Stalking Darkness

went on softly, feeling a coldness growing in the pit of his stomach. “They affronted the village, and you would not deal with them.”
    “Yes,” Vara whispered.
    “And when the killing started, then did you tell them?”
    Tears welled in Vara’s eyes, rolling swiftly down her cheeks. “Partis told them, after they killed his wife,” she sobbed weakly. “He told them of Timan and his clan. He thought the killing would stop. But it didn’t. They laughed, some of them, as they killed us. I could see their teeth through their beards. They laughed, they laughed—”
    Still clutching her dead child, she slumped over in a faint and several women carried her to a pallet by the wall.
    “Who could do such things?” Retak asked in bewilderment.
    “Plenimaran marines,” Seregil growled, and every eye turned to him. “These men are enemies, both to me and to you. They seek the evrl that lurks in your spirit home. When they find it, they’ll worship it and sacrifice living people to it.”
    “What can we do?” a woman cried out.
    “They’ll come here,” a man yelled angrily. “Partis as good as set them upon us!”
    “Do you have any weapons?” Seregil asked over the rising din.
    “Nothing but wolf spears and skinning knives. How can we fight such men with those?”
    “You’re a magician!” shouted Ekrid. “Can’t you kill them with your magic?”
    Caught in a circle of expectant faces, Seregil drew a deep breath. “You’ve all seen the nature of my magic. I have no spells for killing men.”
    He let disappointment ripple through the crowd for an instant, then added, “But I may have something just as effective.”
    “What is that?” the man demanded skeptically.
    Seregil smiled slightly. “A plan.”
    •  •  •
    Retak called a halt at the base of the pass as the first lip of sun showed over the eastern peaks. Shradin went ahead to assess the danger. The others—every man, woman, and child of Retak’s village—waited quietly for word to move on. Mothers whispered again to their younger children why they must keep silent in the pass. The infants had been given
llaki
to make them sleep.
    Seregil climbed an outcropping and shaded his eyes as he looked back across the snowfield. Blue shadow still lay deep in the valley, but he could make out a dark column of men closing in on the village. It wouldn’t take long for them to see that their prey had fled, or what direction they’d gone.
    “There they are,” he whispered to Retak. “We have to move on quickly!”
    Hardly daring to breathe, they continued up the pass.
    It was a fearsome journey. The villagers moved as swiftly as they could, some bowed under loads of fuel and food, others carrying children on their backs or aged relatives on litters. Only the muffled creak of snowshoes and pack straps broke the silence. Old Timan trudged painfully along near the rear, supported by Turik and his brothers.
    Mercifully, Vara had died and she and her child were hidden now in the drifts beyond the goat enclosures. But her death was not in vain; she’d given Retak’s village time to prepare.
    Shimmering veils of snow blew across the pass, dislodging small falls down the slopes. These gave out harmlessly in fine bits of crust, rolling down to leave mouse trails across their path. Ominous cracks and groans echoed between the cliffs overhead, but Shradin gave no warning sign and Retak silently motioned his people on.
    Trudging along in their midst, Seregil was deeply moved by the mix of fear, trust, and determination that drove these people forward. They’d welcomed him—a stranger—given him the best of all they had. When Retak claimed him as a member of his clan, it was meant literally. In the eyes of the Dravnians he was now a blood member of the community for as long as he wished to claim kinship.
    The Plenimaran marines pursuing them had been offered the same welcome.
    Looking back as they neared the cave, he saw that the enemy had reached the village and was now turning toward the pass.
    You bastards!
he thought bitterly.
You’d carve these people up like sheep for whatever lies hidden at the end of that tunnel, just as you slaughtered Vara’s village. But you were sloppy in your work, my friends, and that makes all the difference!
    Up ahead Retak conferred briefly with Shradin, then motioned for a halt. Seregil climbed up to join them.
    “Do those men know how to read the snow?” Shradin whispered.
    “Let’s hope not. Retak,