“That is unusual,” Garnuk mused.
“Unique, actually,” Tarq agreed, lying flat again. “As long as we send enough warriors, no Ramshuk bothers us.”
“Why is that?”
“It is tradition at this point,” Tarq said, shrugging. “Originally, it was done because my tribe was treated as exiles. We are no longer treated as such, for we have regained the other tribes’ respect over the years, but we remain isolated. It is better this way, so that history does not repeat.”
Garnuk frowned at Tarq, wondering what exactly the Hrevshin had done in the past. He knew that his friend was weary though, and did not expect that he would explain if pressed. So, instead, Garnuk changed the subject.
“How’s the knee?”
Tarq glanced at it, sighing. “It will mend, I think. Plenty of food and rest for a few days, then we’ll see where I’m at. I certainly shouldn’t do any more running for the time being.”
“No,” Garnuk agreed, stretching out on his own furs with a contented sigh. “We have all done enough traveling, for now.”
Outside of the sheltered vale, the storm continued to rage, winds howling through the trees, thrashing branches in a rustling cacophony. Lightning flashed and thunder roared, echoing off the mountains like the sound of so many avalanches. And over it all, wave after wave of snow, driven in great white curtains, smashed against boulders, piled in vertag-high drifts. Garnuk had lived many years in the Fells and had rarely seen a winter storm of such fury. He almost wished the Sthan army was already at the mountains. In the pass, they would have been buried alive.
Throughout the storm, none of Shadow Squadron ventured outside for any length of time. No warriors went out hunting or patrolled the nearest ridges. Nor was anyone foolish enough to gather firewood for a fire that would never light. Instead, they all stayed in their hastily constructed shelters, alternating between sleeping and talking quietly amongst themselves. Garnuk quickly grew restless, since he felt fully recovered after a single day confined to the lean-to, but the others desperately needed the break, especially Tarq. His knee had grown swollen and bulbous, the pain of the injury nearly incapacitating him. It was not until the third day in camp that the captain finally reported that he could feel a significant decrease in the discomfort.
On the fourth day after Garnuk and the others had arrived in the vale, the storm finally blew itself out. Garnuk noticed the silence first, strange after so long being surrounded by howling winds and booming thunder. Cautiously, he untied the front of the tent and stuck his horned head out to survey the vale. In order to do that, he was forced to clear some snow from in front of the lean-to.
The land had been transformed. Despite the terrible wrath of the storm, the vale was pristine, white, and utterly buried. The fir trees on the ridges of the bowl-shaped depression had taken a beating, their limbs snapped off and scattered, their branches piled in drifts with the snow, but the vale itself looked untouched save for the shoulder-high blanket of snow. Garnuk went to leave the lean-to and found his path blocked. Cursing under his breath, he shoved some of the snow away with his hands and tried to take a few steps forward. He had gone only a few meters before he was forced to give up.
“General?” Tarq called uncertainly from the shelter.
Garnuk turned around and stomped back to the tent, through the deep trench he had carved in the snow. He ducked inside, rummaging in his gear.
“Storm is over,” he said briefly. “It’s time we all had a decent meal. Only problem is we’re half buried.”
Tarq peered out through the open entrance and grunted in surprise. “More than half it looks like.”
Garnuk nodded and pulled his shield out of his pack, gripping it in both hands. “I’m going to dig over to some of the other shelters, try and get the camp reorganized. You stay here and rest that knee.”
Tarq grinned and lay back. “As you command, general.”
Garnuk scowled at the relaxed figure, then turned back to face the bitter cold of the outdoors. Shield in hand, he began digging to the nearest shelter he could see, piling the snow up to either side. It took time, but eventually he had carved a trench as tall as he was and several meters long. It was only wide enough for one warrior to pass through at a time, but it could be widened later.
Finally, Garnuk reached the front of the first shelter and dug it out. “Anybody in there?” he called gruffly as he moved the snow.
A horned head poke out the front, one of his warriors. “General,” he said, sounding surprised. “We couldn’t get out. How did you reach us?”
Garnuk shrugged. “Our door was facing a different direction. Grab anything you can use as a shovel and help me dig out the others. Then, I’m going to take a group hunting and see if there are any deer around here.”
“I’ll help,” the warrior said, scrambling to his feet. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a decent meal.”
Garnuk nodded in agreement, then stood on his toes to peer over the snow. The next shelter was off to the left, only a couple meters away. The Exile took a deep breath, then plunged his shield into the icy barrier, tossing the snow out of his way in heaping shieldfuls.
It took only a few minutes to reach the next shelter and recruit two more willing warriors to dig the rest out. When half the shelters had been connected by the trenches, Garnuk detailed a group of eight to start digging out a communal area at the edge of the camp for cook fires. He supervised their efforts for a few minutes, making sure they were working as efficiently as possible, then left them to continue digging out the wall of snow.
As the Exile turned away, he saw Harg trudging up to him, shield in hand, looking curiously at the workers. “They finally freed me,” the warrior explained, grimacing. “My door was facing the worst direction possible.”
“Bad luck,” Garnuk said, shrugging. “Still, everyone seems to have survived just fine.”
“Food is running low though,” Harg said worriedly. “And we’ll have a time getting out of here to hunt. Is it this deep all the way across the vale?”
“As far as I can tell,” Garnuk said, shrugging. “I want to at least get to the ridge and see how the rest of the area fared.”
Harg grunted. “Where’s Tarq?”
“Resting his knee,” Garnuk replied. “Looks like it was worse than we originally thought. Finally starting to heal.”
“How did that happen? A battle?”
“No,” Garnuk said shaking his head. “Like you said earlier, bad luck. He stepped in a hole while we were traveling here.”
“And kept going?” Harg said in disbelief.
“It was that or wait around for the dragon to get us,” Garnuk replied.
“Fair enough,” the warrior grunted. “If you want to try to hunt, I think the others can carry on without us for the time being.”
Garnuk looked around the small camp, slowly being pried from the snowy landscape. “Might as well,” he decided eventually. “Let me get my gear. Do you have any spears?”
Harg nodded. “A few. Thought they might come in handy if we ever got a chance for fresh meat again.”
“Good, we can use them now. Swords aren’t meant for hunting,” he added ruefully.
Back at his lean-to, Garnuk found that Tarq was sitting up and watching the industrious proceedings outside. “You’ve got them working hard for a group that’s supposed to be resting,” he observed drily.
Garnuk chuckled. “The wounded and exhausted are still in their shelters, only those who have recovered are working. Harg and I are going hunting. You’re in charge while we’re gone.”
“No problem. What do you want them to do once they’ve finished digging the camp out?”
Garnuk shrugged. “Gather firewood for a huge blaze. With any luck, we’re bringing back dinner.”
“Excellent,” Tarq said, rubbing his hands together. “Fresh meat, at last!”
“We may not get any,” Garnuk warned. “But we’re going to try.”
Tarq nodd
ed. “Away with you, then. You’re wasting valuable hunting time. It’s going to take you long enough just to get out of the vale.”
“Don’t remind me,” Garnuk muttered as he straightened his cloak and made for the edge of camp.
Harg was waiting there, a quiver of four throwing spears over one shoulder, his shield in his hands. “Ready?” he asked, glancing at the thick wall of packed snow that blocked their path.
Garnuk sighed and readied his own shield. Then, he plunged the edge into the bank of snow and shifted a load to the side. He carved only a narrow trench at first, muscling his way through, leaving Harg to clean up the path he carved in the snow.
They continued this way for half an hour and then switched, Harg taking the lead and doing the bulk of the work while Garnuk moved smaller drifts out of the way. Only a few minutes into Harg’s shift, the snowbanks started getting noticeably shallower and the land began to rise. Then, they were on the ridge, standing in snow that barely reached to their knees.
“That’s a sight,” Harg said, gazing to the north in awe.
The foothills and the Basin were blanketed with snow, and in some places many hills had merged into one. The ridge and the surrounding mountain slopes had been swept almost clean by the gusting winds, but the rest of the land was buried, just like the vale. Garnuk looked around curiously, shading his eyes against the glare of the sun.
“No herds,” he commented, sweeping the foothills. He paused as an unnatural shape entered his field of vision and frowned, taking a step closer. Dark stones stood out from the snow, and ancient battlements frowned down over the land.
“The fortress,” he breathed, recognizing the rigid outlines as the outer walls. “The place where the Usurper was keeping the dragon.”
Harg flinched and cursed quietly. “You didn’t tell me it was so close to the vale.”
“You can barely see it in the distance,” Garnuk pointed out patiently. “I’d hardly call it close.”
“All the same, I wish it was further,” Harg muttered. “That beast – I do not scare easily, general, but the dragon unsettles me.”
“And me,” Garnuk agreed. “But it may have to be beaten if the vertaga are to survive.” He stood there a moment longer, eyeing the fortress, then tore his gaze away with a sigh and scanned the slopes of the mountains. “We’ll try that way,” he decided, gesturing to the nearest peak. “I remember hunting sheep and goats among those mountains, and the snow is not so bad there.”
“This is your hunt,” Harg said, passing him two of the throwing spears. “Lead on.”
The two warriors climbed up into the mountains, keeping an eye out for any prey. All around them, the forested slopes were eerily still, shrouded in snow and ice, all sounds muted and indistinct. At one point, Garnuk heard hooves on rock echoing down the slope, but could not find the source.
Finally, the two hunters came across fresh tracks in an area with a thinner layer of snow. Only an hour or so old, and headed back down the mountain. Garnuk followed eagerly, spears at the ready, moving as quickly and quietly as he could.
Suddenly, a CRACK echoed off the nearest peaks, reverberating through the forest. It was closely followed by a second, then a third. Garnuk recognized the sound of horns clashing against each other, a sure sign that a herd of mountain sheep were nearby. Trusting the sounds of the sparring beasts to cover any noises he made, Garnuk broke into a loping run with Harg right behind him.
They found the herd easily enough. There were over a dozen in all, a good mix of males and females with a few young ones that appeared to be struggling through their first or second winter. Garnuk and Harg crouched behind the trunks of two massive firs, watching as two sets of males clashed their horns together, showing off for their peers.
“I’ll take one from the left pair,” Garnuk murmured. “You take one from the right.”
Harg nodded. “Sounds good. If you hit with your first, try for one of the females too.”
“There’s only two of us,” Garnuk hissed. “How will we carry it back?”
“Together,” Harg said, shrugging. “We’ll find a way. On your signal, general.”
Garnuk sighed, focusing on his target, waiting until the two males were charging towards each other. Then, as their horns crashed together once more, he sprang from cover and threw his first spear.
The spear flashed across the intervening distance, burying its head in the chest of the nearest beast. The ram bleated in agony, staggering from the unexpected blow. Garnuk knew it was a mortal wound, and drew back his arm to throw the next spear. To his left, Harg cursed as his first throw missed by a hairsbreadth.
Garnuk’s second throw took one of the females. He was careful to select one that didn’t have a lamb anywhere near it, so that the herd would survive and continue to grow after the hunt was over. After that, the rest of the horned sheep were gone, bounding away into the trees, bleating in alarm and frustration, leaving three of their fellows behind.
Garnuk exhaled heavily and knelt beside his first kill. The ram was still alive, thrashing with pain, so he mercifully cut its throat. He did the same for the ewe, then carried them back to where Harg was finishing off his kill.
“Only one?” he asked.
Harg scowled. “We couldn’t carry four.”
“Ah,” Garnuk said surveying the carcasses. “Can we carry three?”
“Sure. Each carry one on our backs, and carry the other one between us.”
Garnuk sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that.” He looked around, then located a suitable branch. “Lend me your axe?”
Harg tossed the weapon to Garnuk, and the Exile quickly hacked the branch off. Then, they trussed both rams and the ewe, slinging the ewe on the branch between them and hefting a ram over each shoulder. Garnuk grunted under the weight and glared at Harg.
“We should have taken just the two,” he admonished.
“We can manage,” Harg said confidently. “Besides, the others have earned it.”
“They have,” Garnuk agreed. “We’ll have to go slowly though, and carefully.”
“I’ll lead,” Harg said. “Watch your step.”
Garnuk followed the other warrior down the slopes at a veritable crawl, stumbling and shambling under the weight of the kills. Despite their caution, Garnuk nearly fell twice and his legs were bruised, ankles and knees aching, by the time they finally reached the ridge surrounding the vale.
When they stumbled into camp though, the two hunters were given a hero’s welcome. Four other warriors quickly relieved them of their burdens and escorted them to a trio of roaring bonfires within the camp. Spits had already been set up, and every warrior was gathered around the blazes.
Garnuk and Harg sat down beside Tarq, who had hobbled to his seat with the assistance of a crutch that now lay beside him. “Well done,” he said. “That should make the others happy.”
“It better,” Garnuk groaned, stretching out abused muscles.
“You’ll be fine,” Harg growled, “Just sit back and let the cooks do the work. Tonight’s going to be a feast to remember.”
Garnuk nodded absently. “Yes, it will,” he agreed. “But tomorrow, we need to get back to work.”
“Already?” Tarq asked incredulously.
“Well, not all of us,” Garnuk amended. “I’ve got something I want to investigate.”
“The fortress you showed me?” Harg asked quietly.
Garnuk nodded soberly. “I’m going to see if I can find out more about this dragon. And where the Usurper found it.”
Chapter 51:
The Dragon’s Cradle
The feast was indeed one to remember.
The carcasses of the sheep were skinned and broken down. Those who preferred their meat raw were served first, then the rest of the meat was roasted over the fires. Shadow Squadron feasted long into the night, enjoying each other’s company beside the roaring flames.
When at last the warriors stumbled back to their shelters to rest, it was well afte
r midnight. Garnuk did not bother posting sentries, but he did leave a pair of volunteers to keep the fires going through the night.
The following morning, Garnuk slept well past dawn, as did most of the rest of the camp. Tarq was still asleep when the Exile finally woke, twisted around at an awkward angle, his injured leg propped up before him. Garnuk rubbed his eyes and stuck his head out of the tent, looking around curiously.
The air was not so bitterly cold as it had been, and where the snow and ice had been largely scraped away there were shallow puddles on the ground. The walls of the snow canyons that had connected the various shelters were damaged as well now, and significantly shorter than they had been the previous day.
At the edge of the camp, the roaring fires had chipped away at the snowy walls, gradually eating them away with their heat. There were few others stirring at this hour, but Garnuk could see that Harg had taken over watching the fires and was currently adding wood to the nearest one.
The Exile left the lean-to, stretching his arms overhead and breathing deeply. The mountain air, while not frigid, was still cold and crisp. A perfect winter morning. Garnuk checked to be sure his weapons were in order, settling his sword on his hip a little more comfortably, then moved through what was left of the nearest snow canyon to join Harg.
The warrior turned as Garnuk approached, having just finished stoking the fires. “You’re up early,” he observed, looking around the rest of the camp.
Garnuk shook his head. “Not hardly. It will be midday in another few hours.”
Harg snorted. “Most vertaga don’t get up before the sun, general.”
The Exile shook his head. “And that is another reason I often come out ahead of my enemies. Are many of our warriors up yet?”
“A half dozen,” Harg said, shrugging. “Those who suffered the most on the way here are still asleep.”
The Ramshuk (Heirs of Legacy Book 3) Page 51