Page 282 of Salt Between the Wolves

The question lingered between them.

Eira looked back toward the dark northern horizon, toward mountains she could no longer see, toward a problem she could no longer avoid.

This time the answer came without hesitation.

"At first light."

Chapter 33: Homecoming

Eira

The ninth day began with snow, not a storm or the violent winds that had swept through the mountains earlier in the week, but a steady snowfall that was enough to cover tracks and remind everyone that winter was advancing whether they were ready for it or not.

Soren stood outside the command tent, watching pale flakes disappear against dark stone. Below, the pass stretched between the mountains in a narrow white corridor, and the Frostvein camp remained exactly where it had been the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that. Thousands of people, hundreds of fires, and rows of banners moved in the wind, close enough to see yet too far to touch.

Nine days had passed without battle, without retreat, and filled only with watching. The absurdity of it would have been amusing if it weren't so dangerous.

Behind him, the tent flap opened and Kael stepped outside.

"Another messenger arrived from Frostvein."

Soren did not look away from the pass. "What does Vargan want now?"

Kael snorted. "The same thing he wanted yesterday."

That earned the faintest shadow of a smile, which disappeared almost immediately.

"Then I assume my answer remains unchanged."

"It does."

Silence settled between them as snow continued to fall and neither man moved.

Eventually Kael spoke again. "The men are starting to ask questions."

Soren already knew, as he had heard them himself. They were not complaints, not yet, but questions, and those were more dangerous because questions became doubt, and doubt became mistakes.

"What questions?"

Kael folded his arms. "How long we stay, what happens when supplies start running short, and what happens if Frostvein attacks first."

Soren finally looked away from the pass. "And what answer are they receiving?"

Kael's expression remained carefully neutral. "The same answer we're all receiving."

Which meant none.

Soren exhaled slowly. He was tired of councils, tired of negotiations, and tired of messages that accomplished nothing, because every conversation ended exactly where it began: Vargan refused to withdraw, Soren refused to yield the pass, and everything else was decoration.

"Any movement?"

"Scouts."

"Nothing more?"

"No."

That should have been reassuring, yet instead it felt like standing beside a frozen lake while waiting to hear the first crack beneath the ice. Eventually it would come, and the only question was from which direction.