muttered as the small group of men and wagons tramped
through the night. “Are we lost again?” His feet disturbed a mound of stones collected at the bottom of the crumbling hillside. The land seemed dead. Successive seasons of cold and heat had shattered rock and piled scree everywhere.
The road was deep and cut wide, but the rock faces
sloughed debris every day and covered the road or ate at its base. It was too cold for insects, and the column of
marching men cut sharp shadows in the moonlight. Within
hours the sun would rise and sear everything. It was a land of no good seasons.
“Quiet, Haddad!” Natal murmured. “I’m sure the sergeant knows where he’s going.” Natal stamped his feet to warm them in the night air. “Anyway, the last thing he wants to hear is you.”
Both men were soldiers in the Jamuraan Kipamu League
of Annies. The League had been named after Lord Kipamu,
a legendary figure who was credited with many important
military victories on the old-time frontiers of Jamuraa.
Dead for centuries, if not millennia, the lord’s name still commanded respect all over the continent.
