The rocky Gremurr coastline was no place to keep a herd of shaggy beasts that required tons of food each day. After defeating the Urecari at the mines, the battle mammoths were restless, unruly, and dangerous. Destrar Broeck dispatched his nephew Iaros to guide the big creatures back home to the high cold steppes.
Mateo joined him on the trek, along with two hundred freed Aidenist prisoners who desperately wanted to go home. Other Tierran captives were too weak to make the long journey, having been driven to exhaustion by their bloodthirsty Uraban workmasters, and so they remained behind to help defend the mines if necessary. Once they recovered, the prisoners of war would make the return journey to Tierra the following spring. Now that Gremurr was under Tierran control, the mines would not be such a hellish place—at least for Aidenists. For Urecari prisoners of war, it would be a different story.…
Mateo was glad to be going back to Calay at last, where his new wife Vicka was waiting for him. He had spent too little time with her since their wedding. After remaining aloof for decades through a succession of superficial relationships, he had chosen to settle down with the daughter of the blacksmith Ammur Sonnen. No woman could match Anjine, the standard by whom he measured all others, but Vicka Sonnen came close.…
He accompanied the lumbering monsters along the rough new road into the Corag mountains, still haunted by the things he had been forced to do in this war. He felt some reluctance to return home, since the guilt weighed so heavily on his shoulders.
But taking these refugees back to their families, who had surely thought their loved ones dead for so many years, would help heal his heart. Days ago, Jenirod had ridden off with his report for Anjine. Soon the queen would know that Mateo was alive and that he had helped secure a major triumph for Tierra. She would be waiting for him when he came home.
He and Iaros rode Eriettan horses, while a few of the men rode on the swaying mammoths. In a nervous habit, Iaros stroked his ridiculously long mustache. “That was a victory to be proud of, wasn’t it, Mateo? We did a good thing.”
“Don’t ever doubt it. God was on our side.” Mateo looked behind him at the hundreds of shuffling Tierran prisoners. “Ask any of those refugees—I think they’ll agree.”
The lead mammoth raised its long trunk and trumpeted, a sound so loud it echoed up the mountain canyons. Mateo was afraid the noise might trigger an avalanche from the snowy slopes, but Iaros didn’t seem concerned.
When the group reached the top of the pass, Iaros looked north, beyond the gray mountains. “I’ll be in charge of Iboria Reach for as long as my uncle stays in Gremurr.” He dropped his voice. “But I must confess, the local problems of Iboria don’t seem nearly so pressing, given the state of the war.”
Mateo smiled wistfully, recalling his year of soldier training under Broeck. “The Iborian people are independent, Iaros. They can take care of themselves.”
When they halted for a meal, Mateo distributed every bit of their remaining food, so the refugees would have full bellies for the march into Stoneholm. “Give someone else my share. I can do without for now. These people have missed too many meals over the years.”
A grin appeared between the tails of Iaros’s long mustache. “Then I’ll do without, too.” His stomach suddenly growled, as if to challenge his resolve.
As the former captives ate, Mateo and Iaros strolled among them, offering encouragement about the long march ahead. They packed up and moved on. An early season snow dusted the path through the high meadow, but the mammoths trampled it down. Some of the prisoners from the northlands shared legends about ancient frost giants, who came with the winter cold and could freeze a man solid in between the words of a sentence, but the day was warm and they laughed at the stories.
Before nightfall, the group reached Stoneholm, the capital city of Corag, built into the mountain under an overhang. A rider came out to meet Mateo and Iaros. “Our scouts spotted you and rushed back to inform Destrar Siescu. He has prepared a victory feast, which awaits you when you arrive.”
“A feast is well and good,” Mateo said to the messenger, “but they’ve been on low rations for quite a while, so bland and wholesome food would be best. Also, make sure there are lodgings, or at least tents and campfires for everyone.”
“It’s already done. Destrar Siescu sent word throughout the Stoneholm warrens asking for families willing to share their homes. For any who need to sleep outside in tents, we have extra blankets.”
The freed Gremurr slaves burst forward with increased energy as they reached the city built into the mountainside. Corag residents came out to welcome them, commemorating the victory, cheering the refugees and the soldiers. Mateo’s heart warmed to see thirty of the haggard refugees reunited with their own families from Corag. He had come to know these tough, whip-thin men during the march along the mountain road, and he knew which ones had grown up in the rugged mountains. He watched the Corag men bound forward like gaunt antelopes, while women in woolen shawls and spun skirts came running out, calling names, searching the returning prisoners for familiar faces.
Laughing and weeping, women kissed their shaggy and dirty men. Children stared at unfamiliar fathers while the mothers spilled out a flood of words that had been pent up for years. Most of the returning Corag slaves just clung to their wives or sweethearts, rocking them back and forth. Warm tears filled Mateo’s eyes, and he drew a deep breath, let it out slowly. He would be home soon, too. The palpable joy in the air heartened the others, who now looked forward to the long trek back to Calay.
The bald, pale-skinned Siescu came out to meet Mateo and Iaros with a grin wide enough to stretch the skin on his angular face. “This is cause for great celebration, gentlemen. We are glad to have you.” The Corag destrar looked skeptically at the herd of large and restless russet beasts. “But your mammoths stripped the vegetation clean the last time they came through. They won’t find much forage. You’ll have to move along as soon as possible.”
“My soldiers will guide them back to the steppes tomorrow,” Iaros promised.
Siescu led them to his cavernous hall, where an ever-present fire blazed in the huge hearth. Tureens of hot soup and platters of steaming bread were laid out on the long table. He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “You must be frozen to the bone after that long journey. You can be warm in here.”
Mateo ate his soup, a broth of some unknown meat enhanced by sliced root vegetables. The warmth and nourishment felt very good. “Destrar, can you send riders ahead to the river in the morning to secure one of Sazar’s barges? That would make the journey easier for our returning friends.”
“Consider it done,” Siescu said. “We are all part of this war, and I sense it will soon be over.”
Tearing into a chunk of bread, Iaros raised his chin. “I’ve decided that Iborians can take care of themselves, and I’ll return to Gremurr after all. My uncle needs me more.” When Mateo looked at him in surprise, the other man shrugged. “Capturing Gremurr was only the first part of the battle—now we have to hold it. They are already growing short of supplies.”
Destrar Siescu considered for a long moment. “I’ve got a hundred soldiers to send with you—and I will go along, too. And a load of supplies. I don’t much like to leave my hall this late in the season, but I want to see these mines before winter arrives. Raga Var can lead us safely over the pass.”
“Winter will soon close the pass, Destrar.” The mumbled voice came from someone not accustomed to speaking before a large group of people. Mateo spotted the shaggy-looking guide in tattered fur garments. “If we are going back to Gremurr, we’d better leave quickly.”