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I told them thousands of times not to come out, Ketal thought.
He clicked his tongue at the memory. They were not the sort who listened well just because one told them to.
Back then, he had not worried. He had believed the beings of the White Snowfield could not leave without him. He had treated that as a law. If he alone could cross the threshold, then so long as he chose not to bring anyone else, the matter was settled.
However, the seal had weakened. Whitie had come Outside, and the Ugly Rat had followed. If those two could force the gap, there was no principle left that would keep the other barbarians from doing the same.
He had put in a safety catch all the same, a minimal one. It was the only thing that had calmed their clamor.
They had begged, some of them with wine-bright eyes and some with blood on their faces, to let them follow. They had shouted that they would carry his baggage and break his road and die in his name. They had promised never to lag. When even breaking their noses did not work, Ketal had given them one sentence that cut through the noise.
“Do not follow me. That is an order from your chieftain. If you absolutely must come after me, then pass the trial I set.”
Silence had fallen as if he had drawn a blade. The mood had turned at once. Instead of chasing his heels, they had thrown their fists into the air and roared. They had treated it as a chance, a path that let them stand at his side without shame. If they could clear his trial, they could stand beside him in daylight.
Even if they came, it would only be after passing that trial. He had not made...
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