So they traced stories as though they were Spring Festival ribbons, moving up into the highlands.
Descending beside a familiar, burnt-out dairy, they encountered bandits by way of a sudden blast of air.
The wind moaned and lashed at them, throwing them toward a granite cliff-face.
“Haboob!” Haytham called. “We need to descend!”
“I know, O Mighty Changeable Inventor!” called the efrit. “You may be a man of shifting loyalties, but I am the polestar of your journeys, the one you may bellow at without fear! I will diminish our height as best I can!”
“Less talk! Less altitude as well!”
“Know that I will mourn your every toenail, cherish every jot in your manuscripts, speak well of you to the women who love you.”
“Which women do you speak of?”
“A little focus, man,” scoffed Flint.
“You’re one to talk,” said Snow Pine.
Grownups. Always finding time to bicker. And to talk about sex at ridiculous moments. Someone has to act. Joy felt the cold wind and behind it some entity directing it. She took exception to that.
She allowed herself to feel anger, raised her Runemarked hand, and willed a blast of heat to shred the cold wind.
The attacking weather died away.
The balloon came gently to rest, merely scraping against the cliff. The craft dropped as Haboob eased his fire.
Joy studied the snows beneath them, searching for the reason for the wind. Snow Pine and Flint peered beside her. “Well done,” Snow Pine observed.
“Thank you, Mother.”
“It seems wisest to stay on your good side, daughter.”
“I was raised to believe in filial piety.”
“So was I,” Snow Pine said. “That didn’t stop me from running away from home.”
“Well,” Joy said, “I seem to have done that already.”
“Ha.”
Flint said, “I see something in the woods, yonder.”
“Your treasure hunter eyes at work?” Snow Pine said.
“Or my interest in self-preservation. There’s a group of Kantenings in there.”
Joy peered across the white fields toward the piney woods and did indeed see a group of men and women, thick-haired horses among them.
The balloon thudded to the ground beside a waterfall and the stream it birthed. “We had better make contact,” Flint said. “Be careful, however! These are people of savage temperament in a time of tumult. And let’s be honest, this land is a bit primitive. They may react with violence.”
Flint’s words seemed reasonable, and yet thinking of the Kantenings Joy had fought beside, she felt guilty dismissing them as primitive. She said, “Let’s approach with hands open. I want them to see the Runemark.”
“Hands open,” Snow Pine said, “but weapons nearby. Haytham—”
“I know,” said the inventor. “Guard the balloon.”
Joy, Snow Pine, and Flint stepped out of the gondola. “You follow me and Flint,” Snow Pine began, but Joy cut her off.
“I am the Runethane.” Joy led the way.
As they passed the burnt-out dairy, there came a pounding from within the ruin, and a tinkle of laughter.
“Someone’s in there,” Snow Pine said.
“They can see us, certainly,” Flint said, “but I can’t see them.”
Joy peered inside.
Immediately there burst out three beings who appeared to be young Kantening women dressed for a summer fair. Each had cow’s tails. They were talking simultaneously.
“It’s too early—this house is ours!”
“Come back in spring!”
“We don’t want you in any case, girl!”
Joy supposed the open-handed gesture was worth a try.
The girls gasped.
“Is she the Runethane?”
“Isn’t that supposed to be a boy?”
“She looks strange.”
Joy said, “I am the Runemarked Queen. Who are you?”
“We are uldra,” said one of the girls. “This place was occupied by a hay-troll, but he left. Maybe he joined the great troll army. Anyway, it’s not yet spring, so humans don’t belong up here, Runemarked Queen, if such you are.”
“I broke your control of the weather, if you doubt me.”
“It wasn’t our control of the weather, human.”
The Kantenings were approaching on skis. Their leader was a boy who skied with a heavy pouch around his neck. She wondered at his intent, but the uldra seemed sure of it. “He comes to drive us out with salmebok and steel,” said the girl who’d spoken earlier. “Let us destroy him!”
Joy knew her loyalties. Yet something made her say, “I am the Runemarked Queen. I might be able to talk them out of it. I might be able to banish you myself. What can you give me to help you?”
One of the uldra hissed and attacked. Out of nowhere she plucked a sword forged of impossibly thin filaments, like a silver labyrinth or a platinum spider’s web.
Joy leapt and kicked the sword from the wielder’s hand. Next she hit the uldra with the flat of her Runemarked palm. Unseen power flowed forth and knocked the uldra back into her fellows, toppling them into the derelict structure.
The lead skier curved to a stop, his jaw dropping.
The uldra rose unsteadily. The leader recovered her sword and clapped it back into nonexistence. “We have emberfruits and stormberries, meat and milk from frostcattle, bread from dreamwheat. Our bounty can be yours.”
The lead skier had removed his skis in order to walk close. He was little more than a boy, though he removed his woolen cap and bowed with ironic courtesy. “Begging your pardon, Lady, but I was passing through and could not help but overhear. Please know I am the soul of discretion and will tell nothing I shouldn’t. But I must ask. Isn’t it true that eating uldra-food binds a person to your subterranean realms?”
“Untrue!” said one of the girls. “Our realms are not subterranean!”
“They are, rather, extra-terranean!” said another girl.
“Therefore your assumption is all wrong!” said a third. “And furthermore insulting!”
“However,” said the ringleader, “this enchantment fades if we bring the food into sunlight. You can then eat it without fear.”
“I’ve heard stories like that.” The boy turned to Joy. “I think it’s a deal. But we need a lot of food.” As more people on skis arrived, the boy bellowed, “The Runethane is here!”
“No time for another of your tall tales, Peik!” shouted a familiar-sounding older man. “You’re talking with Karvaks and Karvak agents there.”
“Untrue!” Joy shouted, displaying her hand. “I am no Karvak but a daughter of the great land of Qiangguo, the Karvak Realm’s old foe! And like it or not, I am the Runethane!”
“She tells the truth, Squire Everart,” the boy Peik said. “I saw her battle the uldra with moves no berserker could touch. And I think it was she who broke my Runewalked weather.”
“That was you?” Joy said.
Peik bowed. “None other! So you see, we have to get her to the queen and the Man in Black.”
“It is they we seek! But first . . . uldra, will you help these people with food? In exchange for the right to remain here?”
The girl said, “I must speak with those beyond. We will return.” The cow’s-tailed figures swished into the wreckage of the farmhouse. A cheery light glowed within.
“This is most strange,” Peik said, “to negotiate with the uldra instead of banishing them. I don’t think they’d have agreed without the Runethane. But it is a great boon. The army’s greatest weakness is hunger.”
“You have an army?” Flint said.
“We do! We let out the story that it’s just a rag-tag bunch of bandits, but in truth—”
“In truth, Peik,” said the older man, “the Man in Black wants the tongues of people who reveal military details. They will learn all soon enough.” Everart bowed. He was leaner than wh
en Joy had seen him at Corinna’s council, but she did recognize him. He said, “I’m sorry I doubted you, Runethane. These are difficult times.”
Joy bowed in return. “I take it you now believe the Karvaks are a threat?”
“Aye, and those who follow me are sworn to reclaim their homeland. Although after that, there will be a reckoning with the nobility. Things cannot remain as they were . . . ah, here we are.”
The oldest uldra girl reemerged. “I am bidden to say, that for the Runethane my liege will provide enough food to maintain a host, in return for the right to inhabit this place for the winter . . . and further for driving out the Spydbanen trolls, who have no business stomping hither and yon over our favorite earthly places. The Svardmark trolls are bad enough but are normally much more tractable.”
Joy said, “Tell your liege the Runethane hears and is grateful.”
Peik said, “May we encamp in the forest yonder? Perhaps even build habitations?”
“That seems acceptable,” the uldra said.
Snow Pine spoke up, “Are there other realms like yours who could help us?”
“They will make their own decisions, though none of them like Spydbanen trolls.”
In two heartbeats Flint had a map out. “Show us.”
A cow’s tail swished and pointed to four locations.
Everart said, “The Skyggeskag, the Morkskag, the mountains between Vesthall and Grimgard, and Fiskegard.”
Peik said, “The Morkskag’s dicey, and Fiskegard’s probably out of reach, but this gives us possibilities.”
“We will bring food tomorrow,” said the uldra girl. She turned to Joy. “Uphold your end of the bargain. The death of your kind means little to us. The life of the land means a great deal.”
“I swear to fight the invaders,” Joy said.
The uldra withdrew without another word.
“Whew,” Peik said. “This would have been a tough one.”
“I think,” said Everart, “the rest of us can wait here for the promised food. You, Peik, had better get these visitors to headquarters.”
“You’re just tired of lye-fish.”
“No true patriotic Kantening gets tired of lye-fish! But a little variety is welcome.”
“Headquarters” turned out to be a seter, protected by high forests that could be skied, rope bridges that could be wobbled across, hidden tunnels that could be shuffled through. The balloon had to be left behind, after much argument, because Peik insisted no flying craft were allowed in Sky Margin, the secret redoubt of the resistance. But Haboob’s brazier came along, for Haytham was reluctant to part company with it. Joy thought the inventor and the efrit were becoming an old married couple. They bickered enough for it.
“When I consented to joining you in the skies, O brilliant Haytham, I did not imagine so much walking would be involved!”
“If you prefer plummeting down a cliff, O Haboob of the Hundred Histrionics, that can be arranged.”
Their voices echoed through the third tunnel they’d traversed. A voice ahead called, “The superior man speaks and everyone listens.”
Peik replied, “No, the superior man waits for everyone else to speak, and in that way he learns the most.”
“Welcome back, Peik. You bring recruits?”
“You could say that!”
They passed a guard post, a side-cave where twenty archers waved at them, and a pit trap where they had to carefully step single-file. Beyond that they blinked in the light at a collection of boulders primed to spill across the entrance. More archers waited on a cliff directly overhead and in nearby treetops. Joy marveled that they’d fortified so well, so quickly.
“Princess Corinna is not entirely trusting,” Haytham said.
“That’s Queen Corinna,” Peik said. “The harsh conditions proved too much for the Retired King and the Mad King, Swan rest them. Come along, now.”
They descended a narrow path, noting more traps and ambush points, and reached a modest pasture surrounded by cliffs. The rock faces bulged slightly outward as they rose, leaving a ragged gray rectangle of sky overhead. A pair of farmsteads shared the seter, one on either side of a stream. Some fifty men were busy with tasks in both locations.
“Bandit country,” said Snow Pine. “It reminds me of home.”
“Where is the army?” Flint asked. “Surely this is not all of them?”
“Can you guess?” Peik said.
“The scroll!” Joy said. “Walking Stick has them in A Tumult of Trees on Peculiar Peaks.”
“That’s it.” Peik sounded pleased. “They say you were born in there. You and Lord Gaunt, vile son of the villains Gaunt and Bone.”
“Gaunt and Bone are not villains!” Snow Pine said.
Joy said, “Innocence is confused, not vile.”
Peik held up his hands. “I surrender, miladies. I don’t have anything personally against them. The Man in Black is in charge of legends.”
“Legends?” Flint said.
“The Man in Black says every army needs legends.”
“I want to talk to the Man in Black,” Joy said.
The Man in Black and the Mountain Queen dwelled in the farther of the two farms, in a simple thatch-roofed building with an iron stove. A Kantening girl served the newcomers drinks. Haytham took coffee, and the others had tea. The masters of the resistance came out to greet them.
“It is a pleasure to see you again,” Walking Stick said.
“Likewise,” said Corinna, and her eyes lingered on Haytham. “Inventor.”
“Queen,” said he.
“Let us sit.” Corinna accepted coffee and Walking Stick tea. Corinna said, “Well. Welcome to Sky Margin. I cannot pronounce the name in the Tongue of the Tortoise Shell. Tell me of your journeys?”
They spoke of their adventures, and Corinna said, “This is wonderful news you bring, of the uldra and their offer of food. We have a willing army but a hungry one. We cannot do more than harry the Karvaks so far. And it’s good that you found us, but even better that you didn’t reach us in the balloon. We don’t want Karvak observers spotting this place.”
Haytham said, “We’d have had trouble landing a balloon here in any event. This is a wonderfully defensible position. My compliments.”
Corinna smiled. “I enjoy your compliments.”
Walking Stick nodded. “It is said in the Classic of War, ‘The natural formation of the country is the soldier’s best ally.’ The Kantenings are fortunate in their terrain. And even this spot could fall to the Karvaks, with their shaman-guided balloons.”
Corinna said, “We have few Runewalkers to repel the shamans, though we are training more.”
“The queen handles the Runewalkers directly,” Walking Stick added, studying his tea. “To understand the magics of a distant land is beyond me. But the common peasant is the common peasant. In some respects my people share more with the farmers here than with our nomadic neighbors. These are folk I can train.”
Corinna said, “We have an army of thousands—people saved from Svanstad, warriors late to the siege, Everart’s rebel peasants, and others who’ve joined us from the surrounding lands. Walking Stick and his chosen commanders train them constantly. At first I disliked his methods. He cares little for bravery or glory. But what we need is victory.”
Walking Stick said, “The Classic of Conduct tells us, ‘To lead an uninstructed people into war is to throw them away.’”
“So he instructs them,” Corinna said. “By training them inside the scroll he swiftly builds a skilled force. But it’s hard to feed them.”
“It is a treacherous balance,” Walking Stick said. “The accelerated time flow has given us a disciplined army, but the cost is an accelerated need for food.”
“We’ve leaned on everything,” Corinna said. “Stockfish, hardtack, winter berries. We slaughter precious livestock, gambling we can find more later. We even peel tree bark for our bread. The uldra’s help could mean the difference between victory and defeat.”
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br /> “I’ll go to each of the uldra-places we can reach,” Joy said. “They responded to me, or to the Runemark.”
“I’m grateful,” Corinna said.
“I wonder . . .” Joy looked at Haytham. “There were many more mountains in the scroll. We could never reach them. They were as untouchable as the dragons that would sometimes fly by in the distance. But perhaps a balloon could go there—and return with more food. And you could build a balloon much faster in there than out here.”
Haytham scratched his chin. “I could do both. The difficulty is finding a safe, portable heat source. There is only one Haboob.”
“And well do you remember it!” said a voice from the brazier, startling Joy.
“Karvak Charstalker-braziers will be a target of our raids,” Walking Stick said. “Meanwhile I think your company should enter the scroll with us, to see what we’ve accomplished there. I am due to train fresh recruits.”
The new men—and some women—were mainly Soderlanders ready to fight for their homeland, and folk from the Five Fjords who thought their leaders were mad to cooperate with the Karvaks. There were also a few Oxilanders who feared their land would be invaded next. Walking Stick struggled to forge them into a unit.
“These are raw recruits,” Walking Stick sighed. “They will take time.”
The recruits mock-fought with crazy ferocity. That was part of the trouble. They were eager for fighting, but not prepared for marching, maneuvers, or holding ground. They all wanted to be heroes, not soldiers. Some had somehow managed to get drunk. A certain Magnus—a young, powerful warrior and a natural focus for other fighters—openly mocked the trainers.
“Where is Queen Corinna? That’s what I want to know!”
Walking Stick called out, “She has her duties and you have yours. Get into formation and learn to fight.”
“I already know how to fight, old man! I don’t need fancy philosophy to swing an axe!”
There were shouts of agreement.
Magnus grinned, sensing the tide was turning his way. “These new ways may suit Eastern men, whose blood is cold! But we Kantenings must return to the ways of our ancestors! The ways of hot fury!”
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