Martin Hengst - The Darkest Hour

“The clans thought of this?” Wynn sounded doubtful and Tiadaria frowned at him.

“Well, I don’t know if we were the first to think of it, but yes. We use it a lot in the hunting lodges and the longhouses.”

“Huh.” Wynn took the section of pipe from her and inspected it under one of the lanterns. Then he took it and slid it back onto the section it had come from, and pulled the ring very briefly to ensure there was still water coming out of it. “That’s pretty ingenious, Tia.”

“Well, I didn’t say it was my idea.”

Without answering, Wynn went and plopped down on one of the cots. He looked at her mournfully.

“I don’t think we can do this without Faxon,” he said slowly. “Maybe we should just stay here.”

Tiadaria laid kindling in the stove’s firebox and fed it a match. She watched to ensure that the flames caught and then she sat against the wall across from Wynn. She looked at him for a long while before she said anything.

“We have to do this, Wynn. Faxon is depending on us. We need to get to that relic, and we need to get to it before the Xarundi do. If they get their claws on it, who knows what kind of horrible things they’ll do to us…and more importantly, what they’ll do to the people who can’t defend themselves.”

Tia felt bad for him. He looked so unhappy. Even so, she was going to need his help if they were going to get to the relic in time to keep the Xarundi from obtaining it. It was best if he would just come to that realization now so they didn’t have to keep arguing over it.

“I know you’re not fond of your particular gift, but it saved my life in the pass. That’s something, right?”

“Yeah, after I put us there in the first place,” he snapped. “I’m the reason Faxon isn’t here, and the reason that you almost died. I shouldn’t have come.”

“If you hadn’t come, I’d probably be dead,” she snapped back. “There’s no way that Faxon and I could have handled that mob alone. As it was, you were the one who ended things. What do you think would have happened to me if you weren’t there?”

The blood drained out of Wynn’s face and Tiadaria almost felt bad for putting him back in the moment, but if it helped him to realize that he was essential to their success, it was worth the pain. She got up and crossed to the cot, sitting so close to him that their shoulders touched.

“Listen, I know you’re scared, I am too…but if you live your life being afraid of what might happen, you’ll never take any chances.”

“I don’t take chances, Tia. I’m not sure I know how.”

She nodded. “I know. So I guess it’s up to me to show you that sometimes, risking the unknown is worth it.”

Tiadaria leaned closer to him and laid her hand along his cheek. Link-shock danced between them as she turned his face to hers. The kiss was brief, the barest brush of her lips against his, but the ripple of excitement that it sent through her was unmistakable.

She guessed that she had known she was falling in love with the young apprentice, but it wasn’t easy to separate what was real emotion from what was the familiarity of their working relationship. Still, if she didn’t genuinely care for the mage, she wouldn’t worry about him as much as she did. The thrill that passed through her when they kissed was a nice confirmation of what she already expected. That there was something here that was worth exploring.

Wynn surprised her by taking her in his arms and returning her kiss in the same gentle, almost hesitant way she had kissed him. There was no urgency in his embrace, just the weight of his body against hers and the nearly overwhelming sense of rightness about it. How long they remained entwined together, Tiadaria couldn’t say. When Wynn finally released her, she sighed.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his voice anxious. She smiled at him, a warm, tender smile lacking her customary wit and humor.

“Nothing,” she said, patting his hand. “It was a happy sigh.”

They went about their domestic duties in silence. Neither of them wanted to discuss what might happen tomorrow. For now, they had each other and had finally put into action the feelings that bubbled just under the surface. That was enough for tonight.

Tiadaria made them a hearty stew of dried travel meat and winter roots stored in the hovel. They ate quietly and turned the lanterns down to a dim glow. Wynn slipped into a cot and threw the fur over himself. Tia knew he’d be asleep in moments. His inner turmoil aside, Wynn seemed to be able to stop whatever he was doing and fall asleep at a moment’s notice.

Pushing one of the other cots up next to his, she settled on the straw-filled mattress and tried to fall asleep. Tiadaria lay there watching the dancing lantern light for a long time before she finally fell asleep.

* * *

Their long journey was finally at an end. Zarfensis stood in the mouth of an ice tunnel at least fifty feet across and three-quarters of that high. The floor that sloped down into the earth under the mountain was smooth as glass. The walls were fractured here and there, with large ice crystals and piles of snow littering the walls and floor at irregular intervals. The last part of their task, the descent into the cavern to locate the relic, would be the most arduous. Fortunately, the Xarundi were well equipped to handle the rigors of ice travel.

With finger and toe claws fully extended, they slowly made their way into the passage. Only a few hundred feet into the tunnel, the natural light had faded to a dim glow. Their eyes made up for the worst of the deficiency, and when they got further in, Zarfensis and the shaman summoned orbs of magical light to guide their way. The glowing wisps hovered above them, glinting off the angles in the ice and make it sparkle like an enormous jewel.

The air was cold, cutting through even the Xarundi’s thick fur. Their breath could be seen as little puffs of vapor that condensed into snow nearly as soon as it left mouth or nose. The metal of Zarfensis’s replacement leg was burning the flesh where it came into contact. It was a wholly unpleasant sensation.

As cold as the cavern was, the High Priest could understand how those who had come before him had failed to recover the relic. If he wasn’t absolutely certain that they needed its power to rule the Chosen, he might have turned back himself. The Deep Oracle’s mocking laughter came back to him now, echoing in his ears, and he wondered if the spirit hadn’t foreseen their failure. Worse yet, perhaps it had seen them perish in these tombs of ice.

As if conjured by his thoughts, they turned a corner and stumbled across a gruesome discovery. A pair of ancient Xarundi, huddled together for warmth, were half-buried in the frozen floor of the tunnel. They were remarkably well preserved, with only a few clumps of fur missing here and there, allowing the white of bone to peek out from under the shriveled, blackened skin.

The cleric growled deep in his throat, his tail tucked between his legs, his neck fur puffed out in an aura.

“We will die here, High Priest! Like these poor wretches, frozen together for eternity.”

Zarfensis grasped the cleric by the shoulder, forcing the troubled eyes of his pack mate to meet his. The contact seemed to brace the cleric’s flagging spirit.

“Have faith, my brother. Our ancient brethren knew the risks and at least they died together. Our pack is stronger, we will prevail.”

The cleric dropped his eyes. “Yes, Your Holiness. I’m sorry for my moment of weakness.”

“Think no more of it, my brother. It is…unnerving…to come across our ancient brothers fallen in such a way. Succumbing to the cold instead of dying at the hand of an enemy.” Zarfensis motioned deeper into the tunnel, looking meaningfully at each member of their war party. “Steel your resolve, brothers. This may not be the only horror that awaits us. The longer we keep moving, the better off we’ll be.”