The trees partially cleared, giving Rakel and her companions a branch-covered view of the Chosen camp. It was a sprawling ocean of tents and plumes of smoke set on packed snow. It glittered with weapons, armor, and leather horse tack, and buzzed with activities and noises. It was much larger than she expected.
However, it was also clear that Farrin had carefully selected the location. Snorri’s “hills” were more similar to cliffs, and to avoid the possibility of an avalanche—or of Rakel dropping an avalanche on them—the camp was set a fair distance away from them so the snow couldn’t wipe it out, but it was still close enough to allow the cliffs to guard their backs. (After all, no enemy—magical or mundane—could drop from sheer cliffs and survive.)
Snorri mumbled.
Phile slid off her horse. “Yes, you are right. We should set up our base here.”
Snorri unhitched the sleigh ponies and led them away.
“You understood him?” Rakel asked.
“Of course not. I have no idea what he said; it just seemed to be the most likely subject for him to bring up.”
Rakel chuckled and helped the Robber Maiden remove saddlebags from her horse.
The following day,Phile held the nationally treasured spyglass to her eye and squinted. “Yep, I’m certain that big black tent they’re pitching must be for Tenebris.”
Rakel, crouched behind a drift and stirred snow with a fingertip. “It could be for Farrin.”
Phile adjusted the spyglass. “Nah, he doesn’t give a King’s toe about that sort of thing. His quarters are always simplistic—tidy but empty.”
“How can you know this for certain? You’ve only been in his quarters once, in Glowma.”
“Riiight. Just once,” Phile said.
“You’ve gottenthat closein your scouting trips?” Rakel’s voice hitched with shock.
“Snorri did it too!” Phile removed her eye from the spyglass long enough to point an accusing finger at her fellow scout.
“I have magic,” Snorri said. He ghosted forward through the undergrowth that sheltered him, as if it grew around him. He raised the spyglass to his eye—drawing a squawk from Phile when she realized he had swiped it from her.
Rakel tried to restore order to her wild, snow-white hair, weaving it into a braid as she watched the scouts. “I assume you two will leave me here tonight and try to venture into the camp then?”
Phile eased her way through the undergrowth so she could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Snorri and reach for the spyglass—which he held out of her reach. “What tipped you off?”
“The presence of a black tent is hardly solid evidence that Farrin is indeed expecting Tenebris Malus to arrive soon.”
“It’s abigblack tent. Snorri, you have to share.I’mthe one who smuggled the spyglass out here.”
Snorri ignored her and popped out of the undergrowth so he was standing on the edge of the hill’s cliff-like drop off.
Rakel yanked on her hair—tightening the braid—and tied it off. “Perhaps it is unwise to stand so close to the edge of the cliff.”
“We’re too far away. They won’t see us,” Phile said—though she still lurked in the underbrush.
“I was not thinking of the Chosen, but the snow. It’s a heavy fall this year, and I can see evidence of avalanches and landslides carving down the cliff-side. There’s piles of snow and rock at the base.”
“Good call. You should listen to her, Snorri, and give me back the spyglass.”
Snorri collapsed the spyglass and turned around—presumably to answer Phile—when the snow crunched oddly under his feet.
“Snorri!” Rakel shouted.
The snow and rock beneath his feet gave out beneath him and careened down the cliff, spattering snow and cracking rock. Snorri, unable to regain his balance fast enough to move, fell with it.
He hit the side of the cliff with a painful crack and scrabbled one-handedly for a handhold. Rock, dirt, and snow kept scraping away, and Snorri almost tumbled from reach.
Phile dove out of the underbrush and threw herself to her belly, grabbing Snorri’s groping hand. Her face twisted in a grimace, and she sweat with exertion. Snorri wedged his feet into the crag, but the snow and ground crackled ominously beneath Phile.
