Barb Hendee - Child of a Dead God

And though desperate for word of Aunt Bieja, Magiere knew her home village of Chemestuk was too far off any sure path.

Leesil had left Bieja money and a letter in the hope that she'd head for Miiska. Aunt Bieja was as stubborn as any woman in Magiere's line, but she was no fool.

Magiere sighed, tired of worrying. Once they reached Miiska, Wynn could send word to Domin Tilswith in Bela, and Magiere would find some way to track Bieja, if her aunt wasn't waiting there. Then they could all rest in peace while deciding how best to safely deliver the orb in the hands of the Guild of Sagecraft.

The wind picked up and snowflakes began to slant in their downward course.

"Another blizzard brewing," Leesil muttered.

"Yes," Sgaile agreed. "We must move quickly and reach camp."

The two crouched, and each pulled one of the orb's hammock loops over his shoulder. Leesil also grabbed the rope sling holding the leather-wrapped fire crystals.

"Wynn, put your hood up," Magiere said as she turned about to heave up one of the sage's bulky bundles.

Wynn scowled but did as she was told, then suddenly slipped back through the castle's cracked doors.

"What are you doing?" Magiere called.

Wynn emerged once again, stumbling awkwardly under the weight of a sheaf bound between mottled iron sheets. Magiere remembered it sitting on the study floor.

"Enough!" she said. "You can't bring every parchment in the place."

"This must come!" Wynn insisted. "It may be a journal… written by the others who were once here with Li'kan."

Magiere didn't care for that idea and wondered what had happened to those others. Why had they left Li'kan behind? And how had they managed to leave at all, when the white undead had remained leashed by her hidden master through the centuries?

"Oh, give it to me," Magiere grumbled, taking the iron sheaf.

She almost dropped the sudden weight, and Wynn gasped. Magiere managed to tuck it safely under one arm.

Osha heaved up Wynn's other bundle from the library. The young elf managed well for one who'd taken an iron bar to the head. He frowned and spoke softly in Elvish to Sgaile.

"I know," Sgaile answered.

"They have rites to perform," Wynn explained, "for the caste members that Li'kan killed."

Leesil frowned, glancing sidelong at her. "To camp first… then we'll see how bad the weather gets."

Sgaile looked beyond the gates to the open plateau. "Yes, our purpose comes first."

Magiere headed down the steps and through the crusted snow toward the iron gates.

Hkuan'duv could barely breathe by the time he heard voices. He and Danvarfij had sat vigils before in bad weather. But the thin air in temperatures well below freezing left him stiff, even with his training in controlling and conserving body heat. Snow was falling again, and the wind had picked up. He had difficulty moving his arms and legs as he crawled away from the wall for a better view of the gates.

"Sgailsheilleache and Osha."

Hkuan'duv glanced back at Danvarfij's whisper. Her face and lips were so pale. When he turned forward, someone stepped through the gates, and he flattened in the snow.

Magiere led with a square bundle under one arm and a larger canvas bulk strapped to her back with rope. Behind her came Leshil and Sgailsheilleache, and something heavy swung in a canvas sling swinging between them. The majay-hi ranged nearby, and Osha came last with another canvas bundle like Magiere's. When he took a long step, the small human female became visible, trudging beside him.

Hkuan'duv's gaze shifted quickly over the procession, skipping between the two canvas bundles and whatever swung between Leshil and Sgailsheilleache. More complications-he could not be certain who carried the artifact.

"It appears she was successful," he whispered.

"Do we take it?" Danvarfij asked in a weak voice, though she gripped her bow firmly in hand.

"Not here," he answered. "When they are farther from this place… and its guardian."

He did not see the white woman, but it was better to wait. He did not care to risk dealing with her again.

"We wait until they are out of sight," he said.

When the procession had passed halfway across the white plain, he crawled back to Danvarfij.

Her tan face was drawn and pale, and beneath the cloak's hood, strands of her hair had turned brittle with frost. Her pupils were small.

"Are you well?" he asked.

"Of course," she whispered.

He still opened his cloak and pulled her in against his body. She did not resist, and in truth he did not feel much better than she looked.

"Not long now," he said.

She leaned against him in silence. By the time the procession reached the distant rocky slope, the falling snow had thickened and the wind was blowing harder.

"They cannot travel far in this," he said. "They will remain at camp."

Danvarfij said nothing as he got up. When she tried to do the same, the bow slipped from her fingers. It sank in the fresh snow an instant before she fell.

Hkuan'duv quickly dropped, rolling her over, and brushed clinging snow from her face.

Danvarfij eyes were closed. Her breathing was shallow, barely leaking any vapor between her lips.

The wind sharpened as he disassembled her bow and stowed it behind his own back beneath his cloak. When he hoisted her over his shoulder and took his first step, his legs shook. The long night had taken more from him than he had realized. He stumbled across the white plain.

By the time he crested the rocky slope, he no longer heard Danvarfij's breaths over the harsh wind. He climbed down with one hand clawing for holds on the loose, cold stones.

With their purpose so close to an end, he should have left her behind and finished what they had started-but he could not. Perhaps he had grown too old in service, and his dedication now faltered. But she would never survive alone in the coming storm.

And Hkuan'duv could not survive the loss of Danvarfij.

He tilted his head down and pressed onward. Even when he passed through the chute, he barely glanced at Kurhkage's snow-dusted corpse. When he reached their campsite, the tent was half-buried. He laid Danvarfij down to knock off the caked snow, then quickly pulled her inside and found the bag of dung.

He built a smoldering fire at the tent's mouth, hoping it would keep going for a while, and then crawled beneath the layered cloaks beside Danvarfij. He pressed in against her, and between the smoky fire and her closeness, a hint of warmth grew between them.

Hkuan'duv closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to let exhaustion take him.

He opened them again and raised his head. He heard no wind, and it was dark inside the tent. Danvarfij shifted beside him.

"Where are we?" she murmured.

He crawled to the tent's opening. Snow pinned the tent's flap shut. He began digging to free it, and then emerged into a silent dark world covered in a fresh blanket of snow.

The blizzard had passed. In exhaustion and the welcome warmth of Danvarfij's body, he had fallen asleep. The day was gone.

Hkuan'duv crouched to find Danvarfij staring out of the tent. Her wide eyes mirrored his panic.

"Stay here!" he ordered, and he hurried out through the drifts.

When he reached a vantage point, and saw the canvas-covered depression, he knew he was too late. No light filtered out through the crusted fabric, and he closed quickly, not bothering with stealth. Why had they left the canvas behind?

He stepped forward, pulling the canvas back.

The bodies of Kurhkage and A'harhk'nis lay inside the stone depression. With their hands upon their chests, Hkuan'duv did not need to look further.

Sgailsheilleache had performed rites for their fallen brethren.

At least their spirits, if not their flesh, would return to their people and the ancestors. Without a way to bring home the bodies, the next choice would be to burn their remains and carry the ashes back. With no way to accomplish even that much, Sgailsheilleache had done the best he could for them.