DITRA SAT IN HER CHAMBER a long while after I left. She stared long out the window, at the gentle snows that fell outside it, into the darkness that was gathering to the north. Then she roused herself and went to bed. The tray of food lay where she had cast it on the floor, untended.

She went through her morning the next day in a dark mood. Again and again she tried to put me from her mind, but again and again her thoughts returned to me. She could sense it affecting her decisions, creating long silences before she realized someone had spoken to her, and that she had to answer. It was hard to concentrate, hard to focus. 

During her midday meal, she finally threw her knife down onto her plate and abandoned her pathetic attempt to eat.

She rose and went to the door of another chamber down the hall, knocking at it twice.

“Yes?” came a soft voice from inside.

Ditra opened the door. Her daughter sat at a desk across the room, her quill out, a stack of parchment in front of her. She had been copying from a tome of history recently—a pursuit Ditra did not particularly understand, but it took up her daughter’s time and kept her from getting underfoot, for which Ditra was grateful.

“Mother,” she said, beaming. She rose and ran to her in the doorway, throwing her arms around Ditra’s waist.

“I have not been able to visit you of late,” said Ditra, trying to maintain a regal tone. “I thought we could speak for a moment, in this brief calm between storms.”

“Storms?” Her daughter looked up into her face. “Is something the matter?”

“You have heard about the attacks in the mountains,” said Ditra sternly. “It ill behooves you to play at ignorance, V-Vera.”

Ditra stumbled over the name, her throat suddenly dry. It had been my name, of course, before my wending. She had meant it as a tribute to me, especially because she had not known I was ander. But it seemed a poor decision now.

Vera, for her part, looked chastised. It hurt Ditra to see it, but she steeled herself. She had not even been particularly harsh. Vera would need to withstand much worse than this, when she one day took Maia’s place as lead ranger, after he became Rangatira.

“Come,” said Ditra. “Sit.”

She guided Vera back to her chair by the desk, and then she sat on the girl’s bed. For a moment they waited there in silence, both staring at their hands, which each of them had folded in their lap. The silence drew on, long past awkwardness and into discomfort.

“Do you … do you want to be a ranger, Vera?”

Vera looked up at her, eyes wide. “Why, yes, Mother. Of course. You know that.”

“You have said so,” said Ditra. “But I have often told you that it is what I expect. I mean to ask … do you want to be a ranger? Would you, if I were not Lord of Tokana?”

It was clear the girl had not considered it before. Now she frowned and looked away, her eyes growing distant. “I think so. All of our rangers are certainly very dashing. And I am always happiest out in the wilderness.” She flushed and looked quickly at Ditra. “I do not mean to say I am not happy here—”

Ditra forestalled her with a raised hand. “I understand what you mean.” Better than you can know. “Go on.”

Vera frowned again, and she began to twist her hands. “I have never fought before, of course. I like my training, but I do not enjoy the thought of … of killing. But I know we never do it without reason.”

Do we not? thought Ditra. I always thought Mother was too careless of others’ lives.

She closed her eyes and steeled herself. Enough. She had become a confused mess, and she would not serve her people well in this state.

“There have been some … arrivals, to the keep,” she said to Vera.

“Guests?” said Vera, frowning.

“No,” said Ditra. “Prisoners. They may be here on dishonorable business.” The words tasted bitter in her mouth. Even she barely believed them.

“I cannot remember the last time we had prisoners in the dungeons,” said Vera, her voice suddenly small.

Ditra could not help a snort of laughter. “I could not have said that when I was your age.”

Vera smiled at Ditra’s laughter, brief and grim though it was. She had always loved it when they laughed together, and loved it all the more for how rare it was.

“I … I have something I think I should tell you,” said Ditra. “But it is a long tale, and a difficult one. Do you remember—”

A horn sounded. Ditra shot to her feet.

“Mother?” said Vera.

“Stay here,” said Ditra. She almost left, but at the last moment she stopped. Turning, she embraced Vera, holding her tight. “Be strong. I will return when I can.”

She ran from the room. A door at the end of the hall led her into a passageway onto the walls. Soldiers of her house started in surprise as she emerged into the open and marched down the ramparts. She stopped at the first person she saw—and suddenly she realized that she knew the woman. It was Whetu, the former ranger whose family had narrowly escaped their village’s destruction a few weeks before.

“Whetu,” she said, nodding. “I am somewhat surprised to see you here.”

“Rangatira,” said Whetu, bowing with a fist to her forehead. “It seemed clear things would come to a fight before long. I took up your service again, for that seemed better than waiting idly for the trolls to come to us.”

“Maia assigned you?”

“He did, Rangatira,” said Whetu.

Ditra’s mouth gave a wry twist. Maia had not mentioned it, but then, he had been rather preoccupied lately. “I am glad you are here. I am assigning you to guard my daughter’s chamber. Find two others on your way and bring them with you, on my authority.”

“Yes, Rangatira,” said Whetu. “No harm will come to her.”

Ditra nodded and walked on while Whetu ran to do her bidding. Ditra stalked up to the short tower overlooking the east gatehouse, and there she found Maia.

“Report.”

Maia turned at the sound of her voice, and though he kept a passive expression, Ditra could see the relief in his eyes. He was obviously struggling to maintain his customary good humor, but it was overpowered by a worry he could not entirely hide.

“Rangatira,” he said. “Trolls have gathered at the north end of the dale.”

Ditra suppressed a shudder. They had all known that Kahaunga was the trolls’ eventual aim, but her scouts had guessed that any attack would not come for several more days. Ditra had thought they would have more time—time for the king’s reinforcements to arrive, time to work out another solution. Time to find and eliminate the Shades, mayhap.

A thought came to her briefly that that might have happened, if she had ordered Maia to work with us, as he had wished to. But she quashed that thought immediately. This was a time for action, not doubt.

“How many?”

“Many,” said Maia. “More than two hundreds.”

Ditra’s eyes shot wide. “Two hundreds?” She realized that soldiers all around them were staring at her, and she forced her expression back to one of impassive calm. “What are they doing?”

“They are holding their position for now,” said Maia. “But they may only be waiting until they finish gathering their forces.” He paused. “I did not even know there were that many in the mountains.”

“Of course there are,” she snapped. “The Greatrocks stretch for hundreds of leagues.”

“I mean the mountains of Tokana,” said Maia. “We have never glimpsed a pack even a fraction of this size.”

“Why would you? They have always observed the pact. They have kept to themselves for more generations than the years in your life.”

“That seems to have changed.”

Ditra frowned slightly. “And we will deal with it.”

Maia paused, glancing around. Ditra was grateful that at least he, too, was aware that everyone was watching them, and that morale might depend a great deal on the words the others heard them speak. He leaned close and dropped to a whisper.

“I respect that you must keep a strong front, Rangatira,” he said. “But are you not worried? Should we not retreat?”

Ditra leaned on the wall and looked into the dale far below. The mountains hid the northern end of it from this position, but she could almost imagine them there, gathering, milling about.

Preparing to sweep down upon her people and kill them all.

“We do not retreat,” she said loudly. “Kahaunga is our home.”

Maia looked frustrated, but still he kept his voice low. “A corpse is not comforted that it lies in the same place it dwelled when alive. We cannot hope to hold against a pack so large.”

Ditra looked to him. “Do you not see?” she said, lowering her voice to match his. “It is too late for that. Kahaunga is not only our home, it is our best hope. We can defend ourselves on these walls. If we retreat, and they attack us on the road, we will be helpless. We will fight here, and we will win here, or we will die here.”

He looked away, eyes flicking back and forth as he surveyed the dale. “What if we order an evacuation of the most vulnerable? Tell all those who cannot fight to leave, while the rest of us hold off the trolls to cover their retreat.”

Ditra considered it. The Telfer stronghold could hold a third of the city at most, and that would be an exceptionally tight fit. There would be folk on cots in the cells of her dungeon.

The dungeon. Mag and I crossed her mind. She forced the thought away.

“Do it,” she said. “Everyone in Kahaunga who can pick up a weapon must join us here in the stronghold, especially those who can shoot. We will hold against the trolls as long as we can. All other citizens must make for the pass west out of the mountains.”

He straightened, relief plain on his face. “Yes, Rangatira.” He turned to the others. “You heard her. Order the evacuation.”

Ditra turned her attention back to the city below. This is why Mother was so cold, she thought. One must be hard to be a Telfer.

But as she saw Maia looking at her out of the corner of his eye, she felt a flicker of doubt that she did not think our mother ever had.

Dotag stood on a hillock, observing the trolls as they gathered before him.

Two hundreds. No one had ever commanded a pack so large.

He felt nervous. He felt sick. A doubt was in him now, one he could no longer suppress. No one had ever commanded this many trolls—and no trolls had ever attacked human lands, as they were about to do. Not since the days trolls first came into these mountains.

That should have been a comforting thought—that he was following in the footsteps of his ancient forefathers. But it only made him more nervous, increasing his misgivings until he felt as though he wanted to vomit.

He looked down and saw Apok. She was staring up at him, not moving, not blinking. His doubt increased tenfold, fear creeping in at the edges of it. He thought of Chok’s broken body as he dragged it out of the Shade stronghold, and quickly he tried to think of something else.

Then a commotion caught his attention. As the trolls milled about, moving in great swirls and spreading out across the open turf, a path opened between them. Down that path lumbered Gatak. Trolls gave way before her, and the pack closed again behind her. She was headed straight towards Dotag’s hillock.

All of Dotag’s fears vanished in an instant. Gatak had come. Just as she had said she would.

Mayhap everything else she had promised would come true as well.

Gatak joined him on the hillock. She turned back and looked over the trolls. They covered the ground, a small plateau at the northern end of the Kahaunga valley.

“I thought there would be more,” she said, sounding vaguely disappointed.

Dotag felt somewhat crestfallen. “We are enough. We will drive the humans out. And then all the mountains will be ours.”

Gatak turned to him, her ears rising in anticipation. “Then do it.”

We had spent an uncomfortable night in our cell—or at least, Mag and I had. Dryleaf, of course, had his mattress. But his snoring had kept the two of us awake, which had not been helped by our hard cots. I understood why the old man had complained. I had spent much of the day dozing, trying to gain what extra rest I could.

But I shot awake when the horns sounded.

“What was that?” said Mag, looking towards the ceiling.

“You have never heard horns before?” I said.

“Is it the trolls?”

“It has to be.”

We sat in silence. I did not know what to do. Dryleaf bowed his head with a frown, seeming deep in thought. My hands clenched into fists and then relaxed, over and over. Mag’s gaze wandered as though she was considering something, replaying events in her head.

A door crashed open at one end of the hallway, and a guard rushed past us. At the last moment I recognized her as the one who had spoken to Mag yesterday.

“Wait!”

She skidded to a halt, looking at us with wide, frightened eyes. “I cannot—”

“What is happening?” I said, gripping the bars.

“Trolls,” she said. “They have gathered in the dale to attack the city.”

“How many?”

Her face went a shade paler. “Many.”

“Let me out,” said Mag. “You know who I am. My friend here is just as remarkable.”

I thought privately that that was a tremendous lie, but I was not going to countermand her just then. The guard hesitated. But she shook her head. “I cannot. I am sorry.”

“But if you—”

She ran on, rushing through the door at the other end of the hall.

Dryleaf sighed and stood. He shuffled towards the two of us, hand outstretched. “It sounds as though things are getting most dire. I suspect the Lord Telfer could use the two of you.”

I slammed my hand against the cell bars. “She could, though she will never admit it.”

Dryleaf pulled a key from his sleeve. Mag and I froze. He groped the air for a moment before finding the door handle. Reaching through the bars, he inserted the key and turned it.

Click

The door swung open.

Dryleaf held the key up, dangling it before us.

“I took it when the guards brought the mattress. You should return it to them on your way out.”

Mag could barely contain herself. “Why under the sky did you not tell us this before,” she growled. It was far more of an accusation than a question.

Dryleaf frowned and held up an admonishing finger. “The guards brought me my mattress because I was old and infirm and blind. It is not right to betray the kindness of anyone who would do that, even if they are imprisoning one. Unless, of course, one does so to save their lives. Just as I am doing now.”

Mag and I stared at him. “You have a very strange sense of right and wrong, old man,” I said.

Dryleaf’s frown cracked, becoming a grin. “I suppose some might think so. Take care of yourselves. I believe I will remain here. The mattress is very comfortable.”

We rushed out of the cell and down the hall where the guard had gone. Mag threw the door open to the small guard room. At the other end, the guard stood by another door leading up into the keep. She stared at us, frozen in shock.

“We are going to help in the fighting,” said Mag matter-of-factly. “And if you give us back our weapons, we will be much better at it.”

The girl’s mouth opened and then closed again. Her hand twitched as if to reach for her weapon, but she looked at Mag and thought better of it. Finally she sighed and pointed to a wooden locker across the room.

“They are in there,” she said. From her pocket she fished a small iron key and threw it into my hand. “At least I did not lose that key.”