Behind him, Desa and Ossian were more cautious in their descent. Taking a surer, slower footing.
“Anything?” Finn called over. The old man waited on the other side of the turn, with Danon and Garret, standing watch over Ehmish. Despite the constant pain in his knees, Old Finn stomped about, pacing a tight circle, sword in hand and looking ready to charge the dark abyss itself.
Gard held an arm out to one side and slashed downward. Once.
Nothing.
The old snow crunched underfoot, like stepping on dry cinders in a cold fire pit. Nothing wrong with his hearing. Stepping back, he crouched and stared at the crust he’d disturbed. From directly above his footprint, he could hardly see it. The blanket was a dull, unyielding, and dingy white. Leaning to one side, he caught enough shadow to make out the barest outline of the crushed surface.
What use was he in searching for Kern and Daol?
It was a bitter question, and unfair. He knew his limitations, and knew as well that the partial blindness had done nothing to interfere with their search up the mountainside. There simply had not been anything to find. No trail sign. No blood.
No bodies.
No human bodies, anyway. The number of animals wrapped up in cocoons, swinging from the branches of tall fir and pine like a hundred swaying nooses, had not sat well with him. That, or the silence. Forests were not meant to be quiet places. Not even on top of a mountain, where winter rarely released its hold. Forests were living things. Full of life and sounds.
This one was a graveyard.
Ossian slid down the final length. Desa after him. He stomped his feet against the hard earth, knocking some hard, clumping mud off the side of his boots, and the three of them walked over to join the nearby group. Everyone else had scattered farther up the trail, trying to uncover any sign of how, or where, Kern and Daol had disappeared. Everyone but the Aquilonian soldier, Valerus. After recovering his spooked warhorse, he had ridden back down the trail to scout the way they’d come. Just in case.
The giant spider’s death scent had nearly cleared away, and once around the bend it had all but vanished. Still, Gard rubbed at his nose and took to breathing shallowly through his mouth. Ehmish, seated on the hard ground with his back to the rock wall, glanced up with a questioning look. Wanting more than a wave.
“Nay sign,” Ossian said. The others didn’t know whether to look disheartened or happy. The Taurian had obviously made up his mind, though. “If they weren’t dragged away by the spiders, they could still be alive,” he reminded everyone. Smoothed a hand back over his shaved head. “I nay want to be cutting Kern or Daol out of a cocoon.”
“Tracked one to a tree lair,” Desa said. “Nothing up in the branches large enough to be a man. The other had a hole in the ground not far up the side of the slope there. We didn’t go knocking, but it was obvious that nothing fresh had been dragged through.”
Garret scratched at the scars beneath his eye patch. “Brig and Wallach gutted the other one,” he said, “so that’s all.”
“All we know about,” Finn muttered, and stomped off down the trail to join a small group of the others, who returned after scouting farther along. There didn’t seem to be anything more to say to that. Singly or in pairs, the others began to drift after him, certainly hoping that something could be found.
Which left Gard standing over Ehmish, who struggled to his feet. He bent down and got a hand beneath Ehmish’s arm, and hauled him up. The lad nearly shook him away—Gard felt the tension—but falling down would have been a poor show of strength. And Ehmish was so obviously struggling.
“How do you feel?” Gard asked, turning him along the path, grabbing up his own bedroll as well as Ehmish’s pack.
“Foolish,” was the dark, bitter response.
The Cruaidhi warrior wrinkled his nose. “The poison in that creature’s scent was strong. Desagrena vomited. I saw.”
“She’s a woman,” Ehmish said, as if that explained it all.
“Do not let her hear you say that.”
The boy chewed that over a moment and couldn’t help the snort that escaped him. “Nay. I won’t.” Then he sobered. “I don’t know what happened to them, Gard. And I should. One moment they were there, and the next . . .” He shook his head. “No calls for help. No alarm. No blood.”
“Mayhap Kern saw something. Something happening to Daol, and ran off without thinking to call.”
“Kern left his sword stuck into that creature’s side. When was the last time you forgot your blade, Gard Foehammer?”
Never. A Cimmerian did not lose his weapon. Not if he wished to remain among the living.