Tirdas, 10:11 AM, 75th of Second Seed, 4E 202

Tel Varlais

Research. Research, research, research. Zaryth couldn't keep doing this.

It was quite nice that everyone here in Blackreach was being so reassuring to her. She wasn't supposed to kill herself on this, there was only so much work that one mage could do, they didn't need her to somehow make miracles out of nothing, so on, so forth. That was nice. But she couldn't help but feel that maybe she was the bottleneck in their efforts to save the world. She, specifically, herself. No one else.

There were a few reasons why.

One was what they'd learned about the orb so far. Farengar, rather unsurprisingly at this point, had been able to translate much of the Ayleid text engraved on the orb. It hadn't been perfect, but with some use of context, he'd managed to fill it in like so:

"… the last of Mundus, never to be replaced again. All things are doomed to burn, and their ashes to fade forever into nothing. This, I will into being, for I am Alduin."

Presumably, the upper half of the orb had the first portion of the text on it. Zaryth wasn't sure how much it would help. There had never been a firm idea of what the orb was even for, exactly, but it was hard to narrow anything down beyond 'destroy Mundus' anyway.

Another reason for her feelings was the recent events she'd been hearing about. Honestly, Zaryth had never felt more woefully alone in her work. That Altmer assistant of J'zargo's, Aicantar, had been arrested for high treason. And J'zargo himself had spent a whole lot of time trying to make that right. It turned out that not everyone was good at keeping secret what they saw and heard down here. The end result, as far as Zaryth's work was concerned, was that she didn't have her new Khajiit friend around to help.

And then there was the volcano. She just… she'd been trying not to think about the volcano. But she'd heard plenty. It sounded like the only real loss was that Kamian had been put in a coma, which… was, actually, rather horrible. But what in the gods-damned Oblivion-twisted world was this supposed to be? How could a volcano just appear out of nowhere, and then vanish just as quickly? Had reality broken down that badly already?

No one here wanted to talk about that very much. And Zaryth most certainly understood why not. Simply thinking about it put a horrible, seizing chill through her chest. Whiterun had come within minutes—maybe seconds—of the same fate that she'd seen happen to her own home. And then every time she thought about it, she started wondering how Thorald would've reacted to see his home lost that way.

There was no hiding from her feelings, when her thoughts got to that part. Of all the people in the world who could be broken so badly, who could have their old life simply wiped away, Thorald deserved it least of all. It put tears in her eyes every time.

Such as right now. Now would be a time that that was happening.

Zaryth had been up and about in her lab for a few hours. Sort of by simple coincidence, her sleep patterns currently resembled those of a normal person. But she wasn't even sure where she was with her work. At this point, there wasn't much that needed doing besides locating the orb. She just… didn't know how.

Right now, she was sitting at her counter in front of the alchemy lab, working away like usual. It wasn't anything special or even related to the project, just some healing and stamina potions. Nothing she had to pay attention to. It was merely to take her mind off things, and give her a chance to relax. But that obviously wasn't working.

The Dunmer glanced over at the great glass bowl a short distance along the shelf. The one that was filled with bright silver liquid. She'd had a bit of a discovery about that, the other day. And it wasn't even the result of what she could call proper experiment.

The discovery was fairly simple, even if it was about something deeply complex. The reason that substance didn't resemble Aetherium was because it wasn't simply Aetherial essence. It was, in a strange, metaphorical sense, the Dragonborn. It was an extension of his being, and Aetherial matter simply happened to be the medium. Given how she'd acquired it, this shouldn't have been a surprise. The only comprehensible part of the experience had been that Iseus had given this to her.

At this point, she knew better than to question the exact process behind this material. It resembled nothing else in the physical world. In fact, she'd only learned as much as she had by ingesting some of it and contemplating the results in her mind. The… very spectacularly spiritual results. The only time she'd ever felt more loved was in Thorald's company. It seemed fitting for someone so bent on doing good things for all of Mundus. To observe Iseus' spiritual echo, as it were, had been a singular privilege.

Because she didn't want to deplete the reserve, Zaryth had stopped herself from ingesting much more than that. It felt strangely reminiscent of consuming properly mind-affecting substances, even if that wasn't the actual mechanic taking place here. Perhaps reading the Elder Scrolls would have been a better analogy, not that she'd ever tried that one herself.

Unfortunately, that discovery had nothing to do with finding the orb. She suspected it would have some use yet—why else would the Dragonborn have given her so much?—but at the moment, it wasn't coming to her.

She focused again on her potions. The clear mixture was dripping from the main apparatus into an earthen vial, which looked to be approaching full. That was her cue to switch it out for an empty vial, and put a stopper in it and leave it by all the others. This was her fifth so far.

These potions would probably end up being poured into some Black Gear's injector tubes. On an impulse, she turned all of the fronts of the vials towards her to make sure they were correctly labeled. Nothing would have been worse than for someone to end up using a mismatched potion during combat.

And she was doing a good job of this. She wanted to do a good job of this. At least something could go the way she desired.

Then, all of a sudden, a familiar, cheerful voice behind her said, "Good morning!"

She twisted around in her seat and looked. Thorald was standing there on the levitation platform, smiling brightly. He was out of his armor, just wearing his usual light clothes, and he looked so… just so… Words, she had to use words. "Uh… Yes. Good morning to you, also. Can I help you?"

"Sort of the question I was planning on asking you," the Nord shrugged, before strolling on over towards her. "I heard Farengar's translation came back. I was curious about that."

"Oh, Azura, I'm trying not to think about that right now." Zaryth turned back around and put her head in her hands, both elbows resting on the counter. Her head was aching a bit. Actually, it might have been doing that for a fair while now. 'Headache' must have simply become her new default.

A moment later, a strong pair of hands laid heavily on her shoulders. Thorald's voice said, "I'm here now. Just relax. … Are these potions for something, now?"

"No, not really." And that was, of course, the truth. But a moment later, she picked her head up a little and amended the thought. "I just wanted to pay attention to something besides all the… you know what I'm talking about, right?"

She reached up and held onto one of Thorald's hands with her own. He'd come up right behind her in her seat, but there was no need to even look. She could literally feel him there. Still, she gave his hand a glance, at least. … He kept his fingernails rather immaculately filed. Maybe wearing gauntlets all the time let him get away with that.

Well, it certainly hadn't taken her long to find something else to think about. This was already working much better than the potions had.

"I think so." Thorald let go and went over to sit against the edge of the counter by her. Now she could see him more properly. He smiled down at her as he continued talking. "You know, I'm actually a little surprised you're still wearing your College robes."

"What?" Zaryth stared blankly at him for a few seconds, before remembering what he was talking about. She'd forgotten all about that. J'zargo had seen about getting her some sort of upgrade recently. "… Right, that. I don't know. This is a… I don't know. Honestly, at this point, I'm prepared to admit that I don't know anything."

The Nord peered down at her curiously. "Is this all because you haven't been able to find the orb?"

"It is what we're waiting for, isn't it?"

"Among other things, I suppose," he shrugged. "Finding Alduin is on the list too. So is Kamian waking up, actually, but we, uh… we can't do much about that one, I suppose. If we're going to focus on finding the orb, then, uh…"

Thorald's sentence trailed off unfinished, and stayed that way. He glanced at the alchemy lab next to him with no particular expression.

The Dunmer followed his glance, then nodded in understanding. She replied, "If you have some sort of idea in mind, we can leave this alone for a minute. I don't know why this is, but seemingly whenever I have someone in here with me, it's suddenly much easier to have new ideas."

"Makes sense." Going by the nodding look on his face, this seemed as obvious as pointing out that the sun rose in the morning. "A fresh perspective will do that. And having someone to talk to, I imagine. What, do you expect other people to do nothing but slow you down?"

For some reason, that question came as a bit of a surprise. But perhaps it shouldn't have. Zaryth was struck with an oddly sudden feeling of perspective. She phrased her reply as carefully as she could.

"You know, maybe… maybe once, I actually did. But I think it's safe to say that the normal rules of existence simply don't apply in Blackreach. Or if they do, then we've developed a culture with a healthy disdain for them. I'm a Telvanni mage, and you're a Nord warrior. My colleagues would have dismissed you as being some mundane. That was a real term they used for those without the capacity for spells. And I would certainly have been ridiculed for courting you. Now, here in Skyrim, I would expect to be looked down upon as a Dunmer, and distrusted as a mage. Still unsuitable for a warrior like yourself. And yet here we are."

At some point, Thorald had begun to smile. Now he was simply beaming at her. "In that case, I couldn't be happier that Blackreach exists the way it does. It doesn't even matter if the end times are truly upon us, I think. This is a beautiful place, and if I stopped to describe all the ways you brighten it, we'd never get any work done."

In keeping with Nordic cultural ideals, Zaryth promptly followed what her heart desired, and stood up suddenly to take Thorald in a great big kiss. Their arms closed around each other in an instant. She lost track of time right away. How was anyone as strong as this, and as delicate as this, at the same time? She could have melted into his embrace here and now, and stayed for as long as her feet would let her stand up for it. That was due to happen right now anyway.

But eventually, Thorald leaned back from her, and glanced at something over her shoulder. She followed his eyes once again, and this time saw the map of Skyrim over by the far wall. The great big map on its freestanding wooden frame, covered in bright blue dots with tiny black numbers written on them.

"Your homeland," she said, letting go of the embrace with one arm so she could look at the map more comfortably. "I've been keeping track of the shooting stars as best I can. It's something of a daily habit now."

Thorald let go the rest of the way, and walked slowly around the central railing for a closer look. No doubt, the map was marked with a fair few more dots than the last time he'd seen it. "How many of these are there?"

"I'm up to one hundred thirty… something," Zaryth said, scratching her head as she followed along. "I have two hundred pins right now for it, but for all I know, the world will end before we get to that many."

"Is it just me, or are there more of them than normal on the Throat of the World?"

"No, it's not just you. I noticed that as well." The map was largely evenly scattered with landing sites, with a vague emphasis towards the center. But a closer look indicated that they were focused not on the center, exactly, but a short distance to the southeast. South of the city of Whiterun, east of the village of Riverwood, west of the village of Ivarstead. It took up quite a bit of space on the map.

Thorald walked up to arm's reach of the canvas surface, and reached out to touch one of the pins with his fingertips. "I wonder what that's about."

"Well, at first, I suspected that the orb might have been relocated there. But that would make no sense at all. Not that the shooting stars wouldn't focus on the orb's location—they seem to have a tendency to fall in rather fitting places—but that Alduin would take refuge in the Dragonborn's own shadow. He can't be stupid enough to try hiding under his enemy's nose. Iseus isn't omniscient, but he's also not blind."

The Nord glanced over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow at her. "Did Iseus tell you that himself?"

"Possibly," she grinned. "He seems to be as lost as to its actual location as myself, however. The Throat of the World is secure by necessity, but it's only a tiny fraction of all the land in Skyrim, and it's lacking in suitable underground spaces anyway."

That was the last that either of them said for a while. They ended up standing side by side in front of the map, simply studying it, looking for anything new. Any patterns, anything interesting landing sites. Nothing was coming to mind. The pins were all such a jumble. No one could get anything from this information.

After a minute or two, Thorald made a low, contemplative noise, apropos to seemingly nothing.

Zaryth gave him a curious look. "… Hm?"

"I'm remembering something you said once," he murmured.

And immediately, it put a feeling of knowing apprehension in Zaryth's chest. Apprehension, perhaps, or anticipation. She wasn't sure what, but on some instinctual level, she knew that Thorald was thinking back to something important.

She asked, "What was it, exactly?"

"During your presentation, where you first showed us this map." He stepped back from it slowly, and gave the whole thing an appraising look. That feeling was only increasing. "You said that these things aren't marked according to date. Or something like that. If you look at them all, you can't tell really when they landed."

"That's true. Am I missing something here?"

"Well, what if the… the distribution of the shooting stars, what if it's changed? You wouldn't be able to tell, because there are so many pins on here already. The new pattern would get lost in all the rest."

Zaryth stared silently at the map. No, she had not thought of that before now. But she obviously should have. It was such a basic limitation of this map's setup. She had even commented on it, in reference to the impacts only starting in earnest with the Shadow Unending.

This wouldn't take long. The Dunmer didn't say a word. She simply went into her supply drawers, retrieved a brick of wet red clay—because what sort of self-respecting mage wouldn't have such a thing on hand—and, after a brief period of warming the clay up, began removing tiny pieces and sticking them on top of the bright blue pins of the map. This was the fastest way she could think of to mark the markers themselves.

And she wasn't applying the clay randomly. She was very carefully doing it in reverse numeric order, searching for the highest-numbered marker and putting a piece of clay over it, working her way down the list one by one. And gradually, the forest of bright blue began to bear a sporadic scattering of deep dark red. This would be easy enough to distinguish at a glance.

At some point, Thorald had pulled over one of her dining chairs and sat down to watch. He seemed content not to even ask what this was about. Perhaps he already understood the idea.

It took her about thirty pieces of clay—approximately half of the entire brick—to notice the new pattern. Zaryth should have been able to see this before. She truly felt that she should have. Some of the recent markers were, predictably, clustered around the Throat of the World. But an oddly high frequency were occurring in what felt like an impossible place—the northeastern end of Skyrim. The area known to its inhabitants as Winterhold Hold.

So something had begun drawing the impacts there. Unless something entirely unrelated had emerged into play, this had to be the general location of the orb. Now, if she could narrow it down—

The answer came to her in a sudden, seizing instant. Alduin would have hidden the orb someplace he knew. Someplace secure, someplace where no one would find him by accident. There were only two such options in this corner of Skyrim, and one of them was Alftand. Impossible, now that it was so thoroughly populated.

"I'm going to put some things together," Zaryth said, without taking her eyes off the map. "Pick anyone you'd like for this mission. We won't have far to travel."

Thorald replied, "Oh, you figured it out. Where are we going, then?"

Middas, 4:43 PM, 76th of Second Seed, 4E 202

Saarthal Excavation Site

The pit emerged into view suddenly, very close up, as Zaryth reached the crest of a hill. Instantly, she could tell that something had changed. The coloration inside the pit was simply wrong. It looked as though an invisible purple-tinted canopy had been hung across the entire thing.

It was a clear, sunny day out here. Perfect visibility, barely any wind. The stars were already starting to emerge in the eastern end of the sky. But no further incidents had befallen them on the way to this site. And Zaryth, for her part, wasn't even particularly cold. Her new attire was essentially like J'zargo's, but with black robes instead of black armor. That meant that it included the dual enchant against fire and frost.

As she gazed upon the excavation site, some deep, prickling feeling stirred inside her. She wasn't sure what to make of it.

One of the Black Gears walked up by her side. The numbering on the near pauldron said it was Thorald. He said, "Looks like you were right. It is here. And he's waiting for us."

They had brought Squads 29 and 30 with them for this mission. It wasn't clear how much use they'd all be, but according to Thorald, it didn't hurt to be thorough. And that was hard to disagree with. In Raldbthar, not even an improbable calamity of magic had stopped them. If their full force were usable here, it would take a world's worth of miracles to stop them.

"No surprise there. We prepared for that. Or at least, I did." Zaryth patted one of the straps of the black canvas pack she was carrying. It was filled to the brim, and not with survival gear.

"It just occurred to me," Thorald said. "This is where we first met. Remember that? With those assassins and their oculory lens? Feels like old history now."

The Dunmer couldn't help but chuckle. It wasn't even particularly mirthful, but she did it all the same. "You know… The last time I came here, I didn't care about a thing in the world besides scholarly study for its own sake. And I was so disappointed when I didn't find anything noteworthy. Now I'd give anything for this ruin to be empty again."

Thorald turned and looked at her silently. He was fully armored for this mission, and his face was hidden behind that fearsome, faceless visor the Black Machine was known for. There was no telling what thoughts were going through his mind right then. But surely, he was doing his best to remain aware of what thoughts were in Zaryth's own.

She smiled softly at him, at the dark slit where his eyes were, and reached over to give his armored shoulder a gentle touch. It really was Thorald in there. Maybe no one else out there knew that, but she did. "I imagine you'll give Alduin a good fright the moment he notices you."

Another Black Gear joined them. For this one, the pauldron numbers weren't necessary. He was identifiable by his size and build alone. Galurag, the leader of Squad 30. During this brief journey, he hadn't talked much, but Thorald seemed to trust him. That was plenty enough to go on.

Galurag was staring intently at the excavation site. He asked, "Zaryth, can you get us in there?"

"I can try," the Dunmer shrugged. She didn't see much reason to act more confident than she felt. The Black Machine's tactics didn't run on insincerity. "I brought a few things to help us get in. But we should be prepared for anything."

"As usual," Galurag commented.

The other Black Gears were joining them now. A couple of them had heavy self-loading crossbows in hand. None of them said anything. Now was the time, it seemed, to await orders.

Did that mean that it was Zaryth's time to give orders? She didn't know what to think anymore.

But still, she began walking down the snowy slope towards the excavation site. "It's possible that Alduin himself will be here," she said. "If that's the case, we may be in for an unpredictable fight."

"Well, Iseus defeated him once," Thorald replied from just behind her. "That's a reasonable thing for us to live up to, isn't it?"

Up closer, the source of the open pit's odd lighting became steadily more apparent. There was a solid, tangible-looking wall of purple-tinted force, almost like glass, spanning the entire opening. It overlapped some of the wooden scaffolding and ramps around the far wall. Zaryth stopped about ten feet away from the edge, and gazed in silently.

No doubt, her Black Gear escorts were walking up behind her. But they were as inaudible as ever.

"So," Thorald's voice said. He reappeared by her side a moment later, with his helmet cradled in one arm. That was a bit of a surprise, albeit far from unpleasant. "Do you think your magic can get us through this?"

Zaryth turned and gave him a perfectly sweet smile. "Well, who said anything about my magic?"

With that, she unslung her pack and began sorting through its contents, right there on the snowy slope. As she did, she explained to the others what devices were inside, although they were likely familiar with some of them already. And in the end, she ended up actually trading her pack for Thorald's own, to let him wear it himself—but not before extracting a single glass vial from inside.

When Savos Aren had thrown this substance into the ghost portal in Blackreach, it had instantly and permanently sealed. Zaryth could only presume that for other magical anomalies, it would behave in at least a similar fashion. Granted, she hadn't expected such a massive barrier at the very entrance, but this was good a place as any to put her preparations to use.

Someone else spoke up behind her. It took a moment to recognize the voice.

"I suppose it goes without saying, then, that we're sending Thorald in first."

The voice belonged to Echallos. At some point, he'd come around to stand at Thorald's opposite side, and was looking up at the Nord through his expressionless visor.

Once, Zaryth might have presumed that Echallos was simply envious of his squadmate getting the glory of being the first to go in. But that would have been entirely antithetical to the ways of the Black Machine. This was an army that worked without ranks, titles or commendations. Echallos wasn't showing envy, he was showing concern.

And understandably so, because he was absolutely right.

"I am wearing the special backpack," Thorald said.

Zaryth walked slowly up to the edge of the excavation pit. It was something like a twenty-foot drop to the bottom, with only the purple field in the way. That thing was making her curious. She knelt down, scooped up a fistful of snow in her free hand, and tossed it aimlessly forward.

The snow spread out into a glittering, powdery arc as it traveled through the air. Then it landed on the transparent magical barrier, and promptly disintegrated in a puff of steam.

"Well, then," Thorald said flatly. At some point, he'd come up by the Dunmer's side again. That muffle enchant was making it terribly difficult to keep track of where he was.

Echallos asked, "You're going to send him in through that?"

"You know, I like my magic resistance ring," Thorald commented to no one in particular. "But this is no time to put that to the test. You think that silver stuff will do it, Zaryth?"

"It should," she nodded. "After everything else I had to make for this mission, this—" she held up the vial as she spoke— "was all I had left. And it's not a small amount. I have no doubt that it will disrupt this field, but I don't know by how much, or for how long. So I recommend you find someplace good to jump in. And once you're in, be sure to save some of your supply so you can get back out."

Echallos asked, "Are you sure it's a good idea to send Thorald first?"

"Well, in the event that we end up being able to send only one person in…" Zaryth shrugged. "Any of us on the outside will want to retreat to a safe distance away, afterward."

One of the other Black Gears—someone from Squad 30, holding a crossbow—called over to Thorald, "Hey! Do you want this thing?"

"No, you can bring it in after me," Thorald called back. He was already starting to circle around the excavation site, finding a better place to jump through.

There was little to do but follow him. Zaryth was starting to feel… something, about this. Walking after Thorald alongside this thing, watching him, knowing he'd likely be going in there soon… It conjured to mind something that Echallos had told her once, about what allowed warriors to keep doing what they did. He'd said it was a matter of bravery.

Today was likely a day for Thorald to be brave. That was what would be keeping him going through this. Zaryth almost rather envied that. He knew how to face the threat of his own death, and he was doing it right now, with perfect casual poise.

Zaryth was struck by a sudden, bizarre urge to grab Thorald by the arms and tell him not to do this. She only got as far as twitching her shoulders a bit. No, she couldn't do that. Why did she even want to do that?

It took less than a minute for Thorald to find his desired way in. He'd stopped in front of one of the ramp's middle platforms, where the drop would be short enough to spare him from any likely injury.

The Dunmer joined him and peered over at the spot he'd be entering through. She took a deep breath in, and tried to organize her thoughts. They had a procedure to follow. Now was the time for the next step in it. "All right. When you're ready, I'll throw the vial, and hopefully that'll, uh…"

She trailed off. This wasn't working.

Thorald leaned back and said over her shoulder, "Form up behind me! If this thing stays open for long enough, we'll want to get as many of us in as possible."

As the Black Gears went about silently lining up along the snowy hillside, Thorald and Zaryth stood still and looked at one another.

The problem wasn't the barrier in front of them. And it wasn't the red draugr likely waiting within the ruin, either. In fact, it wasn't even Alduin himself, if he was present. It was the means that Zaryth had devised for dealing with the orb. Ideally, it would only be deployed once the Black Machine had swept through the whole place and secured it all. But Zaryth was realizing now—or, perhaps, she'd been slowly realizing over the past few minutes—that they might not have that luxury. Not if Thorald was going to go in there alone.

This wasn't a situation where Thorald would either emerge victorious or let the whole world fall into ruin. His success and his survival were not dependent on one another. He must have realized that too, by now. But it didn't seem to be influencing him in the slightest.

"This should be good," Thorald said, still looking at her with that perfect calmness. "Thank you for doing so much for us, Zaryth. And for me. None of this would have been possible without you."

Zaryth opened her mouth and took a breath in.

A few seconds passed by in silence. Thorald was looking at her expectantly.

"… I have no idea what to say." She laughed sheepishly. "I don't ever do this. Just… tell me what to think. Please."

Thorald visibly held back a smile. Then, a moment later, he'd stepped right up to Zaryth, and put his free arm around her back. His armor was cool and rigid to the touch, but his embrace was perfectly confident as ever.

At some point, the Nord's voice murmured into her ear, "I'm not going to try and get in Sovngarde, if that's what you're thinking. You're down here."

Then he leaned back away, and put his helmet back on without waiting for a reply. The moment was past. There was nothing to do but move forward.

Zaryth swallowed, then nodded and made herself speak up. "Are you ready?"

Thorald glanced back at the others behind him, then focused on the open pit ahead. "I'm ready. Throw it."

It all came down to one little motion, as quick and effortless as dropping a pebble in a pond. Zaryth lobbed her vial forward gently, so it would land on the purple field where it began right in front of Thorald's feet.

There was a sharp shattering noise as the vial disintegrated into nothingness. For a tiny split second, the silvery essence hung in the air as an unsupported mass, just a hairsbreadth above the field's surface. Then it all fell down into place.

The point of impact suddenly flashed blindingly white. Then a thundering, rippling wave of light spread out across the entire field, before contracting on the one point, and burning away a swathe of the purple barrier into thin air, leaving a great vaguely-circular hole with ragged flickering borders. It was definitely large enough for Thorald to jump through.

And that was what he did, straight onto the wooden platform below. He landed perfectly silently on his feet, then started running down the ramp. That was it. He was inside the pit. Saarthal was his to explore.

The next Black Gear in line—one of the twins, if Zaryth recalled—began to move up, but it was already too late. The source of the field hadn't been disrupted. It was already sending glowing threads of energy across the gap, sprouting and spreading every which way, sealing the all-destroying barrier anew.

As the threads began to seal, Zaryth was seized by another urge. But this one didn't tell her to try to follow through. Thorald was already making his way into the pit, the barrier was closing, this was her last chance—this was her last chance to say anything, do anything—

She called out after him, "I love you!"

An instant later, the barrier closed completely, and it was back to its flawless purple tint.

Thorald stopped where he was, and turned to look back up at her. His visor betrayed no expression, no more than ever. And if he was saying anything, it was inaudible through the barrier. But he looked up at her for a moment, and then turned back to continue his path through the pit, towards the heavy iron doors to the inner ruin.

Zaryth's breath had seized in her throat. She took a halting step away from the pit, then another. What had she just let go of?

A cool, thickly-armored hand laid on her shoulder. One of the Black Gears. Echallos, actually. He'd come up to stand beside her, and was… holding onto her.

"Let's go," he said gently. "He's in good hands."

Behind them, Galurag was issuing some orders, telling people to move back to some earlier spot. They'd all be leaving here soon. In fact, the moment, Zaryth thought that, the Breton started ushering her along, bringing her away from the excavation site. Away from Thorald, away to safety.

But he was in good hands. That thought was still lingering. As she walked with the group, Zaryth asked, "Whose are those?"

Echallos laughed aloud. "Well, his own, of course. I've seen the man at his lowest, and he was still a terror then. Just wait till he goes in with something to fight for."