"It's Rahzar and his party!" A scout on the rampart spotted them. He lowered his bow and slid the arrow back into his quiver. The other scouts on the wall did the same.
Rahzar emerged from the north woods, his left hand clenched around the antlers of a massive Fenosh, a moose-like beast, thicker-furred, faster, and stronger than any moose. Nouz trailed close behind, no longer smiling. Gazmir followed, two full-sized deer strung across his shoulders. Yarda and Weaz dragged a hulking Dagzan, a boar a meter and a half tall and two and a half meters long, both tusks broken, its hide a coarse brown-and-white pelt.
All in all, It was a very good haul.
They stopped at the river's edge, checked their burdens, then stepped onto the north bridge to the village.
The bridge, built from steelpine, was a credit to Elm's craftsmen, notably the village chief. Strong and steady, it did not quiver, not even under the weight of Rahzar's entire take. Beneath it, the Dalmas ran swift and cold, but the steelpine foundation did not yield.
Each step sent a faint tremor toward the waiting line on the far side of the bridge, the gate already open a crack.
A handful of Geherrim, mostly male with a couple of women, stood at the edges with bows aimed toward the outskirts. The males were well-built, tall, and muscular; they represented the guards of Elm well. However, none of these guards could hold a candle to Rahzar.
Who stood in front of them all and looked down upon them like they were children.
"Mornin', kids." Rahzar grinned from ear to ear. "Will you open the way for us, who have hunted tirelessly for a fortnight so that you can enjoy meat?"
The guard in front, a seasoned Geherrim almost in his sunset years yet still sturdy and strong, winced. "You will have to wait for the chief."
"And why are you here, Dazun, while my uncle isn't?" Rahzar closed in on him, almost face to face. Rahzar was taller by a full head. He grinned, showing off massive sharp teeth to Dazun, who now had to look up. He did not look intimidated in the slightest.
"We were searching for a missing person."
Nouz looked at the other guards. They were not fully armored, but what they had equipped right now was far better than his party's. Equipped with good studded-leather breast protectors, pauldrons, and open helmets, any confrontation with the guards would not leave them unscathed.
And Nouz realized that they wanted Rahzar to start something.
Yarda spat on the steelpine bridge. "Old man, we are cold, and we have brought you lots of meat. At least give us warm soup if you insist on us waiting out here!" Weaz tugged his collar to shut him up.
Dazun's eyes shifted to Gazmir, the tone of his gaze changing. "Gazmir."
Gazmir met his eyes, silent.
Dazun continued, "Are you okay with waiting on the bridge for a couple of minutes?"
The party traded looks. The guards' respect for Gazmir made sense. He had captained them for many years before retiring to hunt for the village. It was the lack of respect for the rest that stung.
Rahzar understood that perfectly. His grin widened. His eyes told a different story.
Gazmir set the two deers down on the snow-dusted planks and sat cross-legged.
Nouz followed suit. There was no point in picking a fight here. They were outmanned and outarmed. Rahzar was strong, perhaps the strongest Elm had, but even he would not leave this bridge unscathed.
Nouz pulled his furred leather hood up. Hunters could not wear heavy protection; it was not practical to lug a thirty-kilogram shield and carry it on a two-week hike above a mountain in the middle of Nhevar's harsh winter. That is why what they had now—shortswords, daggers, throwing darts, fur-lined leather vests, hoods, gloves, coats to prevent frostbite, thick boots made from Dagzan skins, and bags for tents and camping supplies—was necessary. It ensured they were nimble, quick, and capable of moving on short notice.
Because no one knew when a Nhiven would come down from the high ground, or when a Garm would test the low trails. They had been lucky that Zyneios had not ruled the sky these last weeks, especially when they were trying to poison the Nhiven; that wyvern would decimate them all. Not even Rahzar, the Nhiven, or any other beast would stand in its way.
Most hunting bands did not fare as well as this one. By any measure, theirs was the finest record Elm had seen.
"Oh, come on, Dazun." Rahzar lowered his head a bit to Dazun's eye level. Nouz understood he wanted to appeal to Dazun's softness. "What about us? We are also exposed to the same cold as everybody else!" However, it seemed he was trying to undermine Dazun instead.
Dazun stood unmoved. A couple of Geherrim women, dressed in thick clothing, came out and handed metal cups to Rahzar and his party. Inside was a hot, milky-brown liquid, still steaming up their faces. The smell was rich and sweet. The heat promised safety.
"Fenoshi milk," one said. "It has been simmering. Drink."
Gazmir took a cup and sipped. Yarda and Weaz followed his lead. Nouz took two. Rahzar kept grinning, eyes fixed on Dazun.
"Boss. Warm." Nouz offered one cup to Rahzar. Rahzar did not take it. Nouz shrugged, leaned on the railing, and drank while he watched the line.
The women retreated; the gap closed behind them.
The gate was half open. Nouz was tempted to slip past the guards, distract them with pain, and disappear inside the village for a while. But he changed his mind as soon as he saw an older Geherrim—almost as tall as Rahzar and nearly as muscular—come out through the gate and walk up to them.
The lined guards opened their formation for him. It was the village chief.
He looked seventy or eighty by human reckoning, yet he carried his years like a boulder carries snow. Two meters and some, horn span among the finest in Elm. Rahzar still out-topped him, but only just.
He looked toward Nouz, Yarda, and Weaz; to Gazmir, who was now looking the other way toward the Dalmas River, ignoring everything else; and lastly to Rahzar.
"Uncle." Rahzar grinned.
"Where is the boy, nephew?" The chief's voice was impressive. Old, sure, but he had a naturally low timbre that vibrated the listener at their core. That was why the younglings could not really say no to him. He sounded dangerous.
"The runt? We met him on our way toward the Stake." Rahzar looked back toward the massive mountain that was the Stake, looming above them all, obscured by snow clouds.
The village, Elm, was situated at the base of the Stake, a place that, even if cold, still had some warmth from the natural geyser near the middle of the village, which the people had turned into a plaza. The name itself was given by the chief for the existence of one singular frozen elm tree that stood above a geothermal node on a solitary small island, without thawing. The tree's crystalline features could still be seen even from outside the walls, given its massive size.
The chief stepped forward without breaking eye contact. He came close enough that Rahzar had to give ground.
"And where is he now, nephew?"
Nouz could not see Rahzar's face, but he knew the grin was still there.
"He walked toward the ridge. It was already a couple of days ago, Uncle. Why? What is wrong? I thought you sent him out on a scouting errand or something."
Gazmir's ears perked. Nouz saw him move his head toward the conversation, but once Gazmir saw Nouz looking at him, he exhaled and turned his attention back to the river.
"Do not play dumb with me."
Rahzar stopped grinning. His expression now resembled concern, but all the members of his party knew it was false.
"So, he went away of his own accord, Uncle. What of it?" Rahzar walked up to his uncle, head held high, so now the chief would have to look up to him, quite literally.
Dazun's hand moved to the hilt of his blade. Yarda and Weaz had already planned to use the bridge railing to jump to the guards' back line and slit a couple of necks before a full brawl.
Gazmir would not be part of it.
Nouz was observing all of this, understanding the intricacies and tension. He moved forward, arms open, no weapons drawn, voice steady. "My apologies, Chief Rahzmir, sir." He took Rahzar's left arm and pulled him back a little, stepping between the two Geherrim warriors. "I was there the whole time, and I can attest to what Rahzar said when he said that the boy was there of his own accord."
Rahzmir looked at him with discerning eyes. "That does not answer my question, Nouz, son of Nouan."
"Chief Rahzmir, might I suggest we take this conversation inside the village walls instead? We are still weary from hunting, and we did get a great haul. After a brief respite, we will go back out again on a search mission for Sol." Nouz looked at him, eyes cautious.
Rahzmir looked at him, at Rahzar, at the other members of the party, and then at Gazmir.
"Gaz."
Gazmir turned his head toward the gate.
"Are they telling the truth?"
Gazmir stood there silently. He looked into everyone's eyes, waiting for an answer, waiting for a decision—whether there was going to be a bloodbath here and now, or whether they would go in and be warm and protected by the elm once again.
Gazmir saw Nouz's eyes, sharp and piercing. Yarda and Weaz's attention was somewhere else. Rahzar didn't really care what he was going to say.
What Gazmir had in his head right now was his wife. Rahzar's conspiracy could wait.
He had to go inside the village. He had to tell his wife. He knew that his wife would tell the younglings that Sol was currently lost in the wilderness of the Stake, alone, possibly with the Nhiven and Garm on the prowl.
The younglings, he hoped, would tell the chief.
After that, Nouz would perhaps take his life, but he didn't mind.
Gazmir stepped forward toward Rahzmir. The Fenoshi milk in his cup was no longer warm; it was already half frozen.
He stood next to Rahzar and nodded.