*****
The next morning was bright and clear. Above the valley, spires of snow-coated rock soared into blue sky. The highest peaks shed tatters of cloud like banners.
In the afternoon, they achieved the height of the pass, a grassy field layered in snow slush and laced with streamlets. A handful of horses pawed through the slush to graze, and smoke rose from a large stone wayhut. Blankets and gear were spread to dry on the rocks nearby.
People sitting around the hut mending gear watched the approach of Breea’s group with sidelong glances. She did not recognize the people’s dress. The trousers and jerkins of the men were rough spun and stained, boots were low and of thick leather, and cloaks were of quilted fabric. Women worked with their sleeves rolled up, and wore long layered skirts, short coats embellished with faded embroidery.
Only one man wore a sword, a curved saber, unadorned and rust pitted, without scabbard. His eyes were on Taumea’s uniform, but the gaze walked the edge of hostility, and Breea wondered what the man was thinking. All the rest became fully engaged with their tasks as the party drew near. The Mericslanders took no notice of the people. Three small children in filthy wool tunics were helping a group of women wash pots in a stream. One boy dared to stare at the warriors riding past, and received a hard cuff to the side of the head.
Breea twisted in the saddle to look back. Who cuffs a child for only looking? Her cloak fell open and her necklace flashed in the sun.
The man with the sword called out, "Scholar!"
Breea turned Letet.
The man strode up to her, and folded his arms.
"Clan Longdell, pae Brighteye, rapae Woodfoot, rapan Gushng," he said, naming himself and his lineage in a dialect of plainstalk.
She straightened in her saddle, and spoke in the plainstalk Valiena had taught her. "I am Breea Banea, Scholar of the Library of Limtir."
The man said, "We look for land no Yash come. Stonedell safe." He unfolded his arms to indicate the mountains.
Breea glanced at the people around the wayhut. They were all looking at her now, and she noticed what she had missed before. The grass around the hut was trampled to mud, littered with dog-gnawed bones, scraps of hide, a broken bowl. These people had been here for some time. She wondered what they ate. Surely there were not enough rodents in the grass and rock-fall to feed that many people for any length of time.
"Seek the scholars in Limtir," she said, and pointed at the way back through the pass.
He squinted at her, then turned abruptly back to his people.
"Hillfolk," said Valiena as they resumed riding. "From the Urtchra, maybe farther north even."
"Why are they up here? What do they eat? Does Ajalay know about them?"
Valiena shrugged, but looked unhappy.
They passed out of the field and the trail began to descend into the next valley. The far ridge was lower than where she stood. To the west, a deep cleft in the ridge let her look to a horizon lost in haze.
"Is that where we go?" she asked Taumea.
"It is."
Looking into that distance, she said, "Ambard told me that when the sun goes down on a clear evening in the western range, it looks as though the plains are afire with the light."
"Indeed. If the sky is clear tomorrow, you will see a sight to remember the day by."
The road took them into a deep alpine valley, and by nightfall to another stone wayhut where the road began to climb to the pass through the ridge. They tied the horses to the side of the building and began setting up for the night. One of the Mericslanders swore lividly, stormed out of the shelter, and started to remount, but the emissary’s voice caught him.
Taumea translated quietly for Valiena and Breea. "The emissary says that Bepleed must not tire his mount. Wood is not worth the trouble. Bepleed says they are filthy peasants and have no right to rob the wayhuts for their pleasure, and invokes Fennash. The emissary asks if he has not seen enough of refugees, and if he would begrudge warmth and cooked food for his own tenant families."
Bepleed dismounted, and together they went back into the hut.
"What was Bepleed going to do?"
"Kill their leader. He is the one who owns the honor debt for the theft. It would be Fennash."
"Fennash means kill for firewood?"
"Fennash is the Meric code, the effect of law. The hillfolk are unlikely to have another way to satisfy Fennash. Their horses, perhaps. In Fennash the worth of a thing stolen is of no matter."
Less impressed with the Mericslanders, Breea wandered away with a cold dinner of dried meat, bread, and water. The air was crisp and her breath steamed in the starlight. She finished her food sitting on a rock beside a streamlet, thinking about refugees and what was happening in the world, then, chilled, headed back.