“I’m all right!” He checked the clay vial and found it safe, then peered upward. The hole had widened considerably. He could feel the air on his face now. Dani inhaled deeply. “Uncle! I smell grass!”

The light cast by Thulu’s torch flickered wildly. “Dani, lad, I’m coming up.”

It was painstaking. Once Thulu completed the treacherous journey, laden with packs and torches and moving with infinitesimal care, they set to work in tandem. They worked as swiftly as they dared, widening the hole one rock at a time, working in the direction of the air current. Torchlight aided, but it posed a hazard, too. Every time the rock-pile settled and their balance slipped, there was the added risk of setting themselves ablaze.

“All this work, and I don’t suppose we’ve any idea how big the shaft is,” Uncle Thulu observed. “It will be a hard blow if we don’t fit.”

Covered in rock dust, Dani grinned at him. “Maybe it’s a good thing you’re not so fat anymore!”

After further hours of labor, there was no jest left in either of them. Feeling with careful fingertips, they found the bottom of the ventilation shaft, clearing around and beneath it. There was no sign of daylight, which hopefully meant nothing worse than that night had fallen while they worked. The shaft was wide enough, barely; a scant three feet across. Whether it narrowed and how high it went was another matter.

“You found it,” Thulu said somberly. “You look.”

“All right.” Returning the flask to its customary place at his throat, Dani eased himself onto his back and ducked his head under the opening. At first, his eyes grown used to torchlight, he saw only blackness and his heart sank. But gradually, his vision cleared, and he laughed aloud. The shaft was deep, but it cut an unswerving path through the solid rock. And far, far above him …

“What do you see?”

“Stars!” A patch of starlight, faint and distant. He ducked back out, eyes shining. “We can do this, Uncle. It’s a long climb, but we can do it.”

Uncle Thulu gave him a worried smile. “We’ll try.”

Squatting atop the rock-pile, they sorted through their gear, paring down supplies to the barest of essentials. A parcel of food and a waterskin apiece lashed around their waists, belt daggers, and the warm Staccian cloaks the Lady of Gerflod had given them. Dani kept his slingshot, and Thulu his flint striker. Everything else, they would leave.

“I’m smaller and lighter,” Dani said. “I’ll go first.”

Thulu nodded, fidgeting with his pack. “You know, lad, a drop of the Water—”

“No.” Dani shook his head, touching the flask. “We can’t, Uncle. I don’t dare. I don’t even know if there’s enough left for … for what I’m supposed to do. Will you at least try? If I can do it, you can.”