Barden sighed heavily and leaned on her knees. Then she straightened her aching back, grabbed the two most recently harvested horns, and stalked off toward the collection area. Not only was it grueling and bloody work, it was exhausting in a whole new and different way.
There was no character being built here, just grinding away at a crappy task.
The first few sets of horns they gathered had actually been off beasts already dead from disease or thirst. They had clearly been domesticated animals let loose, with precious few remaining instincts for self-care.
So maybe this was all a mercy, but that didn’t make what they had to do next any better. Strolling up to the big animals, shooting them point blank in the head, then making off with their horns and fat.
That seemed like a waste, but then Antoine had to kill a lynx-like thing coming after them, so several of them figured the dead gaurus would keep the cycle of life going.
Barden found most of the rest of the squad already assembled at the collection point she’d hustled over the rise to. The squad had laid the horns out neatly, and gathered the harvested fat up in some spare canvas bags. Smeared pitch outside the bags sealed them.
They had even managed to wrangle up a pair of shaggy mountain ponies from down the slopes of Mount Grunt, and dragooned them into carrying some of the gear and “tribute” for this Grumbly Runt character.
Naturally, the Marines named the ponies Bill and Twilight Sparkle.
“That’s twenty sets of horns,” Cale said, as Shane dropped hers at the end of the row. “And ten bags of fat. Lady Wíela, do you think that’s enough?”
“It will likely do,” Lady Wíela said.
Barden couldn’t believe that Lady Wíela looked pristine, despite having handled much of the butchery herself. She’d probably had more practice than any of them at actual butchering. In any other Marine unit, back on the other side of the portal, there probably would have been a dozen or more guys and gals who’d grown up hunting and dressing deer. But there were too many nerds on this side of the portal. Only Heath had experience at it, and he was just drenched in blood, though grinning at her and then Diaz.
“Really wish there was somewhere we could wash up now,” Heath said.
At least his cloak was still clean. Barden was a mess.
It made her twitch a little. But with that damn Barbie nickname, she wasn’t going to say anything about the matted strands of hair. Cale owed her one after the firefight and she wasn’t above cashing in, but she could see that he was pissed at the delay and had made up his mind about moving on with this plan.
“We could head back to the glade with the nymphs for a rinse . . .” Dooley said.
“Doc, we’re too far away,” Cale said.
“As a medic, I have to say that everyone is at higher risk of infection with gauru blood and gore all over us.”
“We’re going up that mountain,” Cale said. “That’s the plan. Straight up.”
“Besides, I’ve smelled worse,” Heath said.
“Yeah, you have smelled worse,” Shane agreed.
Jones aimed an accusatory finger down toward the plain, which still appeared to be sunlit. “Did anyone see snow on the mountain down there? I know I did not see any snow on the slopes when we were down there.”
They had been on the mountain most of the day now, following their successful horn-and-fat hunt, and the arduous climb had just gotten ridiculous.
“Looks can be deceiving, Jones,” Barden said.
Jones shook her head. “There was no snow.”
Whether there had been or not, snow now swirled all around them. They trudged through it almost up to their knees, and lumps of the stuff rolled down the slopes.
“Suck it up, Marine,” Barden said.
“Aye aye, Corporal,” Jones replied, and gritted her chattering teeth.
But in truth, Barden was just as dispirited as Jones appeared to be. They didn’t have cold-weather gear. At least, not Arctic-level. The wind cut through their cloaks, and a chunk of ice in Barden’s collar was slowly, ever so slowly, melting its way down to the small of her back.
Things were not looking up.
Behind them both, Twilight Sparkle trudged through the snow, looking just as dispirited as Jones. Hanging out on a narrow ledge a thousand meters up from the plain was no place for a pony, either.
Cale had said he wanted quick. Cale was also paying a lot of attention to the mysterious dark elf. Barden just hoped that didn’t lead them off to their deaths.
She was just grumpy. That chunk of ice was making her really grumpy. This cold wind made her even grumpier.
The trail they climbed wound narrowly and switched back repeatedly across the steep western face of the mountain. Sunlight streamed toward them, and a few of the Marines popped sunglasses on. Hand it to Mother Nature, or Gaia, or whoever: the out-of-season snow on the mountainside was weird, but with the westering sun it sure was pretty.
“How you feeling about a full pack now, Corporal?” Orley asked.
Barden ignored him.
The switchbacks scrunched closer and closer together, until it got so that when she struggled up one turn there were still Marines on the path below her, working their way up. Bill was down there somewhere, in Brust’s keeping.
The ponies turned out to be a good choice. Tireless, they climbed the narrow paths with a steady, surefooted pace.
When they all arrived on a shelf that had been partly worn, partly carved into the mountainside, and the trail finally went up no farther, Barden gasped with relief. She hadn’t been sure she could keep on walking.
All that PT, and going up the mountain had kicked her ass.
She looked at her team, red-faced, puffing, dragging their feet, but first up the hill and looking less wobbly than just about anyone else other than Cale.
Barden dragged Twilight Sparkle all the way to the back of the shelf as fat snowflakes continued to drift down out of the darkening sky. Everyone groaned as asses hit rock and packs dropped.
“Alright, quiet, listen up.” Cale waded into the center of the open space, Marines crowded around him both for warmth and word. Two of their favorite things and all. “There’s still a lot of mountain over our heads.”
All the full creative swearing Marines could muster filled the air, and even Cale didn’t try to stand against the torrent. Though, at some point, they realized Salia, all wrapped in heavy blankets, stared at them from the back of Bill.
The swearing tapered off.
Barden blinked. How had the child still ended up traveling with them? She needed to check with Cale about that; she couldn’t remember a specific order about Salia.
Salia smiled at her, and Barden gave the little orphan a reassuring wave, then focused back on the platoon.
“I’m done mountain climbing,” Jones said into the increasingly calm air. “If I wanted to be a fucking mountain climber I would have been white, had dreadlocks, and spent a lot of time in parks on the West Coast.”
As he let everyone vent, Cale counted off heads. “Where the hell is the Ranger? I was in the rear. Who last had eyes on him?”
Lady Wíela cleared her throat. “I believe Peridot intended to go on to the Escarpment forts. When we disagreed, he followed his own counsel and left. We no longer have his company.”
“Jesus. He just left us alone?” Orley asked.
“He’s not under my command; nothing I can do about it.” Cale turned to Lady Wíela, a tired look on his face. Mysterious Rangers came and went as they pleased, apparently. “Now what?”
Cold wind whipped at them; it ripped at their cloaks and battered them with snow. The vast arch above them and the cavern seemed to trap the bitter cold gusts.
It was a place to stand and wait, but not a good one.
“It won’t be long. We wait,” Lady Wíela said, but whether it was the cold or something else, her teeth were on the verge of chattering and her lower lip quivered.
“We wait?” Cale growled.
Lady Wíela stepped back from him.
“Seriously, though, my lady—” Cale’s my lady dripped with sarcasm. “Where is his door? I know you said he could be touchy, but we’re not going to get anything done for you, or us, if we freeze to death.”
And, where the hell could someone live up here? Barden reached in to touch her M27, but the metal was so cold it startled her.
“Just point us to the front door, okay? If we have to climb some more, it’s okay. I’ll go knock, and we’ll sort this shit out.”
Lady Wíela gave him a funny look for a moment, lips pursed, brow scrunched down. “What do you mean, ‘front door’? We’re there. This is his stoop, his front porch. We’re waiting for him to come greet us.”
Barden looked up at the top of the rock cavern, far above them.
“Stoop?” Cale asked.
A loud, shuddering thunk of falling rock made them all jump. Then a thudding vibrated through the soles of Barden’s feet. Rhythmic, deep, it got stronger, and stronger.
She looked behind Cale, down the cavern and into the snow-flecked darkness behind. A long way down, and in the dark. Maybe. She’d thought it was all rock and shadow, but had something changed?
“Staff Sergeant!” she shouted, her voice breaking slightly, and Cale whipped back toward the yawning blackness in the face of the mountain. Only now, high up in the dark, a spark jiggled around, casting a little orb of light around it.
The glow filled the darkness, and now she could tell they weren’t standing in a scoop-out of the mountainside, but at the front of a tunnel twenty meters high, and almost forty meters wide, as though the entire back wall had been rolled aside by some massive force.
“Spread out! Spread out! Take positions!” Cale shouted.
Cold and darkness and fatigue were forgotten as adrenaline coursed through Barden. But adrenaline could only do so much, and she staggered, dropped to a knee, and lifted the cold M27 that her fingers screamed at her to drop. Her vision swam as she peered through the optical sights of her weapon.
“Troll!” someone shouted.
The massive gray-green bulk of a troll reeled into focus. A tangled lantern dangled from one upraised fist.
It was coming for them!
“Concentrate fire on the head, we’ve only got one chance at this!” Barden shouted.
“Oh man, I smell like gauru guts!” Heath babbled, off somewhere to the left.
“On my command,” Cale screamed. Barden could hear the horror in his voice. Salia was screaming and her pony reared up from the pile of snow around its legs.
The last time they’d fought trolls, they’d barely been able to retreat. This thing was going to just toss them off the side of the mountain.
Lady Wíela threw her arms out and sprinted toward the ravenous beast, right into the line of fire.
“Don’t harm him! Don’t shoot! This is Grumbly Runt! This is Grumbly Runt!”
Snow swirled into the air between them all as everyone took a breath.
“Weapons down! Down!” Cale snapped.
Barden lowered her M27.
But someone else fired. Just a single shot. Maybe panic, or reflex, or fingers too numb to follow commands.
The sound of it echoed all throughout the cavern, bouncing off rock and dancing around them as they stood there in increasing horror.
A puff of rock dust hung in the air next to the troll’s squat neck where the bullet had hit.
The piece of ice working its way down Barden’s back slipped through her waistband and into her underwear.