Galen remained motionless as rough hands patted him down. A second, smaller figure did the same to Behn. Half a dozen more stood in the blue shadows of snow-clad trees, holding drawn bows, and he guessed there were as many again at his back. All wore thick layers of winter clothing, with scarves that obscured the lower part of their faces.

Above, those trapped in the nets swung silently, causing flurries of snow to fall in little swirls. They had been taken completely unawares and now had no choice but to surrender and pray that their captors proved merciful.

"Unarmed," the one inspected Galen concluded in an oddly soft voice.

"Same," the other concurred quietly, and stepped away from Behn to point up at the nets. "The others have weapons."

"They are not barrowlings."

"Obviously, they are not barrowlings. Thank you for the keen observation, Finvar."

The first speaker had a deep voice, while the second's was lighter.

"What do we do with them?" asked the first.

"Depends." The second drew a knife and tapped the side of the blade beneath Behn's ear and addressed Galen. "Who are you? Answer quietly."

Galen unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth and sucked in a breath. The adrenaline coursing through him warmed his blood like fire, and yet a shiver shot down his spine.

"I am... Ga-Galen," he stammered. "We are... s-simple travelers."

"Whence do you travel, and to where and what for?"

"We come from Thryn," Galen breathed, "and seek passage to Sakkara. We are... I am... We..."

His mind locked up like a rusted hinge. The truth would not serve, and he literally could not invent a lie to save his life.

"We're taking Princess Trissandra to meet her betrothed!" Behn blurted. "That's right—you're dealing with royalty, scum! So you better not touch a hair on her head, or you'll have the Thrynian Guard to deal with!"

Galen groaned inwardly. Even bandits with half a brain between them would see through that one; not to mention the fact no one would ever be the wiser if these people chose to slaughter them.

"Royalty, is it?" The lighter-voiced figure looked up at those held aloft in the nets. "Strange road for royalty to take. There are less difficult, and less dangerous, ways into Sakkara. But it seems you have discovered the perils of this path already."

The figure looked down at Obi where he lay, pale and unconscious, and half covered in snow where Behn and Triss had inadvertently dropped the makeshift stretcher.

Seizing on this opening, Galen spoke, raising his voice a little to address the smaller figure, who seemed in control.

"Please—we were attacked by barrowlings and our friend is injured. He needs medicine, and—"

"Quiet!"

The figure at his back struck him a glancing blow, prompting loud protests from above. Then a hand grasped his hair and wrenched his head back, and a blade pressed against his throat hard enough to cut the skin and send a trickle of blood down his neck.

"I said QUIET! Or you will be silenced!"

In the wake of these words, which were bellowed despite the command they contained, a ringing silence descended beneath the trees. Galen stared up and saw Sev's pale face looking down at him, a trace of blue fire in his silvered eyes, and knew their lives balanced on a knife's edge—his own quite literally.

Then, in the distance, an eerie and familiar wail rose, so faint it might have been mistaken for the wind.

"Shit. Now you've done it," the smaller figure hissed, and pulled the scarf obscuring its face aside to reveal the lined and weathered countenance of a woman some years past her prime.

Above him, Galen heard an intake of breath.

"Anira?"

The woman looked up sharply, scanning the nets, and then her eyes locked on Sev and went wide.

"Sevvy? Is that... you?"

Sev grasped the ropes of the net with both hands, his knuckles white and his face pale as the snow.

"Yes," he breathed. "How are you...?"

The woman held up a hand and shook her head. Then she pressed her fingers to her lips and seemed to think, as if weighing a difficult and possibly damning decision. Finally, she nodded and addressed her companions.

"Release him," she said to the one holding Galen. Waving to the rest, she said, "Cut them down. We will take them with us."

-✵-

Their captors had warned them not to speak above a whisper, and to move as quickly and quietly as possible, though they had not explained why.

Two carried Obi's stretcher, and the rest flanked them as they moved through the white woods as swiftly as the blanket of snow allowed. It was almost to their knees in places.

"Who are they?" Galen breathed as he struggled to keep up at Sev's side. "Friends?"

Sev shook his head. "I hardly know," he whispered in reply. He still looked as if he'd seen a ghost, and kept his eyes on the woman whom he seemed to recognize.

They kept a brisk pace that was almost a run, heading back toward the mountains at an angle, so that their path formed a V with the point at the spot they'd been captured.

Galen had barely recovered from the flight through the Pinedark, and soon he gasped for breath and clutched at a pain in his side as his body protested the strain. His legs and back burned, and sweat dampened his inner clothes and hair. Behn's face was likewise shiny and red.

Just when Galen felt he would collapse if he did not stop, the woman Sev had called 'Anira,' ordered a halt. Black spots danced before Galen's eyes, and he sat heavily in the snow at Behn's side, too winded to speak.

The woman gathered something from her companions, and then tossed a bundle of long, thin strips of fabric, like bandages, at Sev. "Put those on," she said. "The way from here is not for your eyes."

Galen wasn't sure what she meant until Sev knelt before him, a strip of fabric in hand.

"I'm sorry. We must do as she says," he murmured.

Galen nodded, and Sev deftly blindfolded him.

He heard the snow crunching beneath booted feet as the others were treated likewise.

"Forgive me, Zen," Sev whispered. "It is easier not to explain, for now."

Zenír murmured something in reply, and then other hands pulled Galen to his feet, and they were moving again, though at a much slower and more careful pace.

Whoever guided him did so well, and while he stumbled now and then, he never fell. He had the sense they were moving steeply uphill along a winding path, until the person guiding him pulled him back to a halt.

"There are stairs ahead," a low, male voice said. "Take hold of my back and keep your left hand on the wall."

Galen did as instructed and moved forward carefully until his foot found the edge of the top step. The stairs angled upward, and Galen counted twenty-seven narrow, steep steps before they reached the top. There, the air was colder, and the wind whipped around him, stinging his exposed skin.

"Careful," his guide warned. "There is ice."

They proceeded carefully along what felt like a narrow but level path, with a wall of rock on one side and (Galen suspected) a frightening drop on the other. As they moved along, the noise of the wind grew steadily louder, until Galen realized it wasn't only the wind he was hearing, but a great waterfall. The rushing roar increased until it reverberated all around him, and he felt cold spray on his face. He wondered if he would walk right into it, but the path took a sharp turn and, abruptly, the noise was at his back.

They had passed behind the falls and into a passageway. He knew because the ground was clear of snow and ice, the noise of the falls quickly faded, and the echo of their footsteps told of a tunnel or cavern of some kind.

Several minutes passed in which they walked without speaking. The air gradually warmed, and then, with the suddenness of a curtain drawn aside, he sensed that they were in the clear air once more. They walked on for some minutes longer, ascending what felt like a gently sloping stone path, and Galen heard birds and rushing water, and smelled fragrant flowers and herbs and rich earth, and another scent he couldn't identify: strange, but not unpleasant.

At last, they stopped.

"You may remove your blindfolds," a voice said, and Galen pulled the strip of cloth from his eyes.

He blinked, and blinked again.

"Welcome to the Grotto," Anira said, and gave them a grim smile.

As their captors removed their scarves and heavy outer garments, the small group looked about themselves in wonder, and Galen felt as if he'd been transported to another world.

He was in what appeared to be a massive bowl formed by the earth itself, large enough to contain a small village. The walls were high slopes of tumbled stone and sheer cliffs. Gardens, grasses, and colorful trees carpeted the basin, and graceful buildings of pale stone and wood clustered at the center.

They themselves stood upon a wide bridge spanning a slow-moving watercourse in a deep channel. Steam rose from the water, which Galen knew meant it was warmer than the air. Turning to follow its course, he gasped.

A series of terraced pools lined the opposite side of the basin which, from the white peaks looming above, Galen saw to be close upon the mountains' sides. Above these, reachable by a latticework of winding paths, was a grand house, built right into the cliff wall. Enormous pillars of stone, carved to look like trees with branching limbs, flanked a massive façade of polished stone, with a low triangular roof.

A flock of birds—doves, Galen thought—fluttered from their roosts in its crevices, and from the fact they appeared as small as ants, Galen gained a sense of scale.

"Holy tits of Thrynnis," Behn breathed. "Did we die?"

"No," Triss whispered. "I don't think my butt would be this sore if I were dead."

"There is no need for silence here," the woman, Anira, said in a gravelly voice. "The noise of the falls, the stone of the cliffs, and the heat in the earth protect this place well. We are only vulnerable from above; and unless the dragons of Atzlanis return, we need not fear the skies."

"Dragons?" Behn squeaked, clearly ready to believe anything.

The woman glanced at him, and then to each of the others in turn, before settling her gaze on Sev.

"Anira," he said, shaking his head and appearing at least as astonished as Behn. "How...? How are you alive? How are you... here? And where is here, for that matter?"

"First, explain to me how the most promising Hand of a generation ends up wandering the wild with a rag-tag group such as this, and what your business in these parts might be. Then, if I am satisfied, you shall know anything you wish. In the meantime..." She raised a brow intersected by a thick scar. "...you don't happen to be missing anyone, do you?"