Into the High Passes

**

The column left Greyford at mid-morning. Twelve Iron Hounds, two newly registered women, and a short merchant convoy of four heavy wagons loaded with sealed crates bound for the northern trading posts. Raymond rode near the front with the lead scout. Maha and Chandrakala kept to the middle of the formation, close enough to the wagons to react quickly, far enough from the rear to avoid being cut off.

The road climbed steadily. By afternoon the air had thinned and the last of the valley greenery fell away behind them. Stone replaced soil. The path narrowed until the wagons had to move in single file, iron-rimmed wheels grinding against the rock. On the left rose a steep face of grey mountain. On the right the ground simply ended, dropping into a pale, wind-scoured gorge.

Raymond called a short halt at a wider ledge to check the loads and let the animals blow. He walked the line once, speaking briefly with the sergeant, then stopped beside Maha and Chandrakala.

“First stretch is the easiest,” he said. “After the next marker the ledges get tighter and the drop gets worse. Keep the wagons spaced. If anything comes from above, you two stay with the middle carts. Don’t chase into the rocks unless I call it.”

Maha nodded, still a fraction more reserved with him than she had been before the previous night. The shyness had not vanished, but it had settled into a quiet awareness. Chandrakala simply checked the strap of her blade and gave a short affirmative.

They moved on.

The second day brought the first real taste of the high passes. Cloud closed in without warning, turning the world into grey stone and cold mist. Sound muffled. The column slowed to a crawl, every man and woman watching the fog for movement. Once a scatter of loose rock clattered down the slope ahead of them — natural or deliberate, no one could say. Raymond ordered the scouts higher and the wagons tighter.

That night they camped in a shallow notch cut into the mountainside, the only place wide enough for the animals and a single fire. The Hounds set watches in pairs. Raymond assigned Chandrakala the second watch with one of the older sergeants. Maha remained near the wagons, checking the contract tallies by lamplight even though the numbers had not changed since Greyford.

When Raymond passed her on his own round she looked up. The candlelight caught the soft features of her face and the lingering caution in her eyes.

“You don’t have to keep working,” he said.

“It keeps my hands busy,” she answered. After a moment she added, quieter, “The mountain feels like it’s waiting.”

“It usually is.”

He left it at that and moved on. Across the small camp Chandrakala sat with her back to the rock, blade within reach, eyes half-lidded but clearly awake. She met Raymond’s glance once and gave the smallest nod — still unbothered, still measuring everything.

Toward the end of the third day the lead scout returned at a hard trot. His report was brief: fresh tracks on a high trail that paralleled their route, more than a dozen men, moving with purpose. Not merchants. Not a regular patrol.

Raymond listened, then turned to the column.

“We push to the next defensible ledge and make a hard camp. No fire after dark. Full watch. If they’re Vipers or common bandits, they’ll try the narrow section tomorrow morning when we’re strung out.”

He looked at Maha and Chandrakala in turn.

“Stay sharp. This is no longer a quiet escort.”

The wind picked up as the light faded, carrying the dry scent of stone and the distant cry of some high-circling bird. Ahead, the road bent into a long, exposed ledge that would force the convoy into single file with nowhere to turn. Behind them the fog closed over the path they had already climbed.

Their first true test in the high passes had begun.