“Then it rests with us to ensure they never get here.” He waved a command at the ranks of horsemen behind him and spurred towards the north.
They called at the three settlements north of Myrna’s Mount over the next two days, finding only fearful miners and no word of the Horde. Thankfully, these were led by hardier souls than Idiss and their defences were well prepared. Vaelin offered each the option of making for Myrna’s Mount where greater numbers might offer more protection, but they all refused.
“Been hewing stone from these hills near twenty years, m’lord,” the factor at Slade Hill told him, a burly Nilsaelin with a large axe strapped across his back. “Didn’t run from those frost-arses last time, not runnin’ now.”
They pressed on into the plains where the wind swept down with a chill that seemed to cut through clothing like a steel-tipped arrow cuts through armour.
“By the Faith!” Orven cursed through clenched teeth, blinking away tears as the wind lashed at his face. “Is it always like this?”
Adal laughed. “This is just a balmy summer day, Captain. You should try it in winter.”
“There are no more mountains between us and the ice,” Dahrena explained. “The Eorhil call it the black wind.”
They halted after ten miles and Vaelin ordered scouts sent east, west and north. They all returned by late evening, having found no trace of the Horde.
“This makes no sense,” Adal said. “They should be well into the mountains by now.”
Dahrena suddenly straightened, her gaze switching to the west, eyes bright with expectation.
“My lady?” Vaelin asked.
“It seems we have company, my lord.”
It came to him then, a faint rumble of thunder, but constant, and growing.
“Saddle up!” he barked striding to where Flame was tethered, sending men scrambling for their horses.
“There’s no need,” Dahrena called after him. “The Horde don’t ride. We have other visitors.”
The dust-cloud grew in the west, coming ever closer, the thunder rising as it neared. The first riders came into view, mounted on tall horses of varying colour, each carrying a lance with a horn bow strapped to every saddle, more and more resolving out of the dust until Vaelin lost count. They reined in a short distance away, the dust settling to reveal what must have been over two thousand riders, men and women. Their pale-skinned faces were an echo of the hawk-faced Seordah Vaelin had met years ago, their hair uniformly black and tied into braids. Their clothing was mostly of dark brown leather decorated with necklaces of bone or elk antler. They sat waiting in silence, not even a snort rising from their horses.
A lone rider trotted forward, making unbidden for Vaelin. He halted a few paces away, looking down on him in stern appraisal. He was not a tall man, but there was an evident strength to him, his face lined but possessed of the kind of leanness that made guessing his age difficult.
“What is your name?” the rider asked in harshly accented Realm Tongue.
“I have a few to choose from,” Vaelin replied. “But the Seordah call me Beral Shak Ur.”
“I know what the forest people call you, and why.” The man reclined in his saddle a little, his features taking on a frown. “Ravens are rarely seen on these plains. If you want a name from us, you must earn it.”
“I will, and gladly.”
The rider grunted, reversing the hold on his lance and throwing it into the ground at Vaelin’s feet. Despite the hardness of the earth the steel point was buried up to the hilt, the lance shuddering with the force of the throw. “I, Sanesh Poltar of the Eorhil Sil, bring my lance to answer Tower Lord’s call.”
“You are very welcome.”
Dahrena came forward to welcome the Eorhil chieftain with a broad smile. “I never doubted you would find us, plains-brother,” she said, reaching up to clasp his hand, their fingers entwining.
“We hoped to find the beast-people first,” he replied. “Make you a gift of their skulls. But they leave us no tracks to follow.”
“They elude us also.”
This seemed to puzzle the horseman. “Even you, forest-sister?”
She shot a guarded look at Vaelin. “Even me.”
That night they ate dried elk meat with the Eorhil. It was tough but tasty fare, improved by a few seconds over the fire, washed down with a thick white beverage possessed of a pungent aroma and a palpable kick of spirits.
“Faith!” Orven exclaimed, wincing after his first taste. “What is this?”
“Fermented elk milk,” Dahrena said.
Orven suppressed a disgusted shudder and handed the fur-covered skin back to the young Eorhil woman who had appeared at his side as they gathered round the fire. “Thank you, lady. But no.” She frowned then shrugged, saying something in her own language.
“She wants to know how many elk you’ve hunted,” Dahrena translated.
“Elk? None,” he replied, nodding and smiling at the young woman. “But many boar and deer. My family has a large estate.”
Dahrena relayed his reply, provoking a puzzled exchange.
“She doesn’t know what an estate is,” Dahrena explained. “The Eorhil have no understanding of how one can own land.”
“Or even that the plains they live on are owned by the crown,” Adal put in. “One of the reasons they saw no need to fight the first Realm settlers. You can’t claim something that can’t be owned, so why fight over it?”
“Insha ka Forna,” the young woman said to Orven, patting her chest.
“Steel in Moonlight,” Dahrena said with a small smile. “Her name.”
“Ah, Orven,” the captain said, patting his own chest. “Orrvennn.”
This provoked another exchange with Dahrena. “She wanted to know what it means. I told her it’s the name of a great hero from legend.”
“But it isn’t,” Orven said.
“Captain . . .” Dahrena paused to smother a chuckle. “When an Eorhil woman chooses to tell a man her given name, it’s a considerable compliment.”
“Oh.” The captain gave Insha ka Forna a broad smile, finding it returned. “Is there a suitable response?”
“I think you just gave it.”
A short while later Dahrena bade them good night and rose from the fire, making her way to the ingenious contrivance she had carried with her since leaving the tower. Seemingly little more than a bundle of elk-hide and wood, a few minutes’ work formed it into a small but serviceable shelter, equal to any of the tents used by the King’s Guard. Some of the North Guard carried similar items, though most were content to sleep in the open clad only in a wrapping of furs.
Vaelin waited for a time before going to speak to her. His questions had been mounting over the course of their journey and he had delayed long enough in seeking answers.
“My lady,” he greeted her as she sat outside her shelter.
She didn’t reply and he noticed her eyes were closed, her hair fluttering across her face in the chill wind with no sign she felt it.
“You can’t talk to her now, my lord.” Captain Adal appeared next to the shelter. His ebony features were outlined in red from the fires and tense in warning.
Vaelin looked again at Dahrena, seeing the absolute stillness of her face, the way her hands sat in her lap, absent of any twitch. The blood-song rose with a familiar note: recognition.
He gave the captain an affable nod and returned to the fire.
“Steel Water Creek,” Dahrena said the next morning. “It’s about forty miles north-east of here. It’s the only supply of freshwater large enough to service so many this far south of the ice. It seems reasonable to assume the Horde will be camped there since they don’t appear to be moving.”
“Just a reasonable assumption?” Vaelin asked. “Is there no other source for this intelligence, my lady?”
She avoided his gaze and bit back an angry retort. “None, my lord. You are of course free to discount my advice.”
“Oh, I think it would be churlish to ignore the words of my new First Counsel. Steel Water Creek it is.”