Dar strained her ears, but heard nothing. “Are there many?”
“It’s hard to say. Two are walking. Others sleep.”
“Take several sons. Keep close to ground and hide under white cloth so you look like snow. Choose sons who understand reason for this. Kill walking soldiers silently if you can. Then slay sleepers.”
“Hai, Muth Mauk.”
Zna-yat chose Auk-goth and another son. The three started down the slope, then seemed to vanish. Dar waited nervously. For a long while there was only silence. Then a loud voice, shrill with terror, broke the stillness. “Orcs! Orcs! Or.”
Dar heard heavy, running footsteps. “Come, Muth Mauk! Washavokis are dead, but more are coming.”
Zna-yat appeared, sword unsheathed. “Follow me,” he said.
Dar ran to him, and he headed down the slope, mindful that Dar was following. He reached a small terrace where Dar spied the crumpled forms of men. One was headless. His blood made the snow look black. Yet the alarm had gone out, and even Dar could hear the response. The noise came from the next terrace down the slope. It was broader, and Dar could make out dark shapes moving about it.
“Attack!” Dar said. “Strike quickly!”
As the orcs dashed down the slope, Dar knew she must follow them as best she could. A swift attack in the dark offered their best chance. Speed was crucial, and if Dar lagged behind she could easily be stranded among foes. She paused only to search a dead soldier for a dagger. Finding one, she rushed after the orcs.
Slipping and stumbling in the dark, Dar reached the terrace where a struggle was already in progress. The orcs were outnumbered, but their surprised opponents fought clumsily. They screamed and cursed as they died, and the cries brought more men to replace them. Dar heard footsteps and turned to see a soldier advancing toward her, sword drawn. His teeth grinned white in his shadowed face. “Ah ha! A runt!”
“I’m human!” shouted Dar. “A woman.”
“What’s a bitch doing with piss eyes?” asked the soldier, lowering his blade.
“They kept me for food.”
“Then why aren’t ye bound? Perhaps ye.”
Dar plunged her dagger deep into the man’s eye. For a horrible moment, he simply stood shuddering as if seized by a bone-rattling chill. Then he twisted slightly and collapsed, nearly wrenching the blade from Dar’s hand as he fell. Dar stared at his corpse, sickened by what she had done. Then she glimpsed another soldier bounding toward her, an ax raised high. Before she could react, an orc darted between
them and severed the man in two at the waist. As the torso fell at Dar’s feet, its arms reached out. A hand briefly grasped her ankle, then relaxed.
“Muth Mauk! Way is clear!” Dar recognized Zna-yat’s voice. She dashed in its direction. Beyond the terrace wall was another slope. The orcs were already scampering down it, but Zna-yat stood waiting for her. When Dar reached him, he grabbed her waist and bounded down the steep slope. Dar could barely breathe, much less talk during the quick, jarring trip down the remainder of the mountainside. Zna-yat set her down only when they reached level ground. By then, Dar’s ribs ached from pressing against Zna-yat’s armor. She didn’t complain, for she saw the dark shapes of running men against the snow.
A broad, snow-filled meadow lay between them and a wood. “Let’s flee, not fight, if we can,” Dar shouted. Zna-yat made a move to grab her waist again, but she said, “I’d rather run.” The orcs took off and Dar raced behind them, following the trail they made. Glancing over her shoulder, she thought their pursuers were giving only a halfhearted chase. When she reached the tree line, she looked back again and saw they had stopped running altogether.
Dar and the orcs headed north, their number reduced by two. Both were sons who had fought without armor. Two slain already! thought Dar. She suspected that the orcs had killed dozens, but in the grim arithmetic of war, that didn’t matter: Kol had thousands to attack fewer than three hundred defenders. Fleeing and hiding seemed the most prudent course, until a terrifying possibility came to Dar. Although the washavokis were in unfamiliar territory, Othar might employ magic to guide them. The Mah clan settlement lay within two days’ march. If Kol captured their larders, the orcs would be doomed.
Dar brooded over their situation, but her ignorance about the enemy prevented forming a course of action. I don’t know if Othar’s directing the army. That information was vital, and it seemed foolhardy to base her strategy on speculation. After more consideration, Dar came to a conclusion. She halted the march and told all the sons without armor to join up with the fleeing mothers. After they departed, only Zna-yat and four other mintaris remained. “Muth Mauk,” Zna-yat said, “where will you lead us?”
“Back to washavoki soldiers.”
The wind clawed at the sustolum’s cloak as his horse plodded through the snow. The young officer was cold, hungry, and disappointed. The latter exacerbated the first two miseries. He gazed despondently at the burning hall atop the mountain. Its flames cast an eerie light, tinting the night red. My share of the plunder’s up there. My rations, too. All naught but ashes!
It didn’t help that the general was such an iron butt. General Voltar never made his staff officers check encampments. That’s a murdant’s job, thought the sustolum—not that he dared tell that to General Kol. As the most junior officer, it was his lot to make the rounds before dawn, when the night was coldest. He had just rounded the northern end of the mountain when he saw a figure emerge from the woods. In the dim light, he could just make out a dark, walking form. It looked too small to be an orc. The sustolum drew rein and watched.
The figure continued to advance across the meadow, its form conspicuous against the snow. It seemed to be staggering. Then it collapsed near some snow mounds and called out for the first time. “Please help me!”
The sustolum was astonished. A girl’s voice! He’d heard tales of girls who disguised themselves as soldiers. Some man’s whore. The officer grinned. This one got more than she bargained for.
The girl had risen to her feet, but remained in place, swaying slightly. “Please, sir! Help me.”
The officer turned his horse toward the lone figure. He was more than a little intrigued. If she’s pretty,
I might k^^ her for myself. The girl stopped swaying and waited motionless. As the sustolum came nearer, he could see her a little better. She seemed well dressed against the cold, with a hooded cloak and a white scarf wrapped around her chin. When he was a few paces away, he noticed something odd about her forehead, but he didn’t recognize the crown-shaped scar until he rode up next to her and she gazed upward. “Why, you’re a branded girl!”
The girl shouted “Dup!” and the snow mounds shot upward, revealing orcs that had been hiding beneath snow-covered cloth. The sustolum grabbed at his sword hilt, but a massive hand seized his wrist. The next instant, he was sailing through the air. He hit the ground hard and orcs swarmed over him. A hand wrapped around his lower face, covering his mouth. A second orc disarmed him as another held him down while a fourth bound his wrists. Then the girl bent over him and held a dagger beneath his throat. “Make one sound,” she said in a low voice that was anything but girlish, “and I’ll let the orcs kill you. They won’t do it gently. Nod if you understand.”
The sustolum nodded as best he could with a hand clamping his mouth and a dagger pressing his chin.
“Don’t say a word. Don’t moan. Don’t even breathe hard. Am I clear?”
The young officer nodded again. The woman spoke some strange words and the orcs released him. Then she walked over to his horse, speaking to it in calming tones before taking the reins. “Follow me,” she said, and began walking toward the woods. Surrounded by orcs, the sustolum obeyed.