“And when they do, you can then move them through The Underpass to the lands beyond!” Engvyr exclaimed.
It was like the problem with lifting the slab. You just had to look at it in a different way.
His father nodded approvingly. “Now you're thinking.”
Engvyr was, and continued to do so. After a few moments of consideration he admitted he was still baffled.
“So the question in your mind,” his father said, “Is why wouldn't the best miners in the world not make an equivalent to The Underpass to move folk into the Highlands should Ironhame fall?”
“Because they didn't want to,” said Engvyr, the light dawning at last.
“Just so. Can you imagine trying to move an army and its supply train over the High Passes?”
Engvyr shuddered and said, “It would be a nightmare.”
“That it would, and to do so without our mountain-bred ponies and oxen it would be beyond just difficult.”
Engvyr knew about the idea of a 'Defense in Depth' from listening to his Father and the Sergeant-Major's conversations, but the thought that one could build an entire country around such a concept would not have occurred to him. He pondered this some more as the day wore on and decided that he would bet good money that such tunnels did in fact exist but were kept secret against just such an invasion.
They stopped even earlier than usual that afternoon lest darkness catch them in the pass. That night was the coldest they had yet experienced. As he sat shivering through his watch in the small hours of the morning Engvyr thought that this did not bode well for the morrow. Not well at all.
Chapter Eight
“ Dvargatil Baeg's eastern border to the north is quite secure, if by 'secure' one means that no threat may be forthcoming from any of the Five Races of Man. I am less convinced that we are entirely safe, for that high desolate place where no life dwells has a curious life of its own…”
The knowledge that something was terribly wrong came upon Engvyr gradually. His head was pounding and his vision dim. He felt warm and sleepy but was aware that if he slept he would never wake. He looked about him, blinking to clear his vision.
His mouth was intolerably dry and when he felt under his coat for his water-bottle and found only a hard lump. As he explored it he realized that he felt no sensation from his fingers. He fumbled the lump from within his coat and stared. It was his water-bottle, frozen solid. With a jolt he came full awake and realized that he was freezing to death.
It was the Endelg Afkol. They were in the Death-Chill.
Looking about he realized that he was alone. He could see no sign on the narrow, stony trail that any other had passed. Back tracking down the trail on insensate feet he saw a shape which resolved itself into the figure of his father, slumped in the saddle on the stumbling pony. Engvyr tried to speak to him but his throat would not form the words.
Grabbing the reins he turned the pony and led it back down the slope. Once he nearly walked off the end of a switchback in the trail as he fought the urge to sleep. Fighting back the dimness of mind and vision that struggled to overcome him he put one foot in front of the other. He did not know how long he went on in that fashion.
“Engvyr!” The voice was scarcely more than a croak, but he recognized it as his Aunt's.
Then her hands were on him, guiding him into a hollow in the rock where a fire raged. He could not hold the steaming mug that was pressed into his hands, so his aunt helped him and he was able to swallow some measure of it. It was coffee and something else, strong with the heat of peppers, and it cleared his head though it did not relieve the throbbing headache. The pony had instinctively crowded into the opening, standing up against the ox for warmth. They got his father down from the saddle and settled him by the fire next to his niece. He mumbled incoherently as his sister held the cup to his lips.
As the warmth penetrated and his vision cleared, Engvyr looked around their sanctuary. The hollow had been formed when a great spear of granite had split off of the mountain. Over time dirt and debris had sifted into the crack, forming a floor for a space just big enough for them all to crowd into by the fire.
At his aunt's direction he helped her string the tent-cover across the opening. It was not warm in the small enclosed space even with the roaring fire but closing it off from the wind helped. Soon it had heated up enough that his face and fingers began to throb painfully as they lost their chill. It was several minutes before he could unwrap his scarf as the moisture in his breath had frozen it to his short beard. As they all became more comfortable his Aunt told him what had happened to her and Berget.
“I was altitude sick, we all were, and I didn't realize the danger. Berget slipped and fell on the trail, so I picked her up and carried her and she was so cold… then the ox walked into this hollow and wouldn't leave again. I realized we were freezing to death and started the fire.”
She looked at Engvyr and his father imploringly and continued.
“I wanted to search for you both, I did! But I could not leave Berget. All that I could do was watch for you and pray that the Lord and Lady would deliver you.”
“And so they did,” his father said, “and you must not blame yourself, sister, you did right. Had you sought us we would have had no fire to come back to. Likely we would all have died! We've been very, very lucky.”
His Aunt nodded but would not meet their eyes. She went to the pot at the fire and dipped them each a mug of the boiling liquid. Engvyr sipped at it cautiously, wary that it would burn his mouth but it was not hot enough to do so.
“It's barely hot when it boils,” his aunt said, “I think it's the altitude.”
Engvyr nodded without really considering her words. They had found a temporary island of safety but the danger would only grow now that the sun had dropped behind the peaks. Soon it would be true night and the temperature might drop further still.
“We've enough wood to last,” his father said, “I think that we must spend the night and try to get back down the mountain as soon as we have light to do so. We can consider what to do once we are safe.”
They all agreed that was the best course and settled down to rest as best they could. His Aunt's concoction was a strong stimulant. By the time he finished his mug Engvyr felt he might not sleep for a week. The others eventually did drift off and he kept the fire supplied through the night.
At dawn he woke his father and aunt and they fortified themselves with more of the hot drink. Bundling up as best they could they left the shelter. They roped themselves together lest they get separated again and moved down the trail as quickly as they could. They were now in a race against the cold.
They won that race by the time the sun peeked over the mountains. The trail had descended rapidly and soon the cold was no longer immediately life-threatening but they had another problem. They were no longer on the trail that had taken them up the pass. Sometime in the haze of cold and sickness they had taken a wrong turn.
“I think that we have come east of the pass,” his father said after studying the lay of the land.
“Gunnar, what are we to do? We haven't supplies or money to winter over even if we could make our way back to Loevpas.” his aunt said.
His father nodded agreement as he continued to study the mountains. Pointing along the trail he said, “This seems to trend North, around the shoulder of the mountain. Perhaps it runs to another pass, or maybe another road.”
“Can we really take that chance?” she asked.
“I'm not sure that we have a lot of choice,” his father replied. “The only way back is through the Death Chill, and that we cannot do.”