Before dawn the Stone Crows camp was still.
The fires had collapsed into dull red embers, and a thin grey mist clung to the basin where the clan had made its shelters. The wind moved slowly between the rocks, carrying the smell of smoke and damp leather. For a few moments it almost looked peaceful, but Torren had already learned that mountain camps were never truly calm. Even when the warriors slept, someone was always awake.
Torren stepped out from beneath the rough shelter where he and Rokkar had slept.
The ground was cold beneath his boots. Frost clung to the stones and to the edges of the black crow feathers tied to the nearby spear rack. Above the eastern ridge the sky had begun to pale slightly, the faint promise of dawn hidden behind the jagged peaks.
Rokkar was already awake.
The big warrior sat beside a small fire, sharpening a blade with slow, methodical strokes. The scraping sound of steel against stone cut through the quiet air.
Rokkar glanced up.
"You're up."
Torren nodded.
"Couldn't sleep much."
Rokkar grunted.
"Good. We leave before the sun touches the cliffs."
Torren looked across the camp.
Stone Crows were beginning to move. A few warriors stepped out of their shelters, stretching stiff shoulders or pulling on furs. Someone tossed dry branches onto a fire. A woman carried a bundle of spears toward the central clearing.
No one seemed surprised to see Torren awake.
Several of them did stare, though.
The pale skin.
The red eyes.
A pair of younger warriors watched him openly as he crossed the camp.
"Pale boy's leaving already," one muttered.
"Good," the other answered quietly. "Makes the camp feel haunted."
Torren pretended not to hear.
He walked toward the central fire where the Stone Crows chief stood with two older warriors.
The chief noticed him approaching and waved the others away.
"So," he said. "You go back now."
Torren nodded.
"Yes."
The chief studied him for a moment.
"You told Harrag about the pass before?"
Torren shook his head.
"No."
The chief lifted one eyebrow.
"Then you just decided it last night?"
Torren shrugged slightly.
"I know the mountains."
The chief let out a short breath through his nose.
"That you do."
For a moment he said nothing more.
Then he gestured toward the eastern ridges.
"Three days."
Torren nodded.
"Three days."
"We'll bring fighters."
Torren hesitated.
Then he added,
"So will we. Most of them."
The chief gave a slow nod.
"That's what I expected."
Footsteps approached behind Torren.
The chief's son stepped into the circle of light, rolling his shoulders as if he had just woken.
"You already chasing him out of camp?" he asked.
Torren glanced back.
"We're leaving."
The young warrior smirked.
"Shame. I thought maybe the ghost boy would stay and scare the ravens away."
Torren ignored the comment.
Then another voice joined them.
"You're really leaving?"
Lysa stepped forward from between two shelters.
Her hair was tied loosely behind her head, and she still looked half-asleep. But her eyes were sharp as she studied Torren.
"Yes," Torren said.
She folded her arms.
"You came all this way just to talk to our chief."
"That was the idea."
She tilted her head slightly.
"Seems like a long walk for a conversation."
Torren shrugged.
"That's how things work in the mountains."
The chief's son chuckled quietly.
"He's not wrong."
Lysa looked back toward the ridge above the camp.
"You'll make it back before the snow gets worse?"
Torren followed her gaze.
"Probably."
"Probably?"
Torren gave a small shrug.
"The mountains decide."
That seemed to satisfy her.
She stepped back.
"Tell your father we'll be there."
Torren nodded.
"I will."
The chief stepped forward and clasped Torren's forearm briefly.
"Three days."
Torren repeated it.
"Three days."
Then he turned and walked back toward Rokkar.
The sky had begun to lighten by the time they climbed out of the basin.
Behind them the Stone Crows camp slowly disappeared among the rocks and pines. The narrow path curved upward along the slope, forcing them to move in single file.
Rokkar walked ahead.
Torren followed.
The wind was stronger here, pushing cold air down from the higher ridges.
For a while neither of them spoke.
Then Rokkar glanced back.
"You handled that well."
Torren shrugged.
"They agreed."
"Still."
Rokkar adjusted the spear across his back.
"Some men would've started arguing. Or trying to prove something."
Torren kicked a loose stone aside as he climbed.
"I wasn't trying to prove anything."
Rokkar grunted.
"That's probably why it worked."
They climbed in silence again.
Soon they reached a higher ridge where the path narrowed along a cliff edge.
Torren stopped suddenly.
Rokkar turned.
"What?"
Torren pointed upward.
Above the basin they had just left, something dark moved against the morning sky.
At first Rokkar thought it was smoke drifting from the camp.
Then the shapes shifted.
Birds.
Dozens of them.
Crows.
They wheeled above the Stone Crows camp in a slow, restless spiral. Their wings cut through the pale dawn light as they circled and called to one another.
Rokkar watched them for a moment.
"Appropriate," he muttered.
Torren didn't answer.
The birds filled the sky over the basin like a living cloud.
Then he noticed something else.
Higher above the circling crows, far beyond their reach, another shape glided silently through the air.
A golden eagle.
It rode the wind effortlessly, wings barely moving as it traced wide circles over the mountains.
Torren felt the familiar pull inside his mind.
The voice stirred.
You see it.
Yes.
The eagle banked slowly.
Below it the crows turned and shifted like black leaves caught in a storm.
The mountains wake when winter comes, the voice said quietly.
Torren watched the sky.
And when the mountains wake, the valleys suffer.
Rokkar had already started walking again.
"Come on," he called.
Torren gave the birds one last look.
The crows continued their endless circling above the camp.
And far above them, the eagle watched.
Torren turned and followed Rokkar up the ridge.
Behind them the Stone Crows were preparing.
Ahead of them the Painted Dogs waited.
Three days.
Then the mountains would descend.