Dawn in the Mountains of the Moon was shrouded in mist, and they could see only what lay directly ahead.
Kopi Son of Gorn walked at the head of the party. Behind him came the tribe's last three hundred warriors and their families, a silent, weary procession making its way home.
He looked back, trying to dispel the gloom in his people's hearts with his voice. "We're almost there! My people! No Flatlanders have shown up!"
Just then, old Ji, who had one eye, stopped among the crowd and pointed toward the sky with her withered finger.
Kopi Son of Gorn followed her gesture and looked up. A few crows circled overhead, their calls hoarse and harsh.
Old Ji began to mutter, "Blood."
"I smell blood, child. This isn't the road home—"
Kopi Son of Gorn impatiently cut her off, lifted her, and set her on a cart. "It's the smell of vengeance, old mother."
"The ancestors will bless us as we take back everything."
He urged the procession onward and into a gorge hemmed in by steep cliffs. Just as the last woman carrying a child reached its midpoint, a piercing blast of horns suddenly erupted overhead, echoing between the cliffs.
Kopi Son of Gorn's heart sank. A thunderous crash came from behind him. He turned in horror as several enormous logs and boulders were shoved down from the cliffs, smashing into the gorge's entrance. Rocks flew and dust billowed, completely sealing their way back.
It was over! The words pierced his mind like a blade, and all color drained from his face.
There was no time for despair. His entire tribe was here. Instinct drove him to draw his battle-axe.
He roared hoarsely, "Charge ahead! Break through the gorge! Kill them all!"
Three hundred Wildlings, driven by the