Chapter 9: Blade Kin
The four-hundred-mile journey from Sanctum to Seven Ogre River became the easiest part of the trip. Short Tail’s mammoth pulled the wagon in the morning, the group would eat and practice their weapons training, and in the evening Born-in-Snow pulled the wagon a few miles before they settled in for the night.
The mammoths worked eagerly, for the smell of winter filled in the air. Their mating season was on, and they grew restless for their migration south. They often swung their necks, raking the grass tops with their great tusks, as if clearing snow from their paths.
Geese and ducks gathered on the ponds, and even in the low areas the leaves changed to yellow and brown, then blew away at the slightest touch of a breeze.
Phylomon knew the Rough well, and when they reached a small mountain range, he guided them so that the trail seemed made for wagons. Along the volcanic fault lines, the crust of the earth was cracked like a giant’s discarded crockery, and these places were hard to negotiate. Often the party had to travel miles to find a path up or down a steep cliff.
When clearing the path, one Hukm stood atop the lead mastodon’s head to watch for enemies. Sometimes a nearsighted woolly rhino would grunt and paw the ground at the sound of their approach, or follow the wagon at a hundred yards trying to decide whether to charge, but if it did not leave quickly, someone would fire the swivel gun and the rhino would wheeze, arch its tail, and run away.
The journey would have been easier if not for signs of the armies of Craal. Two hundred miles out of Sanctum, the party discovered a garden where Hukm had farmed for the summer. The grapes were still on the vine, pumpkins and squash getting ready to rot in the sun, leaves and bushes moldering. A dozen dead Hukm lay in a mound nearby, their tents pulled down.
Fifty miles farther on, the party stopped for a day. While coming over a small hill in the evening, they glimpsed hundreds of campfires. Phylomon estimated that it was an army of at least five thousand Thrall warriors, heading south for the winter to harass the Hukm. By the next night, the army had left.
The approach to the White Mountains was wet and cold, for they gained altitude on the plains. Tull often consulted his weather globe, hoping for clear skies. Winter was coming early, bringing gusty winds and pelting rains, and for a week the party just stayed on the wagon. As long as Scandal did not try to sit in the barrel, dry seating inside was ample for the rest, and they spread a tarpaulin over the whole wagon to keep the rain off the food and poor Scandal.
The Hukm liked the rain. Both of them shed the last of their brown summer fur and grew white winter coats; they seemed invigorated by the wet and cold.
One night as they approached the jagged White Mountains, at the end of a frosty day where the mammoths slogged through mud in drizzling rain, the Hukm stopped at a foaming, icy river. Wisteria peered sullenly out the barrel, and when the Hukm stopped, they dove headlong into the frigid water and splashed about like bears chasing salmon.
Wisteria decided she liked the Hukm. They were often cool and aloof, spending nights away from camp, yet one night, Scandal put his boots beside the fire, trying to get them dry, and when he woke in the morning, someone had filled his boots with tea and placed them in the coals to brew. Scandal walked around camp, screaming blue-faced at everyone, accusing them of the crime. And the next morning, though he’d placed his boots under the shelter of the wagon to dry for the night, he found them in the fire again, only this time they were filled with urine. No human had a bladder so large, and Scandal cursed the Hukm in human and Pwi, but the Hukm just stood beside their mammoths seeming cool and unperturbed until Scandal used every gesture on them that Phylomon had ever warned him against.
Though the journey was cold and dreary, Wisteria felt a warmth in her heart unlike anything she’d ever known. At nights, when it was cold, Tull brought stones from the fire for her to curl up with. He washed her clothes for her and was incredibly tender. Yet each night he made love to her like a wild man, whispering into her ears and handling her as if she were some frisky but untrained colt. She loved the change, and for her, every night was like the first night of a honeymoon.
Once after his rough lovemaking ended, she was so content that she felt impelled to ask, “Something has changed between us. Do you feel it? Something has changed.”
Tull laughed. “I asked you to teach me how to love you, and now I have figured out how.”
The answer was simple, almost childish. She sighed contentedly. “Teach me how to love you, Tull,” she said. “Teach me how to love.” But she knew the words were a lie, for she could already feel her love for him glowing within. She thought of the rage at Phylomon that had once burned within her, the sense of futile anger, and how she had rashly promised Garamon she would sabotage the quest. The whole idea seemed absurdly petty. Instead, she needed this quest to succeed, needed a safe place for her child to grow. She knew now that she could never betray the father of her child.
So for her, the days passed in bliss. Six weeks out from Sanctum, she realized that the rest of the group was somber. One day the rain clouds rose high enough so that they could actually see the White Mountains some eighty miles distant.
“Damn,” Phylomon muttered. “We’re still a good two weeks behind schedule. The mountains are already white with snow, and we have another three hundred miles to the river.”
“Does it matter?” Wisteria asked. “I mean, that’s why they call them the White Mountains, isn’t it?”
“They shouldn’t be white this early in the season,” Phylomon said. “The snow will slow us down, and we spent too much time crossing the Dragon Spines. Any more delay could be very costly. Still, if the snowfall is light, three sunny days might burn it off.”
But that night a cold rain fell.
After everyone had wrapped themselves in blankets, Phylomon held a council. “We’re in for a hard trip over the mountains,” he told them.
“Why?” Scandal asked. “We can put runners on the wagon and the mammoths could pull us through the mountains fine, couldn’t they?”
“Yes,” Phylomon answered, “But I’d hoped to go over Raven’s Peak Pass, since Ironwood Woman said it was least watched. But it’s a narrow pass, and high, and with these fresh snows we’d run too much of a risk of getting buried in an avalanche. Yet there are only two other decent passes within a hundred miles.”
“And how well are they watched?” Scandal asked.
“You saw one small army a few days ago,” Phylomon said.
Ayuvah said, “I fear such an army as I would fear a scimitar cat. We could never pass them.”
“The passes will be well watched,” Phylomon said, “But with winter coming on, they will not be so well guarded.”
“What do you mean?” Scandal asked.
“During the winter, the Hukm move south so they can forage. The armies of Craal move south to fight them. We should be free of large armies, and the fortresses in the mountains will carry a minimal guard. Still, even in the winter, the kings of Craal often send the Blade Kin through the passes to scout the movements of the Pwi and Okanjara out in the Rough. Any lone stranger we meet is bound to fight with skill—and Ironwood Woman warned me that these men have guns. They’ll be watching for runaway slaves, making sure that none get through the mountains in winter. Ironwood Woman said that sixteen thousand of her people died at their hands, so she raided them. They’re well-armed now, and skittish.”
Wisteria knew of the Blade Kin—slavers, murderers and rogues far worse than any pirate who sailed in the east. It was said that the worst criminals in Craal were sentenced to fight in arena battles until they died, but every few years, the Minister of Retribution freed the best fighters and made them his Blade Kin. They were tolerated only because the slaves feared them worse than death. Rarely could a slave pass their watchful eyes and escape Craal.
“I would rather brave the pass than the Blade Kin,” Ayuvah said.
“Me, too,” Scandal admitted.
Phylomon sighed deeply. “We’ve got a couple of days until we make it within striking range of any of the passes,” he said. “Maybe some good weather will blow our way, and we can get through at Raven’s Peak.”
“What are the chances we can make it past the Blade Kin unseen?” Wisteria asked.
“They’ll be less vigilant now that winter is on,” Phylomon said slowly. “I’d say our chances are good.”
Wisteria listened to the tone of his voice and was surprised: One would think that a man as old as Phylomon would lie more convincingly.
***