Their way led along the eastern slope of Gerenhodh, high above the plain of Gomilbata, and around the northeastern flank of the mountain in the Sasavinian Pass – which is to say, ‘South South Pass,’ for the Savus Mountains were the ‘Southern’ mountains of the old realm of Sud-Akwith, and the pass lay at the extreme southern end of the range. The pass was famed in ancient legend as the site of many battles and heroic exploits of the Akwithian kings, for it linked the rolling, grassy lands of Sorgen to the marshes of Lakland by a direct route. It had been said that he who controlled the Sasavinian controlled the wealth of two provinces, and in ancient times that had been true.
The other woman, whose name was Seuskeigrhe – called Sowsie – rode scout for them. She ranged far ahead, watching in all directions, only to come pounding back to them at a place where a rocky ledge broke the forest to allow a long view to the east. On the far bank of the Gomilbata they could see a black shadow flowing, myriad black robes moving toward the Hill in an amorphous horde. ‘We have been gone such a little time,’ Sowsie said. ‘They were very near already. They will reach the Hill while it is yet light.’
They moved behind a screeen of trees, not wanting to be seen by that distant horde, and rode on to the north. Thewson rode at Jasmine’s side, and she leaned to poke at his iron-hard thigh. ‘What do you have to say, warrior. You are silent, as usual.’
He leaned down to stroke her shoulders with a huge hand. ‘As Sowsie says, there may be eyes in that shadow yonder. Let us go quiet in trees, like deer. I will think of tender grass, or grazing upon flowers.’ He rode slowly ahead along the slope, leaving Jasmine smiling secretly behind him. He had been laughing at her, or with her, though it scarcely seemed a good time for it. Grazing upon flowers! She flushed to catch a knowing look from Dhariat.
‘That one,’ the woman said, ‘is quite fond of you.’
‘Perhaps,’ Jasmine responded. ‘A little.’
‘Perhaps,’ the woman agreed mockingly. ‘And not a bad thing in a dangerous time. I have seen weaker men.’
‘The ones who came with us are strong. What Leona would call woodswise.’
‘Indeed. They are half brothers. Daingol and Lain-achor. They were born and reared in the north, along the Akwidon above Tanner.’
‘The old city? What was it named before? Gombator?’
‘Yes. In the time of the D’Zunalor. Daingol says he has travelled to the first fork of the Akwidon. No one in the Hill has been north of that.’
‘How did they – I mean, I understand how the women came to the Sisterhood, but how do the men …?
Dhariat laughed softly. ‘Oh, some of us bring some of them. And some of them come with trade caravans and choose to stay. And some are born to us, of course.’
‘There seem to be enough of them.’
‘If there were not, we would capture some.’
‘Truly?’ Jasmine’s wonderment was on her face until she saw the laughter in Dhariat’s. ‘Oh, you.’ They rode on in companionable silence.
It was not long until the trees came between them and any view to the east as they wound along the mountain’s side toward a gap in the ridge which was full of northern sky. Once over that, Dhariat rode ahead to take a turn at scouting while Sowsie rode with the others, pointing out landmarks, speaking of the growth of trees and shrubs. She had brown, clever hands and a far-seeing look in her grey eyes which were separated by squint lines from looking long sunward across the lands. Daingol answered her. He was full of inconsequential chatter which dropped into the pool of his brother’s silence. Both were rusty-haired and freckle-mottled, easy together and with Sowsie, riding their shaggy horses as though they and the beasts were one. As they rode, however, their ease began to depart. They shifted in their saddles, rubbing their heads, their eyes. Sowsie reined up abruptly, said in response to Thewson’s murmur, ‘Something there, westward. Hurt. Wounded. I can feel crying, not human. Something grieving, going on and on.’
She shook her head, dismounting in one swift movement. The others followed her lead, staggering on numb legs. The sun had fallen behind the peak of Gerenhodh, and they shivered in the shadow of a great bulk of lichened stone.
‘Let us wait for Dhariat,’ Sowsie said. ‘Something is wrong there, westward. We can risk a fire if we build it in the chimney of the rock. Use only very dry wood, and we will bury it as soon as our food is hot.’ Then she stood staring westward while Daingol busied himself with foodstuffs, while Lain-achor examined the hooves of the horses, and while Thewson moved restlessly in the clearing, working at his thighs with his hands.
‘I have some salve that will help him,’ Sowsie said to Jasmine. ‘It will deaden the pain as well as toughening the skin. These southern men are not horsemen.’
‘These Lakland women are not horsepeople, either,’ Jasmine answered. ‘Or this one has forgotten what she once knew. I hurt too.’
‘A few days will heal it. Use the salve on both of you.’
They stewed grain over the fire, mixing it with chunks of dried fruit and that shredded, dried meat which had been called ‘badumma’ since the time of the Axe King. The word meant both
