Water Like Stone
"I don't suppose there's any chance of a fire from one of you two, is there? No?" Seran snorted. "Didn't think so." He turned back to the shadows at the cave rear. "Wizards."
The girl in the lilac robes shivered and looked uncomfortably at the young man sat opposite her. The light on the mountainside was fading and with it the last of the day's heat.
"He doesn't understand," she said to her companion, the words of his native language awkward in her mouth. "He is..."
"Ignorant," the young man finished for her. From the inky blackness at the rear of the cave, light sparked, flared, flickered, wavered, died out. Seran's cursing drifted towards them. The young man scratched his beard. "The sooner we go on, the better." He leaned forward, his hands unexpectedly finding hers. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
Ilsa nodded, trying hard to stop herself from shuddering.
"I am not... worthy of such an undertaking."
Grey eyes smiling kindly.
"You are the one through whom the wind of Azyr blew."
"I am not..."
"Do not be bound by what you are not. Be freed by what you are."
"Is it natural?"
Ilsa stared at the rock formation, illuminated by Seran's lantern. Its slender arch spanned the chasm that barred their way.
"Does it matter?" Seran shrugged.
Ilsa shivered, but her discomfort had nothing to do with the chill air.
"Are you alright?"
She looked up into dark brown eyes. The young man, with his fur-trimmed robes and his long unkempt hair, looked at home in the cold darkness. "Yes. It's just... I can't feel the stars any more."
The young man laid a tender hand on her shoulder.
"I can feel the land," he said, the harsh words of his language acquiring a strange echoing beauty in the depths of the mountain. "It is strong. And cold." He sniffed. "It is enough."
Turning away from her, he nodded to Seran and they began to cross the narrow strip of rock.
"In the mountains to the south... The wizards of the Empire claim knowledge of its location. We have come to an... accommodation."
"Why me?"
"You have dealt with the westerners before. And your magic is strong." A strange, tight smile. "The Tzarina has commanded."
"Then, I obey."
Yosef stood in the centre of the rock bridge. For one heady, vertiginous moment, it seemed as if he stood on a tiny island of light surrounded by a sea of utter darkness. But, the staff in his hand was solid. And the rock beneath his feet was hard. What had he said to the girl?
It is enough.
And it was.
Gingerly, he crouched down.
"What in Sigmar's name is he doing?"
Yosef ignored the ranger, tracing with his fingertips the pitted surface of the rock bridge below him. He felt its cracks, its scars. Carefully, he straightened and emptied his waterskin onto the ground, watching the water glisten in the pale light emanating from his staff.
He strode deliberately across the bridge. Ilsa smiled at him, weakly.
"It's not far."
A star burning... brighter and brighter than the icy diamonds that glittered in the sable night.
A star to light a fire of passion. Of pride.
It was not her star. She knew that.
Dazh. The word was foreign to her, but it felt right all the same. It was the Star of Dazh.
And the wind of Azyr had shown her where it was.
But it hadn't stopped there...
"Well," said Seran. "Will you look at that?"
At first they thought the rock was on fire, but, as they stepped closer, they realised what they were seeing. Wedged in the cleft of the cavern's wall, a fist-sized jewel the colour of sunrise blazed majestically.
Seran raised an eyebrow. "Looks like you were right, wizard."
Ilsa was weeping.
Breathing.
Puffs of yellow mist in the freezing air.
A shadow on the wall.
Looming.
Monstrous.
Its tiny eyes glittering with hunger, the troll took her with a swipe of its enormous claws, ending her life in a fountain of blood that erupted from her chest, blotting out her sight forever.
Seran darted forward to block the monster's path, blade flashing in the crimson light spilling from the shimmering jewel in the rock. Behind him, Yosef reached for it, his face a mask of grim determination. This was the prize they had come for, the holy jewel of Dazh, Kislev's god of fire. He gazed into its swirling ruby-amber depths for a moment and then stuffed it into his robe.
Behind him, Seran's sword clashed against the monster's claws, sparks spitting in the chill air.
Yosef began to cast, words of power, as sharp-edged and cold as the north winds of his homeland, forming in his mind. Seran thrust with his blade once more, but the creature twisted out of the way, leering malevolently.
"No!" Yosef screamed, as Seran's head parted from his body with a brutal sweep of the monster's claws. The words of power melted from his mind like the snows of spring. And then he ran.
The girl's Kislevarin was passable. No. Better than that.
"I know what's going to happen," she said, her eyes bright with tears. "It's alright. I want you to know that."
He raced across the bridge and skidded to a halt on the other side. The troll was lumbering towards him, Ilsa and Seran's blood dripping from its fingers.
Yosef stared at it. His heart was like the land. Cold. Hard.
He spoke softly.
The troll was on the bridge now. With its bulk, it couldn't risk running across it. But its prey was waiting on the other side. Just waiting. It leered hungrily.
In an instant, the water in the centre of the bridge solidified expanding to fill the fissures and cracks in the slender span's structure. Widening them.
The troll took a step forward, almost at the exact centre of the rock bridge. A loud crack echoed in the depths of the mountain. It was followed by another, then a shuddering, groaning sound that echoed around the Kislev mage as if the mountain itself were coming to life.
Yosef watched as the ice-weakened bridge disintegrated beneath the troll's massive weight and both it and the ancient creature vanished into the dark depths below him.
The young ice mage stood alone for a long moment, his prize tucked safely away. He thought of Ilsa and all that she had told him. He thought of her sacrifice, of her terrible knowledge imparted by the wind of Azyr. A part of him wanted to tell her spirit that he was grateful, that he was sorry.
But he did not. It was not the way of his people.
He turned away, trudging back to the cave entrance, his heart like the land.
Hard.
Cold.