The Exile dragged his cloak over his body, curling up beneath it so that his arms and legs did not hang out, fervently hoping that his bump in the snow looked as natural as the others had. When he was situated well enough, he called out one last order to the other vertaga huddling under their cloaks.
“Not a sound from anyone, understand? Still and silent, that is the only way we survive this.”
A few murmured acknowledgements came, then the plain was silent, save for a low moaning wind that had sprung up. Garnuk cursed under his breath and grabbed the edges of his cloak to keep it from blowing off of him, hoping his fellow warriors were smart enough to do the same.
A minute passed, with no sound or any other clue as to how close the dragon might be. The snow beneath Garnuk was melting, soaking into his clothes, chilling his thick hide, sending shivers through his body. He did his best to ignore the discomfort, knowing that the others fared no better.
After another minute, Garnuk noticed a shift in the wind. It was no longer a steady breeze, but a rising force. Then, it was there with a roar, great pulses coming out of the west, followed by a thud which shook the ground.
The dragon had landed.
But there was no searing blast of fire, no challenging roar, no rush of wings or crunching of claws in the snow. Just silence, save for the beast’s breathing.
Then, Garnuk distinctly heard two light impacts in the snow. Human steps. The beast’s rider had dismounted, probably looking at the tracks which led to nowhere. It would be a remarkably suspicious sight, Garnuk guessed.
He flinched as the dragon snorted, and the ground trembled as the beast took an uncertain step. The human took a few more steps as well, but did not move any closer to where Garnuk lay. The Exile could picture the scene in his mind, the dragon and human searching together, puzzled. The beast would loom over the rider, who would be diminutive by comparison. Maybe its tail would thrash agitatedly, or its tongue would flick out to taste the air. Garnuk could imagine the sinuous, scaly neck turning, twisting as it sought the scent of its prey.
As these images flashed through Garnuk’s head, his free hand drifted towards the edge of the cloak, with the intention of lifting one corner just barely so that he could see. The suspense was killing him, he wanted to know what was happening, see what the dragon and human were doing. Were they aware of the hidden vertaga, was it only a matter of time before –
Garnuk realized what he was doing just in time and froze, his hand still hidden by the cloak, just under the edge. The temptation to look was almost overwhelming, but Garnuk knew with the rational part of his mind that even such a small movement as moving a part of the cloak could prove fatal. Under the dubious shelter of his cloak, the two impulses warred within Garnuk’s mind, nearly incapacitating him, dominating his thoughts. Then, ever so slowly, he began to master himself, squashing the urge to peek out from under the cloak and spy on the dragon, gradually pulling his clawed hand back towards his body. As he did, the Exile became aware that his pulse was pounding in his ears.
More footsteps crunched in the snow, some from the human, some from the dragon. Occasionally, the steps were punctuated by a dragon-sized snort.
Then, after a period which felt like hours, Garnuk heard quick, decisive steps, as well as the sound of the dragon lowering its massive body to the ground. The footsteps of the human changed, the sounds growing softer and less defined. Then, the Exile heard the clink of a harness, and a wall of air flattened him against the ground.
His cloak fluttered at the edges under the massive force of the dragon’s wings. Garnuk desperately gripped the edges and held them down, hoping the snow crusted on his cloak would not blow away as well. The dragon beat its wings again and again, each stroke more powerful than the last. Just when Garnuk began to think there was no way he could hold on any longer, the wind abruptly began to decrease, the sound of the dragon’s wings growing quieter and more distant.
The beast was moving away.
Garnuk let out a long, heartfelt sigh, sagging against the damp ground and moaning quietly to himself. In all of his life, he had never been so scared, or so certain that death was only a few moments away.
He lay there for several more minutes, until he was quite sure the dragon had gone away. Then, ever so slowly, he reached out and lifted a corner of the cloak.
To the west, where the dragon and human had landed, the snow was churned up even more than it had been before. Thick gouges had been ripped in the ground below, dead grass and soggy dirt scattered across the top of the snowy blanket and churned up within it, leaving a torn, muddy, and slushy patch. Garnuk turned his head and scanned the full horizon again, making sure the dragon had really gone. He scanned the sky, what little he could see of it, and found no trace of the beast.
Finally, he carefully rolled onto his back, sticking his head out from under the cloak and squinting into the sun as he examined the rest of the sky. There was nothing but the occasional steel-grey cloud drifting across the clear blue backdrop. To the south, the clouds were thicker, building into a storm perhaps. But in no direction was there any sign of the dragon.
Garnuk got to his feet and shook himself, shivering. “It’s all clear,” he called to the others. “The dragon has gone.”
There was a short pause, then several small movements rippled across the odd snow mounds. Vertaga lifted the edges of their cloaks, peeking out cautiously. Then, in convulsive movements, they threw their shelters off and got to their feet, brushing themselves off as they joined Garnuk.
“It worked,” Tarq muttered, wiping snow melt from his face. “I can’t believe it.”
“We were lucky,” Garnuk agreed. “Very lucky. Unless you have any objections, I’m going to push the pace a bit until we are out of the flatlands. The warriors can rest for days when we are back in the mountains, if necessary, but I don’t want to linger anywhere that dragon can get to us.”
“Agreed,” Tarq said, settling his gear on his back in a more comfortable position.
“Everyone accounted for?” Garnuk called to the others.
The assembled rams responded in a chorus of affirmatives, gathering around their leaders.
“Then fall in,” Garnuk told them briskly. “Ranks of three, just like before. Eight watchers on the outside. Let us know if the dragon is coming back.”
Many of the warriors flinched visibly as he said this. Even those who maintained their composure stiffened and reflexively reached for their weapons. Garnuk pretended not to notice and turned back to the south, starting off at a slow jog and rapidly increasing his pace to a steady lope and then to a brisk run.
Shadow Squadron ran for the remainder of that day into the night, stopping for short breaks occasionally. They did not set up camp or sleep whenever they stopped, choosing to press on instead. Garnuk was not entirely sure any of the warriors would be able to sleep after the encounter with the dragon anyways. Indeed, well into the following morning, many of them seemed jumpy, uncertain, and nervous.
The next day passed without any sign of the dragon or the king’s army. They had come a long way since leaving their previous camp, almost two-thirds of the way to the mountains if Garnuk had his distances right. The weather began to gradually turn darker and colder, flurries falling from the sky on occasion.
Garnuk stopped his warriors for a longer rest that night. Not time to sleep, just an hour or so to take a break from the constant running. All around him, vertaga stood and sat, moaning as they tried to work out the various aches and pains in their legs and feet. Not one complained to Garnuk about the pace he was setting or the relentless traveling. They all wanted to get away from the dragon, and seemed grateful that Garnuk was pushing them as hard as he was. Towards the end of the break, Tarq limped up to Garnuk, favoring his right leg.
“Something wrong?” the general asked, nodding to the apparently injured limb.
Tarq grunted, and reached down to rub his knee. “Stepped in a hole,” he muttered. “I’ll be alright. Nothing
a couple days of rest won’t heal.”
“You’ll have to run another day and night at least before resting though,” Garnuk warned.
Tarq shrugged. “I’ll manage. Better than facing the dragon alone.”
Garnuk nodded absently. “If it gets too bad, let me know and we’ll slow the pace or take a break.”
“Like I said, I’ll manage,” Tarq grunted. “But thanks for the offer.” He looked around for a place to sit and, finding none, finally settled down on the snow-covered ground, grimacing. “We’re going to need shelter from the weather before too much longer. It’s near the deep of winter.”
“It’s getting close,” Garnuk agreed. “But we’re not there yet. We’ll set up another permanent camp by the broken peak.”
“It’s not far from that burned out fortress that the scouts mentioned,” Tarq mused. “We could take shelter there for the winter if we wanted.”
“We could,” Garnuk agreed uncertainly. “And I would like to search the place myself at some point. But I don’t think it would be wise to stay there.”
“Because of the dragon?”
“Among other reasons,” Garnuk said, shrugging. “Remember, it was the Usurper’s base first. And since he knows where it is and the Sthan know where it is – ”
“Dangerous,” Tarq grunted. “Yes, yes. Bad idea to linger there. Bad idea to linger here too.” He struggled to his feet, though he had been sitting for only a few moments. “Let’s get moving again.”
“I thought I gave the orders around here,” Garnuk said, chuckling.
Tarq winced. “Sorry, general, I – ”
Garnuk waved a hand dismissively. “No matter, Tarq. You are right, we should get moving. Rotate the watchers and let’s go.”
The captain squared his shoulders and limped off towards the main group, shouting orders to the other warriors. There were some groans from those who were suffering the most from the endless running, but no serious complaints. Within minutes, the entire group was moving again.
Night turned to morning once more, and morning to afternoon. When evening came, Garnuk called another slightly longer rest, gazing towards the south. The mountains were there. He could just see them now, but they seemed vaguely shrouded for some reason.
Behind him, Tarq swore under his breath. “Snowstorm,” he muttered.
Garnuk turned to look back at his friend. “What was that?”
“There’s a snowstorm waiting for us in the mountains,” Tarq explained. “That’s why they look blurry.”
“Yes,” Garnuk agreed. “It will wipe out our tracks quite well, which is good. How’s the leg?”
“Still attached,” Tarq grunted, spitting on the snowy ground. “We are getting close, yes?”
“Very close,” Garnuk agreed. “We should be under cover by midmorning.”
“Finally,” Tarq muttered. “Let me know when you’re ready to move again. I think our warriors would like to push on and get this over with.”
“Really?” Garnuk asked, surprised. “I thought they would be grateful for another break.”
Tarq shrugged. “It’s the flatlands. It’s getting to them. That and the dragon.”
Garnuk frowned. “We’ll have to do something about that eventually,” he said almost to himself.
“About what?” Tarq asked.
“Their fear of the dragon,” Garnuk replied. “And their fear of these flatlands.”
“Why cure them of it?” Tarq asked. “After all, if our whole race feared the flatlands we never would have gotten into this mess in the first place.”
Garnuk had no argument for that, so he let the matter slide. Instead, he looked around at his small force, most of them sitting or sprawling in the snow.
“If they are ready to move, then let’s go,” he decided, rolling his shoulders and shaking out his thick legs. “I am ready to be done with this journey as well.”
Those nearest Garnuk heard his words and leapt to their feet immediately, shouting for the others to do the same. Tarq hardly had to give an order this time, as Shadow Squadron formed up behind Garnuk. The general checked to be sure that all of his warriors were accounted for, then began the final leg of the journey home.
They ran for hours in total darkness, the hostile flatlands behind, a terrible snowstorm ahead. As they ran, Garnuk constantly checked the strength and location of the storm. When he had first seen it, the peaks which had been obscured had been a little ways back from the edge of the mountains. Now, the only peaks still visible were those right on the edge of the Fells. They would need to pick up the pace if they were to reach the vale before the storm hit them. Wordlessly, Garnuk increased the pace, hoping his warriors could manage.
Dawn came, after a fashion. There was no sign of the sun in the east, and the only real change in the sky was that it went from pitch black to a stormy and foreboding gray. Clouds roiled overhead, and lightning crackled and snapped as it traced brilliant lines across the sky. Garnuk ignored the storm as best he could, focusing instead on guiding his troops to safety.
They reached the foothills an hour after dawn and turned east, running along the edge of the mountains. Garnuk could see the broken peak now, one of the few mountains not obscured by the storm. To his right, the mountains were almost completely swallowed by whirling curtains of snow. The foothills were starting to see snow as well, but it was piling up in gentle drifts rather than the maelstrom the mountains were experiencing.
Just before noon, Garnuk recognized a familiar landmark and abruptly began climbing up into the foothills. The others followed, furs clutched tightly around them. Tarq was limping badly, almost dragging his right leg behind him. But they were close now, mere minutes from shelter.
The broken peak loomed to the east, its jagged peaks spearing the roiling clouds, looming over the surrounding lands. Garnuk ducked under the low hanging branches of a grove of fir trees, and crested the final rise.
The vale spread out before them, a gentle, snow-blanketed expanse, a tranquil haven amidst the wilderness. It was not large, only a hundred meters across from rim to rim, but it was easy to secure with only a couple of scouts and the surrounding mountains sheltered it well from storms.
In the center of the vale was a small camp, a half-dozen structures built to stave off the cold. Garnuk squinted at the two rams walking around outside the lean-tos and recognized Harg from afar.
“We’re here,” he announced to the others. “Get camp set up, quickly, before the worst of the storm gets here.”
Shadow Squadron hurried down the hill towards Harg and the others. Garnuk led the way, jogging down the slope and running right up to Harg.
“You almost didn’t get here in time,” the warrior observed, glancing up at the sky. “That’s a brutal storm up there.”
Garnuk nodded. “Anything to report?”
Harg shrugged. “Not really. The Sthan army will take at least another three weeks to get here at their current pace. We have time.”
Garnuk glanced back at his warriors, many limping like Tarq, all exhausted. “Good,” he said finally. “We’re going to need it to prepare for what’s next.”
Chapter 50:
Land of Ice and Snow
The worst of the storm hit mere minutes after Garnuk and the others arrived. Fortunately, the wind was blocked by the thick screen of firs surrounding the vale. It did little to stop the snow though, which fell in great drifts over everything, piling up against trees, burying the sides of the lean-tos, and obliterating the many tracks that had crisscrossed the vale.
The new arrivals battled the storm as they rigged crude shelters. Garnuk and Tarq combined to build a reasonably sturdy dwelling from canvas and fir boughs, supported on one end by straight lengths of wood planted firmly in the ground. The fir boughs provided some insulation against the cold, while the canvas helped waterproof the small, triangular space. When they had finished, the two leaders ducked inside and tied the front shut. Inside, the space was just large enough for two vertaga
to sprawl comfortably, if they piled their gear out of the way.
Tarq lay flat on his furs, his right leg propped up on his pack. “We made it,” he murmured wearily, staring up at the ceiling of the lean-to. “And the Sthan are a long way behind us. Plenty of time for a good rest.”
“We’ve earned it,” Garnuk replied, sitting cross-legged at his end of the structure. “The way home was no easy journey.”
“Home?” Tarq asked, laughing bitterly. “Garnuk, neither of us has been home in ten years. We are back among the mountains, yes, but we are not home.”
“This is still good.”
“It is better,” Tarq corrected. “Good will be when I can return to my tribe and spend my days listening to the elders, relaxing and hunting in peace.”
“Where is your tribe?” Garnuk asked curiously. The clans tended to guard the locations of their main villages rather jealously, just in case another tribal war should break out.
“East,” Tarq said vaguely. “More than that I cannot say.” He shrugged apologetically. “I trust you, Garnuk, but it is hard to break old habits. And the Hrevshin are almost as bad as the Banuk when it comes to outsiders.”
Garnuk nodded. “I understand. I know where most of the other tribes are, though.”
“Obviously, since you used to be the Ramshuk,” Tarq said. “I would expect you to know where they were.”
“In fact,” Garnuk said slowly. “I know where every tribe except the Hrevshin is located.”
“That does not surprise me.”
“Why is that?”
Tarq glanced at him, then propped himself up on his elbows so he could see Garnuk better. “Do you remember who the clan chief of the Hrevshin was under you?”
Garnuk frowned, thinking. That had been a long time ago, and much had happened since. “I don’t,” he realized, surprised.
“That’s because we have no chief,” Tarq said, grinning. “We send our warriors to serve the Ramshuk, and serve they do, but we have a ruling council rather than a chief, due to some terrible events in our clan’s history I do not wish to discuss. The council sends a representative to approve the choice of Ramshuk, but then that representative returns immediately. Therefore, our clan stays nearly autonomous, as long as we provide warriors.”
The Ramshuk (Heirs of Legacy Book 3) Page 50
