“If these people are buried alive, we have to free them,” Imraldera said firmly. Eanrin opened his mouth to protest but stopped at the light from the sword glinting in her eyes. “Don’t think you can dissuade me.”
“Dragon’s fire!” he cursed, and Mouse flinched and looked down at her feet. Then he turned to the girl, and his eyes were catlike in the half-light. “Tell me where they are,” he said. “I’ll dig them out.”
“By yourself? It’s not safe—” Imraldera began, but he held up a hand.
“I can manage unearthing a dozen crazed warrior eunuchs on my own, old girl. You take Mouse and get to the surface. I know we need to find the Smallman!” he hastened to add before she could interrupt. “But there’s no point in any of us wandering around in the half-light. If anyone will find him, it’ll be his blood kin, and we’ll have to wait to see if that works. Meanwhile, you two need to get the sword as far away from Hri Sora as you can. Lumé knows what she plans to do with it!”
“What of you, Eanrin?” Imraldera asked.
“I’ll follow quick as thought. Find the miners’ path and stick to it. Don’t listen to ghosts, hear me?”
Imraldera nodded, swallowing hard.
“The cave-in was not far behind me,” Mouse said, pointing. Her tear-stained face was hopeful now. “Please,” she said, “find the Speaker. She . . . she doesn’t know better than she’s done.”
“There’s a new excuse,” Eanrin sneered.
Imraldera gave him a look. Without a word, she took Mouse’s hand and led her through the half-light, back the way she and Eanrin had come.
Eanrin stood alone. He watched until the light of Halisa was a dim pinprick in the shadows. Then he turned and darted in cat-form down the path, seeking the broken chamber. “Dragons blast that Imraldera,” he muttered.
“Dragons blast that cat,” Imraldera muttered as she led Mouse back up the path. Mouse, confused and exhausted, blinked in surprise. She would never have expected such language from an ancient prophetess. But then, nothing ever was quite what Mouse had expected.
They entered a cavern. The sword’s glow could not reveal the vastness of its proportions. They felt tremendous emptiness surrounding them, an emptiness full of wraiths and woes. Imraldera faltered and Mouse’s stomach dropped with terror. Were they lost already? Standing there in silence, with only their own breath in their ears, it was easy to imagine the echoes of lost ones resounding in the depths. Lost miners. Lost slaves. Lost worshippers. Voices echoing . . .
And suddenly Mouse realized that it wasn’t the echoes of lost ones she heard. No, this was a present, ever nearer howling.
“The Black Dogs!” Her grip on the sword tightened.
“No,” said Imraldera. “Just one Black Dog. It is alone.”
“They were sent to find the Smallman,” Mouse said. “The Dragonwitch sent them after I freed him.”
Imraldera licked her lips and glanced over her shoulder as though even now Eanrin watched her every move. Then she said, “In that case, it must be on his trail. If we find it, we’ll find him.”
“What? You mean follow the Black Dogs?”
“It won’t be the first time I’ve done so,” said Imraldera, taking a firm grip on Mouse’s upper arm.
“They’ll kill us!”
“I doubt it.”
“The cat-man told us to go to the surface!”
“Eanrin doesn’t always get what he wants, does he?”
Then they were off in a new direction, plunging away from all traces of the Near World Diggings, down and down into the Netherworld. Immediately Mouse became aware of the phantom presences on the fringes of her conscious mind. But fear of Halisa kept them at a curious distance, where they could watch but not interfere.
The baying grew louder until it rattled every sense in Mouse’s body. She wondered how she’d make one foot fall ahead of the other.
Suddenly she felt something like a pulse through Fireword’s blade, down to the hilt she gripped in both hands. It startled her, and she stopped, yanking back Imraldera, who still held on to her. “What’s wrong?” Imraldera demanded, her voice sharp.
“The sword,” Mouse said. “It said something.”
“Said something?”
“Like . . . a name.”
“What name?”
“Asha,” Mouse whispered.
The Midnight fell upon them. Like the overwhelming sweep of a tidal wave, it crashed over their heads. The two women drew together, and Mouse lifted the sword, her only defense against oblivion. Yet where the light of Halisa fell, the Midnight tore away, and Imraldera and Mouse stood in a small, untouched haven in the darkness.
But the baying of the monster increased.
There were two eyes. Two red eyes like pulsing suns, and a wide, gaping mouth full of dark teeth and blood. Mouse faced it, pointing the sword like a warrior preparing for a last stand. And she saw something she did not expect.
The Chronicler, the Smallman, running before the pursuing beast with a silver lantern swinging from his hand. And the light of that lantern reached out to the sword like brother calling to brother. Though she heard nothing, Mouse knew that the sword answered and that its answer was joyful.
Halisa.
Asha.