:Do not think of dying.:
He hadn't realized he'd been thinking of it in such a way as to be heard..'Sorry. I guess I'm not behaving much like a Herald, am I?:
A very equine snort made him smile. :You are a Herald. Therefore, this is how Heralds behave trapped in a mine.:
The Companion's tone suggested he not argue the point so he changed the subject. :How did you manage to communicate with the villagers?:
:When they recognized what I was, they followed me. Once they saw where you were, they understood. Some have returned to the village for tools.: He paused and Jors had the feeling he was deciding whether or not to pass on one last bit of information. :They call this place the Demon's Den.:
:Oh, swell.:
:There are no real demons in it.:
:That makes me feel so much better.:
:It should,: Gevris pointed out helpfully.
“Herald's down in the Demon's Den." The storm swirled the voice in through the open door stirring the room up into a frenzy of activity. All the able-bodied who hadn't followed the Companion ran for jackets and boots. The rest buzzed like a nest of hornets poked with a stick.
Ari sat in her corner, behind the tangled tent of her hair, and tried not to remember.
There was a rumble, deep in the bowels of the hillside, a warning of worse to come. But they kept working because Ari had braced the tunnels so cleverly that the earth could move as it liked and the mine would move with it, flexing instead of shattering.
But this time, the earth moved in a way she hadn't anticipated. Timbers cracked. Rock began to fall. Someone screamed.
Jors jerked his head up and hissed through his teeth in pain.
:Chosen?:
:I can hear them. I can hear them digging.: The distant sound of metal against stone was unmistakable.
Then it stopped.
:Gevris? What's wrong? What's happening?:
:Their lanterns keep blowing out. This hillside is so filled with natural passageways that when the winds are strong, they can't keep anything lit.:
:And it's in an unstable area.: Jors sighed and rested his forehead against the back of his left wrist. .-What kind of an idiot would put a mine in a place like this?:
:The ore deposits were very good.:
:How do you know?: Their familiar banter was all that was keeping him from despair.
:These people talk a great deal.:
:And you listen.: He clicked his tongue, knowing his Companion would pick up the intent if not the actual noise. -.Shame on you. Eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves.:
Only the chime of a pebble, dislodged from somewhere up above answered.
:Gevris?:
:There was an accident.:
:Was anyone hurt?:
:I don't... no, not badly. They're coming out.:
He felt a rising tide of anger before he "heard" his Companion's next words.
:They're not going back in! I can't make them go back in! They say it's too dangerous! They say they need the light! I can't make them go back in.:
In his mind Jors could see the young stallion, rearing and kicking and trying to block the miners who were leaving him there to die. He knew it was his imagination, for their bond had never been strong enough for that kind of contact. He also knew his imagination couldn't be far wrong when the only answer to his call was an overwhelming feeling of angry betrayal.
The damp cold had crept through his leathers and begun to seep into his bones. He'd fallen just before full dark and, although time was hard to track buried in the hillside, it had to still be hours until midnight. Nights were long at this time of the year and it would grow much, much colder before sunrise.
Ari knew when Dyril and the others returned that they didn't have the Herald with them. Knew it even before the excuses began.
"That little shake we had earlier was worse up there. What's left of the tunnels could go at any minute. We barely got Neegan out when one of the last supports collapsed."
"You couldn't get to him."
It wasn't a question. Not really. If they'd been able to get to him, they'd have brought him back.
"Him, her. We couldn't even keep the lanterns lit."
Someone tossed their gear to the floor. "You know what it's like up there during a storm; the wind howling through all those cracks and crevasses...."
Ari heard Dyril sigh, heard wood creak as he dropped onto a bench. "We'll go back in the morning. Maybe when we can see...."
Memories were thick in the silence.
"If it's as bad as all that, the Herald's probably dead anyway."
"He's alive!" Ari shouted over the murmur of agreement. Oh, sure, they'd feel better if they thought the Herald was dead, if they could convince themselves they hadn't left him there to die, but she wasn't going to let them off so easily.
"You don't know that."
"The Companion knows it!" She bludgeoned them with her voice because it was all she had. "He came to you for help!"
"And we did what we could! The Queen'll understand. The Den's taken too many lives already for us to throw more into it."
"Do you think I don't know that?" She could hear the storm throwing itself against the outside of the house but nothing from within. It almost seemed as though she were suddenly alone in the room. Then she heard a bench pushed back, footsteps approaching.
"Who else do you want that mine to kill?" Dyril asked quietly. "We lost three getting you out. Wasn't that enough?"
It was three too many, she wanted to say. If you think I'm grateful, think again. But the words wouldn't come. She swung down off her bench and hand-walked along the wall to the ladder in the corner. Stairs were difficult but with only half a body to lift, she could easily pull herself, hand over hand, from rung to rung — her arms and shoulders were probably stronger now than they'd ever been. Adults couldn't stand in the loft so no one bothered her there.
"We did all we could," she heard Dyril repeat wearily, more to himself than to her. She supposed she believed him. He was a good man. They were all good people. They wouldn't leave anyone to die if they had any hope of getting them out.