The carriage reached Whitepeak base as the sun was sinking into the hazy horizon. The sky above him was grey and starless, and the houses thousands of feet below on the ground had vanished into the cloud that kept the army settlement trapped under the mountain's snow white eyes. In this desolate place, they might as well have been cut off the world.

Fourteen, no fifteen, wooden barracks Nick counted, each of them no larger than the average Laneby house. Moss was growing between the roof tiles like tufts of uncombed hair. Even the plank walls had a greenish shine to them.

Apart from a blustering wind that creaked the battered wood, it was quiet; too quiet for an army base. No bantering patrols or boots marching. No man in sight apart from a chubby, moustached man that the General and Lieutenant Michael were talking to. Four sycamore leaves flaunted on the collar of his uniform. Captain Frank; the captain responsible for the cruelties that occurred in this place.

And they weren't lies. Nick skid his foot over the ground. The coarse, ash-coloured sand was damp, with patches of snow that bore dark stains of dried-up blood.

Blood of magicians, for sure.

"Nicolas," The General called out for him. His voice wasn't loud—it hardly ever was—but it bounced against the mountainside and echoed back.

As Nick joined the men, the Captain stretched out his hand. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm Captain Frank."

He knew that, but returned the favour, his hand getting squeezed tight. "Nicolas," he moaned, barely able to keep his dignity.

"You're here to take notes?" The man pointed at the book that Nick had kept under his arm.

"No." Nick had already made up his mind; he didn't like the Captain. The fewer words they had to exchange, the better.

"It's an idea of His Majesty," the General explained "Blacksmiths have apprentices, tanners and tailors and the whole lot. Now Generals do too."

"I see... I see." The Captain smiled slyly, a silent but sure sign of defiance. "But why take the boy to Whitepeak to teach him the tricks of the trade? Aren't there cheerier places to get him excited for a life in your shoes, General?"

"Sometimes shoes get dirty," General George said. "Which brings me straight to business. Not only are your men letting magicians pass under their very noses, but we've also received some complaints about your... leadership. Rumour has it murder and rape occur on a regular basis. Under your watch."

The Captain lurched forwards, his mouth but an inch of the General's. "Says who?"

Lieutenant Michael already kept his hand on the grip of his sword but released it as the General blinked slightly longer than a standard blink. He jutted his chin and let the wind finish its blaring before answering, "Irrelevant. His Majesty is concerned."

The Captain snorted. "Pardon my boldness, but I doubt His Majesty understands what must be done to keep the scum on the right side of the border. If he wishes to know what it's like to work here, day after day, through wind, icy rain and the occasional snowstorm, he's free to visit any time."

"That won't be necessary. I'm His Majesty's eyes... and ears." The General pronounced the 's' of ears was so subtly, almost silent. "I'll observe, assess your needs, and provide the necessary solutions."

"Solutions," the Captain scoffed. "I've long stopped believing there are. Survival—that's what matters. Seeing another sunset is the only prize to gain."

"Is that so?"

"Look. Do what you must, General. I've got nothing to hide, neither to you nor the Gods." The Captain broke contact with General George and addressed the rest of the group. "The road from Sundale must have been a long one, Gentlemen. You must be starving. Why don't I take you to my office, get you something to eat while you wait for your quarters to be ready?"

Nick nodded softly as Lieutenant Michael eyed the General who answered, "I appreciate the hospitality, Frank. I'm aware preparations must be made. We came unannounced." The man looked over his shoulder and beckoned Lieutenant Wallace and the jarvey to come too.

"You sure did. And Whitepeak ain't Sunstone Castle—I can't offer private quarters." The Captain's gaze slipped back to the General's. "I sure hope that won't be a problem."

"I don't see why it should. Nicolas and I have shared a cramped carriage. Having a room to ourselves is already an improvement."

"Glad to hear you see it that way, General."

The men departed without exchanging another word, the scrunching noise of their boots on the ground the only sound as they headed for the right-most barrack, which had the least amount of mould of all the barracks.

The jarvey was still by the carriage, tending the horses. For a split second, Nick considered turning around and helping the man, but his intentions were disrupted when a faint light lit up in the shadow of the mountainside.

The flame moved at a walking pace, revealing a soldier patrolling along a wall of iron bars.

Over three hundred years, General Geoffrey had sent the first patrols up to Whitepeak to cut cells into the mountain. It was cheaper than attempting to construct a proper prison, and today still it was where they kept the magicians awaiting interrogation, a return north, or decapitation if the risk of relapse was too big.

The soldier became clearer, his one hand clamped around the torch, the other around a trident, the tines thin enough to fit between the bars. He wore armour like the knights of old, with plates of blackened iron that ran all the way from head to toe.

Nick refrained from entering the barrack, not when there was so much to see. Another light came from the other side, at a slightly faster pace. The second armoured man carried a crossbow on his back. He stopped to talk to his comrade, about what Nick could not tell.

"Nicolas, are you coming?" asked Lieutenant Wallace. "We're gonna open a bottle while we wait for our food."

"Hmm... I don't drink wine."

The soldiers stopped talking, each moving in the opposite direction of where they had come from.

Just as they disappeared from view, there came singing, high yet hauntingly beautiful; a song that made Nick's jaw drop. He had heard nothing like this before.

Tell me, child with curious eyes I see
when will these wounds start to heal
My soul is sc—

The men sprinted towards the cell, their clamouring loud and clear, as though they wanted to drown out her voice. Whips were lashed. The singing replaced by cries so gut-wrenching that the villagers down in Lowdale would think a ghost dwelled in these the mountains.

"General?" Nick shouted. He had to see this.

The man already stood by the door. "The Neck. That must be her."

"Bee." The Captain slurped from his cup. "We're at wit's end with that one. I've lost three of my men to her. She doesn't deserve to walk freely. Many have had the axe in their hands, but whoever tries to swing it, backs down again. She can't be killed."

"I would hardly call it walk freely," Nick muttered as one of the soldiers stepped out, his crossbow loaded, while the other one slowly followed, foot by foot, his trident pointed at her the entire time.

"My men may stand there with their weapons, lad, but they're as good as useless. On a good day such as today, they can keep her under wraps. Even the other scum fear her. Some say she's a descendant of the fairies, others claim she's part serpent. I think she's just a mind magician."

"A fifth element?" Nick asked.

"Captain Jonathan has another theory," Lieutenant Wallace said. "He says the Necks is a myth constructed by magicians to scare their enemies, to make them believe they're more powerful than they actually were. In reality, they're smooth talkers—the lot of them."

"Jonathan's becoming senile. This ain't no ordinary smooth talker. I've been up here in Whitepeak for twenty long years, and I ain't seen nobody like her. The songs drive some men insane, it's how she lures the young ones into her cell. It's how we lost Louis. Robert barely got away—he lost a hand." Captain Frank clacked his tongue. "So if you have any solutions, I'm happy to hear them, General."

"Have you used the iron mouthpieces?" the General asked.

"Aye. It stops the singing. I ordered my men to starve her to death, but she doesn't allow that either. There's always one of the lads who goes up there to share his food and give her water. David died, and yet they still went." The Captain. "We took it off. It's no use."

"But  she has allowed you to put on the mouthpiece?"

"Aye."

"Then you can kill her too. I won't leave until she's dead." And with that statement, the General went back inside.

Nick was too flabbergasted to move. Hadn't His Majesty sent them up here to make an end to the brutal killings and stop all other abhorrent practices? They were here less than half an hour and the General was already taking part in the cruelty.

Then again, the girl with the beautiful voice was no Goddess of Virtue either. She had killed not one but at least three army men. Nick sighed. None of this would have happened if she were free to live wherever she wished to live. She couldn't be evil; the Greenlanders must have made her evil.

When the wind picked up and hit his face, he entered the cabin. Since all the chairs around the Captain's barren desk were taken, Nick joined the jarvey on the floor. The men mostly chatted about news from Sundale and the increasing border controls resulting from the attack on Laneby.

His heart skipped a beat, but luckily neither the General nor any of the two Lieutenants mentioned that Nick was a Lanebyer. The mark bore a lot of weight and would inevitably lead to a conversation about Seb. He wanted to avoid that at all costs.

Over a meal of tasteless bread, hard cheese, and revolting wine Nick learnt that managing the border was an impossible task, even with the rising amount of patrols. For every magician they caught, a dozen more crossed the mountains. There were too many hidden paths, and magicians using their powers to create bridges and tunnels.

That was why they had been attacked by the rogue Earth Magician.

The General didn't seem impressed by any of his excuses. He revealed a plan he and His Majesty were working on, one that involved a renewed deal with the Icians, but once signed, could lessen the number of prisoners in Whitepeak's cells as well as the blood stains in the snow. Magicians would be allowed to live and work in Ice.

"We're expecting Prince River somewhere next week. It's high on the agenda, Frank. That's why I also wish to discuss the possibility of escorting prisoners to Burnfirth-by-Sea. How many extra men would you need to facilitate that on... let's say on a bi-weekly basis."

"More men than we have housing, General."

"But they would mostly be on the road, so that can't be an issue." General George waved the criticism away.

"Escorting magicians for a hundred leagues to Burnfirth. It can't be done, General. The risk of magicians escaping is too big. The army will have more casualties." The Captain popped a piece of cheese into his mouth. Chewing loudly, he added, "I don't believe in this plan."

The General didn't bring it back up. After dinner, Captain Frank guided Nick and the General to their quarters, which was situated in the barrack next to his office. It was a room the size of his chamber in the castle, with beds on the opposite sides, each with a shelf above them. In a small back stove burnt a cosy fire that gave the room enough warmth to sleep cosily.

"It has been lit especially for you, General. Wood is rare so high up here," Captain Frank said, emphasising the effort he was making.

When the General muttered a quick thanks, the man saluted him, his boots clacking against each other, and left.

Nick sat down on the bed by the window. Someone had already placed his bag there, as well as his pile of books. In alphabetical order too. Neat.

He stacked them onto the shelf and began to unpack, yawning. He hadn't done much in the last forty-eight hours, but the training camp still lingered in his bones. It could be the wine too.

He crossed his legs, his boot resting on his knee, and he untied the laces.

"Not so fast, Nicolas," the General stopped him.

"Who? Me?"

"Is there another Nicolas in this room?" The General chuckled, his smile short-lived. "I want you to go out, follow Captain Frank without being seen. I bet he's informing his men of my arrival this very instance. Hear what he says, or try to figure out what instructions they received. If anyone catches you—"

"I'll tell them I was looking for a privy or something." Nick knotted his boots again, then grabbed his woollen hat to mask his hair. "I understand. I don't trust that man at all, General."

The God of Sloth was tempting him with precious sleep, but if there was any change in instructions, the Captain would tell his men now, while he thought the guests from Sundale were asleep.

"I like you, Nicolas. Thomas and Jonathan always take far longer to understand my plans, but you know right away what I mean, or what I want to achieve."

Nick shrugged. "It doesn't mean I'll stay in the army, or become Seb's General any other way."

"What else are you gonna do? Become a librarian?"

"Another one of your brilliant ideas." He wiggled his eyebrows. "What do you say, General, I scratch your back, you scratch mine? Do me a favour and discuss it with His Majesty when we're back in Sunstone Castle..."

"And tell him you wasted time while out on an important mission? Hurry, Nicolas, the action is happening as we speak."

Nick went outside. The General would never openly accept any deal about his future; he was far too smart to make promises he couldn't keep.

Big wet snowflakes were coming down. Nick had never seen snow in the moon of Sprouting, but then again, he had never been this far north or so high up. He shivered, a low cough escaping his lungs. Great, the General hadn't considered the possibility of that wretched cold acting up while he was spying. And neither had he.

He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the starless and moonless sky, then headed for a series of convenient rocks behind which he could hide while snooping closer to the cells. All he had to do was follow the flickering of the torches and try not to make any noise as he moved from one stone to the next.

"Did you two hear already?" the Captain hissed to two of his men. Because of the armour, Nick couldn't tell if they were the same soldiers he had seen before. "General George and a convoy of his finest men have arrived for an inspection. Weapons are only to be used in cases of emergency. No beatings, no unnecessary whips, and keep your manhood to yourselves while they are here."

"And what with Bee?"

"Pride is eating at the General's mind. The fool wishes to deal with her himself, and I won't stop him. So you muttonheads lay low or it will be your heads that he'll cut off instead of Bee's."

"Yes, Captain."

"Understood, Captain."

"Pass the message along to your comrades. The vermin are getting a holiday for now." He tugged at the bars, the iron not budging, of course. "You hear that, northern scum, your saviour has arrived. Not your beloved Grandmaster, but General George. Enjoy the limited freedom while it lasts."

With great strides, Captain Frank marched back to his office barrack. Nick dived beneath another stone as the man passed him by. The crunching noise stopped for ten long moments during which he felt the urge to cough but did not dare. His throat slowly began to burn, then the Captain continued walking.

Nick remained crouched, his legs cramping up fast, until a wooden door was slammed shut. He buried his coughing in the crook of his elbow, then he moved from stone to stone as he followed the soldiers.

They met two more people, to whom they recited the Captain's story. One man was worried about Bee, the other grumbled something about a lanky brunette that had just been brought in and who he would teach a lesson before the night was over.

The prison cells went on for what seemed miles, or that was how the constant hopping around felt. Nick had heard tales of the thin air up in the mountains, but he had never expected to be out of breath so fast. Despite his fingers and toes getting frozen, sweat had formed on his forehead and was leaking down his temples.

Four more soldiers, or Serjeants—the armour made it impossible to see whether they had sycamores on their collars—he heard mumbling about the General's arrival. Some of these men lived for the blood they spilt, and they were just as guilty as the magicians that had taken a life. He knew enough for the General to be content.

He was walking back to the barracks when the singing began anew, her voice even more celestial than before:

Tell me, child with curious eyes I see
when will these wounds start to heal
My soul is scared
My mind a battlefield still

Tell me, child with prideful words I hear
when will this cold stop to freeze
My nights are dark
My days a solitude still

Come hither, child with guileless grief I feel
and show this girl how to sleep

When the song was done, she repeated it, her voice guiding him to the barracks as though she was a mother or a wife calling him home for dinner. Four soldiers were standing by her cell, with a fifth rushing towards them. "We have to get in."

"No, we can't. The Captain made that very clear," said a deeper voice.

"So we just let her be?" the shortest of five men asked.

"Aye. Back to your positions. Now."

One by one the men departed and Nick crawled closer until he was able to see that peculiar woman behind the iron bars. She had hair whiter than snow and lips darker than blood. Her eyes shone in the dark, and like a cat serenading the night she continued her song.

He listened until the melody was a constant buzzing in his mind, a whistling, a screeching. It left him drained and feverish, yet hungry for another listen. The world around him blurred, the battering of the wind but a small nuance, the weariness of his bones numbing to an ache that craved to be touched by her tender fingers.

Inch per inch he moved closer, on his knees, until two rough hands pulled him back to reality. "Nicolas, snap out if it. Now!"