James Davis - The Shield of Weeping Ghosts

"I feared as much." She looked back toward the hallway at the top of the stairs, remembering the woman who had died, sacrificing her body to keep them in this tower.

"But the Creel are defeated," Duras said.

"It doesn't matter," she said, her voice feeling stronger. "They were going to die anyway. They came here for that purpose."

"I don't understand." Duras took his hands from her shoulders, turning her around to face him.

"I watched a woman, back there," she said, pointing to the hallway. "She gave herself to keep us here. She destroyed herself for whatever cause these Nar have come for."

Duras didn't answer, merely stared at her, trying to understand.

"This wasn't just a trap, Duras. It was… a sacrifice." "Then it was a meaningless sacrifice," he said. "We're still alive."

Thaena looked away and crossed her arms. She couldn't help but feel that more could have been done. It was on the tip of her tongue to suggest returning to Rashemen, getting help from the hathrans, and returning with a larger force, but she couldn't say it. She loathed to return in defeat-a vremyonni exile escaped and a wychlaren post lost to the Nar. The Creel could be given no quarter, no time to finish what they had planned.

"You're right," she said. "We are still alive, still here, and we must make something of that-at any cost."

"Any cost?" Duras said, though she could see something else in his eyes and his bearing. He looked over her shoulder, and she turned to see Anilya above them on the stairway, looking out the eastern window.

"We will not suffer wolves at our gates, Duras. We will do what we must for Rashemen."

"This isn't Rashemen," he replied. "Just an old castle."

"You know what I mean," she said.

"And you know what I mean." His voice rose sharply, then softened. "You're starting to sound like her."

Lowering her head, Thaena did not reply. He spoke truly, and she could not deny that truth. There was something in the durthan that she respected and at the same time feared. She saw something of the same growing in herself, an anger that could only be sated in her enemies' blood. Looking around, she saw naught but bones on the floor and flickering torches on the walls. She had no monstrous shadows on which to blame her emotions, and though her old self loathed the feeling she could not deny its usefulness.

"Where are-the others?" she asked.

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.