'How come you never talk, Hartraft?'
'Talk? To who?'
'Me.'
'There was never much to say.'
'You like Alyssa, don't you?'
The branch of a tree, overburdened with the newly-fallen snow groaned and cracked, and a cascade of snow tumbled down near them, sending up a swirl of flakes.
'Asayaga is better at such things than I am. He has the courtly touch.'
'Father told me about your Gwenynth. I'm sorry.'
'If only I had known it was Corwin,' he said coldly. 'I should have known, sensed it. And he was within my grasp for weeks.'
'Is that all you think of?'
'What?'
'Vengeance?'
'It's a start,' he replied, the tone in his voice indicating that the conversation was finished.
'I lost my father last night. If we do have to fight the moredhel I hope to do my part, but to spend my life hunting them down… father would want different for me.'
Dennis did not reply.
'He was worried about you.'
'Keep an eye on the woods.'
'He remembered you as a boy who had a fire in his eyes, a love of adventure, and even a touch of the poet. He said the two of you would make up funny little verses together. That you loved to watch sunsets, to sing, and would clamour for books to read.'
'I was a boy.'
'No, that was the same you, just long ago.'
'I don't need someone else to tell me to get over what happened,' Dennis whispered. 'Now do your job and keep an eye on the woods.'
'No one can see thirty feet in this,' she said.
'I didn't survive nine years of war thinking like that.'
Even as he spoke he caught a glimpse of a hooded lantern at the head of the column. He wanted to swear at the fool who had lit it, but realized that in a way the girl was right. There was no one out here other than this desperate column.
Asayaga was in the lead, holding the lantern. Reaching the edge of the stream he hesitated.
'Just cross it,' Dennis hissed.
'We need to rest, we're carrying many of the children.'
'Put all of them on the horses and keep moving.'
He turned his mount and pressed on up the slope, leaving the party behind to negotiate the frigid water.
The hours passed and the snow thickened to a heavy all-consuming fall that muffled the world, deadening all sound except for the laboured breathing of the horse. An hour after sunset they crested the ridge and paused for a few minutes, then dismounted to let the tired animal rest. He explored both sides of the trail, hoping to find that the pass was narrow enough to make it defendable. The ground, however, was open – just a shallow depression. Dejected, he came back to find one of his corporals, Alfred, bent double, gasping, Roxanne down by his side offering him a drink from her wine-sack.
'Captain Asayaga sent me up to find you,' he reported, leaning against the sweat-soaked and shivering horse for support. 'Gregory came up from the rearguard: they've had several skirmishes, killing two human scouts. We lost two as well, both Tsurani who were wounded and stayed behind.'
Dennis nodded.
Just below the top of the pass they had spied an abandoned cabin, Roxanne stating that it belonged to an old hermit. He had hoped to let the party rest for half an hour, to build a fire for the children to warm up, but that was impossible now.
'How far to the dwarf road?' Dennis asked, looking over at Roxanne.
'In fair weather, not more than two hours on horse. The bridge beyond, a half hour in good conditions.'
Dennis sighed and shook his head.
If the road was overgrown it would help, but dwarven roads were usually well built, straight and well paved – no one could match the dwarves for stonework. It would prove a disadvantage now. Once on it Bovai would send his whole column of cavalry off in hot pursuit rather than simply probing.
'Tell Asayaga we must move faster,' Dennis said. 'Keep them moving.'
He mounted, Roxanne sliding back to give him room.
Alfred saluted and started back.
'No, wait here until they catch up with you, Corporal. No sense you running up and down this hill twice.'
'Thank you, sir,' Alfred gasped.
Dennis nudged his tired mount, but the horse refused to budge for a moment and finally he had to kick hard with his heels to get it moving.
He was throwing caution aside now. If they were not blocking this point it should be an open run down to the road. Once on the road he could check for signs. It gave him a terrible naked feeling, riding hard like this in the middle of the night, abandoning the careful routine of years of moving, waiting, listening, then covering as your companion leapfrogged forward.
Several times his mount nearly lost its footing. Once he lost the trail completely and had to slowly backtrack, barely able to pick out the pathway as the snow continued to fall.
The third moon had risen an hour before and there was ample light by which to navigate if he kept to a slow and steady pace. He fought back the urge to pick up speed, but galloping down a mountain trail through the woods at night would be folly of the worst sort.
He could sense Roxanne falling asleep, her arms around his waist going slack, her head lolling on his shoulder, her warm breath on the back of his neck. He let her rest for a few minutes then slapped her lightly on the thigh.
'Stay awake, I need your eyes.'
She sighed, mumbled something and then sat upright.
'Where are we?'
'I don't know,' she whispered.
He sensed a narrow clearing ahead before actually seeing it where the trees thinned out slightly. He reined in and slipped out of the saddle, taking his bow, which had been resting across the pommel, and removing the oil-cloth draped over the string. Nocking an arrow he slipped forward, paused, then slowly dropped down onto the road. Even in the darkness he could discern its lines, a straight cut through the forest, wide enough for two carts to pass each other.
Bent low, he crept to the middle of it, crouched and carefully scanned the path. After several minutes he started to brush aside the powdery snow, probing down through the foot-deep fresh fall until he hit the hard crust below. He cursed silently. It was hard to tell in the darkness, especially by touch, but there were footprints: goblins and at least one horse. He reached into his haversack, pulled out some tinder and a precious springlock sparker, a gift from Wolfgar on midwinter's night, wound it up and held it close to the tinder, his cloak draped over his shoulders and head to shield himself. He pressed the trigger and a shower of sparks came spinning out, striking the tinder. Cupping the fluffy down and thin white bark shavings he blew them to life so that a tiny curl of a flame flared up – not much more than the light from a candle about to flicker out – but after hours of darkness the light seemed nearly as bright as day.
Keeping one eye closed in order not to destroy his night vision, he scanned the footprints, kicking back more of the powder and then let the flame wink out. Catlike he straightened up, opened his other eye and carefully scanned both ways: nothing moved.
'Roxanne,' he hissed and she came out of the edge of the woods and down to the road, leading their horse. 'He's sent someone around – at least four goblins and one rider. They passed here just before the storm started.'
