. He knew it was his imagination, for their bond had never been strong enough for that kind of contact. He also knew his imagination couldn't be far wrong when the only answer to his call was an overwhelming feeling of angry betrayal.
The damp cold had crept through his leathers and begun to seep into his bones. He'd fallen just before full dark and, although time was hard to track buried in the hillside, it had to still be hours until midnight. Nights were long at this time of the year and it would grow much, much colder before sunrise.
Ari knew when Dyril and the others returned that they didn't have the Herald with them. Knew it even before
