She caught her breath on a sudden shiver and her expression and tone returned to normal. “They have discovered what they see as an endless land of unimaginable riches and will not share it with anyone, no matter what,” she concluded softly.
Before Temar could speak, Den Fellaemion rose and gathered Guinalle in a close embrace. “My dearest child, such insights may be valuable but you are more precious still.” A hint of rebuke stiffened his words. “Your skills are our only defense against the evil of their artifice and we cannot risk you in this way. You are not to attempt such a contact again.”
“He would only have thought he was dreaming of home,” protested Guinalle, but her expression was chastened nevertheless.
Temar interrupted as an urgent thought demanded immediate speech. “Have you managed to contact home—Zyoutessela, Toremal, anywhere that might be able to send us aid?”
Guinalle shook her head unhappily. “I have been trying, but something is preventing me, some kind of smothering that is limiting the range of my Artifice.”
“Have you tried working with some of the others?” Den Fellaemion looked up from studying the rocky floor of the cavern.
“I have and that was even worse; we found ourselves harried on all sides by hostile Artificers.” Guinalle shuddered at the memory. “We barely broke free of entanglement, Larasion blight their seed!”
“So we have only ourselves to rely on,” said the Messire softly, grimly.
“We’re well into the sailing season,” Temar protested halfheartedly. “There will be the new ships on the way who can break through the blockade, if we can only hold out for half a season, maybe less. How close would they have to be for you to contact them, Guinalle, without making yourself a target?” he added hastily.
Den Fellaemion sighed. “There will be no ships, Temar, in this season or any other.”
Temar could only stare, first at Den Fellaemion and then at Guinalle, who colored and hung her head. “What do you mean?”
“There will be no new colonists this year, Temar.” Den Fellaemion could not keep the bitterness out of his voice. “We had precious few last year, didn’t we? The last ships of the season brought me several letters, from my House and from others, all saying the same thing. Nemith is running the Empire into the sands on all fronts, hamstringing his troops with lack of resources at the same time as driving them on like a madman with a metal flailed whip. No one has men or coin to spare to venture overseas; all the provinces are going up in flames. We are on our own here.”
“You’ve known this all winter?” Temar stared at Den Fellaemion’s pallid face, the sunken eyes still steady and stern.
“What difference would it have made to spread such news?” demanded the older man. “What benefit would there have been to stir up despondency and doubts when we were doing so well, had gathered a bountiful harvest, Drianon be blessed? We were set fair to spend a busy winter making ready to spread our wings further in due season. From all I could see around me, we had no need of further men and women from Tormalin, if none should choose to come.”
Temar opened his mouth to protest but shut it again, feeling foolish as the force of Den Fellaemion’s words struck home. “And I was so sure we had driven off whatever sortie these invaders had sent against us,” he remembered bitterly. “That the loss of the Salmon was the end of it.”
“We all were,” Guinalle spoke up, her face somber. “It’s as much my failing as anyone’s, Temar.”
“We cannot simply sit here like rats in a trap, waiting for someone to put in our skulls with a club!” Temar sprang to his feet again and ripped a handful of ferns from the rocky wall, peering up hungrily at a distant patch of uncaring blue sky far above. A wisp of cloud was tinged with gold, mute evidence of the unseen sun sinking toward evening.
“There is an alternative, Temar,” Guinalle began hesitantly, her eyes sliding sideways to her uncle who gave her an encouraging nod. “There is a way we can use Artifice to hide us all in the caves until help can be summoned from Tormalin itself. We can be concealed from any search the invaders might attempt.”
Temar blinked, startled. “How? But even if you can conceal us, how will we survive? You heard what Vahil said about our lack of supplies. Curse it, Guinalle, there must be close to a thousand people here by now, and more will find their way in before nightfall, Talagrin willing, if they escape the invader’s hounds. I’m none too happy about the water supply and think how cold it was last night. To send a vessel to Toremal and wait for rescue, you’re looking at the best part of a full season, maybe more if things at home are as bad as Messire thinks!” He shook his head with fresh determination, ignoring the fear of confinement in the caves that was clamoring in the back of his mind. “No, whatever the risks, we must find a way out of here and try to make it overland to the new settlement. Use your Artifice to conceal us while we’re doing that, to stop these murdering bastards hunting us down and cutting us to pieces again.”
“Even if we could find a way out undetected, half these people would be dead before you’d crossed the first range of mountains, Temar.” Den Fellaemion looked down the rough-cut steps crudely hacked into the rock to give access to the main body of the cave. Temar followed his gaze, to the knots of families huddled together over a few meager possessions salvaged from the nightmare, at the individuals sitting isolated in the horror of their memories, at the still ranks of wounded, laid carefully on beds improvised from cloaks, blankets and in not a few cases leafy branches and sacking. The oppressive silence had a dull, defeated quality, broken only occasionally by a child’s whimper or a low sob of pain, mental or physical.
“We can’t just give up!” protested Temar, fighting to shore up his own determination.
“We can hide ourselves in a sleep woven of Artifice,” Guinalle said softly, boundless pity in her soft eyes as she looked down at the ragged remnant of the once optimistic colonists. “We can give these people respite, all life and thought suspended, Arimelin willing, until help can come to drive away these invaders.”
“How?” demanded Temar, incredulous.
“There is a way to separate mind and body,” Guinalle shook the loose hair back from her face and fumbled in a pocket for something to tie it back. “It is a rarely used technique…” her voice faltered for an instant, “only considered in times of grave illness, as a rule. The mind, the consciousness, the essence of the person, is bound into something they value, something they have an attachment to. With the mind removed and in stasis within the artifact, the body is held uncorrupted in an enchantment until the two are reunited.”
“And how would you propose to do that, even supposing you manage to do this with so many people?” Temar stared at her, absently handing her a scrap of leather thong pulled from the trim of his jerkin.
“This is where sending a small detachment overland to the new settlement becomes a valid plan. You’re right, Temar, there is a way through the caves; some of the miners found it a while back. It’s difficult and narrow, underwater in places but it’s passable with care and Misaen’s favor.” Animation brought a false hint of color to Den Fellaemion’s wasted cheeks. “We send a picked band, fighting men, good in the wilds, to get past the invaders undetected, with the aid of Artifice if we can spare someone. They can take these valuables, wherever the minds of these folk left behind reside.”
“To tell the stockmen to strike back, to mount a rescue?” Temar’s doubts warred with gathering hope in his voice.
“No.” Den Fellaemion shook his head decisively. “To tell them to take ship and flee, Dastennin guard them. Curse it, Temar, you’ve served your House in the Cohorts; how could farmers and stockmen hope to take on greater numbers of trained troops, secure in a defended position, even without the complications of Artifice? No, my orders will be absolutely clear; they must make all speed back to Zyoutessela while the weather is favorable. Then they must enlist the aid of every House that has blood or tenants here in gathering a fleet to come in force and drive these white-haired demons back to their barren islands.”