Alam and Tajar were making slow progress. Five days had passed since leaving Lasthome and so far the map had held out to be true. They had followed the river for the best part of two days before reaching a frighteningly unsteady swing-bridge which took them across the foamy river to a clearing with trapper's tents flapping in the breeze. They had pressed on without stopping and had turned into the third valley pointing north as indicated by the map. It was from there that their progress slowed. They had only a goat trail to follow through the thick forest. As they climbed steadily up through the valley the trees became more stunted with branches intertwined as if they were huddling together for refuge from the northern winds. Twiggy branches snatched and snagged their clothes, and scratched exposed skin. In places the trail was so narrow and dark they were forced to dismount their horses and lead them slowly up the winding trail. After battling against the trail for most of the day it was with great relief that the forest suddenly opened before them. A wide gravelly flat lay in front of them with a shallow, gurgling, mountain stream picking its way through the middle of it.

Alam and Tajar stopped and looked around in delight. The late afternoon sun glinted on the sides of the ice covered mountain looming overhead. The mountain was brutal yet breathtaking. Dark green trees clung desperately to its steep slopes. The top half of the mountain face was naked, horizontal stone: bleached, scoured, and stained by thousands of years of withstanding the elements. It was so steep that nothing grew on it. The summit of the mountain was covered in snow and ice.

The valley that the two young men stood in was untouched by the sun. Despite the dim light and cool breeze Alam and Tajar felt joy flood into them as they deeply inhaled the fresh air.

"This almost makes the trail behind us worth travelling through," sighed Tajar.

Alam nodded in agreement. "Beautiful. Fresh water looks good too." Once they had both drunk their fill and refilled their water-skins, Alam asked, "Where to from here?"

Tajar pulled out the map. "This map is hardly precise. I think we cross the river and then follow another goat trail. I suspect it's leading us to the other side of that mountain," Tajar pointed up.

"I hope not."

"Do we press on and make the most of the good weather? Or do we camp here in comfort but lose four hours of light?"

"The wise thing to do is to move on, but to be honest I would rather rest here tonight than be wise at the moment."

"Good. I agree," Tajar nodded.

They set up camp, ate a meager meal, and slept soundly without setting a watch for the night. The next morning they rose stiff with cold as the first rays of sun slanted between the trees into the valley floor. They were halfway through eating breakfast when Tajar stood up suddenly.

"Shh!" he signaled Alam to silence.

"What?"

"Voices."

"Fur traders?" Now that Alam concentrated he could faintly hear snatches of conversation over the gurgling stream.

"No," Tajar quickly bundled up their supplies. "There are at least three voices and they don't sound happy. Do you think trappers would make that much noise?"

"No," Alam conceded.

Alam stamped out the small fire. Smoky haze from it lingered in the valley. There was no breeze to blow it away.

Nothing we can do about that.

He threw his blankets onto Mist's back. Tajar was already on his horse.

"Hurry! No time for saddles!" Tajar held his horse tack in front of him. "Hurry up, Alam!" There was fear in Tajar's eyes.

"What's the rush? It could just be..." Before he could finish his statement a palpable wave of fear washed over Alam and he understood. His pulse suddenly increased and he felt an overwhelming compulsion to flee from whatever was approaching. He leapt onto Mist.

Tajar was already galloping towards the forest below the mountain. Alam saw him disappear into the eaves and pushed Mist into a gallop after him. Tajar had vanished up the goat trail he had identified the previous night. It was, in Tajar's opinion, the most likely trail to conform to the map. It was narrow and steep, but thankfully was wide enough for them to ride up. It took prodding and coaxing to force the horses up the trail, but they rose quickly up the hillside.

Below them shouting broke out in the river valley.

"Tajar!" Alam hissed. "We need to see who it is."

"Yes," Tajar whispered. "I will lead the horses up further then come back to join you. You should be able to see them from there if you're quiet." Tajar pointed to an outcrop of rock nearby. Alam slid off Mist and Tajar led the two horses uphill.

The jagged outcrop of rock broke through the trees and scrubby bushes. Alam crawled to it and cautiously peeked over the ledge. He was dismayed to see that they had not climbed very high at all. Below them a small group of people were splashing through the stream. They were alarmingly near, close enough for Alam to see their facial expressions. Shock struck him.

Frost?

Sitting calmly on the back of a horse, in the midst of a party of armour clad warriors, was Frost. He pulled back from the ledge. In less than a minute Tajar crawled next to him.

"Well?" he whispered.

"See for yourself."

Tajar peeked over and instantly recoiled. "What is Frost doing with them?"

"Maybe she's a prisoner." Alam whispered back.

"But she isn't tied up."

They both carefully looked back over the edge. Including Frost there were seven people below. There were two other women - twins - who both had bows out and were looking around the valley systematically. They wore well padded leather armour and wore their long brown hair in a simple braid down their backs. Three of the men wore spike covered armour. It looked intimidating, if a little impractical for bashing through forests. The armour was identical in design to the armour worn by the warriors in the valley where Alam had been given the box. All three of the men - one with disfiguring scars on his face, one that was at least Alam's height, but twice as wide, and an older one issuing orders - looked dangerous. In the midst of them, gazing around impatiently was a sorcerer in maroon robes. His legs tapped erratically and he tugged back and forth on the reins, unsettling his horse. He was younger than the one Alam had killed with his axe but otherwise looked similar, with the same robes and shaved head.

A young sorcerer, just like in Clarasai's father's vision.

As Alam looked at him he could tell without a doubt that the waves of fear that beat upon him were coming from the young sorcerer.

Faintly the voice of the Bloodknight with the scarred face reached Alam and Tajar. "The embers are still warm," he said.

The older Bloodknight walked over to the embers. He bent down and examined them, then carefully studied the shingle area surrounding it.

"Well?" asked the bald sorcerer.

"I am not a hunter. I am not trained in such..."

"I don't want excuses, I want answers!" snapped the sorcerer.

The bloodknight captain gave no outward expression of either fear or annoyance at the sorcerer's interruption.

"It is not an excuse. I simply mean that I could be wrong."

"Understood. Now tell me what you think, and be fast," commanded the sorcerer.

"I think whoever was here left only minutes before we arrived. If that is the case they are either downstream, as we are heading, or they are hiding in the forest. Because of the gravel I can't be sure of the horse tracks. If they are downstream we will know soon enough. If they are in the trees it will only take a moment to find them. Give the order and we will begin the search."

"How many do you think?"

"Less than four. I think one or two. There is very little waste on the ground and the embers are small."

The sorcerer turned to Frost. "The thief and his helper do you think?"

"Yes. We should be wary," she said in a clear voice.

"You think them a threat?" the sorcerer sneered.

"Think on this Emerek," she replied. "Gretch the Hunter was sent to catch them and failed."

Alam grinned when he saw the heads of all the Bloodknights swing to Frost in shock.

"They defeated Gretch?" one of the twins exclaimed.

"I did not say they defeated him. I said he failed to catch them. They left him wounded on the side of a river while they swam to the other side."

"They wounded him?" the huge Bloodknight asked in shock.

"He was cut along the calf and forearm," Xantia replied.

The captain made a few short hand signals to his followers. The twin archers flanked Emerek and Frost protectively. The scarred man and the giant drew their weapons and approached the eaves of the forest. They were walking directly towards the goat trail that would lead them to Alam and Tajar.

"This is bad," Tajar muttered. "With surprise we might take two of them but never seven."

"Sir!" one of the Bloodknights said below them, "horse prints heading up the mountain."

"Shall we pursue?" the captain asked.

Emerek jerked his head around the valley and then back to the captain. "No. We do not have time. Our objective is vital. We have not come to hunt thieves."

"Lord, the power you took from the priest is making you jittery and impatient," said the captain. "I have seen it before. It is unwise to leave enemies at our back," he captain remarked.

"How dare you doubt me!" Emerek snapped. "I am in complete control of the power!" He turned to the mountainside and raised his voice. "Thieves! If you are hiding like cowards know this - if you follow us you will die, if you attack us you will die." He turned back to his captain. "We move on and leave the thieves to cower in the bushes." Without waiting for the others Emerek pushed his horse into a trot along the riverbank and away from Alam and Tajar. The others quickly followed. Within minutes the curve of the river swallowed them up.

"Why are they following the river instead of climbing the mountain as we are? Surly they are heading to the same destination," said Alam.

"My reading of the map," said Tajar, "is that our destination is on the other side of this mountain. There is more than one way to get around a mountain. Let's hope that if they are heading to the same cave as us, that they are taking the slower path."

When they had walked back to their horses Tajar turned to Alam with a worried frown on his brow.

"What do we do about Frost?" he asked.

"What can we do?" shrugged Alam. "She left us. We know that she has worked for Morcham, and is now she is with them again. Did it seem to you that she was with them against her will?"

"No," agreed Tajar. "But we could still follow them and try to..."

"Rescue her? Not only would we die, but how do we know she would join us anyway?"

"That doesn't sound like you," Tajar frowned.

Alam started counting off points with his fingers. "She left us, not the other way around; she is a trained assassin who has been hired by Morcham; she is with them now; they outnumber us two to one if Frost even wants to come with us; if we fail, which we would, they will take the box and reach Clarisai before us."

Tajar turned his back on Alam and climbed into the saddle. "I hate it when you're right." He kicked his stock horse up the trail.

"Me too," Alam muttered to himself.

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-Y. V. Qualls