“You take the prize package for a stretch.” Sorgrad handed Aritane over to ’Gren without ceremony. “It’ll hide all that blood.”

We moved cautiously on. Our path through the spoil heaps brought us to a close-knit circle of shelters. We took a pace back toward the concealing gloom near the cliff face as a mail-clad runner hurried up, shouting. “Take your valuables and get into the fess! Lowlanders are attacking in the lower valley! Jeirran’s going to make a stand at the ridge.”

“Good luck to him,” I murmured doubtfully.

A drum beat echoed back from the steep rock towering above our heads.

“I’ve heard that rhythm before,” I said slowly. “Winter before last, in the camps along the Caladhria border.”

Sorgrad listened. “The Lakeland mobs used a cadence like that.”

“So it’s men from the Gap?” ’Gren’s eyes were bright as a stag-hound’s scenting blood. “They’re not so tough. Let’s get going.”

“Not with her to carry.” I nodded at the unconscious Aritane. “What are the other ways out of this valley?”

Sorgrad sucked his teeth. “Precious few, that’s the whole point of having the fess here. I don’t fancy trying a pass up there with dead weight on my back, never mind the night and lack of any gear.” He nodded at the sharp jags black against the star-studded sky.

“Could we keep out of sight until the moons rise?” I suggested.

“Two quarters still isn’t enough light.” Sorgrad shook his head.

’Gren was kicking at something. “Livak, get this open.” It was a small building, roofed with stone slates and thick walls densely mortared but barely chest-high to me. Double doors at the front were securely locked so it wasn’t some child’s playhouse. I winced as sharp gravel bit into my naked knee and I ran my fingers around the lock plate. “Just what is it with you people and locks?” I muttered crossly as my probing revealed the intricacies of this particular fastening. “Is everyone as dishonest as you pair?”

“You don’t steal another man’s ore, not yet his ingots.” I heard the smile in Sorgrad’s voice. “But if he were to lose his tools, so he couldn’t go digging till he got them back or traded for new ones, now that would be something else.”

I nodded pointlessly, unseen in the shadows, finally snicking the last tumbler free. “So what’s worth my trouble?”

Sorgrad reached in blindly. “Rope.” He slung a coil over one shoulder. “Sacks; ’Gren, shove a few around the girl. Ah, that’s what we want, lanterns.”

“Pass one over.” I felt for my tinderbox.

“Don’t light it,” warned Sorgrad. He must have caught the scorch of my glare despite the gloom. “Sorry.”

“Let’s have a pry-bar.” ’Gren looked around with some difficulty over Aritane’s rump. Pushing one into his hand, I took one for myself as well and passed a third to Sorgrad. I didn’t fancy my chances trying to explain to anyone that this wasn’t actually my fight so this would have to do as a weapon.

People rushing for the fess didn’t even look our way as they stumbled over discards in the dark, faces tight with fear. A few figures were forcing their way in the other direction, toward an ever-increasing tumult. Some were mailed with swords in hand, more were trusting to leather, picks, axes and cudgels.

I saw the eagerness in ’Gren’s eyes and prodded him meaningfully. “Can’t fighting wait until you get back to Lescar? That’s why we need to get your lady friend back to the wizards, so they can call off Draximal’s hounds, remember?”

“We’ll work our way around the far side of the spoil heaps,” said Sorgrad decisively. “See if we can slip past down toward the ford.” The rounded tops of the spoil heaps faded into the blackness of the mountains above us. I was looking all ways, gripping the comforting weight of the iron bar. My eyes met Sorgrad’s and we shared a tight, humorless smile.

Our path brought us to the edge of the battle. Mountain Men were hard pressed, split into separate stands and hemmed in on all sides. The lowlanders had come to exact their revenge and in numbers enough to do the job thoroughly. The noise of battle hammered at our ears and bright light seared our eyes. Fires running out of control ripped away the protection of the shadows.

“Back,” ordered Sorgrad. We found ourselves in a dead end of shattered stones, bounded by a conduit full of foul water.

“Arseholes,” hissed ’Gren.

“Trouble,” I spat. A handful of figures were silhouetted against the glow of the battle. One had already seen us and he alerted his mates with a delighted shout, thick with the accents of Grynth. The other four spread out to block the gaps we might have fled through. These were out to take their recompense wherever they could, slung around with the lumpy outlines of purses and pouches, looted bags and belts. One saw Aritane, bare legs seductive beneath the gaudy blanket. The lowlander licked his lips and showed a gap-toothed smile of eager anticipation.

’Gren dumped the enchantress unceremoniously. “You want a taste of honey, you get past my sting, shit-sucker.”

Hearing obscenities from the gutters of Col coming out of a Mountain mouth halted these bravos long enough for me and Sorgrad to take stance either side of ’Gren. All our opponents had swords but held them more with the tight, close grip of the self-taught than the relaxed readiness of the competent.

’Gren took a pace forward and the middle man lifted his blade, but in opening his shoulders he ducked his head forward. ’Gren shoved the beak of his pry-bar up under the lowlander’s chin, ripping up into the skull beyond. The man went down like poleaxed beef, blood and spittle spraying.

As ’Gren yanked his pry-bar free, the next man along recovered enough to stab at him. He didn’t even look at me in my muddy skirts until my iron bar smashed his arm with a crack audible even above the tumult. He gaped, aghast as I brought the jemmy up under his ear, sending him clean into the Shades. Shoving him hard against his fellow gave me time to slide out of reach. ’Gren filled the gap, a sword sharp in his hand sending the man howling toward a sizable gang of ruffians, clutching a bloody gash to his thigh.

“Leave him!” Sorgrad wiped his own captured sword on a decapitated body.

’Gren halted, expression mutinous.

“You’re going to take them all on?” Sorgrad pulled his pry-bar free from the head of another corpse, where it stuck through the temple like a spoon in an egg.

“This way.” I followed the conduit up the slope, slabbed rim treacherous and water evil with an oily sheen. It had to be coming from somewhere in the apparently featureless cliff face. I traced the flow to an opening barely perceptible in the inky shadows, ’Gren and Sorgrad hard on my heels, our pursuers shouting their outrage over the bodies we’d left behind.

Once in the mine entrance I flattened myself against the wall, forcing myself to slow my breathing. Sorgrad pushed past and ’Gren came next, Aritane’s shift brushing my arm. I laid one hand on ’Gren’s shoulder and stretched out the other, running fingertips along the wall to steady myself in the utter darkness. We shuffled slowly forward until shouts behind us made us halt.

I turned and looked at the pale square of starlit sky. At least down here they could only come at us one or two at a time. Sorgrad worked his way to my side, sword ready. The curses and taunts came and went, the only sound the distant clamor of battle.

“Do we risk going out again or do we sit in our hole until they’ve all killed each other?” My voice sounded heavy in the still air.

“Let’s see where this goes first.” Cloth rustled as ’Gren shifted Aritane’s weight. “Word is you can get right through from the next valley into these seams.”

“They say that about any number of sokes.” Sorgrad clicked his tongue in thought. “But Teyvafess have been working this valley pretty much since Misaen made it. We could try to get around the fighting through the tunnels.”