A. Killik Klaw - Prologue

On the slopes of Killik Klaw, miles above the wide emptied valley, a
man struggled to persuade a horse up the incline, his feet slipping in
the grey melt water that ran in tiny rivulets down the newly naked
rock. A break in the clouds revealed the weather honed peak of the
mountain in startling clarity, its almost corporeal presence causing
the man to turn and meet its gaze, disregarding the horse which backed
away down the slope, spilling loose stones as it went. Above them the
waning sunlight painted the snow a rich orange before the mist slowly
subsumed the mountain again and broke the spell, the man walked back to
where the horse had stopped.

He picked up the rope and tried to pull the animal forwards but it
dipped its head against the halter and leaned back against the weight
until the man gave up. The horse relaxed but remained where it stood
watching the man as he checked his watch and, hand shielding his eyes,
stared back down the path, seeing nothing.

Wearily the man pulled a bottle of water from the horses pack, took
a long, thirsty swig and then stood, resting the bottle on the silent
animal's back, his hand scratching gently at his beard. Coming to a
decision he replaced the bottle and lifted a small package wrapped in a
blanket from the pack. And then, saying something to the horse and
cradling the package in both hands, he strode away up the mountain
path.

The horse complained loudly and attempted to follow but was again
foiled by the gradient and loose footing. Instead it turned away and
picked at some harsh foliage, the man disappearing upwards into the
mist shrouded mountain.

Brother DeMontford observed the pilots white knuckles on the stick
and watched his face, set in hard concentration with wide eyes never
moving from the instrument panel, a bead of sweat ignored on his brow.
The monk leant back into the bucking seat and glanced outside into the
swirling mist and flurrying snow. He saw the grey fog harden into a
dagger of black rock seemingly striking out at them from within the
clouds. The helicopters engine screamed as the pilot banked and
elevated away.

'That's it.' The pilot shouted above the engine. 'This is too
dangerous.'

'Continue.' Ordered DeMontford.

'No way, it'll kill us all.'

'That's a risk worth taking.'

'Not for me it aint, I'm taking us back.'

'Do that and I will have you shot the moment we land.'

The astonished pilot looked at DeMontford whose eyes met his with
cold sincerity. Swearing the pilot spun the helicopter around and
headed back towards the mountain at reckless speed. DeMontford caught
himself squeezing the seat and a yelp of alarm came from the passengers
behind.

The ridge appeared beneath them as suddenly as the rock face had
appeared ahead of them.

'Follow it up.' Said DeMontford.

The pilot levelled the helicopter over the barely visible snow and
cautiously traced the ridge up the mountain until there, at its peak,
they saw the dark shape of a man kneeling down in the snow. The
helicopter tentatively set down so it that it floated a few feet above
the ground in a great cloud of rushing snow. DeMontford ordered the two
passengers to jump, and gesturing to the pilot to leave, followed.

The man knelt in the snow and held out the package for the three
men. The first took it and handed it to another who cradled it lovingly
against his body.

'It is done.' Said the man.