After Iaros relinquished the herd of mammoths to the Iborian soldiers, who took the beasts back to the cold northlands, Destrar Siescu and his scout set off over the mountain road with reinforcements and Uraban slaves for the mines.
Raga Var bounded along like a mountain goat on his moccasined feet, guiding the group into the windswept pass. Siescu pulled his furs tighter as the train of pack animals, soldiers, and Uraban slaves plodded along. Weather permitting, Siescu knew he would have to deliver engineers, professional miners, and metalsmiths to the former Uraban mines as well. Destrar Broeck had demonstrated his military prowess by capturing the outpost, but Siescu did not expect an Iborian to know how to operate mines or smelters. That required Corag expertise.
The path wasn’t hard to find, considering that mammoths had trampled the route; he placed his complete trust in the scout to lead the way. Accompanying them on the mountain road, Broeck’s nephew was impatient to get back to Gremurr. “We couldn’t have taken the enemy stronghold without this new road, Destrar. Your Urecari prisoners did very useful work.”
“They were human tools, nothing more. And now they can continue to serve.” He glanced back at the line of roped-together captives shuffling along the path. If one of them were to slip off the cliff, the slave’s nearest companions would be pulled down as well. To minimize losses, the Urabans were tied together in groups of no more than three.
Raga Var trotted back to them in his patchwork fur garments. “Part of the path ahead is covered with fresh snowfall. Treacherous going.” The scout rubbed at a scrape on his elbow. “Even I slipped.”
Siescu pressed his lips together. “We’d better send some slaves to break trail.” The winds picked up as they passed along one of the steepest sections of the road. Sharp crystals of new-fallen snow swirled around them, sparkling in the sunlight.
Raga Var pointed ahead, sounding encouraged. “There’s a wide patch once we get past these cliffs. Good place to make camp.”
The wind blew around Siescu, cutting like a sharp knife through his furs, and he shivered. “Will we be able to have a fire?”
“I’ll find enough firewood for you, Destrar.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Corag guards herded two roped trios of prisoners to the sloping, snow-covered path. Iaros stroked his long mustaches. “That dropoff would make me nervous even in good weather.”
The reluctant slaves argued in their own language, which Siescu had never learned to speak. Impatient to set up camp and warm himself by a fire, he barked, “Go forward or die now! We need to make our way through.” Afternoon shadows descended quickly in these canyons, and the temperature would drop further.
When the first group of slaves resisted, Siescu’s guards prodded them forward with spears. The lead man stumbled into the snow, which covered a sheet of ice. Before he had gone three paces, he slipped and tumbled off the edge. The two behind him dug in their heels as best they could, but they slid over the side as well, falling in a rush of screams.
Fortunately, the commotion also knocked loose some of the snow on the path, which cleared the way somewhat. Behind them, the roped prisoners moaned and shivered; even Iaros looked ill, but Siescu knew it was necessary. “All right, send the next group forward. Maybe they’ll make it through.”
After more prodding, the second trio gingerly moved ahead, finding their footing, slipping, clutching at rough rocks on the cliff face until they made it across the narrow ledge. Once beyond the treacherous part, they hunkered down on rocks and sat shaking and shuddering on the other side.
“There, now you all see it can be done! Nothing to fear.” Siescu was sure many of the captives spoke Tierran well enough to understand him. Terrified, the next trio moved gingerly along the path and also completed the passage without mishap. Next, one of Siescu’s guards volunteered to cross so that he could watch the prisoners. Then more of the slaves.
When the path was well trampled, Iaros and Siescu made the passage, careful to keep their balance. The pack animals went across, one by one. Raga Var sprang back and forth with an agility that shamed them all. He was anxious to move along, watching the thickening gray clouds overhead that presaged a winter storm.
When the whole train of people and pack animals reached the stony clearing Raga Var had chosen as camp, they huddled for the night in the shelter of rocks. The winds picked up, funneled along the sheer cliff faces.
True to his word, the wiry scout gathered scrub bush and dry wood to make a campfire for his destrar, and Siescu sat close to the flames, shivering no matter how many furs he wrapped around himself. He offered to share the blaze with Iaros, but the Iborian seemed not to feel the cold at all.
The younger man turned uneasily, surveying the snowcapped mountains around them. He sucked in a long breath of the cold air. “Have you heard about the frost giants—powerful beings who look for unsuspecting travelers in the ice and snow?” He rubbed his hands briskly together. “They can bring winter with a breath.”
“Never heard of them,” Siescu said. The idea of such a being shrouded in cold was particularly unpleasant to him. “We don’t have frost giants in Corag.”
Iaros bobbed his head. “I heard they are even older than Ondun, titans that once tried to snuff out the Fires of Creation and freeze the whole world.”
Siescu tried to hide his shudder. “How could any creature be older than Ondun?”
Iaros shrugged. “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t want to meet one.”
Siescu called for more wood to build the fire higher.
Next morning, they awoke to find that a blanket of snow had settled on the road again—not enough to block passage, but sufficient to hide slippery patches of ice. Once again, Siescu ordered slaves to take point and trample the path clear.
When the road began to descend at a steep pace, Iaros looked ahead. “We’re near the coast now, Destrar. Soon enough, we’ll see the canyons and smell the mines.”
Raga Var trotted up to them, concerned about the gloomy day. “There’ll be another storm tonight, Destrar. Once winter sets in, the passes will be closed. We might not get back to Stoneholm this season.”
“Oh, we will get back. I trust you to lead us,” Siescu said. “For now, our destination is Gremurr.”
* * *
In a side canyon above the mines, Shetia drew her young son deeper into the bushes as the party of Tierran soldiers and Uraban captives marched past. The boy’s eyes were wide; he knew what terrible things they would face if the bloodthirsty Tierrans should capture them.
Shetia wished again that Tukar could be there to protect his family; she didn’t think she would ever stop mourning his loss. Her husband had sent her and their son to hide in the hills when the enemy attacked on their monstrous hairy beasts. Shetia had never seen such violence. They were wildmen, barbarians, setting fire to the tents and buildings, slaughtering countless Uraban workers.
And dear, sweet Tukar had tried to defend Gremurr. She had not seen him since. Though she clung to hope for Ulan’s sake, she knew in her heart that her husband was dead.
As the hated soldiers marched along the road, heading down toward the mines, Shetia told the boy to remain absolutely silent. Their greatest danger lay in the rambunctious puppy. Ulan clamped his hands around the dog’s muzzle, holding him as still as possible. With the marching men so close, the puppy wanted to bark, but Shetia and Ulan dragged him deeper into the canyon.
When they were hidden behind the rocks, she forced herself to breathe. She had seen the haggard Uraban captives being herded like animals along the road, no doubt to be put to work in the mines. If she were captured, Shetia expected to be treated roughly, abused by the uncivilized men.
The Tierrans passing on the road looked foreign, their armor and weapons strange. One soldier carried a round shield that sported the Fishhook design. She couldn’t imagine what heathen rituals they did in their worship services. Did they sacrifice Uraban children by impaling them on a large cast-iron hook?
Instinctively, she squeezed Ulan’s arm. The puppy whimpered, but he sensed their terror. Somehow, they kept him from barking or breaking free as the last of the men filed past. Shetia let out a long slow sigh of relief. “We’ll be safe now,” she whispered.
The boy swallowed hard. “I’m hungry. We should go up the road and find their last camp. Maybe they left food behind.”
Shetia’s stomach clenched and growled; for more than a week they had eaten only the scraps, berries, and plants they could forage. They had eluded discovery by Aidenist forces so far, but survival required much more than that. She didn’t know how she and her son were going to live out here in the wilderness.