Duras said nothing. She placed a hand on his arm, squeezing just enough to let him know his words did not fall on deaf ears.
'Preparing a climb,' he answered finally. 'There is a small ledge on the inside of the collapsed chamber we can use to reach the bridge. With some rope and a little time…'
'Good,' she said, eying Anilya. 'We'll go as soon as they're ready.'
She listened to him walk away, then let out a held breath and ascended the stairs toward the durthan. Reaching the window she saw the snowstorm had lessened. The wind barely whistled as snow piled within the Shield's walls. The durthan did not move, but stood staring out into the white nothingness. Before Thaena could break that silence, Anilya spoke.
'They don't understand, wychlaren.'
'They?'
'The warriors,' Anilya said, still watching the falling snow. 'Your berserkers, my sellswords. They fight for vengeance, honor, blood-'
'And gold.'
'Yes. My men have less passion perhaps, but they know quite well which end of the sword earns their pay. But they don't understand the magic in this place, the power that hides in the walls.' Anilya turned to face her. 'Not like we do.'
'Do not liken me to your understanding, durthan,' Thaena said, still contemplating her conversation with Duras. 'I sense nothing but what the Creel have awakened here.'
And what brought them here? she thought. Suppressing a shudder, she recalled the frozen figure on the bridge and the eyes that had chilled her very soul.
'Do you think the Creel awakened the darkness here?' Anilya asked. 'Or was it hathran magic that kept it hidden, existing beyond their notice, sleeping and ignorant, until the hathran were… removed?'
'I fail to see how that matters now,' Thaena answered.
'When this is over,' the durthan said, 'when the Creel are gone, their mysterious leader dealt with, and your hathrans return to their precious outpost, perhaps then it shall matter to you more.'
'As I recall, it was durthan magic that summoned those wraiths during the battle.'
'And it was out of respect for your authority in this that I gained your permission before doing so,' Anilya said. There was no anger or defensiveness in her voice.
Thaena looked away, shaking her head for falling into the durthans logic.
'It was the right decision, Thaena,' Anilya said. 'These Creel are fighting a war here that we don't understand, making sacrifices more like fanatics than mere raiders. We must match them if we are to succeed.'
'And what then?' Thaena said, though she feared the answer, a justification that might ease her troubled mind. The durthan returned to her window view, her secret thoughts, and the swirling snow. Thaena looked upon her enemy and ally with new eyes. It wasn't just philosophical opposition that separated them, but the knowledge that, deep down-in the darkest wisdom of the oldest othlor-the durthan could be right. 'We could fall as well.'
'Before I answer that, think about the path that lies ahead of us and the blood that still must be shed,' Anilya said. 'Then ask yourself if you really want to know.'
'Ethran!' SyrolPs voice echoed in the chamber, startling Thaena from contemplating how to answer the question. 'We are ready.'
She ascended the stairs, returning to the place where she had watched a woman die and seen eyes of ice in a face far colder than winter.
Berserkers and sellswords parted as Thaena and Anilya entered, making a path that revealed the dark abyss that now dominated the chamber. Wind and snow entered through the open door at the opposite end of the pit, flakes tumbling down and down into darkness. Duras and one other stood near there, already across and double- checking the ropes placed along the curve of western wall. The room seemed far larger now than before.
Syrolf reached for the rope to begin his climb, but Thaena stepped forward and laid a hand on his shoulder.
'No,' she said. 'I shall go.'
The warrior nodded reluctantly and let her pass. The ledge was as narrow as Duras had said, merely bits of the stone floor clinging to old supports. She gripped the ropes tightly and began to climb across. There were spells that might have made the process easier or quicker, but she knew the fang needed to see their ethran's strength, her resolve. A simple climb for such rugged warriors might be a little thing-there were far more treacherous stretches of terrain in Rashemen-but a leader must lead.
Holes pocked the walls, most filled with ice and bits of stone from the blast that had taken the floor. Thaena focused on her hands and her feet, ignoring the long drop that yawned beneath her. At two-thirds of the way she paused, hearing something echo from below. A growl reached her ears, a tiny far away sound. She moved more quickly, looking toward Duras who reached out his hand, ready to grab her.
The growl grew louder, and the walls began to shake.
'Thaena!'
She heard the voice of Duras as if in a dream. She moved her hands along the rope, finding another foothold, then glanced down, beyond her boots. She reached farther, closer to Duras. Her foot, overextended, slipped on a loose stone and she fell.
The ropes held, though they shook with the walls. The stone she had knocked free fell away into the blackness. The growl receded, growing softer and disappearing. The shaking calmed, but Thaena could not reach the remaining ledge. Her fingers barely held as she raised her leg higher. Her right hand slipped.
The moment became an eternity as her weight shifted, her legs dangling. Her eyes looked downward, and she imagined she could see a tiny light down there waiting for her. Something caught her wrist. Her arm jerked straight and the plummet was over before it had begun. Duras had her.
Pulling her up, Duras grabbed her with both arms and rolled away from the pit. She breathed deeply in his embrace before meeting his eyes, seeing him once again from the other side of death's door. They stood slowly, her arms and legs shaking, but sure and strong as she faced the others. The ropes had held to their iron posts, and the worst seemed to be over.
She crossed her arms and dipped her head with true Rashemi pride.
'Who's next?' she asked, the challenge in her voice bringing a smile to the face of Syrolf as he took the ropes and found a foothold.
Flakes of snow drifted into Bastun's light, settling on his robes and slowly melting. The scent of fresh air was both refreshing and alarming. Peering through the crevice just above him, he wondered just how much of the Shield had come crashing down.
Satisfied that the rubble was done with its settling he reached up for the edge of the fallen door and pulled himself toward escape. The others no doubt believed him either far from Shandaular or working against them. The durthan would be awaiting the return of her assassin, and with him the Breath.
Gritting his teeth, he pulled and pushed himself higher. Stone scraped his sides and tore at his robes as he climbed. Keeping the light of his staff ahead of him, he found himself thoroughly buried. Still, flakes of snow managed their way to him, swirling and falling on a distant breeze. Searching the roof of broken and shattered rock, he found what he hoped for. Through a small hole above he could just barely make out a faint gray light.
Trapped in a space far too narrow for his body, he wedged an arm back and fumbled at his pouches. Feeling a cylinder of cold metal he pulled it free and held it up before the light, reading the markings along the side of a silver vial.
'Silver is impractical,' his fellow apprentices had said. He uncorked the vial, recalling their jibes.
'Well, it doesn't shatter easily,' Bastun had replied.
Pulling his mask up, he tipped the vial to his lips and drank the bitter-tasting liquid within. The magic of the potion coursed through his body, pulsing and rippling through his limbs. His robes and equipment became as light as air, changing along with his body into an amorphous plume of living smoke. Transformations such as this were usually uncomfortable, but the lack of stone jutting into his back and legs was invigorating.
Swimming on the air he slipped through the ruin, flowing through the hole and several others beyond. He was drawn toward the light and soon found himself floating above the massive pile of rubble. The distance upward was
