“No good.” Thulu shook his head. “This is Fjeltroll work. It may go on for yards; scores of them, is my guess. After all, they’re trying to keep an army out, not just a couple of weary Yarru-yami.”

Dani took a deep breath. “I’ll see if we can climb over it.”

He went slowly, testing each hand- and foothold with care. The boulders, disturbed by their efforts, shifted beneath his weight. For once, he was glad that he was unshod, feeling the subtle movement of the rocks beneath the soles of his bare feet. Although he no longer needed the sling, his left shoulder was imperfectly healed and ached with the strain. The muscles of his legs quivered; partly with effort, and partly with nerves. The clay vial strung around his neck had never seemed so vulnerable. One wrong step, and he would set off a rockslide. Whether or not Dani survived it, he doubted the fragile vessel would.

Endless as it seemed, he eventually reached the top.

“What do you see, lad?” Uncle Thulu called from the base of the pile, holding his torch as high as possible.

“Nothing.” Dani braced his palms on the ceiling of the tunnel and sighed. The pile was solid. There was no gap at the top; or at least, only inches. “We could try making a passage from here.” He reached forward with one hand to pry a few stones loose and tried to imagine it. Moving through the darkness, shifting rocks a scant few at a time, wriggling back and forth on their bellies, pinned against the ceiling. It was not a hopeful prospect.

“It might be quicker to walk back to Staccia,” Thulu said dourly. “And safer, too. Come down, Dani. We’ll find another way.”

“Wait.” There was something; a faint current of air, moving. Dani went still, holding his outspread hand over the rocks. He could feel it, a whisper against his skin. “There’s an air shaft.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Taking a better stance, Dani slid the vial around and tucked it under his collar at the back of his neck. “Stand clear, Uncle!”

It felt good, after days and days of grinding sameness, to be doing. He burrowed steadily into the pile, working with both hands, grabbing rocks and tossing them to either side. Those at the uttermost top were smaller, easier to move. They bounced down the rockpile in a rattling, satisfying procession. The larger ones were trickier. The first one he managed to expose was at chest height, twice as large around as his head. Whispering a swift prayer to Uru-Alat, Dani worked it loose.

Unbalanced, the pile shifted. His footholds vanished, sending him sliding and scrabbling downward on his belly, nails clinging ineffectually to stone. Bruised and banged, he fetched up hard, jarring one hip against a solid, immobile boulder.

“Dani!”