The day drew on, and Tagan scouted ahead to look for a possible camping site. The tracker had ridden ahead more than once during the day, and to the rear and flanks also, though Riven could not imagine them being followed in cold such as this. They finally halted in a rough copse of thorn that had lopsided boulders scattered about it and was sheltered from the wind by the long shoulder of a hill. Ratagan set himself to starting a fire whilst the rest rubbed down the horses and searched for firewood. There was much swearing, but the big man finally had a leaf of flame springing up to lick around the dried heather curls from the tinder sack. When they had caught, the less-dry fuel was used, and the fire grew, much to the company’s relief. They set out their bedrolls and crouched round the flames, except for the unfortunate Rimir, who had first watch.
‘How far have we covered today?’ Ratagan asked with a stiff-faced yawn.
‘Not far,’ Bicker replied, throwing more sticks on the fire. ‘The country is less broken farther on, so we should make better time tomorrow and be out of the hills the day after that.’
‘And then what?’ Riven asked.
‘And then the Great Vale, with the Great River, which we must follow north to Talisker.’
‘A long way,’ Ratagan said, and yawned again. ‘Tagan thinks we are being followed.’ They looked at him, then at the tracker where he squatted in his sheepskins, with his brown hand tugging at his beard.
‘What, or who, by?’ Corrary demanded, the fire catching glints in his red hair.
Tagan shrugged. ‘I know not for sure. But there is something in the hills behind us, I am certain. I can feel the eyes in my back.’
‘Maybe we should double back and ambush them,’ Darmid suggested. His red hair mirrored his brother’s.
Tagan shook his head. ‘At the moment it is only a feeling of mine; a hunter’s suspicion. Let me be more certain before we go trekking over ground we have already covered.’
‘Sound wisdom,’ Bicker said. ‘I don’t want to waste any more time if I can help it.’ He nudged a steaming pot nearer the fire. ‘But if all the Rime Giants ever spawned were after me, I would still sit here, for I need some hot food in me to fight the ice in my bones.’
They shared out the thick broth and dipped their bread in it, licking their fingers. Riven began to feel his ears and toes thaw out.
‘And this is summer,’ he muttered.
When they had finished eating, they lay unsleeping though well-wrapped before the fire and listened to the mournful wind. The horses stirred restlessly and the limbs of the thorns wriggled. The cold of the ground slowly seeped through Riven’s bedroll to chill his back, and he edged closer to the fire, sick of the aches in his bones and counting out in his mind the hours before he had to go on watch. He was tired, but sleep refused to come. The cold held it at bay despite the glow of the flames on his face.
But sleep came unawares, for he was woken by Luib in the dark, and told by the peppery old Myrcan that it was his watch, and that Corrary was on after him. Riven struggled out of the blankets and the cold ate into him at once. He shivered as he buckled on his sword and took up his post, hating the chill darkness and the loneliness. But the wind had dropped, and he could see the stars.
He stamped up and down at the limit of the firelight and listened to the silence of the hills.
And heard the crunch of brittle snow, out in the darkness.
Not wolves, this time.
A figure approached him with its arms wrapped around its chest. It was bundled in furs and wore high boots. He drew his sword and watched it come closer. It moved stiffly, and yet there was something familiar there. He saw eyes, and then the cloak was thrown away from the face and he could see that it was her, blue-lipped with cold, reaching for him. She half-fell into his arms, and his sword slid to the ground.
‘Mother of God! Madra, what are you doing here?’
She was shivering against him, and he helped her back to the fire and bundled her in his own bedroll; but she kept her arms about him.
‘Hold me,’ she whispered, and he tried to share his warmth, to stop her quivering. At last her clutch on him became less desperate and her shivers less violent. He looked at her in the light of the fire. No one else had woken.
‘You followed us,’ he whispered.
She nodded. ‘I stole a horse and other things, and trailed you through the hills from a distance.’
‘But why, damn it?’
‘I wanted to come with you, to go with you to the mountains.’
‘You crazy kid. We’ll have to return to the Rorim with you now.’
‘No.’ Her eyes were blazing, but her voice was low. ‘I’m not going back. I’d only set out again—and again—so you will have to let me come.’
‘I think we must leave that up to Bicker. Have you any idea how long this journey is?’
‘Have you? You know less about it than I do.’
He was silent in the face of her persistence, partly because he wanted to lose.
‘Where is your horse?’ he asked at last.
‘Round the side of the hill. I’d best go and fetch him soon, for he is hobbled and there may be wolves about.’
‘No. I will wake up Corrary in a minute. He can do it. You try and get warm.’
‘I am warm,’ she replied, with the hint of a smile.
I
N THE MORNING,
Bicker was ill-tempered when he was told of the latest addition to the company, but Ratagan was pleased. They argued for a while. Tagan was glad his suspicions had been vindicated. The Myrcans were inscrutable and the Hearthwares dubious, but when they finally set out again, there were ten in the company, and Riven had a new companion riding at his side. Bicker muttered to himself as he rode in front, but they made better time, for the wind had not risen and the sun was almost warm. They were able to let their cloaks drop from their faces and enjoy the view. The horses began to steam in the sunlit air.
Ratagan raised his face to the sun. ‘This is more like travelling weather. If only it holds for a while.’
‘We begin descending into the Vale tomorrow,’ Bicker called from ahead. ‘The weather should be milder there, with any luck, and the going will be easier.’
‘And there may even be an ale house to brighten our way,’ Ratagan added. He hummed to himself as they continued northwards.
The attack was so sudden that Riven had not even time to be afraid. His stomach jumped as grey shapes poured from behind the boulders ahead and loped towards them. Bicker’s horse reared, and he shouted, ‘Grypesh!’ Then they were among them, milling about the horses, and the terrified animals were bucking and screaming and it was all Riven could do to stay mounted. Luib and Isay were the first to dismount, and Riven heard the familiar hiss and crack of Myrcan staves. He saw Madra fighting with her reins, hair wild; then a face out of a nightmare lunged up at him, and for the second time he confronted the tusked maw of a grypesh. With a twitch of its jaws it had ripped into his hide leggings. His horse spun wildly, but the grypesh held on, one of its claws digging into the leather of the saddle, the other curled round Riven’s calf. He tried to reach for his sword, but could not. The beast’s eyes shone at him and he felt the teeth touch his bare skin; then Isay appeared out of nowhere and brained it. The heavy grey body fell to the ground with a
scree
and was lost to view amid the plunging hoofs of Riven’s horse. He saw that all the company had dismounted, and were fighting a desperate battle against the pack surrounding them. He swung himself off his horse and nearly fell, but managed to jerk his sword out of the scabbard. Isay was beside him, wreaking carnage with his staff. Riven held his reins in one hand and jabbed at the snarling grypesh with the other as they darted into his reach.
And then they fled. As quickly as they had arrived, the pack scattered and disappeared upslope into the maze of boulders and gullies, the odd stone rattling to mark their passing. They left the bodies of a dozen of their comrades lying lifeless on the ground behind them.
The company quietened the maddened horses, some of which were slashed along flanks or belly. Riven examined his leg and found that his boot had been ripped open like paper, but that his calf was only scratched. He felt sick at the memory of the beasts he had just seen.
Bicker mounted, and the Hearthwares hit the saddle a moment later.
‘Come on,’ Bicker shouted. ‘They will be back, and in greater numbers. We must ride on at once and get out of the hills before dark.’
The rest clambered into their saddles, and followed him unquestioningly as he led them at a canter downslope to where the hills opened out, and patches of ground could be seen where the snow was melting. The horses were as eager to leave the scene of the attack as their riders, and the snow flew from their hoofs as they rattled along, blowing hard.
‘Look to the heights on our left!’ Corrary shouted, pointing. They stared and saw the grey flicker of movement there amongst the rocks, and kicked their horses on.
After a while, with their mounts winded, they halted. It had begun to snow, and small flakes were drifting down to settle on their eyelashes. They dismounted and walked the horses, Luib and Ratagan taking the rear. The land was flatter here, and there were fewer boulders strewn around. Bicker estimated that they had put some three miles between themselves and the scene of the attack. His steed was lame where one of the grypesh had gashed its forequarter, and he called a halt.
‘We’ll camp here,’ he said wearily. ‘We need to see to the horses if they are to bear us any farther. Tagan, you, Darmid and Corrary take a walk and see what you can see.’ The bearded Hearthware nodded, and stalked off with his younger companions in tow. The rest of the company set to unsaddling the horses and building a fire. The wind began to pick up again, moaning round their ears. Riven occupied himself with trying to tie up what remained of his boot and leggings, whilst Luib and Rimir produced tarpaulins of waxed cloth from the packs and began constructing a crude lean-to to keep the snow from them. Bicker doctored the hurts of the horses with some strong-smelling salve, which he gouged from a small wooden box and smeared on their wounds. The animals flinched as they felt it, but Isay held them firmly, talking to them in a quiet voice.
Madra helped Ratagan with the fire, and when Riven had done the best he could with his ripped clothing, he wandered about the campsite looking for firewood. There was a dried-up riverbed not far away, and along its banks were the skeletons of trees long dead. He snapped off armfuls of branches and brought them back in piles to Ratagan. He was soon helped by Madra and Isay, and the trio worked with a will in the growing twilight as the snow came down more thickly and visibility worsened. When they returned with one last load, Bicker stopped them from going out for more. He was sniffing the air worriedly, wondering where their scouts had gone. The fire was built up higher than usual to guide them back to the camp, but also, Riven thought, because they were imagining the packs of grypesh coming after them out of the heights of the hills.
Tagan and the other two Hearthwares reappeared some time later with snow covering them. They shook themselves before the fire and stood in the lee of the shelter.
‘There were some tracks quartering the ground to the south,’ Tagan said, rubbing his hands. ‘But we could not follow them far in the snow. It was a small pack, maybe eight beasts. Not the one we fought. But there is at least one larger pack on our trail. This snowstorm might put them off, but we would do well to be extra watchful tonight.’
Bicker nodded. ‘Two to each watch, then. But we’ll eat before we fix them.’ The lean-to trapped the heat of the fire, and the hobbled horses on the other side of the flames reflected the warmth also. It was crowded inside, but that made it warmer. They spread their bedrolls whilst Ratagan and Isay prepared food for the company. Madra lay next to Riven at the back, and he did not object when she piled the blankets over them both and pushed close to him.
The snow thickened as night fell, piling around their shelter and hissing at the fire. Ratagan and Luib took first watch, whilst the rest lay and listened to the wind, felt it tugging at the tarpaulin. It was hard to sleep with the image of the prowling packs on their trail. Ratagan stood with his hands spread to the fire and the flames winking on his axe blade. But he was looking outwards, to the wind-driven snow and the darkness.
‘A wearisome night,’ he said. ‘And a long time till dawn. We need something to lighten the time. What about a story? Someone must have a tale to tell in our company.’
No one replied. He bent and threw a log on to the fire. ‘Miserable wretches.’
‘I have a story,’ said Luib, surprising them all. His lined face was indecipherable in the firelight.
‘It is a story of the Myrcans, and of the time when they first came to Minginish to take service with the people of the Vale and the Dales.’ He paused for a second, staring into the fire. ‘The Myrcans, when they were first created out of Dwarf-hewn and Giant-riven stone, took up residence in the broad Dale of Glen-arric, and in time that place became known as Merkadale, as it still is called today. They built homes throughout the Dale up to the borders of what is now Drinan, and their chief town was at Dun Merkadal. There they lived their lives, and prospered for a while; but there was a disquiet amongst them, for it was said that they had been created with a purpose in this life, and that the purpose had something to do with the manner of their creation. They were—and are—a hardy people, full of energy and unafraid. But they were never ones for the tilling of the soil; and they did not make great hunters. Only to one thing were their hands turned with skill, and that was killing. They thought then that they would set out as an army and conquer the rest of the land and rule over it; that was their mission. But some doubted and one, Rol, who was a great war leader, mistrusted the feelings which prompted the Myrcans to wage war and was sickened by the killing, so he set off into the mountains to seek the Dwarves and avail himself of their ancient wisdom.