Page 126 of The Cradle of Ice
Cassta drew Kanthe away. “We must keep going.”
The others realized the same and set off for the cliffs, chased by Rikard’s stifled cries. Kanthe kept close to Cassta, who hooked her arm around his waist, defending him with her one torch, while he waved his two.
Kanthe recognized the truth in Rami’s earlier words.
Three torches were far better than two.
As they ran, the clouds of lycheens fell back, either drawn by the prey behind them or simply deterred by their collection of flames. The waning threat allowed Kanthe and the others to reach the pile of boulders at the foot of the cliff.
Still, they didn’t slow. They squeezed and climbed their way through the rubble and reached the fractured fissure that cut into the cliff. They rushed into its welcoming darkness, shining their torches all about, pushing back the shadows, searching for any new threat. They clambered deeper until their desperate panting subsided enough for them to catch their breath.
“Hold here!” Rami called out, drawing them to a stop. “The lycheens won’t pursue us. They shun the darkness, preferring their watery lairs or open air.”
The group obeyed him.
“Smother your torches, too,” he ordered. “Leave them here. We need to conserve their fuel for the return to the ketch. We’ll continue onward with our lanterns.”
Kanthe rolled the end of his torch in the tunnel’s silt to douse its flame. The others followed suit and stacked the brands against one wall. They all pulled aside their byor-ga coifs but kept their headgear in place.
Once everyone had unslung their lanterns, Rami used his torch to light them. Afterward, he kept his torch lit and in hand.
Frell noted this with a raised brow.
“Just in case,” Rami said.
Kanthe lifted his lantern and searched down the throat of the tunnel. Cassta did the same. Sadly, she no longer needed to hook her arm around his waist. He rubbed where her hand had rested.
The remaining two of Llyra’s men stared the other way, toward the entrance. In unison, they lifted two fingers to their lips, then pointed them high, a salute to their fallen friend. The two brothers were Jester and Mead, neither of which could possibly be their given names, only monikers they had somehow earned.
“Where now?” Rami asked.
Pratik motioned ahead. “We’ll see where this leads. And pray the life we lost was not for naught.”
With those grim words, they set off into the dark depths.
* * *
AN INTERMINABLE TIME later, Frell struggled to solve the dilemma before them. They had clambered, climbed, crawled, and waded their way through the fissure, delving ever deeper—only to reach a difficult crossroad.
Frell lifted his lantern higher, as if that would offer better clarity.
Two tunnels forked ahead. They both dove downward, offering no clue to which way—if either—might lead to their buried Sleeper.
“Perhaps we should split our forces,” Pratik suggested.
“Feck that,” Mead grumbled, swiping his wet brow. He looked to his brother for agreement. “Right?”
The two were Guld’guhlian—like Llyra—only this pair had the more typical stocky bowleggedness of their people. Their noses were matching knobs of gristle from old breaks.
Jester considered his brother’s question and merely shrugged.
Kanthe, though, bolstered Mead’s position with far more vigor. “We stick together. We must.”
Frell weighed their options. Haste or caution? The wiser path forward was to proceed slowly, exploring each tunnel painstakingly and mapping their path along. Or there was Pratik’s option. Splitting up and exploring both simultaneously. It would expedite their search, but it would be riskier.
He looked around the group. They stood in torn, silt-caked clothes, all soaked to their waists. Their bodies were scraped, bruised, and bloodied. Their faces streamed with sweat. Their breath panted in the foul air.
The one who seemed least affected stepped forward.
