“Oh!” My hand flew to my mouth. “I had not heard. I’m sorry, Kam.” Mat had been his grandfather. I hadn’t known my great-uncle all that well, but he had been kind to me on the few occasions we’d met—especially once I was blessed with my sleeves—and I’d been looking forward to seeing him again. I supposed he must have been much older than I realized. Everything does indeed have its own season.
“No, I’m sorry. I thought you already knew,” he said.
“We can remember him later,” I assured him, since there were introductions to be made.
The two clansmen were young men who had no plans to seek a kenning. One was fascinated by the sea and wished to be a trader, forsaking the Canopy for extended periods. The other wished to be a mushroom farmer and couldn’t tear his eyes away from the specimens growing on my legs.
So we were an odd bouquet of people leaving the Canopy and crossing over the westernmost pass of the Godsteeth in search of giants. The air became stark and cold, and I felt as if I were walking through emptiness even though there were still plants and peaks around me. I saw that Pak and Tip felt uncomfortable, too—they felt the change as I did, felt vulnerable outside the Canopy—while the others smiled in the abundance of sunshine.
There was a stretch of barren ground in the saddle of the mountains where our horses’ hooves clattered over dark shale and the sound echoed back to us, hollow and haunting. Only in a few crevices where some soil had accumulated did we see thin tongues of grasses; lichens on the rocks were the only other greenery. When we began to descend on the other side, we saw trees again, but they were softwoods like pine and juniper with evergreen needles rather than leaves. The horses trod on a carpet of needles as we picked our way down, and the smell was invigorating if lacking in complexity.
Sparse at first, the trees grew denser as we descended, and I felt less exposed. In some places our horses barely fit between the trunks, for this forest had never been touched so far as I could tell. Birds and squirrels cried out their alarms at our trespass. Some hours later, as afternoon crept by and shadows lengthened, the trees thinned out and the land flattened until we suddenly emerged from the forest and there was nothing ahead but grass to the horizon, not a single tree to be seen.
“Horrifying,” Pak Sey ben Kor declared. I don’t know if I would have gone quite so far, but it wasn’t pleasant.
“Ugh,” was all Tip Fet ben Lot had to say. It was fortunate that they were not our ambassadors to Ghurana Nent.
“Well, I see no Hathrim,” Pak said. “Or anything else. We’ve wasted enough time on this foolishness. Let’s return.”
“We haven’t searched the coast yet, benman,” I said. “We need to head west and perhaps travel some distance up the shore before I’ll be satisfied that the Hathrim do not threaten our borders. Like you, I don’t want to find them. But if Gorin Mogen does threaten the Canopy, it’s our duty as greensleeves to discover that threat before the first axe swings in our direction.”
The Black Jaguar’s eyes seethed with hatred, and his mouth twisted in a snarl. He didn’t like to be publicly schooled on his duty as a greensleeve, but I had said it more for young Pen’s benefit than to shame him. I turned my horse west and urged it to pick up the pace somewhat. We rode two abreast so that we wouldn’t be vulnerable to isolated attacks from plains creatures, and we skirted the tree line so that our left sides were less vulnerable; we’d be able to see anything approaching on that side before it leapt on us because the needles choked out most of the undergrowth. The grasses on our right could hide any number of dangers.
We managed an easy trot into the sun, a pace that ate up the unfamiliar ground but didn’t strain the horses. It jarred our bones, but I had no problem enduring that if it would get us our answer more quickly. Pak Sey ben Kor pointedly brought up the rear, refusing to ride anywhere near me. That was fine; he could mutter curses to himself if he wished.
Tip Fet ben Lot rode next to me, a smirk on his face about which I carefully did not ask him. Eventually he could not keep his amusement to himself. “You haven’t made a friend with Pak Sey ben Kor,” he said.
“He was never going to be my friend. The Black Jaguars hate the White Gossamers, and that is all he cares about.”
“Is not the reverse also true?”
“We are aware of the Black Jaguars’ feelings, but we have the Canopy to serve, and that is what the White Gossamers care about. I for one would welcome reconciliation with the Black Jaguars, but that appears beyond my powers.”
“Perhaps my clan could help.” The plain disbelief on my face caused him to add, “I’m being serious.”
“If the Blue Moths wish to broker a peace between our clans so that the Canopy may thrive, that would be fine. But if you have in mind some scheme where the White Gossamers would be indebted to the Blue Moths for services rendered, then I will respectfully pass.”
Tip snorted. “Don’t be so naïve. Favors are currency in politics.”
“No, I’m not naïve. I understand the game you’re playing, ben Lot. I just refuse to play it.”
“You’d rather let your clan languish in obscurity, then, when you were once so bold?”
“That wasn’t me. My elders strayed out too far on the wrong branch; it broke, and they fell. I’m a bit more cautious. Canopy first, clan second, and myself third.” I didn’t mean to chide him with the oldest moral maxim of our people—I’d recited it as my guiding principle, not as an indictment of his behavior—but I supposed he took it as a personal insult. Perhaps he had been putting the Canopy third and that was why he huffed and reined in his horse, dropping back a rank or two and urging Yar Tup Min to join me at the front.
My cousin grinned knowingly and couldn’t pass up the opportunity to tease me. “It’s a good thing you don’t have political ambitions, Nel,” he said, “because you’re making friends about as fast as furry swamp fungus.”
I was about to retort when movement ahead caught my eye. Far ahead—straight ahead—a grand moss pine that was only a splinter in the distance toppled over into the plains, silhouetted against the sun, a silent death drowned out by the sound of our horses. I couldn’t see what caused it, but I could guess. I signaled to everyone behind that we needed to halt, and once we did, the other greensleeves asked why. I turned my ride around, as did Yar, to face the others.
“I saw a tree fall ahead. Maybe it was natural. But it’s more likely the Hathrim cut it down.”
Pak Sey ben Kor sneered and said, “A fallen tree that no one else saw is not proof the Hathrim are here.”
“I know that. We’re going to take a closer look. But we’re going slower, and I recommend getting weapons ready.” I pulled out one of my two net launchers and hefted it in my right hand before guiding my horse west once more, forestalling any more debate. I let the horse walk at its own pace instead of trot and heard the others follow. The land ahead was not entirely flat; it had waves to it, the trailing roots of the Godsteeth causing gentle rolls of land and hiding the ocean from our view.
We couldn’t see anything for a while as we negotiated a small valley in the foothills, but when we crested the next hill, we had a beautiful view of the ocean and all the Hathrim glass boats flashing in the sun. We lined up, taking it in, and saw what could only be called a settlement. Walls were rising out of the grass, visibly growing as we watched, which indicated that they must have Raelech stonecutters working for them. A large swath of ground appeared to have been plowed and planted, soon to be irrigated with water diverted from a stream into a canal that another stonecutter was shaping as we watched. I saw him, a tiny ant of a man at this distance, with the equivalent of a swollen grub beetle looming over him. Seeing a Hathrim next to someone of normal stature is always sobering.
“Are you all seeing this?” I said. “That’s an entire population of Hathrim on our border building walls in front of us. Cutting down these beautiful old moss pines and occupying land that belongs to the people of Ghurana Nent.”
“I sure see
it,” Yar growled.
“I do, too,” Pen said, and then Kam echoed her.
“I see it,” Tip Fet ben Lot said, “but I can scarcely believe it. This is illegal. I mean it goes far beyond a timber raid. It could be called an invasion.”
“Invasion?” Pak Sey ben Kor sounded incredulous. “I hardly see an army there. I agree the Hathrim shouldn’t be cutting down trees or occupying the land without permission, but it looks like a peaceful settlement. It’s not a martial force, and the Raelechs are there helping them.”
“I think you’ve delved to the roots, ben Kor,” I said, privately noting that since the Hathrim existence was now indisputable, he had immediately thought of how to cast them as harmless. Later he would insinuate that I was worrying about nothing. I needed to get at least Tip Fet ben Lot to agree that such a group on our border was dangerous. “How will we report this to the Canopy? An invasion or an illegal occupation?”
“I think those are both inflammatory characterizations, ben Sah,” he said.
“What would you say, then? Surely this is more than a family camping trip.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Can you think of any legal reason for a force this size to be here?”
He didn’t answer the legal question but focused instead on my word choice. “I think calling it a force is stretching the meaning of the word.”
“Pick your own noun for that very large number of Hathrim, then, and tell me if you think they have legal standing to be building walls and canals and what looks like docks in Ghurana Nent. Have you or ben Lot perhaps heard through diplomatic channels that the Nentian king has authorized the Hathrim to build a new city here?”
“No, I haven’t,” Pak said. Tip shook his head to indicate he had heard nothing either, and Pak continued. “If they are here illegally, the Black Jaguars shall certainly support action against them.”
“So you believe there might be legal justification for their presence?”
“I’m not saying either way, ben Sah. I’m saying we have no grounds for pursuing punitive action until we know more.”
“Let’s review what we do know,” I said, “just to make sure we’re all agreed on the facts. I saw fires on the ocean pass by my post the night after Mount Thayil erupted. They were headed north. Here, to the north of my post, we find a very large group of Hathrim and a fleet of glass boats docked on the coast of Ghurana Nent. We know that Harthrad had a fleet of glass boats for many years. We are therefore most likely looking at the survivors of Mount Thayil’s eruption. Yes?”
“Most likely,” Tip Fet ben Lot said.
My clansmen agreed, and ben Kor grudgingly said, “Agreed that it is most likely, but by no means certain.”
“I would agree that confirmation is necessary, ben Kor. But should this prove to be the citizens of Harthrad, there can be no justification for them landing here. They should have sailed to one of the other Hathrim isles or else to the main continent of Hathrir. Unless they negotiated a secret treaty with Ghurana Nent that we don’t know about that gave them permission to land here, this is a breach of Nentian borders. An invasion, in other words. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Burrs and weeds!” he exploded. “You can’t throw around words like invasion so casually! It’s that kind of talk that starts wars!”
“It should start vigorous diplomacy first,” I said. “And I think this situation requires plenty of vigor. We don’t want a population of lavaborn with this much fuel for fire so close to the Canopy.”
“No. No, we don’t,” Tip Fet ben Lot said, and I was glad that he at least appeared to be thinking of the Canopy first now. He’d support my view of things in the sway should it come to that.
“Let’s just confirm who these Hathrim are and what they want before we start assigning them motives from a distance,” ben Kor said. “That’s all I ask.”
“Uh, I think we’ve been spotted,” Pen said, her finger pointing ahead of us and to the left. We’d all been looking down to the right, where the settlement was, and therefore hadn’t seen the movement.
Three houndsmen emerged from the trees perhaps a hundred lengths away, fully armored and wielding the long-handled axes that they liked to swing down at the tiny heads of people like us.
For a few seconds, all was still. The houndsmen halted when they spied our party, and the horses froze as if they hoped the hounds wouldn’t see them. It was the first time I had seen the Hathrim hounds in person, and they were nothing short of terrifying. A cold shudder shook my limbs, and my jaw dropped. Such monsters should not walk in the world. I had seen kherns once, great horned beasts twelve feet tall at the shoulder and deadly on the run but ultimately herbivores and not interested in attacking other creatures. These hounds were nearly as large—and they would have to be to support the giants on their backs. They were saddled and harnessed like our horses but also armored in the front to deflect arrows in a head-on charge. Their coats were largely gray and short, dotted with patches of white and black, and their mad eyes were yellow. When their lips drew back and they snarled, their teeth appeared to be larger than my head. The horses shied, Kam’s reared and whinnied in fear, and the hounds each barked once in concert. That was my first clue that it was not to be a diplomatic meeting.
“Straight up the hill, into the trees!” I shouted. “Go!” The party turned their horses and goaded them, a hardly necessary encouragement, but I held on to mine for another couple of seconds, waiting to see what the houndsmen would do—they had reins as well. Seeing that we were only eight Fornish people on horses and no threat to their encampment, they could hold back if they wished. They could raise an empty hand and talk. Or, if they saw that we were only eight small people and would rather we disappeared, they could order an attack.
I don’t speak the Hathrim tongue, but when they shouted, kicked the sides of their hounds, and raised their axes high, it wasn’t for parley. They sprang forward, and I turned my horse uphill and told her to go, wondering if I would ever see another sunrise.
Kam’s horse was the farthest uphill, he being the one who had spooked first, and close behind him were Pen, the boy who wanted to be a mushroom farmer, and Pak Sey ben Kor. The hounds would have to go through us first to get to them—more specifically, me. But Tip Fet ben Lot and Yar Tup Min were only slightly ahead, and in front of them ran the would-be sea trader.
Within seconds it became clear that the hounds were faster than our horses. There would be no outrunning them, and Tip Fet ben Lot saw this as soon as I did. Awkward as it was, he had just enough of an angle to twist around and fire off a shot with his bow. And he actually hit the lead hound on the run, one that was bearing down on me, which I found a remarkable feat of marksmanship. But the shaft glanced off the armor between the eyes, causing the hound to flinch and then focus on Tip instead, shifting its angle of pursuit slightly to close on his horse.
I heard their snarling between the hoofbeats of the horses, felt their hunger and my fear, and knew that if we simply ran, they would take us down one by one. And being rearmost though only slightly behind ben Lot, I would be first to fall.
When the lead hound was almost within lunging distance of ben Lot, I twisted in my saddle and shot the net launcher at it. The gossamer net, crafted of spider silk harvested and spun by my clan, was nearly unbreakable by blunt force. It was made to ensnare smaller animals, but it spread out and the hound ran directly into it, tangling his legs and falling face forward to the ground. That launched the giant on its back through the air directly at ben Lot’s back, and he sheared the Blue Moth in half with his huge axe before crashing to the ground himself in an awkward clatter of armor. The horse sprinted onward, uncaring that its rider was now only legs and intestines and listing in the saddle to the left. I shucked my second net launcher out of its sling, turned in the saddle, and fired it at the next closest hound coming after me. Its front legs tangled and froze as if rooted, and its momentum, suddenly halted, was such that its rear end flipped over, tossin
g its rider to the earth before landing on him, audibly snapping bones, though I could not tell if it was the hound’s bones or the giant’s or both.
While I was focused on him, the third hound passed me by, and I faced forward just in time to witness Yar Tup Min and his horse snatched up into the jaws of the hound and tossed into the air, blood spraying from their bodies and already dead before they crunched to the ground. The houndsman swept his axe at the would-be sea trader and took off his head, then the hound snapped at his horse and killed it, too.
“Use your nets!” I shouted. Pak Sey ben Kor didn’t have one, but Pen and the mushroom enthusiast did. They pulled out their launchers, turned, and fired at the final houndsman as their horses struggled uphill. The young clansman’s shot sailed high, but Pen’s net settled around the hound’s head, and it tossed about, trying to shake it off. Its legs remained unbound, and if given enough time it would win free, especially with its rider’s help, and resume the chase.
“Kam! Your nets!”
My cousin wrestled his horse from a full panicked gallop to a canter, then turned it around and whipped a launcher from its sling. The houndsman was trying to free his hound from the net, but the creature thrashed around so much that he couldn’t get a grip on it. I slowed my horse, coming up behind him, and brought up my own bow to bear, pulling an arrow out of my quiver. My shot, though carefully aimed, missed the houndsman because of a last-second lunge by his hound. I’d do better to aim for the beast.
Kam had two launchers, like me. He shot his first net at the houndsman, which prevented him from swinging his axe, and then he drew closer, pulled out his second launcher, and aimed for the hound’s front legs. Once it was tangled up and it went down, both it and its rider howling in frustration, ben Kor and I poured arrows into its vulnerable side and into the houndsman until their struggles ended. The other two houndsmen had died along with their mounts, the force of their collisions with the earth snapping their necks or something else vital. Large beasts moving that fast weren’t meant to stop that suddenly.