Kalen and Anthos advanced through the white snow, still firmly rooted to the ground, as the sun peeked through the clouds and dazzled their eyes. The terrain was uneven, but it had become much flatter now that they were moving away from the mountains. A few trees scattered in small clusters weren’t nearly enough to cover the horizon, not even on the hills. A calm yet freezing wind struck their weathered faces.

  For Anthos, following the trail of the druid apprentice wasn’t too difficult. Though not an expert tracker, he knew enough and had the necessary experience to pursue his prey without issue. Perhaps it wasn’t his strongest skill, but he was better at it than the rest of his companions—except Begryn. He remembered once again the Blood Claws, when he had to act as a tracker for a group hired to hunt down an ogre. That had been near the city of Proco, in southern Trabarioth, where the orcs of the frozen lands lived. In fact, it had been those very orcs who had hired them, and there he realized that these orcs, of considerable height and pale skin, had nothing to do with their savage green cousins of Bloodmere.

  “How are you holding up?” asked Kalen, trying to scan the horizon.

  “He’s still keeping his course. He’s heading toward the Miderlaf range… Do you think he plans to cross into Elbarie? If so, then he has nothing to do with the Brotherhood or with Faradax.”

  “We still don’t know what his plans are. What we do know is that he stabbed my friend and gave you a good blow to the head. More than enough reason to cut him in half.”

  “I thought you paladins stood for peace.”

  “I’m a knight, not a monk. I’ll find that bastard and tear him apart.”

  “We’ll see about that, my friend, but let me tell you—Ertai is mine.”

  Kalen smiled, but said nothing. They continued marching for several more hours. Soon, they began to notice scattered trees off to their right, most of them twisted and half-dead. Nothing like the pines that stretched ahead of them and to their left.

  “Those trees belong to the forest that borders the lands of the southern orcs of Trabarioth,” said Anthos, catching the knight’s glance. “There’s a road that leads to the cities of Proco and Burlón.”

  “Orcs… just what we needed.”

  “These aren’t like the ones you’ve met before, my friend. We won’t have trouble with them. Besides, I doubt we’ll even cross paths. We don’t need to go through their territory.”

  The afternoon began to fade, and they reached a spot where the landscape rose gently upward, increasingly covered in vegetation. At that moment, Anthos stopped and crouched down, scanning the ground. He even removed the green scarf that covered his mouth and nose, as if doing so allowed him to taste or smell the trail.

  Kalen, who also had his face wrapped against the cold, started to notice that the Miderlaf Mountains were farther away than they had first appeared. If it was true that Ertai meant to cross into Elbarie… which path did he intend to take?

  “The trail shifts—it turns north,” said the guide.

  “Are you sure it isn’t a trick to throw us off?”

  “More than sure. That’s why I took my time. I wanted to make certain he wasn’t trying to lose us. It seems he’s heading for the Forest of Storms. We can’t see it clearly yet because of that ridge up ahead, but once we cross it, we’ll have a clear view.”

  “Why would he want to go into that forest?”

  Anthos shrugged. “As far as I know, there’s no crossing there. But honestly, I don’t know. I’ve never set foot in that place. Some say it’s cursed. The people of Epsilia fear it, claiming that, from time to time, strange sounds can be heard within—like a permanent storm pounding against its trees. That’s where it gets its name.”

  “Well, Ertai chose it for a reason. We need to hurry.”

  Anthos moved ahead, shaking his head. “We can’t keep pushing on through the night, Kalen.”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “He’s ahead of us. We can’t stop now.”

  “Listen. Even if you have night vision, moving forward in the dark, across snowy and unfamiliar ground, near woods, is extremely dangerous. Ertai knows that too, and he’ll have to stop as well. Let’s not be reckless.”

  The knight clenched his jaw and nodded.

  “And I hope you brought that bag of herbs,” Anthos added. “It’s going to be a cold night—and the perfect one for a good soup.”

  After a few minutes, the two travelers sat before a small fire, heating water to make an herb soup. The cold was harsh and overwhelming, especially under the starry night that spread across the sky. The “fireflies of Mistilanya,” as the elves called the stars, shone with an intensity the paladin had rarely seen. There were areas of the firmament where the points of light seemed to merge and form clouds, in addition to the different constellations: the Chariots of Aiorán, the Two-Headed Elk, Eleyna’s Arrow, or the Steppe Bear.

  Without a word, Anthos removed the pot from the fire, poured some into a wooden bowl, and before drinking the greenish liquid, blew softly to cool it.

  “It’s good,” he said, passing the bowl to Kalen, who took it with both hands and did the same.

  “I saw you fight back there against the osgor… I was a bit occupied with that hag from the Abyss, but I caught your movements. I had never seen that style of fighting.”

  “Yes… The secret of the art lies in striking only a few times, but in vital points. Naturally, because of the characteristics of the sword, there aren’t many blocks, but there are plenty of evasions. As I mentioned earlier to Galfrido, the Elbarien duel is a sport that’s dying out, but it must be acknowledged that it has several techniques effective for combat.”

  “Could you teach me some?”

  Anthos’ eyes widened. The first thought that crossed his mind was that the knight was mocking him. But he knew Kalen was not the kind of man who mocked others. In fact, the knight was looking at him with complete seriousness. What struck him even more was the humility behind the request. Sir ‘Fal was a consecrated knight, certainly more experienced in combat than himself, and yet he was asking to learn some of his techniques. He couldn’t help but smile and feel truly honored.

  “Are you sure?” asked the guide, still a bit incredulous.

  “Well, I saw that your way of fighting was quite effective—and exotic. Something I hadn’t seen before. There’s always something new to learn. We wandering knights know that very well. Besides, it’ll be a good way to forget the cold for a while.”

  “Well then, it will be an honor to share some of my techniques with you.”

  They both rose to their feet. Kalen unsheathed Eldora with the solemnity of one who treats his weapon as an extension of his own body. Anthos still had Ak-Ahrimma, or “The Silent Death,” sheathed. He placed his right foot pointing toward Kalen and shifted part of his weight onto his bent left leg. His left arm went behind his back, while his right hand hovered near the hilt. A very strange guard.

  “This is the first guard taught in a duel,” Anthos began to explain. “It’s known as ‘the Courtier.’ A stance that invites the opponent to advance, yet carries the latent threat of a hand near the hilt.”

  “I understand.”

  "Get into guard and advance as if you wanted to attack me," said Anthos. The paladin took Eldora with both hands and raised her above his head, stepping forward with his left leg and distributing the weight on both legs, in the position known as “the offering to the sun.”

  Suddenly, he leapt forward, moving his sword in a circular motion, but Anthos didn’t seem to move. Of course, he didn’t complete the full strike. He stopped a step away.

  "Aren’t you going to move?" asked Kalen.

  "I already did…" The guide motioned with his eyes toward the knight’s chest. Kalen looked down and saw Anthos’s small sword, its tip discreetly pressed at the height of his heart.

  Kalen looked back up, bewildered at his companion. "By Leiorus, when did you move?"

  "The secret of this stance is that, by inviting you to fight, it makes you focus only on your attack and the point you want to strike. However, it’s based on deception, because what it seeks is to immediately find a vulnerable spot—not in the opponent’s attack, but in his own body. In this case, your heart." He abandoned his stance and began walking around the fire. "Where many disciplines aim to find weak points in a technique to bypass it and counterattack, here the goal is to attack in response to the opponent’s technique. It’s not a counterattack. It’s an attack concealed within the enemy’s attack."

  Kalen couldn’t help but smile and nod. It was something new to him.

  "Besides, you must keep in mind that, due to the characteristics of this sword, chain mail is useless against its thrust."

  "Teach me more…"

  "With pleasure, Sir Kalen."

  They practiced for several hours, during which the knight absorbed some combat techniques, mainly based on deception and reading the exposure of opponent’s vital points. By the end of the training, they decided to rest and take the opportunity to sleep a little. The distraction had been welcome, but the mission they had to fulfill weighed on their minds.