Glace did not want to leave Stasia in the Burial Chamber, so close to Chraun. It had been hard enough to leave while she was still unconscious, to seek food; now that she was awake he wanted to drink in the sight of her, to tell himself over and over again that she was alive. Alive, though Casser said she should have died. Glace turned away from that thought. She was alive.
He and Larc felt their way through the dark Spiral Tunnel, listening for Flames coming through. He would have avoided the Spiral if he could, but the tunnel Casser made went to the Lakes, not the mines, and there were no spurs this far down that were not dead ends. If they found more Icers, they could start to shape tunnels around the burial chamber, make safe passages that could be hidden from the Flames, but for now there was only he and Larc, and Larc admitted that she had no affinity for stone.
The patrols in the Spiral were thick, and more than once they saw the telltale glow coming around a bend. The first time they were near a spur, and thankfully the Flames did not follow them into that cobweb-filled crack. The second time they had to backtrack quickly to the nearest spur, and hide in an alcove when the Flames checked the spur with their torches. Glace’s fear for Stasia increased; if they were checking the spurs, what would keep them from finding the burial chamber? But there was nothing he could do for her now.
When they drew near the top of the Spiral where the tunnel branched, the distant glow of Flame torches blinded them both. Glace pulled Larc into another dark spur. If he remembered correctly, this one went through to the mines, bypassing the busy tunnels by the lake. As he padded silently through the narrow tunnel, Larc’s websilk rustling against the sides, images of the battle rose and flickered through Glace’s mind, playing over and over. Houses on fire, bodies filling the streets, blood and ash coating everything. He had bathed in a spring near the Burial chamber, but he could not wash the slimy feeling of blood off his skin. Larc’s breathing grew heavy, and he realized she must be remembering, too. He reached back and grasped her hand.
They said nothing, just walked awkwardly with hands clasped. Glace pushed through giant, sticky webs of wild neithild; it did not seem the Flames nor anyone else had used this tunnel for a very long time. The ground sloped gradually upward, a good sign that they were headed for the mines. Glace hoped that it was the tunnel he remembered, that it really did have an exit at the end.
“At least Stasia lives,” Larc said once, hollowly. “And Casser. At least we have that much.”
Glace said nothing. He agreed, but the immensity of loss was too much to bear thinking about. He saw blood again, and chunks of ice falling from the ceiling as he carried Stasia into the lake. His home. What if the four of them were the only survivors? Would they live out their days in the Burial chamber, sneaking food from the Flame’s stores? Glace could not imagine such an empty existence. He still could not believe his home was gone. The Council Hall, Market, all the people, the lake—he would never again saunter onto the training square and engage another Warrior in a spar.
A sound echoed down the tunnel and Glace froze. Larc bumped into him from behind and stayed close and quiet. Glace gripped the handles on his mace and axe. There would not be much room to swing them in this tight tunnel, but drawing his long-swords would be impossible. He would throw the mace with all his might, follow it with the axe, then draw his dirk for a close attack.
The sound continued, a faint snuffling, almost too faint to hear, a rock dislodged here and there. Glace could feel the air change slightly as Larc drew T'Jas. He wished he could talk to her, to coordinate their attack, but talking would only give them away too soon.
Glace blinked, trying to prepare his eyes for the burst of light that must be coming. The noises grew, but the light did not appear. A strong smell washed over Glace and joy exploded in his heart. In the same moment, Larc giggled and made an icelight.
A pair of eyes, low to the ground, glittered in the blue light. Glace cautioned himself. It was probably a wild slink, migrating to the warmer tunnels to mate. He let go of his weapons and stepped forward slowly. He saw a notched ear hovering in the light.
“Musche!” He cried, hurrying forward. The slink became a wriggling ball of fur in his arms. Glace held him, then backed up and looked at him.
The slink was worse for the wear. His ears had a few more notches, and his fur was burned off in patches. Blood leaked from a gash on his flank. Glace wondered if the Flames had done all the damage, or if he’d fought other slink in the Outer Tunnels.
“Phee-ew!” Larc exclaimed, catching up. “Only you could love a male slink, Glace. How is he?”
“Alive,” Glace said. “Save your T’Jas, Larc. There will be human survivors, and they will be wounded.”
Larc ignored him completely. She knelt on the rough ground and petted Musche. He began to purr and reached around to lick her fingers. Glace watched the gash close up, saw his pelt grow thick and strong. “I can’t do anything for his hunger, though. He must have forgotten how to hunt, eating your table scraps. But Glace, how by the Ancestors did he find you?”
“He always finds me,” Glace said, standing. “Come. We must go on. If he survived, there must be people in the mines and Outer Tunnels.”
The mines were dark and cold, with no evidence of Flames except the smell of Fireblood and sooty air. The Flames had attacked here, but moved on. The forges were cold, the ore carts empty. Apparently the Flames had also looted. Musche led the way now, nosing across the echoing caverns and up through mining veins. Glace followed him, trusting the animal’s sense of smell to lead them true.
His faith was well placed. Larc kept her icelight shining, and just as they entered the outskirts of the Outer Tunnels, an icelight appeared down a branching tunnel, greeting them. “Careful,” Glace warned. “It could be a trap.”
A lone Icer greeted them, a short blonde man with wary eyes. Glace had seen him before but did not know his name. Larc did.
“Ujune! You’re alive! Are there others?”
“Larc? Is that you? And Stasia’s Guard? Are you alone?”
There was a moment of silence, and Glace felt the terrible irony, that they had found their first survivor and instead of reunion there was a sense of distrust on both sides. Lord Ujune thought they were sent by Flames to roust survivors, and Glace could not help but suspect the same of him, that this was all a trap, that Flames were waiting to kill them—or worse, follow them back to the Burial Chamber and take Stasia.
“Oh, Ancestors melt me,” Larc exclaimed into the awkward silence. “Here, Ujune. Search me. I don’t care what you learn, if it’s the only way past this impasse.”
It took Glace a moment to realize that she meant to link minds with the other Icer, and he looked away politely while they joined. He experienced a moment of sheer loneliness. What would it be like to do that with Stasia, to see her mind, to really, truly know her? He would never know. Even if she entered his mind, he could not reciprocate, could not delve into hers. For all he knew, she might have entered his mind without his knowing. He did not think his mistress would do such a thing; it was expressly forbidden, and she was respectful of him if not of the laws.
The two Icers embraced, their cheeks wet with tears shining blue in their icelights. “Come,” Ujune said, grasping Glace’s hand in a gregarious gesture of shared sorrow mingled with joy. “Come and see the others.”
The others were more numerous than Glace could have hoped. They were scattered throughout the Outer Tunnels, holed here and there in meager pockets, the humans too cold, the Icers too warm, and everyone very hungry. The wild animals in the Outer Tunnels were full of poisonous metals, and catching and purifying them took more vaerce than it was worth.
Because Ujune had taken in Larc’s knowledge, they did not have to explain about the Burial Chamber or Stasia’s survival. “They have not found any of her sisters, dead or alive,” Larc confided to Glace as they walked through a narrow tunnel crowded with guildless, Guild members, and Icers side by side.
“And Krevas? Was he truly in the Council Hall when it fell?”
“All accounts put him there. And—your father, Glace. Oh, Glace. I’m so sorry. He was there too, protecting the King.”
Glace was sorry for his father's death, but no more so than he was for Krevas' death. It would have been worse if Krevas had died and his father survived; Dalen had died doing his duty, died for his King. As Glace would someday die for Stasia.
The thought reminded Glace of how close he had come to outliving Stasia, and he felt a strong urge to be by her side again. “We should start moving these people to the Burial Chamber,” he said to Larc. “These tunnels are not safe. I will take a party down.”
“I will stay and organize the healthy ones to seek out more survivors,” Larc answered. “Take heart, Glace. As long as some of the people live, Iskalon lives.”
Glace nodded, but he saw the tightness around her eyes. He wondered if there had been any word of her father or brothers. He had not seen them among the refugees so far.
“Poor Stasia,” Larc said, just before they parted. “Perhaps her sisters will turn up. But in the meantime—she has to decide what is to be done. I don’t envy her the task.”
Glace did not either, but in a way he was relieved. She could no longer struggle against her role in Iskalon. As Regent, she could not take risks, and his job of keeping her safe would be easier. He had a sudden flare of grief, an experience of the depth of loss. He wished that she had just gone traipsing off again and he could chase her down and bring her back and they would be in the Palace and everything would be normal.
He pushed the feeling down hard. Stasia lived, but she was not out of danger yet. Even now the Flames could be rushing the Burial Chamber. He was Captain now, not just of Stasia’s Guard but of the whole Gendarme. Duty must come before grief.