“Escape?” Jarnulf laughed. “Why should I escape? I am no Rimmersman, whatever I look like. I was raised among the Hikeda’ya. You made me what I am. If I am not one of the most important servants of the Mother of All, I am still one of her huntsmen. Why should I not do what I can to aid her Talons?”
“You make a fair point,” said Saomeji, lacing his fingers together and performing a bow that even Jarnulf must have recognized as mocking. “We Hikeda’ya are a suspicious race, of course, having so often found ourselves betrayed by mortals. Forgive me for questioning your motives, Huntsman.”
For a moment, as he turned from the Singer in disgust, Jarnulf’s icy blue eyes met Nezeru’s. She had no idea what the mortal was thinking, and that by itself was intriguing—in her small experience of his race, they were guileless as cattle. She did not fully believe him about his motives, but for some reason she could not quite name, she also did not believe he meant to betray them.
I have never met a creature I understood less, Nezeru thought. Not even the giant.
? ? ?
Within days they reached the foothills the Northmen called Urmsbakkir, and began the slow ascent toward Urmsheim itself, which jutted like a wolf’s fang above the smaller peaks on either side. Farther south the world enjoyed the full coming of spring: Nezeru knew that despite the snow on the ground, the slaves and Bound workers outside Nakkiga would be crawling out of their hovels to spend as much time as they could in the sun. But here at the northern edge of the world it was still winter, as it almost always was.
As the cold mists rose, the slopes became steeper; climbing became steadily more difficult. The Hikeda’ya were more and more often forced to lead their horses. Sometimes the giant had to lift the terrified animals over an obstacle; Nezeru found it almost painful to watch the usually stolid Nakkiga steeds’ eye-rolling panic at the monster’s touch. Other tracks were too narrow for Goh Gam Gar himself, forcing him to find a different way up. Makho would always keep him in sight, the crystal goad clutched firmly in his hand until the giant had rejoined the procession.
Unless he was giving orders, Makho hardly talked with any of the company but the Singer Saomeji during these days which made Nezeru uneasy. She did not understand exactly what had happened at Bitter Moon Castle, but it was clear Akhenabi’s intervention had changed things profoundly, and even Makho himself seemed uneasy with their new mission.
? ? ?
They were near the base of Urmsheim itself, working their way up a difficult hill when the attack came.
The slope was scree spotted with drifts of snow—an accumulation of loose rock and boulders that the horses, if led, could just manage to climb. Because of the danger to whoever was below, they took the horses up one at a time.
Kemme had already reached the crest, and Saomeji had climbed it behind him. Nezeru watched from the bottom of the hill as Jarnulf led his own horse up over the loose rock. The mortal was almost as light and precise of foot as the Hikeda’ya, but that did not prevent both man and mount nearly tumbling when an errant hoof started a small avalanche beneath them. Nezeru moved quickly to the side to avoid stones as big as her head tumbling toward her. Jarnulf spread his arms for a moment before regaining his balance. He examined his horse, which had toppled onto its side, then urged the shaken beast onto its feet again and began to lead it up the last few steps to the crest.
It had become clear earlier that the giant would not be able to make it up this loose slope without causing a much larger rockfall, so the great beast and Makho were taking a longer but less steep way, a gully strewn with boulders so large that the giant often had to put Makho’s horse under his arm and carry it, like a Nakkiga noblewoman with a pet lynx. The horse occasionally wriggled and kicked in fear at being held by the monster, but it had been raised in the stables deep beneath the mountain and stayed silent.
As Nezeru stood, poised to begin her own climb as soon as Jarnulf was off the dangerous slope, she saw Makho turn abruptly, as though someone had shouted to him. A moment later he staggered. Nezeru thought the usually sure-footed Makho had simply put a foot wrong until she saw the arrow quivering in his shoulder. Then the chieftain slipped from the tall rock and tumbled out of her sight.
A moment later loud, hoarse cries tore the air as a troop of bearded men came swarming across the hilltop toward Kemme and Saomeji from both sides, loosing arrows. The first flights missed, which gave the two Hikeda’ya a chance to find shelter behind an outcropping near the brow of the hill, but it was clear that in moments they would be surrounded and cut down. Nezeru counted something near two dozen attackers, all mortal men in ragged clothing. Only a few had drawn their bows; the rest hurried forward with axes and swords raised.
There was no time to force her horse to climb the slope. She scrambled upward as quickly as she could, using her hands almost as frequently as her feet. Arrows began to snap past her head: the enemies atop the hill had seen her.
Trying to move swiftly over the loose stones was like a bad dream but Nezeru knew she had no choice, since the slope offered nowhere to hide. An arrow ripped through her hood where it lay against her back, but she kept scrambling upward on all fours. An instant later, just as she reached the top, another shaft broke against a stone not an arm’s-length from her face. She threw herself down and lay with half her body still on the slope until she spotted her shaggy mortal attacker hurrying forward to finish her. Her bow was caught beneath her, so she pulled her knife and, after a split-instant to locate the balance, threw it with as much strength as she could muster. The blade whirled end over end, and though she did not manage to lodge it in his throat, the pommel broke the man’s nose, dropping him face-first to the ground with blood sheeting down his face.
Safe for a moment, Nezeru turned to where Kemme and Saomeji still huddled against the tall stone on the crest even as a half dozen or more of the bearded men drew closer with every heartbeat. The Northmen’s excited shouts were as incomprehensible to her ears as the barking of hounds. She scrambled off the slope onto a snowy patch of dirty snow and dead grasses, then took her bow from her shoulder. Her first arrow missed, but her second took one of the attackers in the thigh. He stumbled and fell, then got to his feet to pluck the arrow from his leg. As he did, Nezeru nocked another arrow and sent it whistling through his chain mail and into his chest.
The rest of the attackers were nearly on top of Saomeji and Kemme, and some now split off from the main group to charge downhill toward Nezeru and Jarnulf, who stood only a little distance above her. She thought the mortals made an ugly collection, bearded men much bigger than herself wearing ill-matched armor, slavering and howling like wild dogs.
Jarnulf had thrown down his bow and pulled out his sword, and now he waded into the first pair to reach him, his blade so swift it seemed almost ghostly in the misty air. As Nezeru climbed back to her feet she saw three more attackers sprinting toward her. She managed to knock one down with an arrow to the body, but couldn’t tell whether the shot had been fatal. Then, as the other two rushed at her, one with sword drawn and the other swinging a heavy two-handed ax, she threw herself forward, swinging her bow, and hit the ax-wielder in the face with it. He stumbled and fell to his knees, bleeding from the nose and eyes, but she had won only a momentary respite because his companion was still coming.
Nezeru threw down the bow and drew her sword from its belt ring in time to guide the weight of the man’s swinging blade to one side, but the bearded mortal was strong and the point of his blade still hit her shoulder. Her witchwood armor took most of the force, but her arm went numb and for a moment she could only hold her sword with the other hand as her attacker turned, teeth bared and eyes wild, and rushed at her once more, blade swinging for her head. Behind him, the ax-wielding man whose nose she had broken was climbing to his feet. She had only moments before he came to help the swordsman.