Temar nodded, his mind already searching the plan for any flaw or opportunity. “So who will you be sending overland?” he asked Den Fellaemion, “Those with families in the new settlement might be best—”
“They will be the first to submit to Guinalle’s ministrations,” Den Fellaemion said sternly. “Use your wits, Temar, these people have been through a waking nightmare and I am only going to put demands on them where I must.”
“I don’t understand,” frowned Temar.
“Think about it, lad,” the Messire rubbed a weary hand over his bloodless lips. “If we are sending people away from horror and death, toward safety and their loved ones, if danger threatens, who among them is going to struggle to protect a burden, however precious they have been told it might be? I don’t mean to condemn our people as cowards, but be realistic, Temar, we need to send men who will lose their lives before they lose these valuables. More than that, we need to give the settlers at the new port every incentive to get home, to rouse a riot if need be, to summon aid and bring help to restore their own loved ones to life again.”
Temar could see Guinalle was as shaken by this uncompromising argument as he was.
“It can only be a matter of time before these invaders follow the coast south and find the new settlement. There’s more to this than simply protecting our own lives, you know,” Den Fellaemion continued, his pale eyes distant. “I do not understand how these murdering bastards came to this land but I will not leave them our great ships to steal, to cross the ocean with and fall upon an unsuspecting Empire, especially if the chaos that we have heard of is worsening. I bless Dastennin that they were all sent south for refitting in those more sheltered waters. If we must die here, so be it, but I spend my life in defense of my honor to my House, even if my Emperor is a wastrel and a fool.”
Guinalle and Temar exchanged an uncertain look. He stifled the qualms gnawing at his empty belly and squared his shoulders.
“I won’t fail you, Messire,” said Temar formally, resolutely banishing his own terror at the prospect of a journey through cramped and dangerous caves. “You may lay this burden on me.”
“Guinalle, could you go and help Avila, make a start on getting a meal inside these people. Warm food, however little, will put some heart into them.”
Guinalle blinked, evidently surprised at this albeit gentle dismissal, but rose obediently from her damp seat and made her way carefully down the slick steps into the cave.
“You won’t be leading the expedition overland, Temar,” Den Fellaemion said crisply.
“You cannot be thinking of going yourself, Messire—” protested Temar hotly.
“No, I am not, I know I haven’t the strength left.” Den Fellaemion shook his head. “This throw of the runes falls to Vahil.”
“But surely—”
“Hear me out, Esquire.” Den Fellaemion folded his arms over his narrow chest and looked steadily at Temar. “Vahil has Elsire at the new settlement and, yes, I know what I said about choosing those who would go, but this is a special case. The thought of rescuing Elsire is just about all that is keeping Vahil on his feet at present, all that is stopping him succumbing to the shock of seeing his parents slaughtered before him. I’m not going to remove that prop and, more importantly, I need Vahil and especially Elsire to demand aid from the Empire. As nephew and niece to the Sieur of arguably the mightiest Name in the south, their demands will not go unmet, I’m sure of it. Their uncle will get things moving, he will have to or be forever dishonored.”
“And D’Alsennin is a fallen House with little or no influence, is that it?” Temar could not keep the bitterness out of his voice.
“Hardly. Your grandfather will take Nemith himself by the ears to shake some sense into the sot, if need be.” Den Fellaemion smiled faintly. “No, it’s rather that I want you here, at Guinalle’s side, just in case of the unexpected.”
“How do you mean?” Temar looked up, a little heartened.
Den Fellaemion drew a sigh deep into his thin frame. “Guinalle is confident that this extraordinary idea will work and, more, that she will be able to conceal all traces of the cave where you are hidden. I have to confess I still have concerns. We do not know just what Artifice these invaders are capable of and I am worried lest they find you all and somehow revive you. Guinalle has had to admit that in theory the body might be used to summon the mind from afar and in any case, whatever she chooses to contain her mind will have to remain with her body, since she has to be the last awake to seal you all in.” He looked after Guinalle, small in the vastness of the cavern as she knelt beside a weeping child.
“Of course, she swears that were she to wake to find herself in the hands of the invaders, she would use the last of her skills to warn the Empire then to stop her own heart, but I am concerned that if these savages have the Artifice to wake her they might also have the skills to take her will from her and bend her to their purpose. Should that happen, Temar, I would want you here above anyone else, to defend Guinalle and to find a way to salvage something from the wreckage of our colony, even if it is only spending your life in killing whoever has the Artifice to defeat Guinalle’s enchantments. I know I can rely on you for that, D’Alsennin. I can think of no other I could call upon.”
Temar could not find any words in the confusion of emotions within him until one question above all others demanded an answer. “But you will be here, Messire, surely?”
“No, Temar, I shall not.” Den Fellaemion moved to the edge of the alcove and looked out at the dark-green secrets of the gorge below them, the shadows deepening. “Walk a little with me, Esquire. We can check on the look-outs.”
Temar drew a deep breath of the fragrant air as they made their careful way along the ledge at the front of the cavern, slippery with returning dew where the sunlight had never reached the stone. Coming out of the shadow, Temar turned his face to the meager warmth, the chill of the rocks seemingly sunk into his bones. Den Fellaemion rubbed his thin hands together, the hooked nails almost blue against the papery skin.
“I’m dying, Temar,” he said simply. “The whole reason Guinalle started to research this arcane ritual was in a desperate hope that I would agree to be sent back to Bremilayne in such a sleep, to the shrine of Ostrin where the Adepts might have the skill to destroy the canker that’s eating away at my vitals.” He smiled, this time with fondness. “The dear girl does so hate to be beaten. Anyway, that’s how all this started,” he continued briskly, “but by now there is no likelihood that I could be revived, even if the enchantment did not kill me outright. In any case, knowing that Saedrin waits just beyond the door for me, I cannot see the virtue in sleeping awhile, only to waken to die. I intend to spend my life to some purpose at the last; I am going to take a ship, the rails lined with the fallen, and attempt to run the blockade myself.”
“That’s suicide,” said Temar faintly.
“It’s a diversion,” Den Fellaemion contradicted him with a glint in his eye. “I will cast off the day after Vahil has set off through the caves. That should tie up these invaders just as he should be reaching the way out and it ought to keep them from getting curious about the far valley. I will greet Saedrin with a sword in my hand and an oath to Dastennin on my lips, Temar; I don’t think he will rebuke me for the waste of a life.”
“More likely Poldrion will give you passage to the Other-world for free.” Temar blinked away hot tears and scowled at an inoffensive bush.
As leaves behind them rustled, both turned to see Guinalle picking a cautious path through the undergrowth. “If we are to do this, we have to do it soon,” she said firmly as she approached. “At present, most of them are still so shocked by what has befallen, I don’t think they will argue, even with such a bizarre proposal.” She smiled with a brief flash of humor. “If we leave it much longer, people are going to become more aware of their situation. Either panic will set in or you’ll be dealing with a handful of separate schemes to break out of here. I’m also worried about so
me of the more frail and the wounded. They may not survive the trials of the night here.”
Den Fellaemion nodded. “There’s nothing to be gained by delay. We’ll feed them as best we can then I will speak. Temar, go and help Vahil. Guinalle, get your Artificers together and work out how best to combine your efforts in such a task. Oh, and do what you can to make sure no one is using Artifice to eavesdrop on us, if you would be so good. I don’t want to find myself telling these invaders where to find us all like fish stunned for the pot.”
A more immediate concern struck Temar. “How are we to be reawakened, when help comes?”
“The Adepts at the Shrine of Ostrin, where I studied, they will know what to do.” Guinalle stated confidently. “We will tell all those leaving to make sure the word gets through.”
“Has something like this ever been done before?” inquired Temar, curiosity getting a nose ahead of his instinctive dread.
Guinalle shrugged. “Not that I know of, but I don’t see why that should dissuade us from the attempt.”
“That’s the spirit that put the House of Priminale on the Imperial throne!” Den Fellaemion laughed and hugged Guinalle to him as they walked back into the cavern, though now Temar could see the support the older man was taking from Guinalle’s slender shoulders.
Temar left them talking to Avila and went to help Vahil, who was giving orders in a listless monotone to women and children whose movements were no less dull and unthinking. However, a hot meal, sparse though it was, did seem to put heart into the gathering. As the noise level rose through the cavern Temar saw the force of Guinalle’s argument that the enchantment had to be worked quickly as he began to hear questions and even disputes on all sides.
“My friends!” Den Fellaemion’s voice rang through the cavern, silencing the tumult of voices so that an expectant hush hung in the dim air. “You all know that our situation is grave and I have still more grievous news to give you. Those valiant enough to remain with the boats that brought us here attempted to strike down river this morning in the hopes of breaking through to the open sea and summoning help. I cannot lie to you, my friends, they have failed.” The Messire lifted his voice above sudden weeping and laments from distant corners of the great cave. “They spent their lives in our defense and Saedrin will speed them to the Otherworld with all due honor, do not doubt it. However, this means that for the present we are trapped with little food or fuel to sustain us, or so our enemies would have us believe and so despair.”
Temar looked around and saw faces raised, questioning this obscure pronouncement, wondering at the new ring of defiance in the Messire’s voice, searching for hope or reassurance.
“We have all seen the dark use these invaders have made of Artifice.” Contempt sounded harsh in Den Fellaemion’s words. “What they do not know is that we have Artifice of our own to defeat their foul purposes. We may be trapped for the moment, but we have the means to summon help and it will come, never fear. While we wait, I have decided that Artifice will protect us from all that we lack. Demoiselle Guinalle and her adepts are to give us an enchanted sleep, a respite by the grace of Arimelin, where our grief and wounds will be healed, keeping us safe from all detection until the full wrath of the Empire falls upon these savages and makes them rue the day they ever set foot on our new lands!”
A murmur of startled questions began to circulate around the gathering. Den Fellaemion let it grow for a moment until raising his hand once more for silence. “As we sleep, Esquire Den Rannion will lead a hand-picked team through the caves and out to the far valley, marching thence to the new settlement in the south. He will take your reassurances to your friends and family there, then use the ocean ships to take everyone far from any chance of harm and to summon the help that will drive these worthless midden-dogs from the lands we have worked so hard to tame.”
A ragged scatter of applause greeted this announcement. Temar saw a faint spark of life relit in his friend’s eyes, new determination forcing Vahil’s head up and his shoulders back.
“These carrion crows can scavenge on the hollow bones of their victory for the present, but I swear to you they will soon be put to flight. Enjoy your meal, my friends, my apologies that it is so humble, and then we will settle ourselves to wait out this siege in peace and contentment. When we wake, I promise you a better feast, something to look forward to before we start to rebuild our colony.” The total confidence that rang through Den Fellaemion’s words was having its effect on the shocked and demoralized people, Temar saw. He heard questions on all sides, over what such sleep might be like, what they might find when they woke, but no one was disputing the proposal itself.
“Will you be with Esquire Den Rannion?” A stout woman whom Temar vaguely recognized as a former tenant caught at his arm.
“No.” He shook his head, forcing confidence into his voice. “There’s no need. I shall wait here with you all, to make sure there’s someone ready to give a full account to our rescuers. If you’ve finished your food, I suggest you make ready. Wrap up warmly if you can.”
The woman nodded, familiar obedience to authority something to cling to in the midst of the catastrophe that had befallen them all, Temar realized. He pushed his way through the crowd, those adept in Artifice surrounded on all sides by questions and demands for more information, Guinalle in particular at the center of a vociferous knot of people.
“All you need concern yourself over is choosing something precious to you, to focus your mind on while I work the enchantment.” Guinalle was soothing a young mother perilously close to tears as she clutched her three children to her.
“If we all need something, I have so little, my husband—” the girl’s lip quivered and her eyes filled, her distress visibly infecting her children and many of those closest to her.
“We can manage easily enough.” Guinalle’s voice was warm with reassurance. “You keep that ring, and why don’t we give your necklace to your eldest daughter?”
The girl brought a trembling hand to her throat. “My mother gave me this on my wedding day. I always wear it. I was going to—”
“She can have the chain, and here, let’s put the pendant on this ribbon,” Guinalle broke in briskly. She suited her actions to her words, unfastening the necklace with gentle hands and unthreading a length of braided silk from the purse at her own waist. “The little one can have that. It’s a good choice, too. If the girls are used to seeing you wearing this, it will hold their attention so much better, excellent for the workings of the Artifice.”
She raised her voice a little to address those gathered closest. “This is the kind of thing you should be looking for, a small trinket that has particular meaning for you and yours.”
Guinalle’s confident tone wavered just a little as her gaze fell on the oldest child. She looked around and Temar saw a mute appeal in her eyes. He stepped forward to kneel beside the boy, a lithe lad with coppery blond hair and wide eyes, blue as a spring sky, with a sprinkling of freckles over his snub nose.
“Would you like this, so the lady can work her enchantment over you?” Temar unbelted his tunic and wrapped the leather strap twice around the skinny waist as the boy nodded silently, eyes huge in his pale face. “Now, you concentrate on this buckle,” he commanded. “This is an heirloom of the House D’Alsennin. If you can do this, take care of it for me, when you wake up I’ll make you my page and you can keep it. Do you agree?”
The lad nodded again, a faint smile on his lips, and Temar looked up at the mother. “You see, we can easily find something if we all help each other out. After all, it’s only something to center the Artifice upon.”
“The children are so tired, I think it would only be right to let them sleep as soon as possible,” Guinalle led the feebly protesting woman toward Avila. “Let the demoiselle help you settle them.”
Temar caught Guinalle’s hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze, which won a faint smile from her to warm his heart. “The trick to success here is going to be getting it
done fast,” she said with determination.
“Then let’s get started,” replied Temar, setting his face to the daunting task.
He settled the boy between his two little sisters and wrapped all three children securely together in a warm woollen cloak. “Lie back now,” he instructed them softly, tucking a coarse blanket around them with gentle hands.
“All you have to do is close your eyes and think about your special thing.” Guinalle knelt beside the children with an encouraging smile. “Do you all have something to hold on to?”
The children nodded, wide eyed, and the smallest girl wriggled one hand free to solemnly proffer an enamelled silver flower on a silken cord.
“That’s very pretty.” Guinalle stroked closed the eyes of the little lass with one hand, doing the same for her sister with the other. At her nod, Temar tousled the lad’s hair before similarly shutting that beseeching gaze.
Guinalle softly chanted the complex words of the Artifice. Her low tones were echoed from points all around the vast cavern as Temar watched the Adepts begin the lengthy process of settling the colonists to this frozen rest. He looked back to the children, now motionless, not in the relaxation of sleep but stiff in the grip of the enchantment, no hint of breath to be seen, the color fled from their cheeks to leave them waxen-faced.
Temar trembled at a sudden memory of childhood horror. It had been the morning he had finally summoned up the courage to return to the playroom, in those dreadful days when he had wandered the house, confused and alone, unable to comprehend how his father, his brothers and sisters had all been taken from him. Opening the door, the blank, painted faces of his sisters’ dolls had confronted him, silent, still, never again to be brought to life by happy hands and bright imagination.
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