Dar was right about Kol’s habit of planning in advance. He had begun gathering men and supplies for an invasion as soon as he was made a general. Since troops were not stationed within the capital, the buildup had been easy to hide from Queen Girta. Most of the units had assembled in far-flung garrisons. General Voltar had issued the orders, to disguise Kol’s involvement. The men in the snowy square had known something was afoot for weeks. They had not known when they were going to war, but few were surprised that they were.
At the coronation feast, General Kol presented King Kregant III with a suit of armor. Its black helmet was embellished with gold and the chain mail fit his small frame perfectly. By then, Kol was no longer the Queen’s Man, but Commander of His Majesty’s Army. The black-garbed guardsmen were renamed the King’s Men, but their duties remained the same. Within their ranks, the Iron Circle was gratified by Kol’s rise and the prospect of plunder and advancement. All agreed, as they toasted their new king, that their night’s labors had paid off handsomely.
While Kol feasted, Dar led the orcs through the storm. She was exhausted and miserable, but she grimly slogged through the calf-high snow, too anxious to stop. Zna-yat walked in front of her to make a path, and after it grew dark, Dar relied on her brother’s eyes to help find the way. Neither he nor any of the other orcs had ever traveled the Old Road. Zna-yat relied on Dar’s description of the route, a description she had obtained from the lorekeeper.
Snow hid most traces of the abandoned roadway, and visibility was poor. The foothills seemed more like vague presences than features of earth and stone. However, since the road would intersect a river and follow it into the mountains, Dar didn’t worry about losing the way. She was more concerned about being overtaken by soldiers. Accordingly, she had the orcs walk single file and drag pine boughs to obscure their tracks. With luck, snow and wind would obliterate them entirely.
Sevren had not caught up with them, so Dar had no idea what was going on elsewhere. Kol?
she wondered. Has the invasion started? Did Lama-tok and Ven-goth make it through the pass, or will we be fleeing to Kol’s waiting army? Each question spawned more until Dar was overwhelmed by all the dire possibilities. She forced herself to focus on the immediate future. That seemed daunting enough. They would have to stop soon, and Dar weighed risking a fire. Being spotted was a danger, but so was freezing.
Dar spoke to Zna-yat. “We must find campsite, somewhere our fire cannot be seen.”
Zna-yat peered about the darkness. “I see no such place.”
“Then we must continue onward until you do.”
Zna-yat kept walking until Dar feared she would drop in her tracks. At last he said, “I see likely spot.”
“Then we’ll rest there,” said Dar, who could see little more than falling snow, its flakes gray in the darkness.
Zna-yat veered sharply to the right. Soon, Dar could see snow-laden trees on either side of a fold in a foothill. When the fold became a winding ravine, Zna-yat halted. “Muth Mauk, is this good place?”
“Hai, it’s perfect,” said Dar. She called out, “We’ll stay here tonight. Gather wood for fire. Set up
The orcs found a spot of level ground to erect their shelters, which resembled conical haystacks. They were just large enough to accommodate a son sitting cross-legged. Though orcs slept sitting up, Girta could not, and Dar wondered how she would rest. She walked over to the stretcher to see how the queen was faring. She was still bundled up, and Kovok-mah was beside her. “How is washavoki queen?” Dar asked.
“I gave her large nayimgat leaf to chew,” replied Kovok-mah. “She’ll sleep until tomorrow. When sun rises, I’ll have better idea how she’s healing.”
“She can’t sleep outside in this cold.”
“Your sister spoke with me. She said queen will rest in your brother’s shelter.”
“Poor Zna,” said Dar. “Does he know how bad this washavoki smells?”
Kovok-mah made a wry face. “Everyone does.”
“Muth Mauk,” said Zna-yat. “We’ll soon be making porridge. How should we ration it?”
“For five more days of travel,” replied Dar. Just saying those words disheartened her. Where will our foes be in five days? Inside my clan’s hall? As she had all day, Dar tried to push that thought from her mind. She found it impossible. She recalled her vision of the burning hall with distressing vividness. It had haunted her most of the march. Pushed to her limits, Dar felt crushed by foreboding. Without another word, she wandered away from camp until she rounded a bend and was out of sight.
When she was alone, Dar surrendered to her grief. She didn’t permit herself to cry, but hot tears flowed down her frigid cheeks. Then she heard quiet footsteps and turned to see Nir-yat approach. Dar hastily wiped her eyes. Nir-yat said nothing; she simply embraced Dar. Wrapped in her sister’s arms, Dar began to sob.
The two stood together for a long while. Eventually, Dar cried herself out with a shuddering sigh. “Muthuri was right,” she said. “I should have passed Fathma to another.”
“Then no urkzimmuthi would suffer on this cold night,” replied Nir-yat. “We would be content, like fattened lambs before feast. We would have different great mother, but Black Washavoki wouldn’t be different, and we’d be doomed.”
“I think it’s my deeds that have doomed us.”
“So you’re responsible for all evil in this world?” said Nir-yat. “Should I blame you for this storm? Was it you who made washavokis cruel?”
“I haven’t made things better. I’ve made them worse.”
“I think not. At least now, we’re aware of our danger. And so is washavoki queen.”
“I’m afraid our foe is too great for me.”
“This has been terrible day for us all, but especially for you,” said Nir-yat. “I know you didn’t sleep last night. Now you’re exhausted, cold, and hungry. Will you do something for me?”
What?
“I can’t. You know why.”
“I know you need rest,” said Nir-yat. “How will you get it lying alone on ground?”
“But.”
“I’ve already told my cousin he must shelter you. Would you have him disobey me?”
“Nir, is it wise?”
“Hai. Very wise. I’ll challenge anyone who questions my judgment.” She gave Dar an understanding look. “Even if she were great mother. Come, Sister. There’s fire, and soon there’ll be food. Afterward, you must rest.”
The road leading to the pass dropped off steeply on either side. This exposed it to the wind, which blew so hard that the snow often flew horizontally. It obliterated Lama-tok’s and Ven-goth’s footprints almost as soon as they were made. The orcs’ windward sides were crusted with snow by the time they neared the narrow passage through the ridge. Though it promised shelter from the storm, the two orcs halted and peered at it cautiously. In the dark, it resembled a thick black line painted on the wall of icy rock. Even the orcs’ keen eyes couldn’t penetrate its dark interior. Snow was mounded against its entrance in a drift that the wind reshaped as they watched.
“Washavokis are no match for this weather,” said Ven-goth. “Come. Let’s get out of it awhile.”
Lama-tok didn’t move. “Do you smell smoke?”
Ven-goth sniffed the turbulent air. “Thwa.”
“I thought I did, but now I don’t. I guess it’s safe.”
The two orcs slogged through the deep snow toward the pass. They were only a few paces from its entrance when an arch of arrows streamed from its dark interior. Both orcs were hit. Lama-tok was pierced through his thigh and dropped to the ground. Ven-goth stood a little longer, then he fell also.
Without rising, Lama-tok groped behind his leg until he felt the arrowhead protruding from it. He snapped it off, then grabbed the feathered shaft that jutted from the front of his thigh and pulled it out. Blood warmed both sides of his leg. Arrows still flew overhead, but the deep snow hid him, and the washavokis seemed to be shooting blindly. They remained hidden within the dark pass, apparently afraid to venture into sight. Lama-tok slithered on his belly toward Ven-goth. “Are you badly wounded?”