“How did they know which path we would take when leaving the temple?” Yechvan asked. He added a handful of twigs to the campfire in a futile attempt to ward against the damnable mountain winds. The incessant gusts ruffled his hair, sending an icy chill down his spine and into his very bones.

  Zu shrugged and tore a strip of salted jerky from his sack, shoving the entire thing in his mouth. “What difference does it make?” he chewed.

  “I wonder if our enemies have spies in our court.”

  “Of course they do. Which of our neighbors doesn’t? That is the way of the humans and always will be.”

  “This doesn’t strike you as problematic?”

  “Why? It hasn’t affected us yet,” Zu said through another mouthful of jerky. “What makes you think it will matter now?”

  “They’ll be privy to our movements, our troop count, our formations,” Yechvan argued, hoping to impress upon his old friend the gravity of the circumstances.

  Zu considered for a moment. “They’re bound to seek the upper hand, especially the human factions in Banx that didn’t agree with their queen’s decision to wed Grusk. They’ve grown ever more bitter these past three years since she died. Some still believe he had her poisoned.”

  “They’ve clearly never spoken with the man,” Yechvan said. That the qish would use poison, the most cowardly of weapons, was preposterous. Had he wished her dead, he simply would have removed her head from her shoulders.

  Zu swigged the mead, washing down his jerky. “We will always be fighting from within our own walls as much as from without. You must know that.”

  “Yes, but we need to learn whether this vital information is making its way out of the castle.”

  “We’ll discover that soon enough if our enemies are able to anticipate our moves on the battlefield.”

  That was of no comfort at all. “Do you think he was the target, or us?” Yechvan wondered, casting a quick glance at Grask to ensure the boy was asleep.

  “Grusk will call his banners either way.”

  “Your lack of concern irritates me.”

  “Nothing new there,” Zu said, stuffing yet another strip of jerky into his mouth.

  Grask had given in to exhaustion. His first small taste of battle and the shock of his uncle’s last moments had been too much. He shut down and hadn’t spoken a word all day.

  Yechvan harbored his own suspicions as to why the boy’s uncle would have tried to kill him, but the coward had died before uttering a word as to his intentions. If only he’d died before uttering any words at all.

  “You’re sure they were Perysh?” Yechvan asked. He didn’t speak the language well, but the curses had sounded like Perysh to him.

  Zu nodded. “From their fighting style, I’d say at least half of them were Perysh. And Yun mentioned that a group from Peryn left the temple before our arrival. It’s a shame she couldn’t have warned the boy about this altercation.”

  “This is no time for jokes,” Yechvan chided.

  “These are dark days. War is on the horizon. This is exactly the time for jokes.”

  Yechvan’s dour mood would not be so easily swept aside. “Do you truly believe that no matter what we might have done, Grask was destined to slay his uncle? I hate the idea that our fate is already sealed, that even before I’ve made a decision it is written in Hindagar’s Tapestry.”

  “Why?” Zu shrugged. “It isn’t as if some mere mortal is weaving those strands. You are speaking of Eroa, goddess of fate. That is her purpose.”

  “Why do we do anything at all if our actions are predestined?”

  “Because to do nothing would displease Koruzan,” Zu said.

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  “So all our lives we are dogged by the whims of the gods and goddesses? Naught but pawns in some cosmic game of Thrice?”

  “You speak as if you resent not being on equal footing with the gods, Yog. You are but a man.” Zu drained what remained in his cup, stoked the fire once more and lay on his bedroll, blocking out the light with the hem of his cloak.

  Yechvan rubbed his arms against the chill of the mountain winds. He was bundled in his cloak and blanket, but his teeth went on chattering. Zu, on the other hand, was already fast asleep, undeterred by the wind buffeting his bare arms. His blood boiled with the fire of the hells. Yechvan scoffed. They had just fended off an assassination attempt that was likely to start another war and Zu snored away, all thought of spies in their midst swatted aside like a measly gnat whose bite couldn’t penetrate his thick skin.

  Rubbing his bandaged leg, Yechvan watched the sparks flit about the flames. The scant warmth did little to get his blood flowing. He reached for his pack, pulled out an extra blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders.

  “Koruzan’s hair!” he exclaimed upon turning back.

  An orc woman stood stark naked before him, a noose tied tight around her neck, the dark thatch between her legs a hand’s breadth from his face.

  “The benefit o’ bein’ a woman,” Geila said. “They rape ya ’fore ye’re hung.”

  Yechvan couldn’t help but stare.

  Grey eyes devoid of emotion stared back at him. Muscular and agile, she’d been a favorite among her fellow soldiers. A youthful Zu had been enamored with her instantly*, declaring she would be his wife if they survived the Great Northern War. Short black locks teased the angry marks on her throat. Her skin, a vibrant and lush green in life, now resembled dying grass under a white Galgonon sky. She plopped down beside his bed.

  “Nothin’ ta say?” she said in her thick accent. Her clan was one of the most recent to have journeyed to the surface.

  Yechvan shook his head. She had always intimidated him. Deep down, he’d shared the desires of many of the men and women in their company, but he’d never confided them to anyone, not even Zu.

  “Wish I’d’a stayed wit’cha, hard as that is ta admit. Least I’d’a died a warrior’s deat’.”

  “I am sorry you left. All of you,” Yechvan said. “When I confronted General Hilgan, I didn’t expect him to give up his command and desert. I only wanted to save lives.”

  “Ya stept on toes, Yog. You ’ad ta know there’d be repercussions.”

  “It wasn’t my intention to step on anyone’s toes,” Yechvan argued. “Gods be damned, I was but fourteen.”

  “A man grown.” She shrugged. “Zu o’er there was already the strongest warrior this side a tha mountains. Ya just di’n know when ta keep that mout’ closed.”

  Yechvan let out a long breath. “Hilgan’s plan was rubbish and had cost us too many lives. I couldn’t stand by and let him lead us all into Trilan’s deadly embrace.”

  “So it were,” Geila said. “But most of us died anyhow.”

  A familiar pang of regret needled Yechvan’s heart. In his zeal to expose the weakness in Hilgan’s plan, he’d alienated many of his brothers and sisters. When Hilgan had thrown the general’s insignia in Yechvan’s face and stormed off, a third of the army had followed him, leaving the western front severely outnumbered and unprepared to confront Dorin Sen and the Five Nations.

  “I have since tried my hand at tact,” Yechvan said, but it was too late for Geila and the rest of the soldiers who’d remained loyal to Hilgan.

  “Makes no matter now.” She lay back and stared up at the night sky. “I miss tha stars. I forgot what they look’n like from here.”

  Yechvan stretched out on his bedroll and wrapped the layers tighter around his body. Clear and black and immense was the blanket of the sky, twinkling lights peeking through like sunlight scattered through spun cloth.

  “Ya seen any o’ tha others?” she asked.

  “Not from your group, no,” Yechvan replied.

  “Probly best that way. Most a them’s still bitter. Not sure they’d’a let ya off so easy.”

  “For what it’s worth, I truly am sorry.” Yechvan turned to face her. A small groan slipped through his lips as he rolled onto his wounded leg.

  “Plenty a blame ta go ’round.” Tears welled up and spilled down her cheek into her unkempt hair. She wiped them away. “Ya were magnificent, though,” she said proudly, her gelid breath tickling his nose. “Them humies was doin’ ev’rythin’ possible to keep up and ya still outmaneuvered them. Those of us fortunate—or unfortunate—’nuff ta walk these lands, to watch ya…well, we was all impressed, though ya won’t hear many say so.”

  Yechvan stared deep into her eyes, silver mirrors surrounded by thick crow’s feet. He tried to picture her when she had lived, bright and energetic, with an uncompromising spirit and the foulest mouth.

  If only he’d been more patient, approached Hilgan with the respect due his station rather than the cocky stubbornness of youth, perhaps the fool would have listened. Perhaps Geila and her companions wouldn’t have died.

  “Hey, do somethin’ for me, will ya?” Geila said. “Kill that son of a bitch Hilgan and his lackey Gour for turnin’ us ’gainst each other and runnin’ out a there free as a bird.”

  “I would if I could, but Gellick beat me to it. After the war, he went to Banton and smothered Hilgan while he slept. The next day his dogs ran down Gour.”

  “That so?” Geila laughed. “Good riddance. We trusted him to do what was best. Turns out he knew shit-all. Good man, Gellick. He died though, dinne? Seen him a few year’n back. What happened ta him?”

  “Drank himself to death, if the rumors be true.”

  “Well, next time ya have a drink, toast for us in his honor.”

  “Done,” Yechvan said. “Any other requests from the beyond?”

  “Spread humie blood across tha fields like’n cobblestones through tha streets.”

  “In your honor?” Yechvan smiled.

  “Whatever feels right.” She grinned back, both haunting and beautiful in the red glow of the fire. And just as she’d come, she was gone again, once more a memory without a sound.