At this point, he didn’t care even if that light was another hag’s hut. It was unlikely to be Asgradi, he concluded, since no right-minded Asgradi would be wandering away from the trees the shelter they provided this late into the year, but even if it was his worst enemies, he didn’t care. Whoever or whatever it was, it was something or someone else out in this cold, and that meant the chance for help. It was a gamble, and based on his last one, it did not seem Wyrdi was much on his side, but he saw no other choice and stumbled on, half-dragging his much taller friend’s half-conscious body.

As they went, the snowfall began to thicken and pile up.The world was now nearly black, save for that single light in the distance. He hoped he didn’t end up toppling them both into the river in the darkness. Neither could afford wet clothes in addition to everything else.

A little while later, Witheric suddenly felt immense weight on one shoulder that yanked him down into the unseen snow. Restag had fainted. Witheric didn’t need to see him to know. The snow continued to fall. Tears of anger and despair fell from Witheric’s face, the streaks they made on his cheeks freezing painfully in the cold.

Why hadn’t he noticed his friend’s condition? He had, his conscience told him. He had known something was wrong for a while. However, he had always explained it away, ascribing it to the shield-man’s injuries or exhaustion or to some other cause. Anything to not admit his friend was ill, weak, in need of support the thane feared he would be unable to provide. Every time Restag seemed to be better, Witheric had relaxed, let himself believe it had just been a passing spell. And look where it had led him, trapped in utter darkness, unable even to see his dying friend beside him, and the sky providing the burial shroud. Why had he ignored the needs of his man? Why had he–Witheric son of Witheow, High Thane of Eisensaet–let his Thanesman carry all the weight?

Wiping the tears away, he felt around till he located Restag’s arm again, forcing them both up, going on not because he hoped to reach safety. Not because he thought they would live through the night or even the next few steps. He pressed on only because he knew he had to.

The blackness persisted around them, the wind and snow swallowing sound, even the sound of his own steps and Restag’s legs dragging behind them. His sense of touch disappeared, numbed by the air seeping through their soaked clothes and the wind against his face. Still he dragged them on, more, now, from sheer stubborn will than any clear thought or desire or reason. Moving just because he still could.

Then, another sound snuck through the wailing wind. A sound almost like the echo of a laugh. As if in the literal blink of an eye, with almost the same suddenness as the appearance of the witch’s house, a shape materialized in the abyss, made visible by what he now saw was a single lantern glowing gold in the black, revealing the dark silhouette of a small ship. A human ship. Witheric nearly wept at the sight of it. From the hearth of his body, dimming embers glowed as a new breath fed them, encouraged them to keep alight that small flame, the burning will to live. He groped about his fading mind, seeking in the shadows the human words he had learned over the years, looking for one with any use. He found it, and his numbed lips formed the word as his tightened throat let out the yell that struggled through the muffled air. Again, he called, and again, and again. And with each call, the light came closer until, suddenly, he stepped through that final wall of darkness, and his foot appeared within the edges of that little sun shining through the glass. It was as if he stood in the first of days, when Dar was born, emerging with such brilliant light his mother had to throw him away and his father had placed him in the sky to keep him from burning them to death. So did the light feel to him as he stepped into it, sympathizing with those parents of the king of gods.

He forced himself to look at it, to look into that burning, blinding power and straight into the dark eyes of a single human standing on the deck, looking down at them. Their eyes locked, and Witheric willed to speak, to beg the man to help them. Instead, everything went black.