“That’s suicide,” said Temar faintly.

“It’s a diversion,” Den Fellaemion contradicted him with a glint in his eye. “I will cast off the day after Vahil has set off through the caves. That should tie up these invaders just as he should be reaching the way out and it ought to keep them from getting curious about the far valley. I will greet Saedrin with a sword in my hand and an oath to Dastennin on my lips, Temar; I don’t think he will rebuke me for the waste of a life.”

“More likely Poldrion will give you passage to the Other-world for free.” Temar blinked away hot tears and scowled at an inoffensive bush.

As leaves behind them rustled, both turned to see Guinalle picking a cautious path through the undergrowth. “If we are to do this, we have to do it soon,” she said firmly as she approached. “At present, most of them are still so shocked by what has befallen, I don’t think they will argue, even with such a bizarre proposal.” She smiled with a brief flash of humor. “If we leave it much longer, people are going to become more aware of their situation. Either panic will set in or you’ll be dealing with a handful of separate schemes to break out of here. I’m also worried about some of the more frail and the wounded. They may not survive the trials of the night here.”

Den Fellaemion nodded. “There’s nothing to be gained by delay. We’ll feed them as best we can then I will speak. Temar, go and help Vahil. Guinalle, get your Artificers together and work out how best to combine your efforts in such a task. Oh, and do what you can to make sure no one is using Artifice to eavesdrop on us, if you would be so good. I don’t want to find myself telling these invaders where to find us all like fish stunned for the pot.”

A more immediate concern struck Temar. “How are we to be reawakened, when help comes?”

“The Adepts at the Shrine of Ostrin, where I studied, they will know what to do.” Guinalle stated confidently. “We will tell all those leaving to make sure the word gets through.”

“Has something like this ever been done before?” inquired Temar, curiosity getting a nose ahead of his instinctive dread.

Guinalle shrugged. “Not that I know of, but I don’t see why that should dissuade us from the attempt.”

“That’s the spirit that put the House of Priminale on the Imperial throne!” Den Fellaemion laughed and hugged Guinalle to him as they walked back into the cavern, though now Temar could see the support the older man was taking from Guinalle’s slender shoulders.

Temar left them talking to Avila and went to help Vahil, who was giving orders in a listless monotone to women and children whose movements were no less dull and unthinking. However, a hot meal, sparse though it was, did seem to put heart into the gathering. As the noise level rose through the cavern Temar saw the force of Guinalle’s argument that the enchantment had to be worked quickly as he began to hear questions and even disputes on all sides.

“My friends!” Den Fellaemion’s voice rang through the cavern, silencing the tumult of voices so that an expectant hush hung in the dim air. “You all know that our situation is grave and I have still more grievous news to give you. Those valiant enough to remain with the boats that brought us here attempted to strike down river this morning in the hopes of breaking through to the open sea and summoning help. I cannot lie to you, my friends, they have failed.” The Messire lifted his voice above sudden weeping and laments from distant corners of the great cave. “They spent their lives in our defense and Saedrin will speed them to the Otherworld with all due honor, do not doubt it. However, this means that for the present we are trapped with little food or fuel to sustain us, or so our enemies would have us believe and so despair.”

Temar looked around and saw faces raised, questioning this obscure pronouncement, wondering at the new ring of defiance in the Messire’s voice, searching for hope or reassurance.

“We have all seen the dark use these invaders have made of Artifice.” Contempt sounded harsh in Den Fellaemion’s words. “What they do not know is that we have Artifice of our own to defeat their foul purposes. We may be trapped for the moment, but we have the means to summon help and it will come, never fear. While we wait, I have decided that Artifice will protect us from all that we lack. Demoiselle Guinalle and her adepts are to give us an enchanted sleep, a respite by the grace of Arimelin, where our grief and wounds will be healed, keeping us safe from all detection until the full wrath of the Empire falls upon these savages and makes them rue the day they ever set foot on our new lands!”

A murmur of startled questions began to circulate around the gathering. Den Fellaemion let it grow for a moment until raising his hand once more for silence. “As we sleep, Esquire Den Rannion will lead a hand-picked team through the caves and out to the far valley, marching thence to the new settlement in the south. He will take your reassurances to your friends and family there, then use the ocean ships to take everyone far from any chance of harm and to summon the help that will drive these worthless midden-dogs from the lands we have worked so hard to tame.”

A ragged scatter of applause greeted this announcement. Temar saw a faint spark of life relit in his friend’s eyes, new determination forcing Vahil’s head up and his shoulders back.

“These carrion crows can scavenge on the hollow bones of their victory for the present, but I swear to you they will soon be put to flight. Enjoy your meal, my friends, my apologies that it is so humble, and then we will settle ourselves to wait out this siege in peace and contentment. When we wake, I promise you a better feast, something to look forward to before we start to rebuild our colony.” The total confidence that rang through Den Fellaemion’s words was having its effect on the shocked and demoralized people, Temar saw. He heard questions on all sides, over what such sleep might be like, what they might find when they woke, but no one was disputing the proposal itself.

“Will you be with Esquire Den Rannion?” A stout woman whom Temar vaguely recognized as a former tenant caught at his arm.

“No.” He shook his head, forcing confidence into his voice. “There’s no need. I shall wait here with you all, to make sure there’s someone ready to give a full account to our rescuers. If you’ve finished your food, I suggest you make ready. Wrap up warmly if you can.”

The woman nodded, familiar obedience to authority something to cling to in the midst of the catastrophe that had befallen them all, Temar realized. He pushed his way through the crowd, those adept in Artifice surrounded on all sides by questions and demands for more information, Guinalle in particular at the center of a vociferous knot of people.

“All you need concern yourself over is choosing something precious to you, to focus your mind on while I work the enchantment.” Guinalle was soothing a young mother perilously close to tears as she clutched her three children to her.

“If we all need something, I have so little, my husband—” the girl’s lip quivered and her eyes filled, her distress visibly infecting her children and many of those closest to her.

“We can manage easily enough.” Guinalle’s voice was warm with reassurance. “You keep that ring, and why don’t we give your necklace to your eldest daughter?”

The girl brought a trembling hand to her throat. “My mother gave me this on my wedding day. I always wear it. I was going to—”

“She can have the chain, and here, let’s put the pendant on this ribbon,” Guinalle broke in briskly. She suited her actions to her words, unfastening the necklace with gentle hands and unthreading a length of braided silk from the purse at her own waist. “The little one can have that. It’s a good choice, too. If the girls are used to seeing you wearing this, it will hold their attention so much better, excellent for the workings of the Artifice.”