“We shall have to go roped together soon,” he said as they rested at the end of a hard day’s labor, deep in a vertical crevice in the rocky mountain face.
“I decide what we do or do not do,” Makho told him. The wounds the Norn chieftain had received at the hands of the Skalijar had made him even colder and more unpleasant. Jarnulf did not have the strength for an argument, though or even for a shrug. For the hundredth time, he wished he could have encountered the chieftain alone in the wilderness, so that he could have treated with the cold-eyed murderer as he deserved. He had been traveling with the Hikeda’ya so long now that sometimes he actually forgot what they had done to him, how much he loathed them all.
The crevice where they sheltered was deep enough that Jarnulf actually had room to lie down. He had long believed himself all but impervious to heights and cold, but was now wishing that he could just stay here in this place and never move again. His legs and arms throbbed from the day’s effort so that he did not think he could fall asleep, and he knew that at first light their climb would begin again. The only small solace was that Makho and the other Hikeda’ya had agreed it would be safer to climb in daylight, since there was little fear of their mission being discovered now that they had traveled so far above the world.
Aching and exhausted, Jarnulf himself no longer had any true idea of what he was doing here. His great goal, his sworn purpose, had not changed, but this seemed more and more like an almost ridiculously bad way to go about achieving it.
I should have stuck to killing them off in ones and twos. Not only did it give me a certain pleasure, but I also had a lifelong vocation. Now I have risked everything on a single throw of the dice, all or nothing. Father would not have approved.
But was that true? Father had been cautious by nature, but he had also often said, “God does not lean down to give us His hand, whatever the Church may say. He waits for us to climb as close as we can to Him first.” Certainly Jarnulf was doing as much climbing as even God could wish, but the rest of his motivations had become obscure to him, lost in the day-to-day ordinariness of traveling, even traveling with the hated Hikeda’ya. And there was Nezeru . . .
What was it about the halfblood woman that puzzled and fascinated him so? It was nothing so simple as attraction, he had told himself many times—his devotion to God and his loathing of her kind assured him of that. But he had come to care about her in some way he did not completely understand, perhaps because he saw in her unthinking slogans and stunted emotions another victim of Hikeda’ya slavery. Or perhaps because she was young he could still sense something of what she could be, before the cold, cruel ways of Nakkiga froze her forever. Whatever the case, Jarnulf could not deny the truth of his feelings. In moments of daydream he even imagined sparing her alone, out of all of them, and bringing her into the hands of a loving God—something she had never known and, without the intercession of Jarnulf White Hand, would never glimpse.
? ? ?
Despite his immense size, Goh Gam Gar was by far the best climber of them all, especially now that his hands were free. The Norns were graceful, agile, and sure, but the great, leathery pads on the giant’s hands and feet gripped the icy stone, and his strength was so great that he could even lift his own massive weight with a single one of his arms. In fact, the monster seemed almost happy to be exercising his skills this way, although it was hard to tell with such an evil-tempered creature; the only other time he showed good cheer was when one of his companions hurt themselves.
Captors, Jarnulf reminded himself, not companions. Foul creature that he was, the monster still had less choice about being on this expedition than Jarnulf did. As Makho never ceased pointing out, there had been more than a few opportunities when he could have deserted the White Foxes, but the giant did not have that freedom.
Why was the giant with them? Did the Norns really think even such a huge creature was enough to defeat a dragon? And what would they do with a dragon if they found one? Makho had said they wanted its blood, but that made no sense to Jarnulf. Not to mention that no dragon was going to give its blood up without a fight—a deadly fight.
? ? ?
Prevented from escaping by the witchwood collar and the queen’s gem, Goh Gam Gar ranged far ahead of the rest of the company now, seeking out the best routes and clearing dangerous obstacles by sheer might. Makho never let him out of sight for long, though, perhaps fearing a sudden giant-caused avalanche. The only consistent noise on the mountainside other than the crunch of snow and the hiss of breath the climbers made were the arguments between the giant and Makho on those occasions when the chieftain used a lashing of pain to summon the giant back.
Late in the afternoon, Makho shouted for Goh Gam Gar to return for perhaps the dozenth time that day, but this time the giant did not appear. After a few moments Makho took the crystal from its pouch and held it up, murmuring the words that Akhenabi had taught him. A roar of pain and fury drifted to them, but the giant did not return. Makho raised the crystal rod again, and once more Goh Gam Gar bellowed in rage but still did not reappear.
His face rigid with anger, Makho had raised the crystal a third time when Nezeru said, “Don’t.”
“Do you dare to give me orders, Blackbird? Your condition has made you foolish.”
Jarnulf wasn’t certain what that meant, but for a moment he was certain Makho would hit her, perhaps even knock her from the narrow path. In that complicated instant, as he tried to decide what he would do, Nezeru told their leader, “Perhaps the giant has fallen, or something has fallen upon him. Would it not be better to see what has happened before we torture the brute any further?”
Saomeji the Singer nodded his head. “I think she is right, Chieftain Makho. If nothing else, in his agony he might destroy what little path there is on this treacherous mountain. If you like, I will go first.”
“No. The Blackbird will go.” Makho’s tone made it clear that there would be no further discussion.
Nezeru took the lead as nimbly as any of the pureblood Hikeda’ya. Just watching her scramble up the sloping, narrow path around the looming mountainside, nothing visible below her but fog and remorseless, empty space, made Jarnulf, despite his own well-honed skills, feel as clumsy as a fat householder.
She had only just vanished from sight when the rest of the Hand heard her call in fear and excitement for them to hurry. Kemme and Makho both drew their swords, but Jarnulf decided to wait and see what manner of challenge awaited them before surrendering the use of one of his hands.
The path was broken where Nezeru was stopped, but only a small part of it was gone, and it would be easy enough for any of them to jump to the rest of the path on other side. Since he could see no sign of the giant, Jarnulf assumed that was what Goh Gam Gar had done. As he drew closer, though, he understood why Nezeru had stopped. It was not just the path that had collapsed: a wide piece of the mountain below had slid down as well, leaving a jumble of boulders and broken tree trunks marking the place where the track had been. It also meant that something below had stopped the slide from continuing down the mountain. What that something might be was made clear a moment later, when Goh Gam Gar’s harsh voice boomed up from the cluttered, wedge-shaped fall of trees, rocks, and snow.
“By the queen herself, if one of you cowardly little bugs doesn’t get down here and help me, I’ll pull the whole mountain out from under you!”
“Look!” said Nezeru, kneeling on the path near the place where the slide had collapsed it. “The giant is just down there. Not too far. Wedged in by broken trunks.”
Makho was staring at the tumble of rocks and wood, his face set in an unhappy smirk. “And what are we to do, monster?” he shouted down, his mockery tinged with disgust. “Lean over and pull you out?”
“No, you fool!” the giant bellowed. “Climb down and get my rope. If you tie it around something strong enough up there, I can free myself.”
“We should let the ugly creature die,” said Kemme.
Makho had probably been considering just that, but he scowled at Kemme’s words. “I told you, we will need him. You, mortal—climb down and do what he says.”
Jarnulf was too surprised at first to be angry. “But I’m the worst climber of any of us!”
“You are also the least useful. Go.”
Jarnulf briefly considered the odds, but Makho and Kemme had their blades drawn. For all his skills, he knew the chance he could take both Norns on a slippery mountain path were unimaginably small, even if neither Nezeru or Saomeji waded in to help their leader. He scowled, but Makho’s fierce, bony face was hard as an ivory mask.
“I will need a good rope,” Jarnulf said at last, by way of surrender. “I do not carry enough.”