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throughout the Stoneholm warrens asking for families willing to share their homes. For any who need to sleep outside in tents, we have extra blankets.”
    The freed Gremurr slaves burst forward with increased energy as they reached the city built into the mountainside. Corag residents came out to welcome them, commemorating the victory, cheering the refugees and the soldiers. Mateo’s heart warmed to see thirty of the haggard refugees reunited with their own families from Corag. He had come to know these tough, whip-thin men during the march along the mountain road, and he knew which ones had grown up in the rugged mountains. He watched the Corag men bound forward like gaunt antelopes, while women in woolen shawls and spun skirts came running out, calling names, searching the returning prisoners for familiar faces.
    Laughing and weeping, women kissed their shaggy and dirty men. Children stared at unfamiliar fathers while the mothers spilled out a flood of words that had been pent up for years. Most of the returning Corag slaves just clung to their wives or sweethearts, rocking them back and forth. Warm tears filled Mateo’s eyes, and he drew a deep breath, let it out slowly. He would be home soon, too. The palpable joy in the air heartened the others, who now looked forward to the long trek back to Calay.
    The bald, pale-skinned Siescu came out to meet Mateo and Iaros with a grin wide enough to stretch the skin on his angular face. “This is cause for great celebration, gentlemen. We are glad to have you.” The Corag destrar looked skeptically at the herd of large and restless russet beasts. “But your mammoths stripped the vegetation clean the last time they came through. They won’t find much forage. You’ll have to move along as soon as possible.”
    “My soldiers will guide them back to the steppes tomorrow,” Iaros promised.
    Siescu led them to his cavernous hall, where an ever-present fire blazed in the huge hearth. Tureens of hot soup and platters of steaming bread were laid out on the long table. He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “You must be frozen to the bone after that long journey. You can be warm in here.”
    Mateo ate his soup, a broth of some unknown meat enhanced by sliced root vegetables. The warmth and nourishment felt very good. “Destrar, can you send riders ahead to the river in the morning to secure one of Sazar’s barges? That would make the journey easier for our returning friends.”
    “Consider it done,” Siescu said. “We are all part of this war, and I sense it will soon be over.”
    Tearing into a chunk of bread, Iaros raised his chin. “I’ve decided that Iborians can take care of themselves, and I’ll return to Gremurr after all. My uncle needs me more.” When Mateo looked at him in surprise, the other man shrugged. “Capturing Gremurr was only the first part of the battle—now we have to hold it. They are already growing short of supplies.”
    Destrar Siescu considered for a long moment. “I’ve got a hundred soldiers to send with you—and I will go along, too. And a load of supplies. I don’t much like to leave my hall this late in the season, but I want to see these mines before winter arrives. Raga Var can lead us safely over the pass.”
    “Winter will soon close the pass, Destrar.” The mumbled voice came from someone not accustomed to speaking before a large group of people. Mateo spotted the shaggy-looking guide in tattered fur garments. “If we are going back to Gremurr, we’d better leave quickly.”

Gremurr Mines

    Destrar Broeck had never been much of a sailor, but now that he’d captured seven warships, he enjoyed hunting on the open Middlesea.
    The ironclad vessels were quite different from the barges and carracks frequently used along the Tierran coastline, and the Uraban rigging style made the ships handle in unexpected ways, which was why Broeck insisted on so many shakedown voyages. Should there be open naval battles against the Curlies, he