Ten minutes later, when the generals emerged from the dungeons, leading the prisoners who were rubbing wrists raw from chains, Bassmert barely glanced at them. He was already thinking about how to explain the disappearance of two political prisoners from their assigned cell to Maclevirr in the morning. The fate of the two thugs no longer concerned him, but he still asked casually:

  "You’re taking them?"

  "We are," Geonar said firmly. "As for Maclevirr... Here’s what we’ll do. Write down that the two of them were executed at dawn. That both are dead. That two volunteers from the Twelfth Regiment, Woody Miles and Kairu Kenai, are gone, buried in a mass grave, with no relatives to ask about them. If needed, hang someone else in their place so none of this leaks beyond the Guild. Remember: no one knows we were here. Tell Maclevirr you didn’t want to bother him and conducted the investigation yourself, given the siege and the lack of time."

  "Don’t worry, Geonar," Bassmert assured him. "By the way, where are you taking them?"

  "The Trade District. There’s a small passage there that might work. That’s all. Farewell. In half an hour, we’ll be back on the walls boosting morale in our brigades."

  Bassmert simply nodded and turned back to his orders.

  "One moment," said Kairu. "Commander Bassmert, they took our armor and weapons…"

  "You won’t need armor," Ringus cut him off. "You planning to swim in it? But they can return your weapons."

  "They’re over there in the corner…" Bassmert waved his hand.

  Kairu and Woody approached the bench where their belongings lay. The first thing Kairu did was fasten the shard of his father’s sword to his belt, next to his new standard-issue sword. Woody strapped on his scabbard and wrapped himself in a fur cloak. Kairu only sighed, remembering he had given his cloak to Rita.

  "Here’s the map," Ringus Felm said quietly, handing Kairu a leather case as they stepped out into the darkness of the winter night and hurried along the shadowy alleys. The snowfall had stopped, and their steps crunched on the wet, fresh snow. "It won’t get soaked during the crossing and will help you navigate the forests and wildlands. You know your directions, right? Then you’ll manage—Asternia is northeast, no matter what. And this is a letter. Stuff it in your underwear so you don’t lose it! You’ll hand it directly to Telorand Elrith of Asternia, governor of the Northern Province, no one else. And remember: you must insist that the army marches out of the city as soon as possible. By royal decree, troops are gathering on the banks of the Ilvion by April. It’ll take you a few weeks to reach the meeting point, and just as long to gather the troops and move toward the river. You’ll also have to wait for reinforcements from Petista before attacking. The governor will learn everything from the letter."

  They walked between buildings into a district Kairu had never visited before. The sounds of battle grew fainter and fainter until they faded into a distant murmur. To their right, beyond the buildings, the spire of the towering royal palace loomed ever closer. They walked on, turned into a narrow passage, passed an overgrown old yard, and stopped at a small dead end before a large well covered with a rusted iron grate, through which melted water trickled from rooftop drainpipes. There was little snow here—bare apple trees and nearby roofs blocked most of it. Geonar resolutely moved the grate and peered into the dark shaft.

  "Ringus, you’d better stay here," he said; his voice echoed multiple times off the well’s stone walls. Kairu stepped closer and saw small iron rungs embedded in the damp stones. "I’ll squeeze through here and guide the boys once we’re inside."

  He spat on his hands, swung a leg into the opening, and with a grunt, started descending. Ringus nudged Kairu:

  "Go after him! Good luck, boys."

  Kairu nodded and followed Geonar down. It wasn’t too difficult to climb. Near the bottom, when he suddenly couldn’t find the next rung, a flint sparked, and pale light illuminated a small square room. Geonar stood ankle-deep in filthy sludge, shaking it off in disgust. Kairu jumped down beside him and looked around, assessing the surroundings. Somewhere above, Woody was climbing down.

  "I’ll repeat," Geonar said quietly, stepping toward a small rusted pipe at floor level, where water flowed through a channel. At first, Kairu thought there was no way he’d fit through. "Let’s see… No, kid, you’ll fit," Geonar assured him with a glance. "Right. I don’t have a map of the sewers. I only know that from here, you’ll reach the eastern trough, follow it to a small artery that turns right, then squeeze through a left-side passage. Eventually, you’ll reach the main drain, where the sewer connects to the river. You’ll have to swim a bit, and you’ll exit straight into the river through one of the pipes. Lucky for us, the Ilvion hasn’t frozen—must be the gods watching over the river, and us along with it. But it’ll be cold. Hopefully, you’ll survive and reach the Enchanted Forest. After that, you’ll continue on—and if you’re lucky, you might even meet the centaurs. They’ll help you get to Asternia… unless they kill you on sight."

  "Something about this doesn't sit right with me," Woody muttered, approaching them.

  "Did anyone ask you?" Geonar flashed a furious look. "If you want, go back to the dungeons—you’ll be on the gallows at dawn!"

  "No, sir. Ready to carry out the mission. Everything will be fine—we’ll deliver your letter, no problem."

  "Then good luck," the commander grunted. "Try to get out before the assault ends. May Aktos help you, because if you get lost and come out after the pirates have taken up their usual positions, there’s no way you’ll make it across the river unnoticed. Go on, don’t hold us up."

  Kairu crouched down. The stench of rot and human waste was overwhelming and nauseating, and the pipe was wet, damp, and slimy to the touch. But he didn’t really have a choice. He pushed his head in, trying not to breathe through his nose, then slowly worked his shoulders and arms in with great difficulty. He swore under his breath: the slick walls of the pipe offered no handholds. Disgusted, he slid his palms along the filthy slime, blindly trying to find some kind of crack or grip, inching forward into the claustrophobic space. Someone behind him tried to push him, but it wasn’t much help. His limbs were pressed against the sides, and Kairu, crushed on all sides, could barely breathe. Finally, his legs were inside too; twisting like a snake, he slithered forward into the darkness.

  Suddenly, real fear took hold of him: he realized that if he got stuck, there would be no way out. The pipe seemed endless. He lost track of time and then felt the walls begin to compress, tightening around him like an iron vise, but just then, his hands found the edge of the pipe and open space beyond. Pulling himself forward, choking on the stench, he wrenched free from the chokehold, felt his head and torso tip forward, and tumbled ahead. For a few seconds, he dangled as his hips slowly scraped through, and then suddenly he slipped out completely and fell headfirst into a darkness thick with mist.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  ***

  "Maybe we were reckless, sending two more men on a clearly hopeless mission," Geonar said. "Maybe the last courier did make it through..."

  "What’s done is done," Rhingus said grimly. "This is the second time we’ve risked men… But if we hadn’t sent them, the risk would’ve been even greater. Our last courier may not have made it, and then the whole mission would’ve gone to hell. These two are our guarantee that Telorand gets the letter. Let’s go. No point in freezing. The walls are burning hot right now."

  ***

  A thousand miles north of besieged Mainor, far beyond the Enchanted Forest, beyond the vast fields, steppes, and alpine meadows of the Northern Province, past the first ridges of the mountains that descend along the eastern border of Aktida, where the highest and most impassable peaks of eastern Olmaer slope into the grim Crux Plateau, a blizzard had raged for several days straight.

  It was a fierce storm, covering the narrow and treacherous mountain pass—the only road across the Aktida’s border to the north. The trails through the jagged and unreliable mountain paths were now buried under deep snowdrifts, impassable for any man. The snow wolves that lived there in massive packs were now starving, cowering in their caves. A snow wolf den was usually a narrow, almost hidden crevice under the rocks that led to a vast cave labyrinth, large enough to house several prides. Now, every pack was huddled inside, cold, hungry, and furious. But they did not dare go out onto the pass. Not because of the storm—wolves had always hunted in blizzards, catching their prey by surprise. No, they feared something else. Because the wolves knew: from the direction of Vaimar, down from the pass, death was descending.

  Death had a form. It could not be hidden from, and entire packs of wolves were powerless against the squad of terrifying beasts that walked in its wake. Death could read tracks through the snowstorm. It could smell those who had passed days before. And it killed, coldly and without hesitation, anyone in its path. But it wasn’t interested in wolves. It was hunting a man. Just one man, who left a bloody trail behind him in the snow from an open wound.

  It knew the man wouldn’t survive. If death didn’t claim him, then in a day he would die from blood loss, hunger, or cold, unable to battle the blizzard anymore. Two days ago, he had buried the last of his companions from a group that once numbered twenty.

  And death was right behind him. Peering into every hollow, every crevice formed by the uneven terrain. Searching was hard, but finding the body was only a matter of time.

  New tracks showed the man was crawling now. He was very close. Roughly halfway between the pass and the Enchanted Forest’s northern bastion.

  The man was gasping. His gloved hands were frostbitten, his fingers unresponsive, and only sheer willpower kept him moving, inch by inch, toward the forest. The bandages on his neck, ribs, and legs had long unraveled and bled freely. He felt dizzy, and he knew: just a couple more hours, and he’d lose consciousness. He’d last eaten that morning, sheltering in the mountains just past the pass. Afterward, he could walk for a while. Covering two miles had taken him almost four hours. He still had water and meat in his satchel, but no strength left to reach them.

  He knew he didn’t have long to live, for the death was on his heels. But the shadow of trees had already fallen across him. He rested again, clenched his teeth, and crawled through the snow. From afar came a growl. He didn’t even feel fear anymore and didn’t realize what was happening at first, until the howl of the blizzard was pierced by the sound of horns, the thudding of hooves, and something stopping beside him. He could no longer hear the voices—his strength was almost gone.

  "Tembril! What’s there at the edge of the woods?"

  "Werewolves, commander! Looks like them for sure!"

  "Kill the man, commander? He crossed the Forest border…"

  "Wait. Turn him over… See that? The rune on the alder. That mark belongs to friends of the Forest. The queen likely knows him. We must take him in and try to save him. He’s unconscious, lost a lot of blood, and that horrific bite on his neck… he may not survive. But we must try to make sure he can tell us who he is, how he ended up in the Forest, and why he brought werewolves with him. By the way, Ebonas, Tembril… deal with them. They must not defile the Forest’s border."

  Spears clanked, and the horns sounded again. The man no longer heard it. He was gently lifted and carried into the forest. At the edge of the woods, the werewolves came to a sudden halt, because the trail led into the Forest, where spears, crossbows, and cold, unfriendly eyes were already aimed at them...

  This time, death retreated. It was ready to withdraw, but the Forest dwellers gave it no chance. Pikes flashed like lightning through the blizzard, a fiery storm of spells struck, and the air filled with the stench of burnt fur, then fresh meat. The werewolves didn’t even have time to attack, though they outnumbered their enemies. Several massive beasts collapsed into the snowdrifts, the rest turned and vanished behind the snow curtain.

  That night, the snow wolves hunted freely for the first time. They knew that death had once again retreated beyond the pass. And they feasted on good meat, which was enough to feed an entire pack for several more days.

  ***

  The door opened. Dalid stood on the threshold, pale. Beside him stood a Nocturn girl in a short silvery dress slit all the way up to the top of her thigh, wearing tall women’s boots with a small dagger sheathed behind one of them, a light cloak over her shoulders, and a ruby necklace around her neck. She wore delicate round bracelets on her slender wrists, her thick, curly hair falling in an artful mess, her black, bottomless eyes unreadable. Her left hand rested near a small holster on her belt.

  Viggo jumped to his feet. Remiz turned to her slowly. Rita fell silent. Her eyes met those of the stranger. The room filled with a charged silence.

  "I deeply regret interrupting your most fascinating conversation," the woman said. "A conversation filled with friendly altruism, exhaustion after a hard battle, and concern for two missing friends. But I had no choice—otherwise, you wouldn’t have found out for quite some time. You can stop thinking about rescuing anyone. Kairu and Woody were hanged this morning at dawn."

  Viggo flinched. Rita shrieked like a furious cat and lunged at her, knocking her to the floor. They rolled into a corner, locked together. Rita twisted the woman’s arm as she reached for her dagger and punched her in the face, but Remiz ran over, grabbed Rita tightly around the waist, and lifted her aside as if she weighed nothing, preventing her from lashing out again. Rita screamed.

  "You’re lying! Lying, you witch! How could you—"

  The girl slowly got up. She touched the dark bruise on her cheek with a lacquered fingernail, rubbed her arms where red scratches and droplets of blood had appeared.

  "No," she whispered. "I saw… the bodies, hanging beyond the wall… I saw Bassmert dragging them both last night, promising they’d be executed at dawn… After the siege, they were already there."

  Rita struggled less and less and finally hung limply in Remiz’s arms, sobbing, shaking in convulsive tears. Remiz whispered soothing words to her.

  "I swear I did everything I could for them," Dalid whispered. "I asked Folle Conenti to write a petition for clemency. I personally went to speak with Geonar and Felm and tried to persuade them. I thought they agreed... But then they went down to the dungeons, and after that, I couldn’t get an audience again while the siege was ongoing."

  "They were a political case," the Nocturn girl said quietly. "Which means the final decision was up to Maclevirr."

  "Who are you?" Viggo asked hoarsely.

  "My name is Joanna. I am a member of the Cassian Order. And I feel responsible for what happened to your friends. That’s why I want to help you."

  Viggo said nothing. He remembered how, that morning, when they met Dalid on the walls after the exhausting siege, he told them what had happened at the Cassian assembly. How they learned from Rita at the hospital that Kairu had been taken to the dungeons. How they had sat in this same tiny room, trying to come up with a plan to free their friends...

  There were no more words, and it was still hard to believe what this black-eyed beauty had just told them.

  "He couldn’t have died," Kald thought. "He always found a way to come out clean. Back then, in the shrine... and on the battlefield at Nalvin... he got out of every hopeless situation, and he never gave up... And what are we supposed to tell Petros now?"