The Night of the Swarm

‘Look there, in the next valley,’ said one of the selk, pointing. ‘Can you see two roads converging, and four standing stones? That is the Isima Crossroads, where we are bound.’

Pazel could just make out the four stones, which were grouped together in a square. Then the selk hissed and drew everyone down.

‘Soldiers!’ they said. ‘Dlomic soldiers! They were hidden by the stones.’

‘I cannot see them,’ said Lunja. ‘I can barely see the stones themselves.’

‘Selk eyes are sharper than our own,’ said Bolutu, ‘and that is a good thing today, if it means that they will not be able to spot us either.’

‘Unless one of them produces a telescope,’ said Hercol. ‘Move along.’

‘Just a moment,’ said Thasha. She pointed down the length of the avalanche. ‘Is that our trail, by any luck?’

Pazel shielded his eyes. Far down the slope, a second line of footprints crossed the ribbon of snow. The dark-haired selk shielded his eyes. ‘Yes,’ he said at last, ‘that is the second switchback, and there is a third below it, much further, which perhaps you cannot see. Eventually there must be a fourth.’

‘A shortcut?’ said Lunja dubiously.

‘It would be that,’ said the selk, studying the slope. ‘There are some small snow-ledges, eight- or ten-foot drops at the most. That is probably why our enemies did not climb it themselves. But they would not hinder our descent. We could save a day’s march by that path.’

‘And get spotted, and killed,’ said Pazel. ‘Nice idea, Thasha, but we’re better off under the trees.’

‘Some days you’re thick as cold porridge, mate,’ said Neeps. He pointed back down the slope they had just ascended. ‘We can walk along the edge of the avalanche, and stay hidden from anyone in that valley. And after sunset we can climb up here and carry on.’

‘What, in the dark?’ cried Mandric.

‘In the dark,’ said Olik, nodding. ‘Yes, by damn, that’s a fine idea. This snow is packed: that will make for better footing than this trail.’

‘And that bad weather you say is coming?’ demanded the Turach.

‘All the more reason to descend quickly,’ said Hercol, ‘and along the path of the snowslide we can at least be confident of not losing our way. But you are right to be wary, Mandric. Tonight we must tie ourselves together as before.’

It was decided. They retreated halfway down the snow mass, until its bulk hid them from the valley, and started straight down the mountain. The angle of the snow made walking difficult, but they were heartened by the thought of escaping the mountains sooner, and even the approach of nightfall did not dampen their spirits. Better to walk through the night than to try bedding down in this cold, Pazel thought. But the wind was rising, and the selk looked anxiously over their shoulders at Urakan.

As darkness fell they climbed the snow ridge again. Once tied together they began to feel their way downhill, with the sharp-eyed ixchel on the shoulders of the selk leading the way. While a little light remained they made steady progress, never straying far from the edge of the avalanche, and before long they crossed the first switchback. The moons were hidden by the peaks, but the starlight helped Pazel find his footing, and now and then a selk would look back at him with a glowing blue eye. They dropped from several ten-foot ledges without incident, although letting himself fall into darkness frightened Pazel more than he cared to admit. Enough! he thought, after landing hard for the third time. Someone can blary well strike a match at the bottom next time, so that we know how far we’re going to fall.

They reached the second switchback and pressed on. But shortly thereafter the wind surged, cold and brutal, and snow began to fall. Pazel was appalled at the speed of the storm’s arrival. Before any of them could speak they were staggering and shielding their eyes from the driven snow.

‘Down, down to the trees!’ roared Hercol. ‘Hold fast to the ixchel! Valgrif, keep that dog beside you!’

They fled the open surface of the avalanche and began to burrow into its side. They used their picks, their scabbards, their bare hands. It was much harder than digging into the fresh powder on Isarak: this was old, dense snow, and many a broken pine lay buried within it, and there was no light at all. Meanwhile the storm became a blizzard, the snow slashing horizontally, the brittle pines crashing around them and the wind like a throng of tortured souls.

Finally they were all out of the blast. They had dug a cramped burrow, mounding the excavated snow into a wall and propping branches against the opening to block at least part of the wind. But they were blind and soaked. The selk wine went around, but when Pazel’s turn came he found that he was shaking uncontrollably, and he spilled more down his chin than he managed to swallow. ‘Dry yourselves!’ said Hercol. ‘Use the cloths from the selk. Use anything you like, but do it now.’ Pazel’s cloth was at his neck. The outer layer was damp, but within its folds it was, amazingly, dry. He rubbed it frantically over his limbs, and a little feeling came back into them.

‘I have spread a canvas on the snow,’ said Hercol. ‘Squeeze onto it, the closer the better.’

‘Night Gods!’ shouted Corporal Mandric. ‘Mr Bolutu, your pack is hot! The blary Nilstone’s giving off heat!’

‘Do not warm yourselves by the Nilstone!’ said the selk. ‘Its heat is illusory; the old stories tell of just such a snare. It cannot warm you; it can only scald and kill. If Arpathwin were here he would explain.’

‘Well he ain’t here,’ growled the Turach, squirming, ‘and I don’t need a mage to tell me hot from cold. Give your pack here, Bolutu; let me move it to the centre. We’ll see who don’t warm his hands.’

‘Stay away from the Stone! ’

It was Thasha — and it was not. Her voice had come out with more ferocity than ever Valgrif put into a snarl. Mandric froze, and neither he nor anyone reached in Bolutu’s direction again.

Pazel had been cold before, but now he understood that it had only been a tease. This was agony, and they were all in it together, moaning, blind. Even the selk were quietly shaking. Hercol made them report one by one: were their toes dry? Were their heads covered tightly? Were they all sharply awake?

‘I’ve been more so,’ said Myett.

‘Then sleep — if you never mean to wake,’ snapped Hercol. ‘Where are you, crawlies? Come here.’

In the ixchel tongue, Pazel heard the women laugh grimly. ‘He’s only trying to provoke us, to keep us alert and alive,’ said Ensyl.

‘Of course,’ said Myett. ‘Do you know, sister, I could almost love this man.’

‘But I do not love his armpit,’ Ensyl replied.

Then Hercol passed out dried fruit and seed cakes and hazelnuts and hard black bread. ‘Eat!’ he said. ‘The food is coal, your stomach is a furnace; you will see how fast it burns away.’

‘How long until daylight?’ asked Thasha.

‘Long enough. Chew your food.’

‘Pitfire, now he thinks he’s Captain Rose,’ muttered Neeps.

It hurt to laugh. It hurt to breathe, to move, to refrain from moving. Someone (who cared who) had taken Pazel in a bear hug; Pazel himself held tight to Thasha, and found that she in turn had wrapped herself around Valgrif, who had curled into a ball. Pazel heard Neeps and Lunja whispering together — insults, surly apologies, then softer words he tried not to hear. Time slowed, as if they were trapped in some diabolical ceremony, sustained for cruelty’s sake and nothing more. They held one another. Little by little the howling of the storm died away.

When the selk declared that dawn had arrived Pazel did not believe them: it was still dark as pitch. But then the nest of limbs and bodies broke apart (cramped muscles, fresh cries of pain) and light poured in suddenly from one side. The storm had piled another eight feet of powder against the side of the avalanche. They crawled out, dazzled, into bright sun and crisp, still air.

The storm had left its mark. The humans had cold blisters on their hands and feet, and some of them were bleeding. For the dlomu matters were worse: their skin had cracked in places, and the blood in the wounds had frozen into tiny crystals that fell out when they moved, like pink salt.

‘The caves would have protected us,’ said Hercol. ‘I was wrong to insist on this course of action.’

‘No, swordsman,’ said Prince Olik. ‘If we had lingered on the mountaintop, we would still be facing the whole descent, and under a much greater depth of snow. All this day we should have spent ploughing through it, hip-deep or deeper, only to reach the spot where we stand now.’

Hercol nodded, but he did not seem much inclined to look at the bright side. ‘We have won back a little time. We must win back more. Let us walk for an hour before we breakfast; it will do us good to move.’