of room. Looking up, Kerrick guessed that the Highlander must be drawing near to the summit, though the actual top of the slope couldn’t be discerned from his position on the side.
He heard an abrupt crash, stones striking stones, then he caught a glimpse of something-a huge brown bear? — on the mountain above Barq One-Tooth. The elf squinted, trying to see what was going on. The hulking shape, more manlike than a bear, dropped from the elf’s view, but not before Kerrick could see that a number of stones were tumbling down the steep slope. Barq shouted an alarm, then grunted and toppled backward as he was knocked from his perch on the steep slope.
“Hold on!” cried Kerrick. Above him, Moreen threw herself flat against the mountainside, her hands clawing for grip on the rocks as she braced her feet. Several rocks tumbled past, a few stones rolling right over her, but her position was secure.
Not so for the big Highlander. He had landed on his back and kept rolling, kicking and flailing as he plummeted past Moreen, and still building up speed, falling straight toward Kerrick. The elf braced his feet and one hand, and reached with the other, clasping a fringe of Barq’s bearskin cloak. The jerk almost tore Kerrick’s arm from his shoulder and produced a sputtering curse from the Highlander as the cape’s clasp first tightened around his throat, then snapped apart.
Kerrick was left holding the white bear pelt as Barq continued his fall, sliding headfirst down the gully. More noise clattered as rocks tumbled after, and the elf instinctively crouched against the mountainside, pulling the bearskin up as protection for his head. He felt the pummeling blows of fist- and skull-sized stones but was able to maintain his position in spite of the barrage. Moments later the last of the rocks had passed, the rattle of noise dropping away below.
A quick glance above showed that Moreen still clung to her own handholds. Turning his attention downward, the elf saw that Bruni had flung herself sideways and somehow wrapped a big hand around Barq One-Tooth’s ankle as the thane tumbled past. She was splayed across the slope, feet braced on big rocks, her uphill arm stiffened into a beam of support while she strained to keep the heavy man from falling farther down ravine. Rocks banged into her shoulders, bounced off her pack, and tumbled away, and still she held firm.
Cursing loudly but possessing enough sense not to thrash against his rescuer’s grip, Barq swung himself around to get his own feet under him. Satisfied that the Highlander was not going to fall farther, Kerrick looked toward Moreen again and beyond the chiefwoman as he saw that huge shape moving across the mountainside again.
It was definitely not a bear. It seemed too large to be an ogre, but whatever it was, it was now lifting a gargantuan club and slowly, carefully, descending the gully toward the Lady of Brackenrock.
11
Strongwind was on his way out of the salt block storage room when he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Black Mike, dark brow furrowed with concern, peering at him closely.
“One more thing. I’m going to be keeping my eye on you,” declared the swarthy rebel with no hint of apology. “I don’t like that you heard my name so soon-or the way you came looking for me.”
“I am a man of direct action,” the slave king replied. “Your secrets are safe with me-and as I told you, I think I’m in a position to help your movement.”
Mike snorted. “Movement? Bunch of skulking around, pretending something might happen? Not much movement going on, but we’re still alive, and we want to keep it that way.”
“I may have misjudged you,” Strongwind said, his tone intentionally harsh. “A lifetime of slavery is intolerable, but people make adjustments. Maybe you’ve adjusted more than you want to let on?”
“You watch your tongue!” The brawny hand on his shoulder tightened its grip, and the Highlander shrugged it away, quickly snatching Black Mike’s wrist in his own hand, squeezing until he felt the bones start to shift.
“I am used to watching my tongue,” replied Strongwind, conversationally. “I never say anything unless I mean it.”
The rebel stared into Strongwind’s eyes for a long beat, as if studying him. Finally he spoke again. “If you’re speaking the truth and you want to do something, see if you can learn how the king gets to the Lady Thraid. We know that he has a way to do so, but none of us has been able to track him. He is the monarch of this entire city, and it cannot be possible for him to hide-yet somehow, he does.”
The slave king nodded, his expression cold. “I will keep my eyes open,” he said.
He turned his back on the glowering slave and made his way through the salt alcove into the great room of the market. The line at the fish booth was long, but he stood patiently waiting until he was able to collect the two salmon requested by Thraid Dimmarkull. The two large fish were whole, though they had been gutted, and they were wrapped in a blanket of fresh kelp. Carrying the load awkwardly in both hands, he started toward the gateway leading back to the promenade.
“Hey, Big Guy-where have you been keeping yourself?”
“Tildy-hello!” He was delighted to see the short, sturdy slavewoman, who had come up beside him unnoticed. Her cheeks were bright and rosy, and her eyes sparkled as she smiled at him.
“Looks like they’ve got you loaded down, already.”
“I guess so,” he said. “What are you here for, fish, salt, or something else?”
She laughed, and brandished a piece of parchment. “All that, and more, but I don’t have to carry it. I just bring a list, and they send it up to the Posting House. They keep us pretty well supplied.” Her expression grew more serious, and she looked at him carefully. “How is it for you? Have they given you a decent station?”
Strongwind shrugged. “A nice enough house, and the duty is not too hard. I think I might go mad if I had to keep at it for more than a month or two, though.”
“A noble lady’s house, Lord Forlane said. Who is your mistress?”
Strongwind hesitated momentarily, yet he quickly remembered that Tildy was the one who had, indirectly, put him in contact with the rebels.
“Her name is Thraid Dimmarkull,” the king replied, smiling as Tildy’s eyes widened. “I take it you’ve heard of her?”
“Heard of her and seen her. Her house is better than lots of places you could have ended up, I’m thinking.”
The slave king started to look around as they emerged from the great market hall, afraid that his encounter with Black Mike had taken long enough that Thraid would be irritated or even suspicious
“You! Slave!”
He turned to see a strapping ogre in the uniform of the King’s Grenadiers bearing down on him. The brute’s mouth was set into a cruel smile, but it wasn’t until the ogre rubbed a hand across his nostrils that Strongwind recognized him as Bloodsnout, the guard he had punched in the first hour of his stay in Winterheim.
“Careful,” Tildy whispered, somewhat unnecessarily.
“Here-can you hold these for a moment,” replied Strongwind, handing the two salmon to the slave woman.
“I look for you,” snarled the ogre, stomping closer.
“Glad to see you got that nosebleed cleared up,” said the man breezily.
Bloodsnout roared loudly, tucked his head, and charged with his long arms outstretched. Remembering the lash across his back, Strongwind skipped out of the way as the ogre rushed past. The enraged brute stumbled and nearly fell, finally lurching to a halt in the doorway to the market. Dozens of slaves scattered out of the way, many of them looking open-mouthed at the infuriated ogre and his calmly taunting adversary. Shouts came from the ogre guards in the market, but the throng crowding in the doorway prevented them from rushing out to intervene.
Strongwind was preparing to dodge another assault when he saw that Bloodsnout was hesitating, looking past the slave at something on the promenade.
“Whalebone! It’s about time!”
He actually felt a rush of relief to see the noble ogress come trundling toward him. He pivoted and bowed
