By the time Garnuk was ready to go, the rest of the camp was broken down and his six warriors were awaiting orders. Garnuk briefly outlined the new plan, then assigned each warrior a squad to bring to the rendezvous point, a location just west of the Sthan fortress, not far from the place where Harg had been tasked with keeping an eye on the Sthan while Garnuk ran north to assassinate their king.
The six warriors left one by one, each spaced just a few minutes apart. They did not pick their way down the mountainside as they usually did, as Garnuk had impressed upon them the need for speed in this assignment. He had not told them about the dragon, only saying that Sthan reinforcements were converging on the fortress and they needed to be ready to tip the tide of the battle if need be.
When the last of the warriors had gone, Garnuk took a deep breath and looked around what had been his camp and base of operations. Everything was gone, the tents, the fire rings, the pavilion. The only signs that a camp had ever been there were a few blackened circles where fires had stood and a few patches of flattened vegetation where tents had been. Tarq followed his gaze and chuckled.
“Impressive, isn’t it?”
“Very,” Garnuk agreed. “One moment, we have a functioning base, the next, nothing.”
“These are fine rams, general,” Tarq said, resting a heavy hand on Garnuk’s shoulder. “And they have a fine leader. If there is a way to win this war, then we will see it done.”
“And if there is not?”
Tarq shrugged, his eyes hardening, the lines of his face turning to granite. “Then we will fight, and die, in defense of our people, and give any survivors cause to remember our deeds for generations.”
Garnuk smiled to himself. “Aye,” he agreed. “We will make sure they remember us.”
He glanced down the side of the mountain and realized the last warrior was no longer visible. “Time we were leaving,” he decided. “Are you ready?”
Tarq rolled his shoulders and shook first one leg, then the other, loosening his limbs for the long journey ahead. “I will follow,” he promised.
Garnuk turned to go, then paused for a moment. “No more concerns about my health?” he asked, somewhat surprised.
“No,” Tarq said firmly. “If you had not regained your strength, you could never have run from here to Ishkabur and back the way you did. As far as I can tell, you are stronger than you ever were before, general.”
Garnuk nodded gratefully. He had suspected as much, but it felt good to hear Tarq say it. “Then let’s run,” he said, turning to the north and picking out the landmarks they needed to follow. The Exile took a deep breath, then bounded off down the side of the mountain.
Though it was dark, Garnuk ran as fast as he could without losing his balance, bounding between trees, around boulders, and over obstacles. Tarq followed behind, the pair of them crashing through the wilderness as stealthily as an avalanche. Speed was all that mattered for the moment, and at the rate they were moving there were few creatures which would be able to catch them, even if they were spotted. Certainly none of the Usurper’s rams would be able to pursue them, unless they were varloug pran riders.
Dusk turned to night, the weak shadows deepening to an even blanket of blackness, the sky dimming until the only light came from the myriad of twinkling stars. Garnuk and Tarq ran on, heedless of their own exhaustion, letting nothing stand in their path or slow them down in their journey. They did not speak, save to make sure they were following the proper course, for any other words would be a waste of breath. Every few minutes, Garnuk would glance back to be sure he had not lost Tarq, but the faithful captain was always there, lumbering along doggedly in his general’s wake.
Their pace was faster and more grueling than any Garnuk had undertaken in recent memory. The closest he could remember was in the hours when he had hunted and run from the butcher, or the days he had spent running through the Sthan kingdom. Before that, he would have to go all the way back to his days of being hunted by the Black Hawks to remember a time when he had run so fast.
Time passed. Garnuk did not know how much time, nor did he particularly care. Instead, he focused on maintaining his furious pace and following the course he had set, for all he could do to maximize their chance of success was to run as fast and as far as possible. He and Tarq had to reach the fortress of men before battle was joined, or all could be lost.
The night passed and the sun rose in the morning. Garnuk checked for the next set of landmarks and found them, adjusting course slightly to the west. They were already drawing near the edge of the mountains, and would soon be in the flatlands the Sthan controlled. With any luck, the two warriors would quickly encounter the first of the two Shadow Squadron patrols they sought.
Golden rays of sunlight began to slant between the mountain peaks, casting long shadows over valleys and gilding snow-capped summits. Wildlife began to stir all around, first the birds of the sky, then the beasts of the ground. Garnuk and Tarq startled a small herd of deer into flight, their upright white tails rapidly disappearing into the nearest thicket of firs as they bounded away. Little did the herd know that these particular vertaga had no time for a hunt, no matter how quick it might be or how hungry they were. They were on a desperate mission, one which would not wait for them to enjoy a fresh kill.
An hour after dawn, Garnuk loped up the northern slope that bordered a small valley between two mountains and paused, coming to a halt after a few more paces. Before him, spread out like the maps that now were stowed in the pack upon his back, were the Sthan flatlands. They had made the trip in record time, surpassing even his own expectations. As he turned slowly from side to side, shading his eyes and seeking the first camp, Tarq stepped up beside him, breathing heavily.
“A good night’s run,” he observed. “But we still have a long way to go.”
Garnuk nodded. “We are not stopping to rest,” he told the captain, reaching into his pack for a map. “Eat and drink if you must, but be ready to go again in less than five minutes.”
“Better than nothing,” Tarq muttered, digging in his pack for a light meal. “One of our patrols is near, yes?”
“Should be,” Garnuk agreed. “We’ll send one of them to the second camp and continue on our way. It’s a shame we never passed any of their messengers in the night.”
“They would have only slowed us down.”
“But we need every warrior,” Garnuk reminded him firmly. “Thirty is a small enough force to begin with.”
“The objective is not to fight,” Tarq pointed out. “Otherwise, this whole journey is rather pointless.”
Garnuk nodded absently, peering among the foothills of the mountains. “They are not far,” he announced. “I can see the shattered boulder and the leaning fir that mark the entrance to their camp.”
Tarq crammed one last strip of dried meat into his mouth and took a swig from his water skin, grimacing at the stale taste. “Then let’s go,” he growled. “The sooner this running is over, the sooner we can hunt and have a proper meal.”
“Don’t count on it,” Garnuk warned as he started off once more.
The two travelers ran down the slope of the mountain and among the foothills, passing into a narrow, twisting canyon between two of the rolling mounds. They continued running, despite the restricted space and visibility, until a clash of metal on metal rang out from above them.
Garnuk and Tarq came to a halt, looking around. The Exile had shrugged his shield around immediately, and was holding his drawn sword. Tarq held an axe loosely in one hand, seeking the source of the piercing noise.
“Up here.” The clashing noise came again, from a point somewhere above them.
Garnuk looked up sharply and saw a ram standing above them, axe and shield held close together. He was backlit by the sun, his features hidden in shadow.
“Who are you?” he called.
“You are of squad six?” Garnuk called.
The ram took a half step forward, peering down at them uncertainly. “
General!” he cried a moment later. “It is you, and the captain as well!”
The warrior loped to the edge of the cliff and jumped down easily, falling a little over three meters before he landed, knees flexed to absorb the impact. As he approached Garnuk and Tarq, the warrior stowed his weapons and smiled broadly at them, saluting Garnuk.
“Welcome,” he said after a moment. “Should I take you to the others?”
“With all speed,” Garnuk said urgently. “New information has come in. Everyone is on the move to the north. We swung by to pass the message to you as well.”
The warrior nodded and moved further along the canyon. “This way then,” he said, gesturing for them to follow. “Our messengers are here as well, just got back from a trip to base camp.”
“Good,” Garnuk murmured. “We need every ram we can get for this fight.”
“A fight?” their guide asked as he turned into an even narrower side canyon. “Where at? Against who?”
“You will find out in time,” Tarq said, cutting the soldier off curtly. “Focus on getting us to the others as fast as possible, then we will talk.”
The ram nodded, chastened, and quickened his pace until they came to an apparent dead end. Garnuk and Tarq hesitated, frowning, but the warrior kept going, right up to the cliff face. There, he rolled aside a man-sized boulder with ease, revealing a small circular opening.
“Come,” he said, ducking through the small entrance. “We have visitors,” he called to those inside.
Garnuk and Tarq exchanged a glance, then followed the warrior inside.
They found themselves in a natural cave, not very large, but big enough for two or three vertaga to sleep comfortably. The ceiling was high enough that Garnuk did not have to duck once he had entered, and the floor was covered in sand and dirt rather than hard, unyielding rock.
Three vertaga were waiting inside, sitting around a tiny fire that appeared to be there more for light than for warmth. Bedrolls were neatly stacked against the back wall, as well as the warriors’ other gear. The three scouts started to rise when they recognized Garnuk and Tarq, but the Exile waved them back to the floor of the cave quickly.
“No time for that,” he grunted. “You all need to break camp and begin running north with all speed.”
“There’s a battle coming,” their guide put it, glancing around at the others.
The others nodded, then turned and began gathering equipment. While they did, Garnuk continued to speak to them, passing along the information they needed to reach the rendezvous on their own.
“I’ll also need a volunteer to collect the final squad,” he added when he had finished, looking around at the four warriors.
“I will go, general,” one said, raising a clawed hand. He was a sturdy brute, well-muscled and carrying a broadsword slung over his back with no shield.
“Good,” Garnuk said with a short nod. “Speak to Tarq, he’ll show you where to go.”
Tarq withdrew with the volunteer, while Garnuk remained behind with the others. “Any questions?”
“How will we know the gathering point when we see it?” the sentry that had first hailed them asked.
Garnuk smiled grimly. “Tarq and I will already be there, waiting for you.”
“You’re not going with us?”
“We’re going ahead of you,” Garnuk replied. “Tarq and I are faster on our own.”
The rams in front of him bristled at his words, sensing a challenge. “We can run as far and as fast as any, general,” one snarled.
“You think we would be a burden?” another warrior snapped.
Garnuk tilted his head back, staring at them confidently. “If you think you can keep up with us, then by all means do so,” he said quietly. “But do not be disappointed when Tarq and I run off. We have to be there ahead of the rest of you to set up camp, scout the situation, and decide how to deploy everyone. Therefore, Tarq and I must run faster than any of you.”
“You can try,” the sentry said, chuckling to himself. “But you will not so easily shake us, general.”
Garnuk smiled, relishing the challenge. “We shall see,” he said as he turned and left the cave. “Ready Tarq?”
The captain rolled up the map he had been holding and handed it to the volunteer. “Ready.”
“Then we’re off. The spirits watch over you in your travels,” he said to the members of squad six.
“And you, general,” they murmured in reply.
Garnuk turned away from the cave, took a moment to gather his bearings, then loped off down the narrow canyon, Tarq following close behind. The three members of squad six who were to follow snarled to each other and took off in pursuit, easily keeping up with Garnuk’s steady pace.
The Exile led his small force back to the main canyon, then accelerated his pace, lengthening his stride and flying past the canyon walls. Those behind matched him, pushing on doggedly. The volunteer did not follow the canyon, instead climbing the rough cliffs and taking off in a different direction.
The canyon only lasted for another few minutes of running. Before long, the walls grew smoother and shorter, the ground underfoot turned from hard stone to slushy dirt to snow-blanketed plain. Then, quite suddenly, the foothills were gone and the flatlands lay spread out before them.
Tarq drew level with Garnuk, breathing easily, enjoying the reduced pace. “We went much faster on the way to the cave,” he observed.
Garnuk nodded. “So we did. I thought it prudent to move a little more slowly in the canyon. But there is nothing to stop us out here on the flatlands.”
Tarq nodded. “So we will go faster now?”
“Yes,” Garnuk said, grinning wolfishly. “The three from squad six thought they would be able to keep up with us. They were insulted I thought otherwise.”
Tarq chuckled quietly to himself. “Ah, so you did do something to annoy them. I noticed a change in their bearing when they left the cave. You have set them a challenge?”
“They set themselves a challenge,” Garnuk countered. “I did nothing to encourage it.”
“Shall we show them the error of their ways?”
Garnuk considered this for a moment, then shrugged. “Why not?” he decided. “On the count of three,” he added, dropping his voice.
Tarq grinned and rolled his horned head on top of his shoulders. “I’m ready.”
“One,” Garnuk murmured, glancing over his shoulder at the others. “Two . . . Three!”
Garnuk and Tarq took off as though a pack of varloug prans were on their tail, accelerating from the easy lope they had been maintaining to a full sprint. Each stride lasted multiple meters, and the ground shook each time they landed. The speed of their passage was such that Garnuk felt the air he sliced through ripping at his clothes and pack. Behind them, a plume of powdered snow flew up into the air, pulsing in higher bursts whenever their feet hit the ground.
When they had reached full speed, Garnuk looked back, smiling to himself. The three members of squad six were pursuing them valiantly, but even as Garnuk watched them, the ram in the front faltered and slowed down, the other two flying past him. Then, another slowed up and fell back, reducing his pace to a more sustainable run.
The last ram, the one who had been most vocal about challenging Garnuk, kept up the chase for less than a minute more. When Garnuk next looked back, he too had slowed down and was watching Garnuk and Tarq run on, his comrades running alongside him.
“That seems to have showed them,” he observed, turning to Tarq.
The captain grimaced. “It might show me before much longer if we keep this pace.”
Garnuk shook his head. “We’ll be fine, at least until those three are out of sight.”
“You do realize that we have been running almost constantly since nightfall yesterday?”
Garnuk shrugged. “I’ve run for longer.”
“At this pace? Through mountains?”
“Maybe not,” Garnuk admitted. “But there’s always a first time.�
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Tarq shook his head. “How much longer until we reach the gathering point?”
“At this pace? Another day and a half, maybe,” Garnuk said, frowning.
“That doesn’t leave us much time to scout the situation,” Tarq observed. “I suppose we should keep going then.”
“Can you manage?”
“I will,” Tarq said firmly. “That’s all that matters.”
Chapter 42:
Gathering Storm
They ran the rest of that day and the next, stopping only to eat and drink a little every few hours. The time in between was filled with endless, mind-numbing running. Little changed about their surroundings. The flatlands, as Garnuk had noted on his previous trip north, were uncomfortably and desolately dull and uniform.
Tarq, who had not traveled with him previously, was more affected by the featureless landscape. Whenever Garnuk looked at the captain, he would catch his friend flinching, watching the horizons, turning ceaselessly as he attempted to make sure there were no hostiles in any direction. Finally, his companion’s restlessness got to Garnuk.
“Relax,” he grunted. “You’re driving me off a cliff with all of your fidgeting.”
Tarq snorted derisively. “No cliffs here,” he muttered. “That’s the problem.”
Garnuk nodded. “It’s a different land, Tarq, with different problems, advantages, and disadvantages. If it’s any comfort to you, we’ll be able to see any enemies coming long before they get here. And if there were varloug prans about we would know. Their keen senses would not give them any advantage over us.”
“This is enemy territory,” Tarq muttered uncomfortably, bending slightly at the waist as though to make a smaller target.
Garnuk laughed to himself, the guttural sounds of his mirth floating across the plains. “All territory is enemy territory, Tarq. We are exiles, outcasts. Some might call us rebels or insurgents. We have no territory except those tiny camps we make here and there.”
Tarq frowned, straightening a little as his thoughts were momentarily drawn to other matters. “I had not considered that,” he admitted finally.
The Ramshuk (Heirs of Legacy Book 3) Page 42