Running in heavy boots was hard and very uncomfortable—especially downhill, on a steep and slippery mountainside. Norton was tired and out of breath, but he didn’t even think of stopping. Smoke was spreading slowly across the clear horizon, and people at the foot of Rokastr were crowding in panic toward the rocks. They were glancing in fear back at the snow-white plain behind them, and forward at the narrow winding trail leading deeper into the grey labyrinth of the pass.

  Anzerrat was gasping behind him, trying to catch up with the tireless youngster. The slope leveled out, Norton stumbled, fell into a snowdrift, got up, brushing snowflakes from his face, and felt that his legs were about to give out. He rushed forward to where the crowd had gathered around the wagons of Ashley, Atgard, Rodrigo Antan, and Demetra.

  He stopped, swaying, as the people noticed the two travelers coming down from Rokastr. Soon, Anzerrat caught up and halted, looking at pale Ashley and the frightened refugees.

  "Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?!" barked a man in a crimson cloak and the armor of the Fighters’ Guild as he approached them. Anzerrat glanced around, noticing about a dozen more soldiers in the same uniform, clearly a special detachment sent to cover the refugees.

  "And who the hell are you?"

  "Calm down!" Atgard snapped behind him, struggling to climb out of the wagon. "Calm yourself, cornet! I’m a retired Guild captain, and I keep my word! We waited for our people, and now we can move on…"

  "I’m not buying your stories, Kald," the cornet growled, turning toward him. "After what happened last night, I don’t trust anyone! You understand, old man, that I’m responsible for the lives of hundreds of people, and I have to get them out of here! You could easily lead us into your band’s ambush in the mountains, or hand us over to the pirates!"

  "Enough!" Anzerrat raised his hand. Ashley, Demetra, and Rodrigo sat calmly in one of the wagons, maintaining an icy composure. Atgard carefully pushed his way through the muttering crowd toward Anzerrat and Norton.

  "And you’re a Nocturn," the cornet said with contempt, glaring at him. "I heard your kind were butchering Alvens in the Eastern Province this summer. Why the hell aren’t you back on your Islands? Or swinging from a gallows?"

  Anzerrat’s face remained stony, his fists clenched, and he visibly forced himself to stay calm.

  "Enough!" Atgard repeated firmly before the Nocturn could respond. "Listen. We offered help without asking for anything in return. You refused. Now we’re heading north, through the pass. You can stay here if you like. The pirate army will reach the pass in a matter of hours. They won’t cross the border. And anyway, evening is coming, night is falling, and on the other side are the Vaimar patrol lines. You don’t want to come with us? That’s your choice."

  "They’re right," a woman stepped out of the crowd, grabbing the cornet by the arm as he prepared to retort. "Enough! Don’t you see none of us know the way through the pass? We won’t make it west or east in time, the patrols will catch us!"

  "What the hell do we want in Vaimar?" the soldier spat into the snow. "Our cause is lost. We won’t make it across in time. And I doubt those bastards will stop at the mountains."

  Anzerrat shrugged and walked to his horse standing by the wagon. Norton followed him. Atgard limped heavily after them. The crowd watched them with grim faces. Anzerrat mounted, slid his boots into the stirrups, gripped the reins, and glanced back at the people parting around the wagons. Ashley and Rodrigo took up the reins, steering their horses toward the pass at a slow pace.

  "If anyone here wants to get out of Aktida and be in Vairad by morning, follow me!" Anzerrat shouted.

  And he was the first to guide his steed up the winding road among grim ice blocks and cliffs, toward the pass. The others followed silently behind, wagons creaking through the fresh snow.

  The crowd stirred. The first brave souls hesitantly followed. Women and elders slowly trailed after them. Ashley looked back, sighed deeply, stopped her wagon, and let a few children, barely able to stay on their feet, climb next to her luggage. Rodrigo did the same. The Guild officer spat gloomily into the snow and marched off, surrounded by his men, covering the rear of the column and barking orders to hurry. People blindly followed the faint spark of hope that had flickered to the north.

  Vaimar was there.

  The mountains loomed ominously above. Darkness deepened, the first stars appeared, and the grey mass overhead turned to a frosty blue. The pass twisted and turned, sometimes narrowing to a slit barely wide enough for a wagon, sometimes widening to allow a steady climb higher between sheer slopes and jagged peaks. All around, the mountains rose like bleak fortresses, wrapped in clouds, eternally covered in snow and ice, and the pass carved through them, forming the only path through these deadly gorges, among bare rock, deep crevices, and endlessly distant summits… In the daytime, their whiteness blinded the eyes. But now, as twilight descended on the Olmaer Ridge, it felt eerie to ride silently along a narrow trail, facing the biting snow, climbing ever higher into the inhospitable peaks, sensing the eyes of the refugees behind you.

  Norton was thoughtfully chewing an apple from the bag of dried provisions they had bought from Frans. Surely the old innkeeper, if not already among the crowd, was hurrying after them to take shelter beyond the border. For some reason, Norton felt certain that crafty old man would survive. Not just this war, but many others still to come…

  And he kept thinking about his brother and the friends they had left behind on Rokastr Mountain. It felt strange and completely unfamiliar to be heading somewhere without them.

  Demetra sat silently, wrapped in her cloak. Rodrigo confidently handled the reins, and the procession moved forward. Atgard was whispering something to Ashley.

  The mountains seemed endless. Far off among the countless gorges, snow wolves howled with hunger and sorrow. Norton thought he heard the cry of horns carried by the southern wind, along with the swirling snow—maybe the Aktida army had made it to Petista? That would be good, but it didn’t really matter now. Either way, the pirates would be delayed with their looting, as plenty of fools had stayed behind in Aktida. There was still time until morning, and the road ahead was long.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Reining in his horse, Norton listened carefully to the sounds reaching Folkar’s Pass, but apart from the mournful howling, he heard nothing. The mountains remained silent.

  "They won’t catch us," Anzerrat said, turning back as his horse drew level with the boy’s. "Not unless Rodrigo and Demetra lose their way in these trails…"

  "Now that’s not going to happen," Norton muttered. "Rodrigo get lost? Not a chance. If he says he knows the road, he knows it."

  The horses stepped slowly over rocks and outcrops, skirting around icy hummocks. The moon had rolled to the middle of the sky, illuminating the pass, which had almost reached its highest point. The way back was blocked by cliffs and towering slopes, but those who had traveled this route before knew that half the journey was behind them. Now they had to find a descent from the mountains into the valley. In the pale blue haze, Rodrigo suddenly turned, taking a narrow path pressed close to the right-hand slope. The road twisted; this time, a deep crevice lay on the left, and once again, mountains rose ahead.

  "That’s wolf howling from over there," Ashley noted from her wagon, addressing Rodrigo. "Are you sure we’re going the right way?"

  Rodrigo remained silent, and Athgard answered for him:

  "He’s not to blame for wolves being on the road… Gentlemen, I suggest we keep our weapons ready, just in case. These beasts are surely no more dangerous than pirates, I swear. You know what, Norton? Ride with Anzerrat to the back of the column and keep an eye on our rear. I’m afraid those Fighters’ Guild lads might miss something important. In the mountains, you can come across anything—maybe even worse than wolves or men—and I don’t want the refugees’ deaths blamed on me later… So stay close and don’t let the wagons out of your sight!" The last part was addressed to the former residents of Petista, who flinched at the sound of Kald’s booming voice.

  "It’s freezing," Norton muttered. "Damn, this makes me think of the Eastern Province. We had a rough time there, but at least we could rest at Ashley’s between the Citadel runs."

  "For Vaimar, this isn’t very cold," said Anzerrat with a smile. "It’s November now, and the real frost will begin just before New Year…"

  "The best weather this time of year is in Derelz," Demetra added from her wagon. "It’s nice there, especially in spring. Snow starts melting at the end of February, and suddenly too—during thaws the rivers often overflow. By the end of March, you can even swim in the sea, there are lots of warm currents near the shore."

  "I’ll drop by sometime," Athgard said with a yawn. "I’ve already forgotten what a true Vaimarian spring feels like… We lived near Caelrey, and I only visited Derelz a couple of times after moving to Aktida and becoming captain of the Fighters’ Guild."

  "Same, never got the chance," Anzerrat admitted.

  "Well, hardly anyone goes to Vaimar now. I thought I’d spend the rest of my days on my estate, visiting Ashley for holidays and reminiscing about lost youth. But no, here I am again, bumping over rough terrain and racing to the edge of the world without knowing why."

  The column turned again, following Rodrigo, who led them confidently, gradually descending. The horses, sensing the downhill grade, picked up speed, the wagons creaked, rocking over pits and bumps, and up ahead, a clearing appeared. Silence fell, broken only by the clatter of hooves on stone and ice, and the soft steps of dozens of feet. Among the monotonous gray monoliths, the dark-blue sky appeared, and in a few minutes the fugitives and their guides emerged onto a small snow-covered ledge among the rocks, which opened onto a plain stretching to the horizon—smooth and snowy in the east, thickly forested with the harsh Vaimarian taiga in the west.

  The road led down into a gorge. Rodrigo, satisfied, looked back one last time, jumped off his wagon, and walked beside it, holding the wheels to prevent it from rolling down too fast. Anzerrat and Athgard did the same with other wagons. Norton took the horses by the reins and carefully led them down the steep and slippery slope. The refugees, as if spellbound, followed slowly, their eyes fixed on the constellations stretching across the sky in its endless glittering expanse, without a single cloud. The massive moon lit their path, and not even wolf howls could be heard now—on this side of the mountains, the beasts kept away from the nearby settlements. Norton tossed an apple core into a crevice, whistled a tune through his teeth. Glancing at him with a smile, Atgard said:

  "Almost there… Now the main thing is to get down without incident and reach the forest’s edge. And from there Vairad’s just a stone’s throw away! We’re coming, Land of the Never-Melting Snows!"

  ***

  They had been hiding in the depths of this gorge for a week, freezing and chattering their teeth from the cold every day. They had never seen snow before and had only a vague idea of the path through the Folkar’s Pass, but after a day of wandering through the mountains, they found their way and emerged into Vaimar. Now they were camped in a gorge across from the descent to the road leading to the nearest settlements, sleeping in an icy cave once favored by snow wolves, whose carcasses had now been butchered and roasted.

  There were fifteen of them.

  They were goblins from the elite "Python" squad, hired assassins from the Desert Lands.

  While the others slept, three sentries sat hunched at their lookout posts among the rocks, watching the road. Janus, the squad captain, stared gloomily into the endless snowy expanse. He didn’t much believe in the mission’s success, even though he had promised Saelin he would dig the fugitives out from under the earth if he had to.

  But now, after interrogating Frans, whom the goblin was inclined to trust, Janus was completely disillusioned with the chase. He was tired. In the past three months, the squad had marched nearly two thousand miles, living off the land. And here it was cold, there was nothing to eat, and they had to wait near the pass for some people who could very well have died trying to cross war-torn Aktida. If that was the case, then the search was automatically pointless.

  Around the goblins, who had spent their lives in deserts and jungles, had now opened an icy hell, and the only thing warming Janus’s soul was the extravagant advance payment their Master had given them, promising even more upon completion. And now greed played its role: the goblins weren’t willing to give up the thrill and easy money. The hunt for humans, what could be more delightful?

  These were the thoughts swirling in the goblin’s mind when he suddenly sprang to his feet, listening to the sounds coming from the mountains. There were many sounds—the wind’s wail, the mournful howling of snow wolves—but something else mingled with them. Janus could never mistake the neighing of horses, the creaking of wagons, and the muffled murmur of human voices. His hearing had never failed him.

  Radrash and Kerekh, his brothers, jumped up instantly, raising their muskets and grabbing their yataghans. Kerekh rushed down to wake the others. Janus moved forward, holding onto the rocks and watching the road from a distance. The goblins understood him without a word. Now that the hunt had begun, no orders were needed. Meanwhile, wagons and people began to appear on the road. Many people—far more than expected.

  But when Janus saw the first riders emerge from behind the icy rocks, he knew he had not been mistaken. He waited a bit longer, letting the people move ahead, scanning the scene with a practiced eye and choosing his first victims. The plan for the ambush had been worked out in advance, back on the day the assassins had crossed the pass, scouted the area, and selected the best position. Now, with the fighters already in place, all that remained was a wave of the hand.

  Janus looked at Radrash, slowly raised his musket, aiming at the head of the man riding in front, leading the others. Then he pulled the trigger. The silence of the cold night was shattered by a deafening crack, and events rushed forward with the unstoppable force of an avalanche.