The black rock of the cave was now tinged with orange, as humans and sea-elves busily lit glowballs. They were a Dimernesti gift to the band, tightly-packed wads of seaweed soaked with some kind of oil that burned, seemingly, forever. They need not fear darkness even in the lightless bowels of the Smoker.
Darin studied the cave more closely, now that he had more light. Several cracks in the wall offered passages upward; one ran level, and a black mouth yawned behind one boulder, seemingly leading down. If the directions put into his memory by Mirraleen held the truth, it was that black mouth that marked the first part of their underground road.
A wave larger than usual washed in through the mouth of the cave, extinguishing several glowballs. Everyone who did not fall on the supplies and glowballs to drag them to safety drew steel. A wave that size came from no sea snake, not even a school of them. Had Wilthur saved his Creation for them?
Then the shriek of rock against rock tore at their ears, and the echoes went on doubling and redoubling the shriek until Darin and many others were clapping their hands to their temples. A crack appeared in the rock, just above the cave mouth.
It widened. A slab of rock the size of a small temple tilted, then fell free. It splashed into the water at the cave mouth. A higher wave rolled over the shelf, knocking some men off their feet. This time the sound was like a dwarf's pick striking rock, but ten times louder. Another slab of lock, even larger, fell atop the first one. A third followed, then boulders and gravel rained down into the swirling chaos at the cave mouth, until murky waves clashed and splattered all over the cave.
Humans and Dimernesti alike stood as far back from the water as they could, watching in horror and disgust as their retreat was cut off. Darin had drawn his sword, but now sheathed it as his band crowded more thickly around him. Only Mirraleen and Medlessarn remained close to the water, so close that murky water swirled about their ankles. Mirraleen even knelt, with her hand reaching into the dirty foam. Darin finally pushed through the crowd to join the Dimernesti, and drew his sword again. If the Creation did thrust a tentacle out of the swirl, neither Dimernesti had more than a dagger to meet it.
By the time the waves from the rockfall died away, a dozen other humans and as many Dimernesti had joined Darin, ready to fight whatever enemy might present itself. All stared at Mirraleen when she stood up and announced: "I do not believe this is Wilthur's doing."
Darin would never have lived down saying no more than "Uh?" if half a dozen others had not said it loudly enough to drown him out.
"If Wilthur wanted to send his Creation into the cave, he would not have blocked it," Mirraleen explained. "Whoever made the rock fall wished to guard our rear from the Creation, and from anything else that cannot slip through the last gaps in the fallen rocks."
"But the rockfall blocks off reinforcements and supplies," Torvik said. His voice sounded like that of a man who wants to gibber but knows he must be calm for the sake of those he leads. Darin knew the sensation.
"We shall not need either, with all we have here," Medlessarn reminded them. "As for water, there are fresh springs within the mountain, and we can even catch fish and you humans can cook them in the hot springs. For as long as we shall need to be here, we are well fitted. If Wilthur had wanted to use the rocks to defeat us, he would have brought the cave down on our heads, not closed its mouth."
That seemed convincing, except to one man, who voiced a question that Darin admitted was in his own mind: "If Wilthur didn't bring down the rocks, who did?"
"The passage of time, as like as not," Torvik said. "But also let us remember that the True Gods are no friends of Wilthur. If Reorx made the fire we all saw, perhaps Habbakuk can work with sea-worn rocks to aid us more directly."
Torvik did not mention to all what he had mentioned to Darin, that the Dimernesti at least thought Zeboim herself was a foe to Wilthur. That would have unleashed panic, and even Darin found himself chill at the thought of that goddess at work anywhere near him. The name for Zeboim, in the minotaur tongue, was translated, "The Great Treacherous She-Turtle." It was also said that if one had her friendship, one should at once seek the safety of an enemy.
From the wall of Tirabot Manor, Gerik could see not only the smoke to the south and east, but closer by, the flames at the base of the smoke clouds.
At dawn the smoke had still been scrawled across the sky, like the runes of an apprentice wizard writing down his first original spell. Now, at noon, the sky looked more like parchment on which the apprentice had carelessly spilled the ink bottle. Blackness ate at the sunlight, and at Gerik's soul.
He remembered Rubina asking, as the last party from the castle-save for the rear guard-assembled at the gate: "Gerik, will we ever come back here again?"
His answer was the best he could contrive, and he hoped the truth as well. "When there is justice against our enemies," he said, "so that we do not have to live sword in hand and back to the wall every moment, we can think about it. Until then, we must think about making our homes in Vuinlod."
Rubina swallowed and blinked, looking for a moment as if she wanted to cry. Gerik would have been glad to see her let her grief and fear out, if it would not have unmanned him. Then Rubina said, "Is Lady Eskaia honorable?"
"She is, but why do you ask?"
"If she has married again, and there is no one else to give me a home until I am grown and can-"
"Hush," Ellysta said. "Don't speak ill-luck words. Your mother, father, and sister may be at war, but they were alive the last we heard. Your brother may ride with the rear guard, but he is a brave fighter and he will not be alone."
"No, but-oh, it would be ill-luck words again, I suppose." She stood on tiptoe to kiss Gerik, and said, "Take care. Brother. And bring Grimsoar back with you. He has promised to teach me the sailor way of knife fighting." She hurried off to join Ellysta's band.
Gerik stood looking after her when she was long departed. It had been the right touch, those last words, and worthy of one years older than Rubina.
"Good sir!" Wylum called from below. "It's time to ride."
It was indeed. The air was hot and still, with hardly a breath of wind, but Gerik could still smell the smoke of the burnings. He fancied he could even smell roasting meat-the gods grant it be trapped pigs or chickens.
Gerik nearly stumbled on the stairs when he saw what Bertsa Wylum had tucked in her belt.
"Zixa?"
"Is that what Rubina called it?" The sell-sword captain handed the straw-stuffed doll with an elven face to Gerik, saying, "I found her in a hall, when I was leading the final search for stay-behinds."
"It must have fallen out of Rubina's pack in the dark," Gerik said, clutching the doll as if for dear life. "No wonder she was trying not to cry. She's had Zixa since she was five."
Now it was Gerik's turn to swallow and blink. Wylum laughed. "I won't hold it against you if you shed a few tears, Gerik. But Ellysta will put a dagger between my ribs if I don't let you cry on her shoulder first."
Gerik straightened and said, "How is the village?"
"As we expected."
The village had largely emptied itself once the smoke clouds began rising, but not completely. There were those who thought they were in favor with the kingpriest, or even genuinely believed in the reign of virtue. There were those who thought they had knowledge to sell, or who knew they had children or parents too young, too old, or too ill to move. Finally, there were those who simply would not believe that private war could come again to Istar, and be dangerous to them as well.
Gerik feared they would learn otherwise, when House Dirivan or whoever was now sending the riders came. They might not survive the lesson, either. But he had done what he could for them. Four guards with kin among the stay-behinds had offered to join them, and some of the villagers bore arms as well. Anyone who wished had also had Gerik's written permission to enter the manor and barricade themselves behind its walls.