She ignored Rosebud’s wailing, and hoisted her onto her back, Han and Hal taking the other threes.
Han hoisted her child, rearranged the little arms trying to squeeze her throat, and told Lnand to walk in front. “I’ll walk in back,” she said, glaring at Billykid. And, before he could make up some excuse, she said, “Let’s sing.”
They sang through most of the day as they climbed up and up, over trails so old that they had been worn before the Marolo Venn had appeared on this continent. They began with the “Hymn to the Fallen,” then went to the “Hymn to the Beginning.” The drumming cadences of that one cheered everyone, just a little, even the smalls, who took comfort in the familiar sound, so from then on it was war ballads, which everyone liked.
They made their way up a steep slope to the goat trails that Han and Hal thought might be too small for grown-ups to see or to travel along. Thunder and lightning roiled, bellowed, and struck all around them, but they were too frightened to stop until lightning shivered weirdly just across a field, torching an old tree.
They stopped under another tree, seeing it only as shelter. They passed out pieces of cheese and journey bread, eating silently until the rumble of hail had passed, and the sun peeped bleakly out.
They were moving again as steam rose off puddles. They stopped at a brook, and Lnand made certain that all the babies drank whether they wanted to or not.
They’d nearly finished when, faint but distinct, the belling of hounds echoed from the direction they’d come.
“They’re after us.” Hal gripped his hand on his knife, which he’d stuck through his sash like the big boys.
“We’ll get up this canyon. Then camp,” Han said.
The children looked around. They stood on a grassy ledge between high, brooding rocky spires, with even higher crags above. When they set out again, some of the middle children began to fret at the dreary uphill climb. Han ordered the older children to each take a small by the hand, and on they marched.
Shortly before sunset they stopped, not because they couldn’t see, but because they had gone cold all of a sudden, especially wearing still damp clothes.
They found an old cave that smelled of some long-gone animal. Hal explored to the back, but reported it wasn’t very deep, or that it might have been, but only a cat could get beyond the place the crack narrowed.
“No fire,” Han said.
Lnand straightened up and put her hands on her hips. “Then we’re going to eat sodden food? Look! It’s all r-r-r-oooo-ined ! She pointed an accusatory finger at the pile of packs dropped by the drooping eight-year-olds.
“Nooooo,” Han moaned.
She pounced on the packs, pulling out the canvas sacks and discovered that the rain had gotten into most of them. What had been fine in the relatively dry air of the cave of course had been spoiled by rain.
She pressed her hands against her face. “I should have thought of that.”
Lnand was quite ready to remind Han of her mistakes if she strutted, but a Han standing there looking sad and anxious made her sad and anxious.
“No one else thought of it.” Lnand lifted a pack that had contained the flour for their pan biscuits, and dropped it with a squelch. “So we learned something. We better separate out anything that will rot, and pack up the rest extra tight.”
“Yes.”
They tried squeezing into the bedrolls. That didn’t work because people got tangled up, and shoving fights started. So Lnand said they’d be cheese-breads, that is, open a bedroll and have several people lie in a row, like cheese on a bread slice, and then pull another bedroll like a blanket over them.
That worked much better, especially as everyone drew inward into a puppy pile for warmth when the cold turned bitter.
The next day they set out again, but a terrible storm boiled up overhead, this one much worse than the last. Hail and then sleet began to fall. When lightning struck not a hundred paces away, not just the smalls began wailing.
Hal ran ahead, but shortly came running back. “I found a cave!”
This was more of a crevice than a cave. They crammed in. It was narrow, and had a very smelly nest in it. They wrapped up tight, and as soon as they were fed cold, damp journey bread slathered with honey and crumbly cheese, the smalls all fell asleep where they dropped.
The others sat shoulder to shoulder, too weary to move. Han fell asleep without meaning to. She woke suddenly to a thunderbolt that sounded directly overhead. She wondered wearily where she was. White needle sleet hissed just past the cave opening. Her toes and fingers ached.
Lnand blocked the watery weak light, nothing more than a silhouette in the gloom. “Rain’s gotten into everything.” She held up a sack. “All the journey bread except the ones in the closeweave packs are moldy.”
“How many breads do we have?” Han asked.
“Just those two. The eights all unwrapped theirs, I think to pinch pieces while they were walking. They shoved the food in with their dirty clothes, it all smells bad.”
Lnand sounded so tired she wasn’t even strutting.
Han knew she should have caught the boys at it, but at the end of the hike she’d just been putting one foot in front of another as she carried a small on her back, and she’d only watched the ground.
So she didn’t even look at the guilty boys. “This crack is narrow, and there’s all that rain. How about this. We’ll post a watch, and squeeze in beyond the nest thing, and light the Fire Stick. We’ll boil the rice and beans together. I don’t care if they’re soggy, they have to cook in water, right? We’ll set the bucket—”
“Billykid says they lost it. On one of the bridges.”
This time Han jerked around to glare at the eights all clumped together. She was about to ask who’d been careless, but she could tell from their faces no one was going to snitch. And anyway, what could she do?
“Do we have a pan?”
“I brought one.”
Han decided Lnand’s braggy tone was a relief—it meant maybe things would someday go back to normal. “Make the beans and rice. We’ll have to figure out some way to carry it. We’ll be careful with the food. When we have to, we’ll do half rations and promise them rewards. And if we have to, half of that. But as soon as the lightning stops, we’re going on.”
“Where? It’s just going to get colder up here.”
“I know. We’ll just have to go back down. Here’s an idea. Let’s leave a whole lot of the bad stuff in this place. So if the Idayagans find it, they’ll think we went up even higher. Who wants to plant clues leading up the path farther?”
“I will.” Hal hugged his skinny knees against him. “I know how to make a false trail.”
Han thumped him on the shoulder, and he smiled a little. “We’ll get hot food made while you do that. We’ll eat and sleep. And if the lightning isn’t hitting the ground tomorrow, we’ll go back down toward the pass, but zigzag.”
“And move every time it rains?”
“And move every time it rains.”
Night fell suddenly in the mountains.
Nowhere were fires lit. The Venn sat in their rows, on signal, as they had been doing. Talkar’s scouts returned at midnight to report that the top of the pass lay two days’ march ahead, no sign of any enemy.
Just before sunset Noddy’s and Hawkeye’s scouts returned with the news that the top of the pass lay two bends ahead.
For the first time, the Marlovans camped instead of rolling drearily upward, changing horses four times a night. They had saddle-slept, others creeping into the wagons until the animals slowed, to be summarily turfed out. Many had put on a grim burst of speed, just to drop onto a rock and snore until the rest caught up.
Food was passed out, horses unhitched and cared for, then exhausted men and animals slept, the wagons with six and eight crammed in.
Up on the mountain above the pass, Inda and his party stopped on the trail as soon as the last of the light vanished. No one wanted to fall down the side of a cliff, so
they settled with their backs to a broad stretch of rock, looking out at the jagged mountaintops blocking the lower reaches of the canopy of stars.
Tau sat above the others on a rock, paper aimed westward to catch the last faint gleams of twilight, and wrote:Jeje. If I survive, will I remember anything of this dash down the mountains, my skull rocking on my neck, my leg muscles long bands of pain? Maybe I’ll remember silly things: the slap of bare feet on a trail probably two thousand years old, the occasional yelp or curse when a barefoot man treads on a rock. The sight of drying socks flapping gently from the backs of packs at each step—every stop, the ones with boots change out their socks. Some of them have bloody toenails. If they live, will they bore their grandchildren with stories about those bloody toenails? At least the stars are out, which means no rain. It gets cold very fast this high.
On the other side of the pass, Cama’s men, filthy and stinking despite regular dousings of rain, marched across a plateau under starlight; most of them had long since resorted to bare feet. They were beyond exhaustion and into exhilaration. Cama strode at their head, seemingly tireless, singing one war ballad after another in his low, raspy voice. On the south side of the lake, Cherry-Stripe’s men were scrambling as fast as they could force themselves. Cherry-Stripe no longer thought about Inda, the plans, or the future. His entire life was focused on one thing: making sure Cama didn’t beat him to the pass.
By midnight, with one last snow-pale peak between them and the pass, Cama’s men were too tired to sing, but they could hum, and hum they did, until teeth and bones resonated. Over and over the “Hymn to the Beginning,” a beat on each step, a hum that only ceased when Cama held up a fist and the Runners took out their meal and passed it down hand-to-hand.
Both armies chewed the heavy, sweet-stale journey bread whose recipes shared the same origin, generations before; the only material differences were the Marlovan addition of rye and raisins as opposed to the Venn tradition of honey and nuts.
Signi stirred, waking to a dry mouth, her head pounding. It took her a long time to sit up. Grateful for the soft summer air, she contemplated the stairs on the other side of the tower. Come, Signi, come. Twelve steps at most.
She tried to stand, fell to her knees, crawled forward, then rested her damp forehead against her trembling wrists. Then again. Rest. Again.
The stars had wheeled halfway across the sky before she reached the stairs leading down to the first landing. Then it was easier to descend on hands and knees, seeking each step out with her toes, resting, then easing herself down. Step. By. Step.
But she made it. The door to the top room was open as it had been left. Though her knees had begun to bruise and her palms to ache, she crawled inside. The room was plain, empty but for a narrow bed: here, they said, the young king had slept so that he might have nearer access to the archive below.
She reached the bunk, fell in, and sank into slumber.
Tdor, have you heard from Inda or Evred since yesterday?
Hadand, you were in my mind all day. I just got in from perimeter ride. All I could think about was what is happening in the north. I confess I half wish we did not have these magical cases. Is it cowardice to admit that I hate knowing the battle is happening now? I hate it more because it is so quiet here that I can hear the robins scolding. It’s like a mockery of peace. I don’t feel peace, it’s just the hush before lightning. Only would months’ wait be any better?
Fareas-Iofre says to not look at records—they are all written later—but to letters sent during important times, they all speak of the agony of the wait. But I have had no time for the archive. We’re making certain we have defense coordinated between the harbor and here, which means a lot of riding between Castle Tenthen and the Noths for me. On my return I have to undo all Branid’s worst orders, because he’s trying so hard to drill the men and be ready, he’s become nearly impossible. Yet he tries so hard! I can’t be angry!
O Tdor, if you are a coward, than I am one too. We are trying to do everything that must be done, but today was the very worst Fourthday of the games in my life. Not once, not twice, but three times I saw that everyone was watching me for a sign. My eyes took in those boys and girls competing down there, but all my mind could think about was—just to you I will confess it wasn’t Evred I kept seeing. And I didn’t see Inda, either. He’s so blurred in my mind, sometimes old but mostly a young boy, despite his day here.
What I saw was Tanrid, and me, that day so long ago. How happy we were! Then I lost the siege, and he rode away to be killed by my betrothed—
No. I’m done. I gave the boys and girls the accolade out of guilt, and the watchers shouted out of duty. Everyone felt it, I feel sure. They cheered but did not smile. Even the boys and girls looked as if punishment awaited them, not praise.
Hadand, here is my idea. If we are being foolish, let us be foolish together. I will do my rounds, and you do your rounds, and then we will sit here with these magic boxes all night if need be, and we will do nothing but reminisce. We will not talk about what if, we will not plan a campaign for next year. We will look back, not forward, until we get news.
Tdor, that’s a promise. I’m yours as soon as they ring Lastwatch and I oversee the shift change. Everyone seems to like it when I do the Harskialdna’s sentry watch station rounds, just as Evred had begun doing before he left.
Rain slanted down from mast-scraping clouds when the lookout shouted, “Sail hai!”
Gillor rode the northernmost station closest to the island of Geranda, a very faint line on the horizon just off the beam. She waved to the flag hand to let the rest of the fleet know they’d spotted someone, then climbed up the foremast herself.
She’d just snapped her glass out when someone yelled, “Them walleyed masts . . . It’s gotta be Blue!”
A wash of rain blew on, leaving sharp and clear the slightly forward-leaning foremast and straight mainmast. Gillor smacked the glass to. “That’s Blue Star,” she said. “We must be clearing the rain now. They have to be able to see us.”
Sails frantically jerked up on the distant ship.
“Thinks we’re Scarf’s Princess,” Gillor said, sneering on the word princess. Some of the crew laughed—the sneer had become habit.
“Wait! Wait, wait, they’re haulin’ round.”
“Heh.” Imagine calling a pirate ship Princess! Gillor liked the fancy work all over her new command just fine, but she’d gotten rid of that ridiculous figurehead with the crown, leaving just the rail scrollwork and nice, clean hull planking. Death and Cocodu and Sable didn’t have figure-heads, so she wouldn’t have one either, though she would have liked something with crossed swords.
“He’s raising a signal,” the flag hand yelled. “Free traders’ flag below the parley.”
“Run the same,” Gillor yelled as she lowered herself to the masthead. “Signal the rest of the fleet. See if Fox wants to talk to ’em himself or what.” And she slid down to the deck.
The Death signaled back for her to close with the newcomer, so she did, smiling when she recognized Captain Fangras, grayer but otherwise much the same as she remembered from the old days in Freeport Harbor, as he clambered aboard.
“Captain Fangras,” she said in welcome as he flicked his fingers in salute to the captain’s deck. He was an independent-turned-privateer who’d given Inda’s marine band a cruise when they were just starting out. “I’ve got something to drink in the cabin.”
Fangras’ lips pursed appreciatively. “I take it Elgar got rid of Scarf, and a better job I never heard of, save Marshig being shoved back to Nightland with the soul-eaters, where he belonged.” He jerked his thumb aft, where the new name was painted on the stern, and said in a lower voice, “Rapier? Are you by chance a Fal?”
She crossed her arms. “What makes you say that?”
Fangras turned a laugh into a cough. “Pirate fighting, du eling weapon, Fal, it seemed to fit together.”
It fit together if you knew that rapiers were the required
weapon for duels in Fal. “You from there?” she asked, ready for that sense of kinship that comes of unexpected encounters with countrymen, even far from the home you will never see again.
“No! That is to say, yes, but I don’t think of myself as any Fal, not for thirty years!” His hands went out. “I left to get away from them and their everlasting quarrels. Now, was that the Wind’s Kiss out there beyond Elgar’s Death? We’d heard that that sorry crew’d turned outright pirate after Sarendan revoked the letters of marque ’gainst Khanerenth. Mistake, if you ask me.”
Despite Fangras’ obvious attempt to smooth over the insult and shift the talk to sea gossip, she ground her teeth hard against a retort. And then had to laugh at herself. She’d left Fal because of those very same everlasting quarrels, yet here she was, arm already reaching for her side, the ritual words almost shaping her lips to call him out for an insult that wasn’t even an insult. Because it was true.
So she said, “Yes, that’s Wind’s Kiss. We took them just off the tip of Toar, which we cleaned up for five years’ berth privilege at Pirate Island. That was right after we got rid o’ Scarf.”
“Wish you’d do for that crew that took the Windward Islands. Moved right in, sitting on the west-end trade routes—”
“We did. Just came from there. That is, last action. We stopped out here to preddy up. Listen, before you give me the news about Sarendan and Khanerenth and Scarf, let’s talk in comfort, what say?” She indicated her cabin. And when the door was shut, and the scuttles closed, “First, were you layin’ for us?”
Fangras signed agreement. “Dhalshev paid me’n a couple others to polish the roads where you might come in. Here, south o’ Sartor, he even sent someone up to the strait. Word is, now’t Khanerenth has made peace with Sarendan, they’re going to launch the navy against Freedom Islands. They may be on the way right now.”
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