When the sun rose, bright and clear, Amon pushed harder. Galan and Nora grimaced at the increase in pace, but they didn’t complain. The sooner they reached Hardcoast, the better. The road wound up and up the slope of Mount Basal. Snow clumped on the sides of the road. Ferron raced ahead through the trees, chasing rabbits, disappearing and reappearing, pausing every now and then to fling himself into a good snowdrift and roll with abandon. Fool wolf. He loved snow. As the elevation increased, the road grew worse. They had to pick their way carefully. Finally, the road itself grew icy. Amon was obliged to call a halt so they could all dismount and lead their horses. Where there was no ice, there was mud. They made far less time that day than Amon would have liked slogging through mud and slipping on ice. The wind picked up, an icy bite to it. If it had been winter, that wind would have promised snow. As the clouds closed in again, Amon wondered if it really would snow. Galan and Nora talked quietly on occasion, but Amon was too lost in thought for conversation.

  As evening fell, the temperature plunged. Snow started to fall, first just a few flakes here and there, then in stronger flurries. Wicked gusts cut right through Amon’s thick cloak. He happened to glance back at Galan and Nora and realized that they must be feeling the cold far worse than he was. Amon grimaced. A century and more of life had left him a bit impervious to the elements. It wasn’t that he didn’t get cold like everyone else, he had just learned to ignore it until it got to the point that it felt like his ears were going to freeze off. Neither of the children had complained, yet both were red-faced and shivering, holding their cloaks tight about them and huddling close to their horses for warmth.

  Amon called a halt immediately. They were still on the mountain, a mile at least below the road summit, where it would at last crest the shoulder of the mountain and begin to wind down toward the coast. He didn’t like the idea of spending the night on the mountain, still too close to Farshire for comfort, but it was plain that those two weren’t going to get much further. The horses could use a rest as well.

  Amon found them a place to camp with some shelter. A rock overhang a hundred yards off the road created a shallow cave, the entrance shielded by mounds of old snow. He strung up a canvas tarp he carried for just this situation to block the worst of the wind. The shallow cave left something to be desired, but he had endured worse conditions. The absolute worst had been the time he’d been forced to ride out a fearsome storm in the Icespire Mountains, which truly lived up to their name on the border of Baralbard and northern Alftane, in a snow cave with no food and only melted snow for water. This was mildly better.

  Getting a fire going proved difficult, but they couldn’t spend this cold, wet, snowy night without a fire. Wood was easy to come by, but most of it was damp. After several attempts with flint and steel and copious curses, Amon finally got the kindling to catch. He suspected Nora had had something to do with it. She was sitting nearby, knees drawn up to her chest, staring intently at the fire. He didn’t bother to ask. She was still shy about her abilities. He didn’t blame her for that.

  Amon stacked more wet wood near the fire in the hopes it would dry enough to burn. It was going to be a long, cold night. He rummaged through his saddlebags for the dried meat and cheese and flatbread that had become their incredibly dull evening meal of late, and realized with a start that they were running short of rations. Carelessness and stupidity! Amon cursed himself.

  This was his fault. He had carried just as much as was needed to get them all from Ambermill to Farshire in a reasonable amount of time to keep the weight down to avoid overtaxing Shade. He had intended to restock in Farshire, but their midnight departure had dashed that. He hadn’t even thought about it until now. He quickly took stock of what was left and thought through their predicament. The meat was all but gone, but they had flatbread and cheese left for two days, maybe three if they stretched it. Flatbread and cheese were hardly enough to keep them going, though. Hardcoast was another three days off at their current pace, and only if the weather held. He might have gone out hunting for their supper, but for the near lack of animal sign recently. The lingering snow was keeping the game down at the lower elevations. When they began their descent down off the mountain, toward the coast, the hunting might be better, but he wasn’t about to count on it. For tonight, flatbread and cheese would have to do.

  There was only one real way to stretch their food stores, Amon decided. He could go without, at least until he found some hunting. He wouldn’t ask that of Galan and Nora, not when it was his own miserable fault that they were in this situation. This journey had been one bad decision after another.

  As night fell and the temperature plunged, Amon took up a position near the fire. Across from him, Galan and Nora were trying to sleep, Ferron curled up between them. Traitor, Amon thought wryly. The wolf had taken a great liking to both of them and was thoroughly enjoying the attention. Ferron was a good judge of character, he had come to know in the nine years with the wolf, and the wolf’s ease around those two made it easier for Amon to trust them. Not easy, but easier. He didn’t fully trust anyone, not even Liddy. Sarella had taught him well in that regard.

  Amon had deliberately steered their path close to the Dragon’s Eye. If Sarella was following, and he was all but certain she was, perhaps the lure of dragons would be too much for her to resist. Amon didn’t believe the stories that a dragon slept beneath Mount Basal, at least not now. Perhaps a dragon had issued forth 90 years ago when the mountain belched smoke and fire, though he had not seen it. If there was one here now, he would have known. Dragons were supposedly huge, ravenous beasts, capable of destroying herds and villages. Something that large would have to come out to eat every now and then and would have left evidence behind. He had probed the cave only lightly in the years he lived on the mountain, but such caves were too dark and confining for his tastes. He preferred trees and open skies overhead to tons of rock and earth just waiting to collapse. He did believe the passage might lead to a chamber under the mountain though. He hadn’t lied to Sarella. If she did find a dragon down there, perhaps it would eat her, he thought wryly. That would save him a rather large headache.

  Three days from now, weather permitting, they would reach Hardcoast. If Liddy was correct, and she usually was, there would be a ship waiting to take Galan and Nora across to the Lathian mainland. What would happen then, he did not know. Liddy had not shared her plans with him. Galan was important somehow, but that was all he knew. He suspected Nora has simply gotten caught up in the events and swept along. He knew the feeling. Liddy had mentioned arranging an escort to take them...somewhere, once they made the crossing. He fed a bit more wood to the fire. He was becoming more and more disquieted with the thought of giving Galan and Nora over to some unknown escort. He was becoming somewhat fond of them, in a protective manner. Yes, leaving on the same ship might be the best course of action. At least then he could keep an eye on them and be there if something unexpected happened. He suspected that Liddy would be pleased by that.

  Yes, what would happen if he let them go alone, and then, instead of Liddy’s escort on the mainland, Seekers awaited? Unbidden, his hand went to his throat, where the rope scar was concealed under the black wool scarf. Even if Liddy had not conscripted him into this, he wouldn’t stand idly by and watch them fall into the hands of the Scarlet Brotherhood.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “How did you get that scar?”

  Amon jumped at the unexpected voice. He had halfway drawn a sword before he realized that it was not in fact, Sarella sneaking up on their camp. Heart pounding, he pried his hand off his sword hilt and tried to breathe. The lack of sleep was making him careless. He hadn’t even noticed Nora stirring. He was nearing his breaking point.

  “Amon? Are you okay?” Nora asked.

  “I’m fine,” Amon said, regaining control. “You should be asleep.”

  “It’s too cold,” she said, sitting up and pulling her cloak tighter about her. She shoved her feet toward the fire. “I feel like my toes are freezing off.”

  It was cold. Every word Nora spoke was visible in a puff of white. Outside the meager shelter, snow continued to fall. Amon banked up the fire and added more wood, but it was putting off more smoke than heat. “There’s no dry wood to be had,” Amon said. “I almost couldn’t get the fire lit in the first place.” He watched Nora closely. The look of embarrassment that crossed her face betrayed her. “You’re still ashamed of what you can do?”

  Nora’s face went red, but whether that was from the cold or from embarrassment, Amon couldn’t be sure. She dropped her eyes and started stroking Ferron’s fur. Finally, she spoke.

  “It’s not something I want to do,” Nora said quietly. “It’s not something I should do. I mean, people who do things like I do are supposed to be witches or sorcerers, or demons...” She seemed to realize what she had said. She looked up, meeting his eyes just for a moment. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...”

  “I know.” Amon had seen the look that had come into her eyes at that moment. So, there it was. She might put on a brave face, but deep down, she was still afraid of him. Galan was as well, and not shy about showing it. Perhaps they would be glad to be rid of him at Hardcoast. “You can do things I’ve never seen before,” he continued. “No one really knows much about Mana anymore. No one’s really used it, not openly at least, for 5,000 years. The legends say that Mana died out after the Cataclysm. Maybe it’s coming back. I don’t know, but it almost feels like the world is changing. This weather, it isn’t normal. It’s nearly Second Harvest and it’s snowing! If it keeps going like this, in a year or two we might not even have a summer. Moira thinks the Old Ways might be coming back. She might be right. And even if she’s not, well I’ve known a few people who can use Mana, and they weren’t too bad as people go. They couldn’t do what you can. You shouldn’t be afraid of what you are.”

  Nora stared at the fire. “I don’t even know where to begin.” She sounded discouraged.

  “You can talk to animals.” He had guessed that a few days after they had set out from Ambermill, when Ferron had taken such a liking to her.

  Nora looked up sharply. She had drawn her knees up to her chest, arms wrapped around them, in a protective posture. He thought she might try to deny it again, but then she spoke. “Yes.” It was almost a whisper. “How did you know?”

  Amon looked at Ferron, sleeping between Nora and Galan. “That wolf doesn’t take to strangers so quickly as he did with you,” he said. “You’ve talked to others, though?”

  Nora nodded. “A few. Dogs are easiest. Horses too. Cats. And your wolf. Wild animals are harder. They don’t talk to me much.”

  Everything made more sense now. If a Seeker had seen her work Mana, then of course they would come after her. They would never let her live. “Keep trying and don’t be afraid of it,” Amon said. “There’s no harm in speaking to animals. What about fire?”

  Nora shook her head. “Fire scares me. It’s so violent, so unpredictable. I could hurt someone.”

  “I saw you start to pull fire out of thin air when you tried to set me on fire back in Ambermill,” Amon said.

  “I did not!”

  “You certainly tried to. I’m sorry I threw in that horse trough, but my cloak was getting a bit warm for a minute. Why not practice with a fire that is already lit?” He glanced at the feeble blaze between them.

  “Are you sure?” Nora asked, her voice trembling. “What if it gets out of hand?”

  “You could hardly set the forest on fire in this weather. Try.”

  “It scares me.”

  Amon shrugged. He touched the hilt of the sword on his left hip. “These scared me when I first had to learn. Fighting scared me. It scared me when I had to fight. Sometimes the things that scare you are what you need.”

  Nora nodded. She dropped her gaze to the fire and focused on it. Amon watched, curious. He had no real talent in Mana, nothing measurable at least, but he could sense its use every so often. As he watched, the fire seemed to grow and swirl. Interestingly, the air actually seemed to grow colder as the fire grew. Nora’s face was a mask of concentration, her eyes focused on the flames as a little tower of fire started to rise.

  “That’s quite impressive,” Amon said. Nora did not respond. She gave no sign that she had even heard him. The fire leapt up, gaining a frightening intensity. The flames licked at the canvas tarp. “I think that’s enough. Nora?” The fire grew, burning a hole through the damp canvas. Amon leapt to his feet. Two quick strides brought him to Nora’s side. He knelt down, shying back a bit from the impressive heat coming off the blaze, and shook her by the shoulders. “Nora!”

  Nora snapped her eyes away from the inferno. The column of fire dwindled to that of an ordinary campfire, bright and warm. She looked to Amon, fear plain on her face. Then she flung her arms around his neck and began to weep.

  Amon was stunned. He had expected her to pull away, to lash out, anything but this. He didn’t know what to do. Somewhat hesitantly, he put an arm around her. He really had no idea how to comfort her beyond simply letting her cry on his shoulder. Finally, Nora pulled away. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her coat.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, seeming to realize just whose shoulder she’d been crying on. She looked at him, her eyes going to his horns, then quickly looked away. “I shouldn’t have...”

  “It’s fine,” Amon said. He started to rise, meaning to return to his spot on the opposite side of the fire but Nora grabbed his hand. He sank back down. “I’m sorry I pushed you. Next time we can go slower.”

  Nora shook her head. “There won’t be a next time,” she said. “I’m never doing that again.”

  Amon squeezed her hand. It seemed the right thing to do. “You did something incredible just now. Look around.” The forest had turned to ice. Every shrub and tree branch were coated in a thick, opaque layer of hoarfrost. The leaves and needles all seemed to have sprouted short, white fur.

  “I don’t understand,” Nora said quietly.

  “I think I saw what you did,” Amon said. “It was like all the heat in the air was pulled into the fire. You can learn to control it.”

  Beside Nora, Galan stirred. ‘What are you two talking about?” he asked sleepily, pushing himself up on an elbow. He looked around with bleary eyes. “It’s so cold. Why is it so cold?” He sat up and wrapped his cloak tighter around him and edged closer to the fire.

  “I tried to light the forest on fire,” Nora said dryly.

  ‘Oh.” Galan rubbed his eyes and pulled his blanket around his shoulders. “Did it work?”

  “Not really. I made it colder.”

  “You need a teacher,” Amon said. “We’ll find someone who can teach you how to control Mana.” He couldn’t promise that teacher, assuming he could find someone, wouldn’t be a demon. Mana was more common among demons than among Westerlings or elves. It was just one more thing for people to hate about his kind. But Nora didn’t need to hear that now.

  “So how did you get that scar on your neck?” Nora asked, changing the subject abruptly.

  Amon pulled is hand away. That was the last thing in the world he wanted to talk about, dredging up even more unpleasant memories from his past.

  “It’s from a rope, isn’t it?” Nora asked. “What happened?”

  She had no right to ask. She had no way to know how long he had spent trying to forget the feel of hempen rope tightening around his neck, his feet leaving the ground as the wagon lurched forward...

  Galan was watching expectantly. Amon stared at the fire. He had no intention of telling them. Then he heard himself speak. “I was younger than either of you when it happened. I was lost. I was alone and I was hungry. I got caught outside a village stealing a bit of bread. There happened to be some Seekers from the Tower camped nearby, so the villagers gave me to them. I wasn’t worth taking all the way back to the Tower, so they set me in the back of a wagon, slipped a hempen noose over my head, and pulled the wagon out from under me. I should have died. Someone cut me down in time. I owe her my life, and there’s nothing I’ll ever be able to do to repay her.” He fell silent, staring into the fire. Nora and Galan were staring at him, looks of horror on their young faces. Amon did not meet their eyes. “Go back to sleep, we have a long day tomorrow.”