“Well, my men are surely good at that,” Zannian said sourly.
“A certain kind of nothing,” she said loftily. “I’ve given our plight some thought. Have you ever hunted mink?”
He shook his head. “They taste like rats.”
She leaned over and rapped her knuckles on the side of his skull. Zannian snarled a warning. None of the assembled raiders so much as snickered, but Nacris wasn’t intimidated.
“You hunt mink for the fur,” she said. “You can’t spear them, or you’ll ruin the pelt. The way to take mink is to trap them in their burrow.”
Hoten was intrigued. “Go on,” he said.
“There are always two holes to their burrows, sometimes more if the mink has kits. You stop up all the holes but one, and there you wait.”
“And gig the nasty creatures when they come out,” said Zannian, bored.
She smote the arm of her litter with her fist. “No! I told you that would spoil the pelt. You make a sliding noose of elk hide, and when the first mink pokes its head out, you snag him! They have wicked teeth, so you keep your distance and keep the noose tight, until the mink stops fighting.” Nacris lifted a clay cup of Hulami’s purloined wine to her lips. “Then you wring their necks.”
“What has this to do with Arku-peli?” Zannian asked.
“We must encircle the town completely and cut them off from everything outside their walls. What keeps us out will also keep them in.”
“We don’t have enough men for that,” said a raider scornfully.
“Listen, blockheads,” Nacris said more loudly. “We don’t have to ring the town with a living hedge of riders. We stay out of reach of the villagers inside, and with mounted patrols we cut off any hunting parties or scouts they send out. Before summer’s end, they’ll be like the mink in the noose, tired and choked. And then we wring their necks.”
After more half-drunken debate, Nacris’s stratagem was grudgingly approved. Zannian ordered detachments of raiders sent to block the three passes on the east side of the valley. Nothing would be allowed in or out. Once the eastern passes were closed, the ring around Arku-peli would be as tight as an elkhide noose.
“With men in the eastern passes, why not also seize the heights overlooking the town?” asked Hoten. “From there we could do as we like to the people below, walls or no walls.”
“I was in Arku-peli twelve years ago, before the wall was built,” Nacris said. “The mud-toes have tunnels deep in the mountain. They’ll fight hard to deny us the heights, like a mink biting the hunter unwise enough to shove his hand in the den. If we did take the cliff tops, the villagers could take shelter in the caves. We’d spend a lot of blood for little advantage.”
Hoten gave way, and Nacris’s plan was begun. A double column of riders rode around the north end of the village that night, past the thick walls. By daylight they would be in position, and the invisible noose would begin to tighten.
Seven young villagers and Beramun stood at the foot of the ramp leading up to the north wall. Their faces were blackened with ash and mud. None carried spears or shields. Each was provided a flint knife, a shoulder-bag of provisions, and a water gourd.
“Remember — you’re not to fight if you can help it,” Amero told them in hushed tones. He was leaning heavily on a staff. His wound still oozed blood when he tried to walk, but he insisted on bidding farewell to the scouts. “If you encounter raiders, steal away as quietly as you can. Do you have your maps?”
Eight young heads nodded assent.
Amero took out a square scrap of goatskin, identical to what each scout carried. “Your maps are copied from the one Tiphan had of the eastern mountains and plains. His was drawn by the Silvanesti, and it worked well enough for him to find the place of spirit stones.” He pointed out the symbols for mountains, rivers, and plains, then finished by saying, “If you get lost, align the rising or setting sun with its picture on the skin, and the drawing will show you where you are.”
Earlier, the scouts had drawn colored pebbles from a bowl to determine what route each would take. None of them knew the route drawn by his fellows, so none could betray the others if caught.
First to go, Tepa’s son vowed, “I will bring back such a horde Zannian will faint with fear!” Udi clasped hands with Amero, then ran up the ramp in quick, light steps. Using a single rope, he went over the top of the wall and vanished into the mist-soaked night.
The other scouts followed after bidding Amero good-bye. Among them were Adjat’s son Bassk and Jenla’s great-niece Anua. The last to leave was Beramun.
Amero held out his hand in a hunter’s farewell. The girl regarded him for a moment, then leaned forward to give him a quick kiss. It was a chaste peck on his bearded cheek, but it was nearly his undoing.
“Peace to you, Amero,” she said. “We will meet again.”
“Fare you well,” he replied hoarsely.
She vanished over the wall. Amero hauled up the rope when it went slack. He was glad there was no one else near just then. A man his age did not like for others to see him weep.
Beramun had drawn the highest and least-used path out of the valley, Northwind Pass. Nearly everyone entering or leaving the Valley of the Falls from the east used Cedarsplit Gap, the pass nearest the village, and also the widest and easiest to traverse. North of it was Bearclaw Gap, densely wooded and mostly frequented by foresters in search of timber. Northwind Pass was due north of Yala-tene. Narrow and rocky, it was also extremely steep. These factors Beramun considered assets. No horseman could ride into Northwind Pass.
The valley was filled with low clouds, mist, and light rain. It was hard to make out landmarks, so she made her way to the cliffs, fixed them on her right, and worked her way north. This would take her across the mouth of both Cedarsplit and Bearclaw Gap, but that couldn’t be helped. She didn’t want to lose her way before she even left the valley.
She had to hide when mounted raiders passed nearby, and the distinctive yelps of yevi sent her scrambling into a juniper bush. Four of the shaggy gray beasts trotted back and forth. Their senses were keen enough to pierce the night and rain. The smell of juniper covered her scent, but she couldn’t remain in the bush all night. Lying on her belly, she put her knife in her teeth and started crawling. When she’d gone some distance, she got up on her knees and listened. All she heard was the constant patter of the rain.
She crossed a deep path worn into the turf, scored over the years by heavy trees dragged down the gap to the village. Rainwater that collected in the ruts soaked her feet. She skirted the logging trail and crouched behind a bank of earth. After listening and hearing nothing, she sprinted for the nearest trees. Pausing, back pressed against a pine tree, she listened once more. All was still.
Northwind Pass lay ahead. Beramun slipped through the brush, confident she had evaded her enemies. The north end of the valley was still wild, as few villagers had any reason to go there. She felt more at ease in the sparse woods and underbrush than she had in the open valley. Here was country she understood.
The mouth of the pass was only sixteen paces wide, and it narrowed farther in. She recognized the two spires of white sandstone that her map said marked the entrance. When she saw those white columns glowing faintly in the dark, she wanted to cheer.
The pinewoods ended well short of the pass. Instinct made Beramun pause before leaving the cover of the trees. There was no sound, either human or animal. The rain had slowed, and its soft dripping was all she heard. Yet something was making the hair on the back of her neck bristle.
Her eyes picked out dark shapes standing between her and the pass. She’d taken them for stones at first, so rigidly unmoving were they, but when a pair of them walked away, she realized they were actually men in dark clothing guarding the pass.
She circled right, keeping behind the bracken. She was both puzzled and worried. Her way was blocked by a band of twenty men, standing in the open, not talking and moving very little. Their faces and hands did not shine in the dark and so must be darkened like hers.
Finding a small stone, Beramun tossed it to distract them. When it landed, the formation of silent watchmen broke apart. In pairs, the men darted into the darkness, seeking the source of the sound. Though she couldn’t see the glint of weapons in their hands, she heard the metallic whisper of bronze blades being drawn.
