Chapter 19

“No, not that way,” Gregor said as Sarette prepared to follow the villagers’ tracks between two tall boulders. While it had been snowing steadily for the past day, the trail the refugees had broken into the snow was deep enough that it hadn’t filled in yet.

The two of them were at the head of the column, with Gregor pulling one of the sleds. Between Nedley and the scout, all of the sled haulers had been able to take breaks, which was necessary with how difficult the path had become.

“Why not?” she asked.

“There’s a creek curving through there. I suspect they took that route because it’s flat, but then they realized they were walking on ice, so you can see where they went back up the next rise. We’ll just go around and meet up with the trail there.”

Sarette nodded. The villagers hadn’t broken through the ice, but it wasn’t worth the risk, especially with the weight of the sleds.

The refugees had gotten at least a day’s head start. Nedley couldn’t remember how much time had passed—and started crying anytime someone asked him about it—but given the trail and the condition of the bodies, Gregor suspected that the attack on the village had happened the morning of the ambush.

“Where do you suppose they’re going?” Sarette asked.

“That depends on whether they think they’re being followed, but at least they’re plainsmen, not southerners. They know how to live in the cold. We’re the ones bringing along the southerners.” The last was said quietly, even though they were speaking the stormborn language.

“They’ve been doing fine so far.”

“Yes, but you heard them talking,” Gregor said. “The warden is the reason why Jol’s Brook was attacked. We shouldn’t be bringing them back into the mountains. What if it happens again?”

“Then we’ll deal with it, or the High Guard will. You saw how those red-eyed men fought. They had no organization or tactics. They outnumbered us three to one, but even with their ambush, there was no way they could have won the battle. Even one of our ranching villages could have handled them. I was the only one who messed up, but I’ll do better next time.”

“You’re talking like you’re one of them,” the scout said, facing her and staring at her sigil again.

“I guess I am.”

“You have an obligation to the High Guard,” he said.

“My first obligation is to the stormrunners. Besides, the High Guard will be glad to see me go. I never fit in there, and they only tolerated me because they had to.”

“I doubt that’s true—you’ve done a good job on this trip. Besides, why would you want to leave the mountains?”

“To see what’s out there,” she said, still not sure that she actually did want to leave the mountains, despite what she’d said to Corec. But she’d committed to it, and intended to follow through. “It’s not like I’m the first person to ever go, and I’ll be back.”

Gregor stopped abruptly. “That looks like smoke ahead.”

“I think I hear something, too,” Sarette said, stopping to listen. “Are those axes?”

“It sounds like it. It must be the people from Jol’s Brook.”

“They don’t have guards posted.”

“They’re not soldiers.”

Sarette frowned at that. After what had happened, even civilians should know enough to keep a watch.

The others joined them, so Sarette switched back to the trade tongue to give them an update.

Corec nodded and said, “Nedley, get that armor off. Let’s not scare them—hopefully no one will recognize you. We’ll need to find you something else to wear.” They’d only let the boy keep the brigandine coat because it had enough padding to keep him warm.

“Yes, sir,” Nedley said, his voice squeaking as he scrambled to get out of the oversized armor. He wasn’t wearing his helmet. Neither were Corec or Boktar—the helmets didn’t have enough padding to block the cold of the metal.

“One of my robes would fit over his clothing,” Bobo offered. “And I think we’ve got a spare cloak somewhere. A woman’s cloak, but who’ll notice that way out here?”

When Nedley was dressed again, they approached the column of smoke visible on the horizon. Not sure what sort of welcome they’d receive, they left the sleds behind, and Corec and Boktar took the lead. On the leeward side of the next hill, they found a large camp built around an area that had been mostly cleared of snow, with a bonfire in the center and four smaller cooking fires spaced around it. There were two tents set up at the periphery of the cleared area, and several temporary structures had been built by hollowing out openings in the three-foot-deep snow that surrounded the clearing. Pine branches had been layered over the tops of the openings to form roofs.

There were blankets and bedrolls spread out near the big fire, and some of the villagers were sleeping there. Others sat nearby, staring off into nothingness. The rest of the camp was busy. Women were working at the fires or watching over the younger children, while the older children were building more of the snow structures. Half of the men were chopping up deadfall as firewood, and the rest were trimming branches from newly cut trees, then using those to construct a short wall of logs at one edge of the clearing.

As the group approached, the people all stopped what they were doing and stared silently, worried looks on their faces. The men who’d been working on the log wall approached, and some of the others crowded behind them.

Corec came to a halt. “Are you the folks from Jol’s Brook?” he asked.

“Why do you want to know?” asked the man who’d stepped to the front. He was huge, with a bushy beard and wild red hair streaked with gray. He carried a felling axe in one hand, resting it against his shoulder.

“We just came from there. We saw what happened.”

The man nodded. “I’m Fergus, the headman. It was an army of demonborn with red eyes. They came in before dawn, and killed half the town before anyone knew what was going on. Then they rounded up the rest of us from our homes and forced us to leave. You’re lucky you didn’t run into them.”

“We did,” Corec said, projecting his voice so all of the refugees could hear. “We killed them. It should be safe to return.”

That announcement caused a murmuring throughout the crowd. Fergus stared silently for a moment, eyeing Corec’s and Boktar’s weapons and well-used armor as he evaluated the words.

“You really killed them?” he asked.

“We got most of them, and drove away the last few.”

“What if they come back?” a man in back shouted.

“I can’t make any promises, but I don’t think they will.”

“Did they hit the farms?” someone else yelled from the crowd. “My sister and her husband homestead a mile outside the village!”

Others started calling out questions. While Sarette waited for things to calm down, she checked her weather sense once again. It had been two days since Corec had cast the warden binding spell, as he called it, and her senses seemed sharper and more detailed each time she looked. What she saw this time disturbed her, but there was too much commotion to interrupt.

Corec held his hand up for quiet. “We didn’t stop to check any of the farms. I suspect they’re safe, but you’ll have to look in on them yourselves.”

“Please, do you have any food?” pleaded a blonde woman who’d come to stand next to Fergus.

He rested an arm on her shoulder. “My wife, Winna. They didn’t give us time to take much. A few of us were going to try to sneak back and see what we could find. But you say they’re gone now?”

“They are, but there’s not much left in the village. Only four buildings are still standing. I didn’t see much in the way of foodstores.”

“We have food,” Ellerie announced, then glanced at Corec, who nodded. “Plenty of it.”

Looks of relief flashed across the people’s faces.

“We can pay,” Fergus said. “A bit, anyway. The demons didn’t take our coin.”

“Don’t worry about paying,” Corec said. “We’ll share what we’ve got.”

Fergus looked back at the log wall they’d started building. “If the village is safe, we should go. We can get a good start today. You’ll let us have enough food to get home? I haven’t been able to hunt without my bow.”

Corec faced Ellerie and tilted his head to the west. She nodded.

He said, “We’ll go back with you, to make sure you get there safely. We can help you take a run up to Elmsford to lay in supplies, if you’d like.”

“Thank you.”

Sarette couldn’t remain silent anymore. “You can’t go back!” she exclaimed. Everyone stared at her in surprise.

“Pardon?” Fergus asked, then his eyes widened as he realized she was stormborn. “M’lady?”

“There’ll be a blizzard bringing in a cold snap early tomorrow morning,” she said. “If you’re out on the trail without shelter, you’ll never make it back.”

The headman exchanged a worried glance with his wife.

“Are you sure?” Corec and Gregor both asked at the same time.

“Yes. I can feel it coming in.”

Gregor looked up at the sky, pursing his lips. “There won’t be time to finish whatever you’re building there,” he said, pointing to the short wall of logs.

“It’s a windbreak for the fire, m’lord,” Fergus said, “and maybe the start of a defensive wall in case they came after us. But if the storm’s coming in tomorrow, we’ll need to build snow shelters instead.”

Gregor nodded. “A lot of them.” He turned to Sarette. “How long will the cold snap last?”

“At least two days, I think. That’s all I can see. The blizzard will come and go.”

“If it’s coming in the morning, we need to get started now.”

Gregor and Fergus started discussing locations for snow caves, waving some of the other villagers over to join them.

Corec furrowed his brow, watching the commotion. “What’s happening?” he asked Sarette.

“We need shelters for everyone before tomorrow morning. Real shelters, not tents. They’re getting ready to build snow caves.”

“It’s that bad? How did you convince them so quickly?”

“Gregor knows I trained as a stormborn. I don’t know why Fergus listened, but he’s a northerner. His people know what a blizzard’s like. They won’t waste any time getting ready.”

“You look worried. What is a blizzard like here? Back home in the Black Crow Mountains, they weren’t a problem.”

“The snow will be heavy and the wind’ll blow hard enough to keep it in the air, so you won’t be able to see more than ten feet in front of you, maybe less, and there’s no way to tell what direction you’re going. The cold snap will be worse than the blizzard—a human caught without shelter will freeze to death, even dressed warmly. Even one of my people might die if it’s too cold or lasts too long.”

“The mountains and the trees don’t block the worst of it?”

“Maybe in other places, but we’re in the Heights. This is where storms begin. It’s why we don’t let travelers into the mountains in the winter.”

Corec sighed. “I knew we should have waited until summer.”

Sarette’s eyes widened in surprise as she realized what she’d said. “Oh! I didn’t mean you! You’re a warden.”

He chuckled. “That doesn’t really mean anything. I know your people think highly of the wardens, but the ones I’ve met don’t go around doing good deeds and helping people. Not for free, at least.”

“But you’re helping these people!”

“Because they need help, not because I’m a warden. You’re helping them too.”

“Oh.” Sarette wasn’t sure what to say. Corec had never really acted how she’d expected a warden to act, but this was the first time he’d spoken to her about it.

“All I’m saying is that wardens are regular people,” he said. “They’re not anything special.”

“You helped me.”

“Maybe I did, but it’s too soon to tell. Like I said before, we don’t know how the binding spell will affect you.”

“No, you did help. I’ve never been able to read this much about a storm before. If I didn’t know how bad it was going to get, we’d be in trouble.”

He nodded. “I guess it’s good we did it, then. It sounds like we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

While the two of them had been speaking, Fergus had assigned tasks to the village men who’d gathered.

After the group dispersed, Boktar said, “The red-eyes didn’t let you take your bow, but they let you take axes?”

“No, the tools were already here,” the headman said. “We keep ‘em in a shack around the bend. And some tents, some pots and pans. We’re woodcutters, some of us. We’ve been coming into the mountains for years now. Not enough trees left in the foothills.” He ducked his head in Gregor’s direction, then Sarette’s. “Sorry, m’lord, m’lady.”