Gorm emerged from the small tent at the sound of Kol and Wulfar’s approach. Kol carefully kept his eyes on him, avoiding the slightest glance toward the enclosed litter. His companion didn’t know that trick. When Kol heard a wooden shutter open and a low, rasping voice, he knew Wulfar was doomed.
“What brings you here?” asked Gorm.
“The army’s surrendered to the orcs,” said Kol.
“What!” replied Gorm. Kol couldn’t tell if he sounded more enraged or terrified.
“Dar brought Queen Girta before the king, and turned everyone against me. I was condemned to death. Othar just enslaved the man who saved me.” Kol knew that Gorm could free Wulfar’s spirit, but when Gorm didn’t offer, Kol didn’t ask. “Only sorcery can reverse things now.”
“And what know you of sorcery?” asked Gorm.
A voice came from the litter, startling Kol with the depth of its enmity. “Dar! I want that bitch! She owes me suffering.”
Kol saw his opportunity. “I can deliver her.”
“How?” asked the rasping voice.
“I know her. She’ll follow me. I’m certain of it.”
“You’ve made promises before,” said Gorm, “and have kept none yet.”
“Because of Dar,” replied Kol. “Always because of Dar.”
“Get her,” said Othar.
Gorm reflected. “She’d be a prize indeed. Aye, her death might advance our cause.” He fixed his gaze on Kol. “Understand, it’s all or naught. Hold nothing back.” “I won’t. Give me Wulfar. I’ll make it look like I killed him in a struggle. Then I’ll leave a trail to the burnt hall. Get there by another route. When Dar follows me, Othar can seize her.”
“Perhaps they’ll send soldiers instead.”
“They’ll surely do that, but Dar will be with them,” said Kol. “We’re old adversaries, and hate binds tighter than love.”
“Wulfar,” said Gorm. “Go with Kol.” Wulfar passively joined the man whom he had just saved and who would slay him. Gorm watched the two head for the cesspit. Then he struck his tent and ordered the litter-bearers to lift their burden. Before he led them away, he spoke through the litter’s open shutter. “Master, Dar’s blood would provide uncommon nourishment.”
“And what if Kol fails?” asked Othar.
“Then I’ll brew some magic of my own.”
The atmosphere about the blue-and-scarlet tents combined joy on Girta and her son’s part with a general sense of relief The war had lost its allure with the hall’s destruction. Hunger, harsh weather, and Dar’s bluff about an ambush made the officers welcome surrender. In the prevailing mood, the deposed general seemed forgotten by everyone but Dar. It was she who finally asked, “Isn’t that man overlong in returning with Kol’s head?”
“Probably showing it to his comrades,” said an officer.
“Just who was that guard?” asked Dar.
“One of my men,” answered Kregant III.
“A King’s Man?” asked Dar.
“Of course,” replied the boy.
“But Kol handpicked all of them! Someone should check what’s happened.”
“Yes,” said Girta. She turned to an officer. “Send some soldiers to the cesspit.”
A while later, the soldiers reported back. “The guard is slain and his weapons are missing.”
“And the general?” asked Girta. “Where’s he?”
“Run off. We followed his tracks awhile. He seems headed for the burnt hall.”
“Well, it’s stopped snowing, Your Majesty,” said an officer, “so he’ll be easy to track in the morning. He won’t get far.”
“Good,” replied Girta. “Bring another cot to the royal tent. I’ll rest with my son.”
“And what about this wench,” said the man, gesturing at Dar.
“She can have your tent,” replied Girta. “She used to be a queen.”
Dar rose at first light, still dressed in the foot soldier’s woolen tunic. She donned his leggings, bound her feet in cloth, and slipped on his boots. Omitting the armored tunic, helmet, and sword, she strapped on the dagger, tied on the cloak, and went to investigate the scene at the cesspit. When she arrived there, she saw that the soldiers’ account had been incomplete. The guard’s body had been dragged away, but it was evident that someone had been slain and his assailant had fled toward the hall. What interested Dar were signs that Kol and his guard had visited another place together and returned.
She followed those tracks and found signs of another camp. Dar studied them awhile. Everything pointed to it being Othar’s camp. There were marks where a litter had rested on the snow. There were also footprints of a dozen men who seemed to have stood unnaturally still. They had left sometime in the night, traveling north along the shadowed side of the valley. Dar followed their trail around the mountain until it began to climb the slope. Then she ran back as fast as her clumsy boots allowed.
By the time Dar arrived at camp, jubilation over the surrender had infected the troops. More than once, she had to draw her dagger to discourage a boisterous soldier. But it was her demeanor more than the blade that made the men back down. Dar was intimidating. When she reached the royal tent, she found Girta and the king talking to a young officer.
“Dar,” said Girta. “This is Tolum Farnar. His shieldron’s going to capture General Kol.”
“Are you certain of his loyalty?” asked Dar.
“Absolutely,” said Girta. “He’s the king’s cousin.”
“Tolum, you should know that Kol’s not alone,” said Dar. “A mage has joined him.”
“Then we’ll kill him, too,” said the tolum.
“I’ll accompany you,” said Dar.
Farnar smiled somewhat disdainfully. “We’re seasoned soldiers. We don’t need a wench along.”
“He’s hiding in my hall,” said Dar. “I know every stone of it. Besides, I have a stake in this. Kol’s murdered those close to me.”
Farnar shrugged. “Then come. Just don’t get in the way.”
Dar left with the shieldron soon afterward. Its soldiers were a sharp contrast to those who had served in the orc regiment. The men possessed discipline, and they looked deadly. They were large, fit, and well equipped, and they moved smartly up the road to the hall. Apparently, they had no difficulty following Kol’s trail. That worried Dar, for she feared he intended them to find him.
When she reached the mountaintop, Dar was shocked by the state of the hall. Its destruction was far more complete than she had imagined it would be. Blackened stones had collapsed in many areas, reducing familiar places to sooty rubble. As the men clambered over mounds of loose stone, Dar often was unsure where she was. The building had become a roofless maze. Melted snow had refrozen to coat the remaining corridors with ice. The ice, in turn, was covered by a thin layer of snow. This made walking treacherous and left footprints that stood out clearly. However, once inside the hall, Kol had taken care to leave few tracks.
Tolum Farnar ignored Dar until his soldiers were thoroughly lost. Then he was more willing to accept her assistance. While the men halted, Dar shed her clumsy, oversized boots and climbed a partly standing wall like a narrow stairway. Its top afforded a commanding view. From there, Dar saw that the kitchen’s roof of vaulted stone was partly intact. Moreover, smoke was issuing from a kitchen chimney. She
climbed down. “Tolum, I think I know where your man is. I’ll lead you to him.”
After putting on her boots, Dar led the men through rubble-strewn hallways toward the kitchen. It lay in the older part of the hall, which seemed to have suffered less damage. Enough of its structure remained that Dar got her bearings. She gestured for the men to halt when she reached a roofless corridor just short of the kitchen’s entrance. “Kol could be in the next room,” Dar whispered to the tolum “Be warned, he’s probably not alone.”